Something Guilt Born

Sometimes the memory of something baked, broiled or sautéed will induce languid thoughts into poetic labor. And for some reason, when I lay in hot water—literally, although I wouldn’t put it past my psyche to try it metaphorically—the provocation is almost certain. And so there I was, all stretched out corpse-like, when my eye caught the glimmer…

Glancing through low light, gleaming inside a green-tiled room, shone the cranberry colored rubies gathered in a bunch at the end of an intricate gold chain, bound to resemble the shape of a DNA code. They were there, carelessly yet deftly laid on the counter, dangerously nearing the soft slope of bathroom tile ledge. It would be a long fall for those jewels, clustered like grapes and dangling like a carefree child on the jungle gym—like a child who hasn’t yet fallen or who has learned that some fun is worth the underlying painful risk.

Like moving brashly. Like deciding strong-heartedly before completely thinking an action through. Like some things which in some instances might trigger self-reproach. But really, if you think more about it, who needs to fill hours in an already too-full day with lamenting deft acts? There is nothing wrong with living wildly now and then. I like to imagine Edie Sedgewick running “naked as a lima bean” for two blocks down New York’s concrete sidewalks before her friends catch up with her. Or of Margaret Mead’s wise words:

“We are continually faced with great opportunities which are brilliantly disguised as unsolvable problems.”

That said, my baking of this morning cake was guilt-born. Grabbing somewhat brashly the entire plastic sack of cranberries from the office kitchen, I realized instantly I would have to share the wealth via some tasty transformation of said ruby-like orbs, turning their bitter bite into the sweet burst of divinity that sugar does impart. I like this cake in the winter for many reasons, but perhaps my favorite is the way the batter, creamy beige, insulates the berries like a down comforter does in the dead of winter. I’ll take all opportunities to return to such a visual come mid-day tea or sunrise act of sustenance.

Tasted over already-finished coffee at Stumptown while late for work, lamenting the absence of a cinematic morning-date, scurrying to find an unoccupied computer that could actually give me the power of instant press, and finally deciding to stand up technology {since I, as it turns out, wasn’t—stood up that is} to write a note by hand introducing the once-raw cranberries to the office in their updated garb—no matter the journeyed circumstance, the cake still elicited the response, “Veronica, this coffeecake is too good.” And, in total agreement, I’ll leave it at that.


Cranberry Coffeecake
From Rustic Fruit Deserts from the lovely lady behind Baker and Spice

For the Coffeecake:

Butter for greasing pan
1 ¾ cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon sea salt
½ cup unsalted butter
¾ cup granulated sugar
Zest of an orange
2 eggs
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
½ cup sour cream
2 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

For the Vanilla Crumb:

1 cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup granulated sugar
¼ cup packed brown sugar
¼ cup sea salt
½ cup cold unsalted butter
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract

First, make the Vanilla Crumb.

In a food processor, combine the dry ingredients and butter, pulsing until coarse crumbs form. Pour vanilla over the crumb mixture and pulse just a few times to combine. Transfer crumb topping to a bowl and refrigerate until ready to use. This mixture can also be frozen.

Next, make the cake.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees and butter a 9-inch square baking pan.

Combine the dry ingredients in a small bowl and set aside.
Cream the butter, sugar and zest together until fluffy and lightened in color, about four minutes.
Next add the eggs one at a time, making sure to scrape the sides of the bowl after each addition.
Stir in the vanilla.
In three additions, add the flour and stir just until combined, alternating with the sour cream in two additions. Begin with the flour, end with the flour.
Fold one cup of your cranberries.

Spread the batter into the greased pan and sprinkle the remaining cup of cranberries on top.
Retrieve the crumb topping and, breaking apart the mass of crumb, distribute evenly over the cranberries.
Bake the coffeecake for about 45 minutes, or until sides are lightly golden and the top is firm.

Store the cooled cake at room temperature for about three days, wrapped in plastic. After three days, transfer to the refrigerator.

An Unlikely Introduction

To be remembered, you must make it so. At a party, when introducing yourself, just giving a name won’t cut it. Attached to the name must be a story, something memorable, a play on words or a twist of phrase. So goes the advice a communications professor suggested to her class years ago, a bit of detail never to grow stale or be forgotten, although it might need to be dusted off from time to time, having spent too many months untouched in the back of the mind’s cupboard behind jars of brighter, newly opened delectables. Easy to incorporate into any dish, easy to digest. Which isn’t to say that jar gathering dust is difficult to swallow. Not in the least. It’s just easier to grab something closer, to avert the hand at the last minute and avoid the new face necessitating the storied introduction. Even if it might taste really, really good. Even if might awaken, if it might demand.

I like to visualize the act of memory-making as the first steps in creating the world you inhabit, in suggesting all that fine film of perception that surrounds a Self. This introduction is the entry point for the Other. Some common ground where neither extreme of oneself is revealed just yet, rather, an entryway is presented where seven halls beckon to be wandered, doors to be used as hiding places, windows to be peered through. And I like to think that if it were to have a taste—the whole kitten concept—it would hit the spot where savory turns to sweet, gooey to crusty, blackened to golden to honey-colored. It would taste like apple pie with cheddar crust.
So hello, welcome. Please explore our hallways, use our windows as a lens through which to see your own landscape, take comfort behind the doors standing ajar and don’t hesitate to open closed ones. From the Intemperies raging outside to the one’s baking in the oven to those bubbling on the stovetop, take a seat and take a breath and take a bite.

With Jane, who might take a seat among the loveliest of ladies—and a spot in my heart as dear friend—I take credit for what follows in this space. Look to her definition of Intemperies, which reminds me that even without all the exotic spices, the sumptuous linens and the gilded teacups to hold that silken crème, life right now can be just as rich as life over in dark Parisian corners or bluish Scandinavian mornings, fluid Florentine museums or writhing Bombay avenues.

But for now, some aged white cheddar and slippery, un-spiced apples to entice that ephemera from where it sleeps on blustery November nights.

Apple Pie with White Cheddar Crust

From Gourmet, September 2009

For the crust:

2 ½ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
½ {2 1/2 cups} lb extra-sharp white cheddar, coarsely grated
1 stick cold unsalted butter, cut into ½ -inch pieces
¼ cup cold vegetable shortening, cut into ½ -inch pieces
6 to 8 tablespoons ice water
1 tablespoon milk

For the Apples:

1 ½ lb Gala apples {3 medium}
1 ½ lb Granny Smith apples {3 medium}
2/3 cup sugar
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
¼ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon cold unsalted butter, cut into bits

Equipment: 9-inch pie plate

Make the crust:

Toss flour, salt and cheese in a large bowl or pulse in a food processor. Blend in butter and shortening with a pastry blender, processor or fingers. Stop when you have pea-sized lumps. Drizzle 6 Tbsp water over the flour mixture and toss lightly to combine and dampen mixture.

If dough doesn't hold together at this time, add 1 Tbsp of water at a time. Do not overwork.

Divide dough in half, making two disks and wrapping them in plastic wrap, and refrigerate until firm, about 1 hour.

Make the filling:

Preheat oven to 450 degrees and place a foil-lined baking sheet under rack where pie will rest.

Peel and core apples, slicing them about 1/4 in thick. Toss well with the sugar, flour, lemon juice and salt.

Roll out one piece of dough into a 13-inch round on a lightly floured surface. Fit into the pie plate and roll the remaining dough into an 11-inch round. Pour the apple filling into the pie shell and dot with butter. Cover with the second pastry and trim edges leaving a bit of dough to pinch together all around the circumference. Brush top crust lightly with milk and cut 5, one inch long vents.

Bake on the foil-lined sheet for 20 minutes. Reduce oven temperature to 375 degrees and bake for another 40 minutes, until the crust is golden and filling is bubbling. Cool 2-3 hours before serving.

It's lovely with a scoop of vanilla ice-cream, which cuts the cheddar with a cooling sweet.