Breakfast from Portland Farmers Market

4 Jul

I would generally consider it quite inelegant to toot one’s horn so very mightily about one’s own recipe, but, and you must trust me on this one, this exception I am about to make is completely, totally worth it because, as I toot my horn, you will be introduced to what I now consider my greatest achievement in on-the-fly recipe creation, thus making you privy to all the details that would render it possible for you to make and eat this dish yourself, which, though you may not yet know it, I can assure you that you really, really want to.

Last week, as part of my twice-monthly writing assignment for Portland Farmers Market, I took my personally allotted $10 of spending money and I bought this:

Then I did this:

 And this:

Followed by this:

And then, after more chopping and mixing, I proceeded to cook everything and ended up with this:

Now, here is where the loud tooting of the horn comes in, but do you see that vegetable frittata?  It was quite good.  Okay, now do you see that thing next to the frittata?  The bread pudding made with fresh rhubarb?  It was unbelievable.  No, really.  Not one to ever turn down rhubarb, I knew I would enjoy a concoction that came about by topping a simple bread pudding with chopped up, sweetened rhubarb, but I did not realize just how fantastically the rhubarb would flavor the body of the pudding.

I am aware of the fact that, as the person who made up the recipe, I really should have a better idea of what makes it tick, but, I have to admit, I can only venture a guess as to what made this bread pudding so incredibly, intensely flavorful.  The secret may lie in what I did to the rhubarb before I spread it on top of the bread.  By allowing the rhubarb to macerate in a mixture of dark brown sugar and regular sugar for just a few minutes, the liquid that is released from the rhubarb intermingles with the sugars and starts to form a thick and luscious syrup.  Then, when the rhubarb and sugar mixture gets baked on top of the bread mixture, everything begins to caramelize together and melt into an absolutely ambrosial mixture of rich, custardy bread nestled against fragrant and velvety rhubarb.

With each bite, you get a hit of tartly sweet rhubarb, comforting bread custard, and an almost dainty and aromatic swipe of bourbon-flavored caramel.  The recipe contains no bourbon, but I suspect that when the mixture of vanilla, dark brown sugar, and the rhubarb liquid  came together, they somehow magically transformed themselves into bourbon-flavored caramel.  Or, at least, I am guessing that is what happened.  Perhaps when I make this bread pudding again (and, oh, how I cannot wait to make it again), I will further test the results of the mixture and then get back to you about it.  Or, better yet, you should just make this bread pudding yourself and discover first hand its charms and delights.  No, really.  Both my horn and I are insisting upon it.

This recipe, as I mentioned previously, was something I developed for Portland Farmers Market.  If you wish, you can read a bit more about it and its accompaniments (and get recipes for both) over here, on the Portland Farmers Market website.  However, as a service to deliciousness, I am also going to publish the rhubarb bread pudding recipe below, because heaven forbid I keep anyone from it any longer than I have to.

Rhubarb Bread Pudding

1 baguette

1 pound rhubarb, washed and trimmed of any hard, fibrous ends

¾ cup white sugar

¼ cup dark brown sugar

1 ½ cups milk

2 large eggs

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

pinch salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Lightly butter a medium-sized baking dish and set aside.

Slice rhubarb into ½ inch chunks.  In a medium bowl, combine rhubarb, white sugar, and brown sugar.  Stir to combine, then set aside for 15 minutes to allow the rhubarb to macerate and release some of its juices.

Meantime, slice baguette into thick slices, then tear each slice into large bite-sized chunks.  You will need 5 cups total of bread chunks.  If you have any baguette remaining (as I did), set aside for another purpose.  Place bread chunks in pre-buttered baking dish.

In a medium-sized bowl, combine milk, eggs, vanilla, and pinch of salt.  Whisk vigorously until the eggs are entirely incorporated.  Pour milk mixture over bread chunks and allow to soak for 10 minutes, tipping the dish every few minutes and spooning excess liquid over the bread to make sure bread is completely soaked.

Evenly pour the rhubarb mixture over the top of the soaked bread.  Be sure to include all the liquid released from the rhubarb.  Do not mix.  Cover tightly with foil and bake for 35 minutes, until bread is puffed, the custard has been mostly absorbed, and the rhubarb has softened.  Remove foil and bake for an additional 15 minutes, until a few edges of the exposed bread begin to turn golden and crisp.

Cool slightly before eating.  Serves 6-8 people.

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Lemon Cream and Strawberry Trifle

30 Jun

Summer fruit in this area of the country is a long time coming.  Sure, we’ve had rhubarb for a few weeks now, but can rhubarb, in all its puckery a tart glory, really be counted as a summer fruit?  If you toss rhubarb with a lot of sugar, it can do some mighty fine things, but, straight from the ground, eating it is going to cause you some serious malcontent.  With those parameters in mind, I am sorry to say that I just don’t think rhubarb is going to make the cut.  So what do we do here in Portland when we want to eat our first local summer fruit?  We wait for the strawberries.

It’s been a cold, wet, and (let’s be honest) semi-miserable spring and summer, but our fortitude seems to have paid off.  Fresh strawberries began to show up at the farmers market just a few short weeks ago and, just last week, strawberries made their arrival in our home garden.  Despite the slow start our garden suffered in its beginning stages, a very short burst of warm weather seems to have coaxed some of our fruit into vibrant life, rewarding us with, upon our first harvest, 3 pounds of strawberries.  Not a typo.  3 pounds.

And then, four days later, we harvested another 3 pounds.  Two days after that came another 2 pounds.  We are swimming in sweet, juicy berries, and I could not be happier.

There have been strawberries in our granola, strawberries in our yogurt, strawberries straight from the plant, strawberries on leftover biscuits, and, in what I now realize I subconsciously created as a bit of a strawberry coming out celebration after we harvested our first basket of berries, this astonishingly good strawberry and lemon cream trifle, which, besides tasting somewhat like a heavenly dream, also happens to look quite like one.

Until it comes time to serve it, that is.  Upon being released from its pristine confines, this wonderful dessert morphs into a sloppy, goopy mess that, were one determining dessert worthiness purely by looks alone, certainly would not be in the running to win any beauty pageants.

But, if we are to continue with this pageant metaphor, let us all remember that true beauty is not represented by what one sees on the outside, but rather what one possess on the inside, which in this case happens to be fresh garden strawberries, lush lemon cream, and soft peaks of whipped cream, all nestled in between layers of a delectable semolina cake that, unlike the cake layers in many a trifle I have eaten, will not succumb to a soggy and spongy fate when inundated with a veritable flood of delicious creams.  Combine those virtues, and you’ve got what I consider to be a dessert that qualifies as a true and deserving winner.

Strawberry and Lemon Cream Trifle

Orange Semolina Cake

If you want to go all lemon with this trifle, you can certainly swap out freshly squeezed lemon juice for the orange juice, though I find that the subtle orange flavor of this cake is a welcome addition to the overall composition of the trifle. (I previously wrote about this cake recipe here.)

2/3 cup all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

2 cups fine semolina

¾ cup sugar

2 tablespoons grated orange zest

4 eggs, separated

¼ cup olive oil

¼ cup vegetable oil

½ cup orange juice

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.

Grease and flour an 8” x 8” square cake pan.  Place flour, baking powder, and semolina in a bowl and mix to combine.  Combine sugar and orange zest in the bowl of a food processor or in a blender, and pulse to combine thoroughly.  Place egg yolks, orange-sugar mixture, and oils in a bowl and beat until well combined.  Fold egg yolk mixture into flour mixture with orange juice.

Place egg whites in a bowl and beat until soft peaks form.  Fold egg whites into flour and egg yolk mixture and pour into prepared pan.  Bake in preheated oven for 25-30 minutes, or until cake is lightly browned on top and a wooden skewer inserted into center of cake comes out clean.  Cool cake in pan for ten minutes, then release onto a wire rack to cool completely.

Lemon Cream

Adapted from Tartine

½ cup plus 2 tablespoons (5 ounces) of freshly squeezed lemon juice

3 whole large eggs

1 large egg yolk

¾ cup (6 ounces) sugar

pinch of salt

½ cup (4 ounces or 1 stick) cool unsalted butter, cut into 1 tablespoon pieces

Bring about 2 inches of water to a simmer in a saucepan set over medium heat.  In a non-reactive bowl that is able to rest securely in the rim of the saucepan without touching the water, combine lemon juice, whole eggs, egg yolk, sugar, and salt.  Whisk the ingredients together.  Do not allow the egg yolks and sugar sit together without being stirred constantly, as the sugar will react with the eggs and turn them granular.  Place the bowl over the saucepan of simmering water and continue to whisk for around 10-12 minutes, until the mixture thickens considerably and reaches a temperature of 180 degrees F.  Remove the bowl from above the water and allow the mixture to cool to 140 degrees F.  Stir from time to time to help the mixture cool and release its heat.

When the cream has reached 140 degrees, pour it into a blender, or leave it in the bowl if you will be using an immersion blender to mix the lemon cream.  Add the butter to the lemon cream, 1 tablespoon at a time, blending the mixture continuously until each piece of butter is completely incorporated before you add the next one.  The cream will be pale yellow and quite thick.

The lemon cream can be used immediately, or it can be made ahead and kept in the refrigerator, tightly sealed, for up to 5 days.  Makes about 2 cups of lemon cream.

Whipped Cream

1 cup (8 ounces) heavy whipping cream

½ teaspoon sugar

¼ teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Combine whipping cream, sugar, and vanilla in a medium bowl.  Using an electric mixer, whip on low speed until sugar and vanilla have dissolved.  Increase mixer speed to high, and whip until cream forms soft peaks.

Assemble the Trifle

You will need 1 pound of strawberries, each berry hulled and sliced in half from top to bottom.

When cake has cooled, cut it in half so you have two pieces that measure 8” x 4.”  You will only need half of the cake, so tightly wrap the unused half and store it for later use or enjoyment.  Then cut the remaining 8” x 4” piece in half horizontally, separating the top from the bottom.

Line the bottom of a trifle dish, or a similarly-sized glass bowl with a flat bottom (I used a 1.75 quart Pyrex storage dish, and found that I could have benefited from a dish that was taller and allowed for a bit more security of the top layers) with 1/3 of the cake layers, cutting the cake into strips and pieces as needed to fill in as much of the bottom space as possible.  Spoon 1/3 of the lemon cream mixture on top of the cake layer.  Spoon 1/3 of the strawberries on top of the lemon cream.  Spoon 1/3 of the whipped cream on top of the strawberries.  Repeat layering process one more time.  When you get to the third layer, deviate slightly from the layering order by first making a cake layer, followed by a lemon cream layer, then a whipped cream layer, then a strawberry layer.  Laying the strawberries on top of the cake, rather than under a layer of whipped cream, simply looks prettier.

Chill the trifle well before serving.  Trifle can be made ahead and left to wait in the refrigerator, fully assembled, for up to 1 day.

This trifle should serve at least 10 people very generously.  I’d tell you how long leftovers can last in the refrigerator, but ours was completely demolished within 2 days, leaving me to only guess as to how long it could last past that.  I’d say no longer than 3 or 4 days, but I’ll bet yours will be gone long before that as well.

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Mango and Avocado Salsa

27 Jun

As the weather finally warms, I am growing ever more excited for the arrival of one of my most treasured summertime traditions: the non meal-meal.  The non meal-meal is exactly what you might ascertain it would be, given its name.  It is a meal that is comprised of many different things that do not, on their own, constitute a meal.  The non meal-meal can be anything one wants it to be, really.  It can be a handful of nuts, an apple, and half of a leftover biscuit.  It can be a log of string cheese and some crackers slathered with almond butter.  Sometimes, when no one is around to express displeasure at my oftentimes rather questionable eating habits, it can be a single bite taken from each container in the refrigerator that holds leftovers from throughout the week.

I’d like to blame my propensity for eating non meal-meals on a lack of food preparation motivation when the warm weather arrives, but, to be quite honest, I don’t really have an excuse for eating that way, so much as I just have an outright confession: I like to eat that way.  My favorite type of meal involves many small bites of many different things (hello, tapas), so grazing my way through the fridge and pantry is a pleasant and long held tradition of mine.

Occasionally, however, I will take this buffet approach of mine and apply it to an actual meal that needs to be, albeit very simply, prepared.  I’ll toss leftover roasted vegetables on some salad greens and sit down for a lunch that involves actual silverware, or, if I feel it must be done, I’ll briefly peel and chop a few items and then combine them into something that resembles an actual dish.

I’d like to tell you all that after I took the time to put this salsa together, I made sure to set some aside for the other people in the house who I am sure would have loved it.  But I did not.  Upon sampling a taste of this creamy, spicy, and sweet concoction, I immediately hoovered down the entire bowl, first with the aid of some tortilla chips, but then, realizing that the chips were merely a cumbersome vessel getting in the way of me and the salsa, I ditched the chips and proceeded to attack the salsa while armed with nothing more than a very large spoon.  Am I ashamed?  Absolutely not.  This salsa, filled with fresh fruit and invigorated by a kick of jalapeno, is nothing short of delightful, and nothing less than vigorously healthful.  Devoid of chips, you can make this salsa and call it a salad, then eat it on a bed of greens (or not) and call it lunch.  Or, if you are me, you can eat it any way you wish and just call it delicious.

Mango and Avocado Salsa

1 large mango, peeled and sliced into small chunks

1 large avocado, peeled and sliced into small chunks

juice of 1 lime

1 jalapeno pepper, chopped finely, seeds and white inner ribs removed and set aside

4 tablespoons of finely chopped red onion

2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro

1/4 teaspoon salt

In a small bowl, combine all of the ingredients.  Toss thoroughly with a spoon, then taste for seasoning.  If you want to add more heat to the salsa, add a small amount of the reserved jalapeno seeds, toss again, and taste.  Continue in this fashion until you have reached the spiciness you desire.

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