A Rhubarb Coffeecake as Rhubarb Season Draws to a Close

As the rhubarb season winds down I need to make my favorite rhubarb coffeecake one more time. After that I'll probably have to wait for another year to have it again. I really do love eating seasonally, but I'm always sad when one of my favorites fades off of the stage. And although I make liberal use of my freezer, rhubarb isn't something I freeze. Prone to exuding lots of liquid when fresh, frozen rhubarb produces a flood when cooked.

One of the reasons I like this cake so much is because of the cake itself. It is a tender yellow cake—the kind of cake that I think of when someone mentions a "crumb cake". It lacks the structure of a traditional layer cake (having one instead of two eggs) so it doesn't slice into neat, crumb-less slices. For this reason, it wouldn't make much of a layer cake—even though it's sweet, tender and moist—pretty much everything a cake should be. These qualities make it just about perfect for a coffeecake. I'm sure it would be good with other fresh fruits—sliced peaches, or maybe a scattering of blueberries or raspberries—but the layer of tart rhubarb topped by a sandy streusel is really the best.

In my rhubarb cornmeal cake post I mentioned the difficulties of using raw, fresh rhubarb in a cake. Its aforementioned tendency to release water as it cooks can make for a cake that is a gooey mess. There are several techniques for dealing with this, but one of the more interesting that I have come across was in a recipe for a rhubarb custard tart by Paula Wolfert, published in an issue of Food & Wine several years ago.

As you can imagine, rhubarb releasing its liquid into a custard as it bakes would be a disaster. To prevent this, Wolfert draws off most of the liquid ahead of time by cutting the rhubarb, tossing it with a small amount of sugar and letting it sit overnight.

 

The next day, so none of the rhubarb flavor is lost, the liquid is drained into a pan and reduced to a syrup.

 If memory serves, Wolfert then adds this syrupy liquid to the custard base for her tart (subtracting an equal volume from the cream or milk, I would imagine). I thought this was brilliant and wanted to use it when I was working on my coffeecake recipe.

Adding the reduced liquid to a cake batter didn't seem like a great idea.  Instead, I expanded her method a bit by adding the rhubarb to the sauté pan with the reduced liquid.

Doing this pulls out any remaining liquid that the rhubarb wants to give up—and if done over high enough heat reduces this remaining liquid at the same time. When you are done, all you should see is glossy, glazed rhubarb. If there happens to be any liquid left in the pan, you can just drizzle it over the cake. But try to avoid this scenario, because too much liquid tends to make the rhubarb sink into the cake. The cake won't look as nice if this happens, but it will still taste good.

Another important thing to remember when treating the rhubarb this way, is that the rhubarb and juices must cook rapidly (over high heat) and without stirring too much. The longer the rhubarb cooks, the more likely it is to become a purée. A few smashed pieces are okay, but a compote is not.

I love this cake.  It is everything a coffeecake should be—tender and sweet and streusel-y with the added kick of rhubarb. I hope you will enjoy it as much as I do.

Rhubarb Streusel Coffeecake

2 c. all purpose flour
1/2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1 t. salt
1/2 c. unsalted butter, room temperature
1 c. granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 t. vanilla
1 c. plain yogurt (preferably not low-fat or non-fat)
Rhubarb topping (see below)
Streusel (see below)

Preheat an oven to 350ºF. Butter and flour a 13x9-inch cake pan.

Whisk the first four ingredients together in a small bowl and set aside.

Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg; beat in the vanilla. Stir in the dry ingredients in three additions, alternately with the yogurt in two additions.

Spread the batter in the prepared pan and scatter the rhubarb evenly over the batter (drizzle any rhubarb syrup left in the pan over all).

Scatter the streusel topping evenly over the cake.

Bake until a wooden toothpick inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Serves 9 to 12

Rhubarb Topping:
1 lb. rhubarb, trimmed and cut into 1/2-inch pieces (about 3 cups)
1/4 c. sugar

In a large bowl, toss the rhubarb with the sugar. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Drain the rhubarb in a colander set in a sauté pan large enough to hold all of the rhubarb in a single layer. Press on the rhubarb to squeeze as much liquid into the pan as possible. Set the colander of rhubarb aside on a plate.

Bring the juice to a boil over high heat and reduce to a syrup. Remove from the heat and add the rhubarb; toss to coat. Return the pan to high heat and cook without stirring until any remaining liquid exuded by the rhubarb has evaporated. Set aside and cool to room temperature.

Streusel:
3/4 c. all purpose flour
6 T. sugar
3/4 t. cinnamon
3 T. unsalted butter

In a bowl, combine the flour, sugar and cinnamon; rub in the butter until the mixture looks like sand.

Printable Version

Scottish Shortbread

In the last couple of days I have made two batches of cookies. This is not an unusual thing to be doing if you are someone who cooks and bakes for a living. But I can't really claim that these cookies were made entirely for professional reasons. I will use one batch for a dinner class—but they were not really necessary for the class and to tell the truth, I just wanted to have some on hand for myself. I guess I am just in the mood to make...and eat...cookies. Besides being a great afternoon treat to go with my coffee, cookies seem to hit the right dessert note for summer—they go so well with fruit or ice cream (or both) at the end of a meal.

Yesterday I made a batch of peanut butter toffee cookies. I'll admit that peanut butter is not the first cookie that comes to mind as a companion for summer fruits. But I had marked this recipe as one I wanted to try some time ago and I happened to have a bag of milk chocolate toffee bits—purchased for something else, now languishing in the back of a cupboard. The cookies, as it turns out, go very well with ice cream:

The cookie I made for my dinner class (to be served with Butter Pecan Ice Cream and Peaches "Foster") is one of my all time favorite cookies. Scottish Shortbread. It is a good all around cookie—great with coffee or tea and simple enough to go with whatever flavor ice cream or type of fruit that you might be serving. I make them every year for Christmas. It's nice any time of year to have a stash in the freezer.

Almost all cookies freeze very well and they thaw, setting out on a plate, in about the time it takes to brew a cup of coffee or do the dinner dishes. Every kitchen I have ever worked in has utilized the freezer to maintain their supply of fresh baked goods.  At home I started to keep cookies in my freezer so that I would have to think about thawing a cookie in order to eat one. The idea being that keeping them there would curb the tendency to eat them mindlessly. But I have unfortunately discovered that some cookies are pretty good when they are still frozen. Peanut butter cookies are one such cookie—one of the reasons they work so well in the ice cream sandwich....

The Scottish Shortbread recipe was given to me by a British woman that I worked for in Provence. If I recall correctly, this was the recipe she grew up with—probably fairly common in the British Isles. Even though I had lived in London, I hadn't acquired a good shortbread recipe while I was there. I am so pleased that she shared her recipe with me.  It has become a permanent part of my repertoire.

Her recipe was called Two-Four-Six Shortbread after the weights of the ingredients: 2 oz. of sugar, 4 oz. of butter, 6 oz. of flour. The original recipe calls for rubbing the butter into the flour and sugar by hand, as for a pie dough, until the dough begins to come together in clumps. I use a traditional creaming method instead—simply because it is faster. As it turns out, I think the cookies are a bit less dense and more tender when the creaming method is used. The other change I made was to add some salt. If you are using salted butter you don't need to add any salt.

Scottish Shortbread

8 oz. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at a cool room temperature
4 oz. (1/2 c. plus 1 T.) sugar
12 oz. (3 c.) all-purpose flour
1/2 t. salt

Cream butter and sugar. Using your hands or the paddle attachment on your mixer, work in the flour and salt until the dough holds together when squeezed. Divide the dough between 2 ungreased 8-inch cake pans.

Press into a firm, even layer. Score the dough into 12 or 16 wedges and prick each wedge with a fork, pricking all the way through the dough. Use the tines of a fork to press ½-inch lines radiating like the rays of sun all around the edge of the dough.

Bake in a preheated 275° oven until set and beginning to turn a light golden color—about an hour. Cool the cookies in the pan for 10 minutes. Carefully tap the “cake” out of the pan onto a cutting board. Cut into wedges along the markings while still warm. Cool completely on racks. Store air tight.

Makes 24 to 32 shortbread fans.

Spinach Empanadas and a Few Tips on Rolling out Short Crust Dough

Earlier this week I taught a class featuring recipes that use produce available during late spring and early summer at the farmers' market—lettuces, spinach, spring onions, new potatoes, summer squash, young root vegetables and blueberries. There were of course other things I could have included ...the market is truly exploding with variety right now.

One of the recipes was for an entrée-sized spinach empanada. Empanadas are savory turnovers. Many different cuisines have traditional empanadas—Spain, Portugal, Argentina, to name a very few. The shape, fillings and type of dough used will vary from country to country. I am most familiar with empanadas of Spanish origin that utilize either a short crust pastry (like pie dough) or a yeast dough (like pizza dough).

As I prepared the small tasting-sized empanadas for my class, I was reminded of what was probably my first "on the job" lesson in the pastry kitchen at The American Restaurant. One of the first tasks I was given was to roll out and blind bake individual tart shells. While I rolled out the empanada dough the other day, it occurred to me that my first lesson contained valuable information that I could pass along on my blog.

If you work with pastry—pie dough, pâte brisée, etc.—very much, you are aware that one of the secrets to light, flaky pastry is minimal handling of the dough. If the dough is handled excessively, too much gluten will be developed. Gluten is a protein that is formed when two proteins that are present in wheat flour come into contact with a liquid via a mechanical action (mixing, kneading, rolling out, etc.). The more gluten that is developed, the stronger the dough. Gluten development is necessary for yeast doughs. Some gluten is needed for pastry—there should be just enough gluten to keep a pastry shell from falling apart when filled, for example. But typically, this is not discussed since it's almost impossible to mix up the dough without developing some gluten. The problem one usually hears about is the tough or hard pastries that are produced when a dough has been over-handled.

Most pie dough/crust recipes direct you to make the dough and roll it once. It is a generally understood that the scraps or trimmings should not be "re-rolled". This is fine if you are making a large pie and are making just the right amount of dough to roll and use (with just a few trimmings left over to bake with cinnamon-sugar for a snack!). It also is not a problem if you are making a few large empanadas or turnovers because you can cut the dough into the number of pieces you need and roll each out. In either case, very little waste, in the form of scraps of dough, results.

But what if you need to roll out small tart shells, or--as I did for my class--small cutouts of dough for empanadas? In these situations you will produce lots of trimmings, or scraps. For a pastry shop or restaurant, if all of these trimmings were discarded, the waste and therefore the cost, would be large. The trick of course is not only to not waste them, but to somehow use them to good effect.

Dough that has never been rolled out before is referred to as Virgin Dough. If well made, it is light, flaky and tender. As I mentioned earlier, it can also be somewhat fragile. Because of gluten development, dough that has already been rolled out once is not so tender and flaky—but, it is no longer fragile. So, if you take a small amount of dough that has been rolled out once and combine it with a larger amount of virgin dough, you get the best of both worlds: tender flakes with a little bit of underlying strength to keep your pastries from falling apart. You have also solved the problem of having a large amount of waste.

In a professional pastry kitchen, each time dough is rolled out the scraps are gathered together and chilled. Then when the next batch of crusts are rolled out, some of this scrap dough is rolled out with some virgin dough. You would never use scrap dough by itself—and frankly, in a working kitchen it would be the rare occasion when virgin dough alone would be used. In practice, each time dough is rolled out, it is probably made up of about a quarter to a third scrap dough.

So at home, if you are making small empanadas (or mini tartlets, or fruit turnovers) for a crowd, begin by rolling out a small, manageable portion of your virgin dough. Cut out the dough,

gather the scraps and set them aside with the remainder of your fresh dough (in the refrigerator if your room is warm).

Form the first batch of empanadas. 

Scrape any bits of dough or filling off of your work surface. Take another manageable piece of virgin dough (smaller than the first since you now have scrap dough to add) and press the scraps neatly onto the dough.

Roll out this new piece of dough. Repeat the entire process until all of your filling is used. There will always be some scrap dough that you end up throwing away (or freezing—make sure it is labeled as "scrap") because your collection of scraps will grow as you work and you never want the dough you are rolling to be mostly scrap.

In a home setting, knowing how to make use of your scraps of dough is a nice convenience. In a professional setting, learning how to use up and make money off of "waste" (scrap dough, excess egg whites, etc.) can keep your business in the black. I heard Martha Stewart say one time that a pastry shop that is using all of its egg whites is probably making money. I don't know if this is always true—there are many things that go into running successful businesses—but surely a business that is making efficient use of their raw materials has a big head start.

The spinach empanadas—loaded with leeks, mushrooms and goat cheese—make a satisfying and filling entrée. If you are feeling industrious, make a large batch and freeze some. They take only 5 or 10 minutes longer to bake from frozen and make a luxurious and nourishing dinner at the end of a busy day.

They also make a great appetizer for a party. Like the large ones, the miniature ones freeze beautifully. You can make a big batch, freeze them, and then have hot fresh hors d'oeuvres inside of 20 minutes for your next impromptu gathering of friends.

Spinach & Goat Cheese Empanadas

1 recipe Short Crust Pastry
2 T. unsalted butter
1 large or 2 small leeks, white & pale green parts only, halved and sliced cross-wise 1/4-inch thick (about 2 cups leeks)
3 or 4 spring onions, including a few inches of the green, trimmed and sliced (about 2/3 cup)
2 cloves garlic, minced
4 oz. bacon, cut cross-wise 1/4-inch thick
8 oz. white or brown mushrooms, halved and thinly sliced
10 oz. stemmed spinach, washed (Cook the spinach in the water clinging to the leaves in a covered pan. When the leaves have wilted, remove from the heat and cool. Squeeze out the excess liquid and roughly chop.)
1/4 c. toasted pine nuts
4 oz. goat cheese (soft or aged—as you prefer), crumbled
1 egg beaten with 1 T. water to make egg wash

Roll each round of dough into a thin round and trim to make a 7- or 8-inch round. Place the finished rounds on a parchment lined baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap and chill until ready to use.

Melt the butter in a medium-sized sauté pan with a lid (you may use the same pan in which the spinach was cooked). Add the leeks, spring onions and garlic and a generous pinch of salt. Toss to coat the leeks and spring onions in the butter. Cover and reduce the heat and cook until the leeks are tender—10 to 15 minutes. Let cool.

While the leeks cook, render the bacon over medium or medium-low heat until crisp. Transfer the bacon to paper towels. Drain all but 2 T. of fat from the pan. Increase the heat to medium high. When the pan is hot, add the mushrooms and cook until tender and browned. Season with salt and pepper and set aside to cool.

In a large bowl, combine the cooked leek mixture, bacon, mushrooms, spinach, pine nuts and goat cheese. Season to taste with salt & pepper.

Spread the rounds of dough on the work surface. Place a fourth (or sixth) of the filling on one side of each round of dough in an even thickness, leaving a one inch border. Brush the edges with egg wash, fold the dough over and seal—you may do this with a fork, or fold the edges over and crimp. Spread the empanadas on a parchment lined baking sheet and brush them with the egg wash. With a sharp knife, cut 2 or 3 vents in the top of each empanada.

Transfer to a 400° oven and bake until golden brown and crisp and a few bubbles are visible at the steam vents—about 20 to 25 minutes.  Makes 4 large or 6 medium empanadas.

Empanadas freeze very well. Spread on baking sheets and freeze. When they are hard, transfer to freezer containers or freezer bags. Bake them from frozen. If you prefer, they may also be baked and then frozen. Thaw, spread on baking sheets, in a moderate oven.

To make miniature-sized Empanadillas:

Prepare 1 1/2 times the dough recipe and form into one large disc for chilling. When ready to make the empanadas, roll out 1/4 to 1/3 of the dough on lightly floured surface to 1/8-inch thickness. Cut dough into 3-inch rounds. Place 1 rounded tablespoon of filling in the center of each round. Paint edges with egg, fold dough over filling and pinch to seal. Gather the scraps and combine them with the next piece of fresh dough, rolling out and cutting as before. Continue to roll out and cut in this manner, always incorporating some of the scraps into the fresh dough. When done, spread the empanadas on parchment lined baking sheets and brush with more egg wash. Bake at 450° until golden brown—about 12 to 15 minutes. You should have enough filling and dough for 36 small turnovers. 

Variations & Substitutions: Variations abound. Use Manchego, Gruyère or Feta Cheese. Omit the bacon and mushrooms and add olives or raisins. Add some fresh herbs. Replace the leeks and spring onions with caramelized onions.  Omit the pine nuts.

Short Crust Pastry for Empanadas

1 3/4 c. all-purpose flour (200g)
1/2 t. salt
11 T. cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces (150g)
1/4 to 1/3 c. ice water

Combine the flour and the salt in a medium-sized bowl. Rub the butter into the flour until the butter is in small pea-sized pieces. Drizzle 4 T. ice water over the flour/butter mixture. Using your hands, fluff the mixture until it begins to clump, adding more water if necessary. Turn the dough out onto a counter and form into a mound. Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps. Continue until all of the dough is flat. Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do. Divide the dough into 4 or 6 pieces and press each out into a disk. Cover and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Creamed New Potatoes and English Peas

New potatoes showed up at the farmers' market the week before last. Real new potatoes--the ones sold in the store as "new potatoes" are just miniature potatoes. True new potatoes are potatoes that have been freshly dug. Alice Waters in her vegetable book adds that they are technically immature—harvested while the potato plants still have green foliage and before the skins have hardened. You will recognize them at the market because their skin looks a bit translucent and is peeling or flaking away in spots. When you prepare them, the skins will literally come off with a little gentle rubbing.

Most of the time I am not a fan of boiled or steamed potatoes. But this is the way I like new potatoes the best. They don't fall apart when cooked this way and their hard flesh doesn't seem to absorb a lot of water. This method allows their delicate flavor to come through. Simply cooked, they are also best simply dressed—a drizzle of a fragrant olive oil, a film of melted butter or a blanket of heavy cream or crème fraiche along with a few herbs is just about perfect.

Last week the English peas arrived. English peas have a fleeting season here in the Midwest because of the early onset of summer heat. But during the short span of time that new potatoes and shelling peas are at the market at the same time, I have to prepare creamed new potatoes and peas at least once.

A preparation so ridiculously simple that it doesn't require a recipe, it is one of the finer things to sit down to in early summer. To prepare it, scrub the new potatoes well. Don't worry about the skin that remains after scrubbing—it is very tender. Place the potatoes in a saucepan and cover with water by about an inch. Salt the water. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat so that the water maintains a gentle simmer and cook until the potatoes are just tender—10 to 20 minutes, depending on the size of the potatoes. Drain the potatoes and set them aside until they are cool enough to handle.

While the potatoes cool, place the shelled peas in a sauce pan with some heavy cream and some salt. Bring the cream to a simmer and cook until the peas are tender—just a few minutes for freshly picked or market fresh peas.

If the peas are large and a little starchy, they will take longer to cook. You will need to regulate the simmer according to how long the peas will have to cook—if the peas are very tender and sweet, cook at a brisk simmer so that the cream will reduce quickly. If they are large and a bit starchy, cook at a slow, gentle simmer so that the cream will not over reduce by the time the peas are cooked. The cream should thicken just enough to coat the potatoes and peas in a fluid blanket. The starch from the potatoes will thicken the cream some more, so it's better to err on the side of under rather than over reducing the cream.

Slice (or cube) the potatoes 

and add them to the peas and cream.  Heat the potatoes through, simmering briefly if the cream needs to be reduced a bit more. Season with salt and freshly ground pepper to taste. Add some minced fresh chives if you like.

For two of us, I used 12 oz. of potatoes, 3/4 cup shelled peas and 2/3 cup heavy cream—but this was easily enough to serve three.

Creamed new potatoes and peas would be good served with just about anything, but for some reason it seems a particularly appropriate dish to serve with roast chicken. To me, new potatoes, peas, cream and chicken seem like the makings of the quintessential early summer meal on a Midwestern family farm—all readily accessible and very good with little adornment.

For our roast chicken, I roasted a large (10 to 12 oz.) single breast. I slid some thinly sliced green garlic and picked thyme under the skin

and then carefully browned it in some olive oil and butter. I finished it in a 375° oven, adding a splash of white wine to the pan about 10 minutes before it was done. The total time in the oven was about 20 to 25 minutes—but this will depend on the size of the chicken breast that you use. I like to take my chicken breasts out of the oven when an instant read thermometer reads about 155°. The temperature will easily increase to the necessary 160° as the chicken rests. The pan drippings with the addition of the resting juices made a nice sauce.  With the inclusion of some of the first ripe tomatoes of the summer, we had a perfect early summer meal.

Butter Pecan Ice Cream

There are many foods that I truly love, but ice cream is probably at the top of the list. I am almost always in the mood to eat ice cream.   If I turn down an offer of ice cream, someone should probably take my temperature. Besides the fact that there is something about ice cream that is particularly satisfying (the cold, sweet, rich, creaminess perhaps?), I am certain that part of my attachment to it is rooted in a nostalgia for summers long gone.  Ice cream conjures up hot summer nights from my childhood—riding in the back of our family station wagon, with the windows down, gobbling up the ice cream as it melted and listening to Denny Matthews calling the play by play on the car radio....truly happy memories.

Most of the time I eat premium store bought ice cream and occasionally I will make a run to a local soft serve or traditional ice cream shop to satisfy a craving. I don't usually think to make it for myself. Then, a class or a private dinner that features ice cream will come up and I will have to make a batch. I am always struck by how easy it is to make homemade ice cream—and how very good it tastes. I always wonder why I don't make it for myself more often.

In a couple of weeks I am teaching a dinner class that features Butter Pecan Ice Cream with Peaches "Foster" for dessert, so I've been making (and eating) ice cream this week. Not only did I end up with what I think is the best butter pecan ice cream I have ever had, but I learned some interesting things in the process.

Butter pecan ice cream has a characteristic flavor that is recognizable as "Butter Pecan" to anyone who has ever tasted it. After examining several different recipes, it seems to me that there are four essential things that make up butter pecan's flavor profile. These are: pecans, butter (preferably browned), brown sugar and salt.

The addition of the pecans is obvious. I suppose that the butter should have been too, but for some reason it never occurred to me that there would be actual butter in the ice cream. As I mentioned, the flavor is best if the butter has been browned. Butter is made up of butter fat, milk solids and water. When butter is "browned" it is melted and brought to a simmer. As it simmers, the water percolates off and only the fat and milk solids remain. As the butter continues to cook, the milk solids begin to brown. The cooking process should be stopped before the milk solids blacken and burn. Browned butter has a rich, nutty flavor and aroma which provide a nice accent for the flavor of the pecans.

To incorporate the butter flavor into the ice cream, most recipes that I came across simply tossed the pecans with a small amount of melted butter and left it at that. I found a recipe at Simply Recipes that adds butter that has been browned to the ice cream base—but the pecans themselves are only optionally coated with butter. Another recipe that I found directs the cook to toast the nuts in melted butter (giving you actual "buttered pecans") but then inexplicably strains off the resulting pecan flavored butter, calling for it to be "reserved for another use."

To get the maximum amount of buttered pecan flavor, I combined these two ideas—I browned the butter and then added the pecans to it to let them infuse the butter with their flavor. 

Since the pecans themselves are only added to the ice cream at the end of the churning process, I then strained out and reserved the pecans and added the pecan flavored, browned butter to my custard base. Since fat carries flavor, this results in a richer pecan flavor that permeates the ice cream.

As for the use of brown sugar and a generous amount of salt, their addition gives a slight butterscotch-y note that is a hallmark of Butter Pecan. One warning about the use of brown sugar: Typically an ice cream recipe directs you to add half the sugar to the yolks and half to the milk and to then bring the milk/sugar mixture to a boil. You'll notice that in my recipe, all of the brown sugar is added to the egg yolks. The reason for this is that brown sugar contains molasses, which are acidic. When an acidic ingredient is added to milk and the milk is heated, as it nears the boil it curdles. This is actually a rough description of how the cheese making process starts. Since I was thinking about ice cream and not cheese making, I followed my usual method (just described) for my first batch. I was pretty dismayed when the milk curdled.

I departed from standard Butter Pecan ice cream by substituting honey for some of the brown sugar. This is just my own personal preference—it's not traditional. I think the addition of honey gives a better texture and a better flavor and I frequently use part honey when I make ice cream.

I haven't fleshed out the "Peaches Foster" portion of my recipe yet (so I can't include it in this post), but a simple dish of the butter pecan ice cream on its own made a fine finish to a warm June evening.

Butter Pecan Ice Cream

4 T. unsalted butter
3/4 c. (3 oz.) pecan pieces, lightly toasted and cooled
1/4 t. salt
1 1/4 c. whole milk
6 egg yolks
1/2 c. golden brown sugar
1 1/2 c. cold heavy cream
1/4 c. (3 oz.) honey, warmed slightly if not pourable (I use raw honey)
1 t. vanilla

Melt the butter in a small, wide sauté pan set over medium heat. As the butter begins to sputter and pop, whisk occasionally. The butter solids will begin to turn brown. When the solids are golden brown and the butter has a pleasantly nutty aroma add the pecans and stir to coat. Continue to stir and cook until the nutty aroma smells distinctly of pecans—2 to 3 minutes. Do not let the butter burn!—it will continue to darken to a deeper brown, but if it appears to be darkening too much, remove the pan from the heat and continue to stir. Strain the butter into a heat proof dish and set aside. Toss the nuts with the salt and let them cool. Chill the nuts. Before adding the nuts to the ice cream, chop medium fine.

Place the milk in a medium-sized saucepan. Bring to a simmer. While the milk is heating, briefly whisk the egg yolks with the brown sugar until smooth. Add the hot butter to the egg-sugar mixture in a thin stream, whisking constantly—be sure and get all of the browned bits.

When the milk simmers, temper the egg yolks by gradually whisking in about 1/2 to 3/4 c. of the hot milk. Stir the tempered egg mixture back into the saucepan and place the pan over medium heat. Cook, stirring constantly, until the custard begins to thicken and a path forms when you draw your finger across the custard-coated back side of the spoon—an instant-read thermometer will read about 175°. Immediately strain the custard over the cold cream in a chilled bowl. Stir in the honey and the vanilla. Place the custard in the refrigerator and chill until cold. (To speed up the chilling process, place the bowl of custard in an ice bath and chill, stirring occasionally.)

Freeze the ice cream in an ice cream machine according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Add the buttered pecans to the ice cream during the last few moments of churning. Transfer the ice cream to a chilled freezer container and freeze for at least an hour or two before serving. Makes 1 quart ice cream.

Variation: Substitute maple syrup for the honey to make "Maple Butter Pecan".

Printable Version

The First Zucchini of Summer in Deborah Madison's Penne Pasta with Green & Gold Zucchini and Ricotta

One of the things I look forward to the most at the Farmers' market in the summer is Thane Palmberg's summer squash. It's beautiful. He grows and sells green and gold zucchini and a wide variety of patty pan-type squash. But the fact that he grows a wide variety is not what makes his squash extraordinary. Rather, it is the size. All of his squash are harvested while they are very small—zucchini about the size of my little finger up to squashes weighing maybe 3 or 4 ounces at the most. The patty pan squash that he sells is similarly small. Because summer squash is notorious for growing fast enough to produce baseball bat-sized specimens seemingly overnight, I know this means that his squash vines are tended with care and regularity. The care that goes into growing these beauties is also evident by the fact that they arrive at the market in pristine and unblemished condition (summer squash bruises easily).

In addition to being beautiful, these squash are delicious. Since they are harvested small, their seed cavities are barely beginning to develop and their flesh is still fine-grained and firm. I am always looking for ways to use this exceptional squash—it can be roasted, steamed, blanched, baked in a gratin, added to summer stews (ratatouille!) or sautéed. The 3 or 4 oz. ones can be stuffed. I ran across a recipe for the classic Petit Farcis à la Provençale recently at Tartelette—definitely on my list to try out this summer.

I think summer squash is particularly good sautéed. The light caramelization produced by properly sautéing accentuates the squash's natural nutty character. It is difficult to obtain this golden color with larger squash because the flesh tends to be soft and watery. As it cooks it gives off excessive amounts of water which inhibits browning.  Since the flesh is softer and more porous to begin with, it cooks quickly.  Unless you are fairly skilled with a sauté pan you end up with overcooked, pale squash. Zucchini that has been cooked to sogginess in this way is one of the reasons more people don't like zucchini.

I am teaching a class next week about using the products that appear at the farmers' markets in the Midwest in early summer. One of the recipes that I will be teaching is a delicious pasta from Deborah Madison's Local Flavors. It is basically a dish of seasoned, sautéed squash that is tossed with penne pasta. I almost never teach a recipe that I haven't changed in some way, but this one will be taught as published—it is very good. Without the pasta and cheese, it would make an excellent summer side dish.

When I arrived at the market last Saturday, the first baby zucchinis of the year had arrived. This pasta dish was a perfect showcase for them. Be sure to add the herbs and garlic to this dish—they really compliment the squash. I'm normally not a huge fan of marjoram—it can be almost perfume-y—but its aromatic quality is perfect with the squash. Basil is a good second choice. If you don't have any basil, thyme is also excellent with summer squash.

One last note: the way the ricotta is added to this pasta is a genius touch. If you have ever stirred ricotta cheese into a pasta, you know that it can create a thick, stodgy mass in short order. By simply spreading dollops of the room temperature ricotta over the finished pasta and serving family-style out of the sauté pan, the ricotta is blended into the dish just enough as people scoop out their individual servings.

Penne with Green & Gold Zucchini and Ricotta

1 c. whole milk ricotta (about 8 oz.)

2 lbs. small zucchini, mixed green & yellow

2 to 3 T. olive oil

3 cloves garlic, minced

3 T. mince marjoram or basil

Salt & Pepper

1 lb. penne pasta

Freshly grated Parmesan or Pecorino

Remove the ricotta from the refrigerator and spoon it onto a plate so that it will warm to room temperature.

Slice the zucchini on the diagonal a scant 1/2-inch thick, then slice into strips so that each piece resembles the quill shape of the pasta. (Since the squash that I purchased were very small, I simply halved them lengthwise.)

Set a large sauté pan over medium-high heat. When the pan is hot, add the oil. Add the zucchini and sauté until golden—about 5 minutes. The squash should be pleasantly al dente—definitely not mushy. If necessary, increase the heat to high to keep the squash from steaming.

When the squash is done, add the garlic and herbs and toss to combine. Remove from the heat. Season well with salt and pepper.

Drop the pasta into 6 quarts of rapidly boiling water seasoned with about 2 Tablespoons of salt. Stir to make sure the penne isn't sticking to the bottom of the pan. Cook until the pasta is al dente. Drain, reserving some of the cooking liquid. Add the penne to the pan of cooked squash. Toss, taste and season with salt and pepper if necessary. If the pasta seems dry, add a little of the pasta water. If desired, finish with a little bit more olive oil.

Dollop spoonfuls of the ricotta over the surface of the squash and pasta. Scatter the Parmesan over the top and serve from the pan. (Do not stir the ricotta in.) Serves 6.

(Recipe from Local Flavors by Deborah Madison)

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