With real buttercream frosting, that is. Piped and spread by yours truly. And made with the queen of lemons, the Meyer Lemon. Meyer lemons taste like a subtle cross between an orange and a lemon - not as sweet as an orange, not as sour as a regular lemon, but full of flavor none-the-less. I have an infinite weakness for any recipe that includes a meyer lemon in it, and when I saw a recipe for Meyer Lemon Cake on the front of Martha Stewart's Living Magazine while in the Orlando airport, I snatched it up.

I first met Meyer lemons last year, courtesty of a killer recipe for Meyer Lemon and Vanilla Bean Marmalade that I'll have to post at some point, and the affair has commenced and continued as I have waited patiently all year for them to come into season once again. Shauna's recipe for Meyer lemon sorbet is also in the "to be made" pile...perhaps even as the christening for my Kitchenaid ice cream maker attachment, which I have yet to use (somehow, winter rain just doesn't scream out "ICE CREAM" to me, but sorbet sounds quite pleasant, even this time of year).

Let me describe the cake to you: Pull off one of the beautiful candied Meyer lemons topping the cake. Dig your fork into the golden-hued, pillowy swiss meringue buttercream frosting to find four soft and moist layers of butter cake delicately flavored with Meyer lemon zest. Each layer is sandwiched with dense, rich, and tangy Meyer lemon curd and covered with a modest dousing of Meyer lemon simple syrup = Pure lemony bliss.


One fair warning: Do not make this entire cake for yourself, unless you want to have a heart attack and die on the floor in sugary, buttery bliss. It has over 2 lbs. of butter between all the components! And I also used up almost an entire 5 lb. bag of sugar! And that's only for the 8" tier (serves 12-15), which is all I attempted! Good thing I made it for my book club - and I'll never tell them how much of either ingredient went into it...I'm praying there won't be any leftovers, because this recipe does NOT fit into my "healthy eating" resolutions. But I only had one peice, I promise (Okay, maybe 2, but not in the same day)! However, it does make a very impressive presentation, especially if no one has ever seen you make a cake before...minus, of course, the few things that didn't end up looking like I had planned (the leaves did not 'sugar' well, the candied lemons are pretty lopsided, and I couldn't get the cake squared, so next time I'll cut around the edges, not just the top, and refrigerated frosting = cottage cheese until you warm it up and beat it thoroughly. I also had some help putting it together from our temporary roommate, so I didn't get to do things exactly like I wanted to, but I'm still proud of how it turned out anyway).

It was definitely good practice. I'm swiftly finding I have a love of baking and a pure fascination with the art of decorating cakes. Chandra, at Lick the Spoon, has been a great inspiration, and I feel it's a perfect way to use that artistic side of my brain that sits feeling useless in the non-science part of my brain most of the time...combining my itch to be artistic with my love of food...what could be more perfect? Loving Boyfriend also surprised me with cake decorating lessons and a kit full of over a hundred decorating tools for Christmas (Awwwww)...so there will definitely be more in the future. As I've said, this one is certainly far from perfect (how do they get that perfect square shape???!), as I still have so much to learn, but it was my first, and I had a great time!


The cake recipe is posted below, because it's tasty enough to eat alone, and not horribly bad for you, if eaten in very small quantities. The whole cake as is is pretty labor intensive, but if anyone wants the rest of it (remember: tasty HEART ATTACK!!), here's a link to the recipes for the lemon curd, lemon simple syrup, candied lemons and the buttercream frosting recipe, as well as the cake assembly. My biggest complaint was the that frosting was a bit too buttery - if that's possible, because it didn't really taste like frosting, it tasted like colored butter! But I also had help with making the frosting from one of my roommates (she actually made it), so I'm not sure if it was made perfectly according to the recipe...that will have to be something I check another time. Bon appetit!

Meyer Lemon Cake, from Martha Stewart Living
Makes 8 cups batter

1 1/2 cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, softened, plus more for pans
3 cups cake flour (not self-rising), plus more for pans
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 cups sugar
4 large egg yolks, plus 8 large egg whites
2 teaspoons Meyer lemon zest
3/4 cup whole milk

1. Preheat oven to 350°. Butter two 8" cake pans. Line bottoms with parchment paper. Butter parchment, and dust with flour, tapping out excess; set aside. Sift together flour, baking powder, and 1/2 teaspoon salt into a medium bowl; set aside.

2. Put butter and 2 cups sugar into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment; mix on medium-high speed until pale and fluffy, about 5 minutes. Mix in egg yolks, 1 at a time, and zest. Reduce speed to low. Add flour mixture in 3 batches, alternating with milk. Transfer batter to a large bowl.

3. Put egg whites into the clean bowl of the electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment; beat on medium-high speed until foamy. Add a pinch of salt; beat until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining 1/4 cup sugar; beat until stiff peaks form.

4. Fold one-third of the egg-white mixture into batter with a rubber spatula. Gently fold in remaining egg-white mixture until just combined; do not overmix.

5. Divide batter among prepared pans. Bake until cake is golden and a cake tester inserted into center comes out clean (about 45 minutes). Transfer to a wire rack; let cool slightly, about 20 minutes. Invert onto rack. Remove parchment; reinvert. Let cool completely. Cakes can be refrigerated, wrapped in plastic, up to 1 day.

... por aqui las recetas cambian segun la región del país. En el norte yo se que usa grasa de vaca tanto para el relleno como para la masa y la fritura. Hay lugares donde como hace mucho frío, les ponen pedacitos de papas para conservar la temperatura, hay otras que son famosas porque se comen con la "cola para afuera" (agachado hacia adelante) porque tienen mucho jugo y manchan la ropa.
Todas las empanadas tradicionales se hacen con carne, es también tradicional, y muy apreciado, cortar la carne a cuchillo en vez de molerla y cada uno tiene su receta. Aquí va la mía que es rica y suave:
Por cada kilo de carne, medio de cebolla y dos o tres puerros (ajos porros por allí, creo) pongo primero a dorar la cebolla, luego agrego el puerro y por último la carne. Cuando está cocida pero no del todo, la saco del fuego, las condimento con ajo y orégano o tomillo (segun el día y lo que haya) lo dejo enfriar casi por completo y armo las empanadas.
Las cocino al horno.
En los últimos años han aparecido mil versiones de empanadas, cuando se puso de moda el delivery lo primero que traían eran empanadas y helados. Hay muchas casas de venta y envío de empanadas, hasta cadenas que franquician como McDonals: ahora hay de jamón y queso, de cebolla y queso, de tomate y albahaca, de roquefort, de panceta (tocineta?) y ciruelas, de pollo, de humita y asi hasta el infinito...
(Gracias prima!!!)

Lately, I’ve been thinking about all that processed food I ate as a kid. TV dinners, bad candy bars, Oscar Mayer meat packs, Jolly Green Giant green beans from a can: everything came labeled and stuffed full of preservatives. It was the 1970s, the 1980s. The television told us what to eat, and we paid attention. We all ate like that-- with the exception of a few strange friends of mine whose mothers actually made their food from scratch. (And now, I envy them, but they mostly say they felt bad they couldn’t have the food on the commercials between Saturday morning cartoons.) It’s amazing to me now, but that was the food supply of my childhood. Iceberg lettuce, ranch dressing, Wesson oil, and anything vacuum-packed.

Thank goodness our food supply has broadened to include the rest of the world. And now, we’re starting to tilt back toward the old ways, making our food from fresh ingredients and what’s seasonal. Not everything comes in a package. And we all cook with olive oil, now. (But me? I didn’t even hear of olive oil until I was in college. What a travesty.)

And of course, almost all the packaged foods I ate as a kid were filled with gluten.

I don’t miss it. I’ve lost my taste for enriched white flour, everything stuffed with sugar, and anything wrapped in plastic. Before my celiac diagnosis, I never knew what good felt like. Now that I know that my enervation and headaches are directly related to the evil gluten, I’ve lost my taste for it.

Except, a couple of days ago, I started missing Fig Newtons.

I don’t know why, exactly. They’re really not that good. All of them the same size, the cookie part a bit dry, and the fig a uniform shape, ending at the edge. But when I was a kid, I grabbed stacks of them from the rattly plastic tray and ate them while reading my favorite books. It’s funny, because every other food blogger is talking about being done with baked goods for awhile. I really didn’t eat many over the holidays. I just didn’t want them. But now, I do. Maybe it’s something about the dark winter time -- the holidays over, the rain incessant -- that makes me want to curl up with a book and some cookies.

So what could I do? Yesterday afternoon, I started pulling cookbooks off the shelves, consulting websites, hoping someone had a recipe for gluten-free fig newtons. I couldn’t find one I liked, even the ones for regular fig newtons, which I thought I would adapt. So, I made one up.



Before I had to stop eating gluten, I was a baker. I could make a pie crust with my eyes closed. Warm cookies appeared from my oven in half an hour. People always asked me for my recipe, even when I was using the one off the back of the Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chip package. For whatever reasons, the science and art of baking appealed to both sides of my mind, and I loved having my hands in dough, kneading something out of nothing.

For the first few months after going gluten-free, I thought I would never bake again. I learned to adapt. There are so many fantastic foods without gluten that I didn’t need to dwell on what I couldn’t have. Who needed to be a baker when I could be a chef in my own kitchen?

But if I know anything about life, it’s this: everything changes. After months of relying on gluten-free flour mixes, I finally took the plunge. I bought all the “alternative” flours in little bags, most of them from the wonderful Bob’s Red Mill. My middle refrigerator shelf is filled with clear bags of millet flour, quinoa flour, teff, and xanthan gum. And now, I know them all so well that I just reach for them and start making up a recipe without needing to consult books. I just start baking.

This evening, after a delicious dinner of sauteed salmon and roasted quinoa I made with homemade chicken stock, I set my KitchenAid whirring. Put on my favorite new cd -- a Christmas present from my brother, a mix cd called “Food Fight,” with songs from Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Monty Python, the B52s, and the Hoosier Hot Shots, all songs about food -- and danced in the kitchen, gluten-free flour flying. I could feel that old feeling under my hands: the patting reassurance of baking without trepidation. Warm butter, creamed sugar, the sharp tug of nutmeg in my nose. The lovely, soft pull of dough. And that intoxicating aroma as the sweet, spicy cookies are baking in the oven.

I’m home.

Gluten-free fig cookies (a la Fig Newtons)



These cookies taste exotic and familiar at the same time. The thick fig spread tastes like the gunk we ate as kids, but with an adult twist: a liberal spilling of port. The dark brightness, the sticky consistency, the little flecks of fig seeds --- they all make these a joy to eat. Bite down and taste the molasses and nutmeg cookie crumble in the mouth, then dart around your tongue to lick the fig off your teeth. They’re milk-dunkable and sophisticated at the same time. And I dare you to eat just one.

The flour combination is vital here. Rice flour and cornstarch together make a smooth consistency. Teff flour’s softness makes it all hold together beautifully, to give that slighty sponginess that the brand-name fig newtons have. And the millet flour makes for a crumbly consistency. It took me too long to break down and buy xantham gum, because it’s so darned expensive. But it’s worth it, because a full recipe like this only calls for half a teaspoon. Be sure to store it in the refrigerator, though. All gluten-free flours do better when refrigerated.

Enjoy them. I hope these help you feel like a kid again.

Fig spread
(make this at least twenty-four hours in advance for the true flavor)

one-half pound of the best dried figs -- I used both light brown Calimyrna and dark Mission figs -- chopped into quarters
one-half cup pomegranate juice
one-quarter cup port
one-quarter cup Meyer lemon juice

Chop the figs into quarters. Put them into a large bowl and cover with the liquids. Soak the figs in these liquids (or play with your own combination) for at least twenty-four hours in advance.
Before you make the cookies, drain the figs of the liquid, except for a few tablespoons. Put the figs and remaining liquid in your food processor and blend until it is a thick paste, somewhat like a tapenade consistency.

Cookie dough

one-half cup butter
one-half cup brown sugar, packed in
one-half cup organic cane sugar (this is key, because it has a more granular consistency)
one egg
one teaspoon vanilla
two tablespoons molasses

one-half teaspooon baking soda
one and one half cup white rice flour
one-half cup of cornstarch
one-quarter cup teff flour
one-quarter cup millet flour
1/2 teaspoon xantham gum
lots of fresh-grated nutmeg (as much as you can take)


Preheat the oven to 350°.

Mix all the dry ingredients together in a medium-sized bowl. Set aside.

Melt the butter on the stove, or in the microwave, if you must. Pour the melted butter into your favorite mixer (if you don’t have a stand mixer yet, you really should splurge. They make all the difference in the world). Add the brown and organic cane sugar to the butter and mix them together. Mix them only until they are blended, then turn off the mixer. Add the egg, the vanilla, and the two tablespoons of molasses. Mix until just blended.

Add the dry ingredients, and mix until the dough is thoroughly blended.
Refrigerate the dough in the refrigerator for at least an hour. This is key with gluten-free doughs.

After you have chilled the dough, roll out one-third of it to a half-inch thickness. (Be sure to flour the board first. White rice flour seems to work best.) Spoon some of the rich fig spread down the center of this circle, then roll the dough up into a little log. Do the same with the remaining dough and spread.

Place the three logs of fig goodness onto your favorite baking sheet, covered with parchment paper or a silpat. Slide it into the oven for twelve minutes (less or more, depending on your oven), checking once in a while to make sure they aren’t browning too much. Take the logs out of the oven when they are firm to the touch and just starting to brown. Let them cool on a wire rack for ten minutes.

When the cookies have cooled just a bit, slice up the logs in inch-thick slices, or as large as you want. Turn them onto a plate, and they look like fig newtons. But you never ate anything this good as a kid. So much better than the ones that came in plastic.

Makes twenty to thirty cookies.

Hablando de cocina molecular, un tema que está en auge en este momento, Brillat-Savarin fue uno de los primeros que intentó explicar algunos fenómenos relacionados con los alimentos (o al menos escribió una obra acerca de ello), aunque de manera empírica, con algunos aciertos y desaciertos como luego probaría la ciencia, escribe en la forma más amena posible sobre todo lo que está relacionado con la buena mesa.
Hay que leer la "Fisiología del gusto" y ubicarse en el tiempo (s. XIX) para reconocer la trascendencia que tiene, sobretodo por muchas afirmaciones que allí se hacen y aún están en vigencia. De hecho en "El secreto de los pucheros" Hervé This lo cita en muchas oportunidades para explicar con todos los recursos que tiene hoy la ciencia, algunas aseveraciones que hace Brillat-Savarin, quien tan solo contaba como método de investigación, con sus notas y observaciones a lo largo de los años (además de su gusto exquisito y pasión por la buena mesa).

Por ejemplo cuando escribe "...el gran mérito de las buenas frituras proviene de la celeridad con que se hagan… se forma una especie de bóveda que cubre el objeto, impide que la grasa penetre, concentra los jugos, que experimentan así interiormente cocción y dan al alimento todo el gusto de que es susceptible." (Brillat -Savarin, Jean Anthelme. Fisiología del gusto. Editorial Optima, S.L. Barcelona 2001. Página 125).
Mientras que hoy la ciencia nos da las razones: "...las moléculas de la superficie de las piezas a freír coagulan y forman la corteza crujiente característica de las buenas frituras.” (THIS, Hervé. El secreto de los pucheros. Editorial Acribia S.A. Zaragoza 1996. Página 119).

Por otro lado, algunos de los errores en que incurre B-S son los relacionados a los cuerpos sápidos que serían los susceptibles a ser apreciados por el sentido del gusto, es decir alimentos, etc... quien afirma que éstos deben ser aromáticos para que puedan ser gustosos, mientras que la ciencia hoy ha comprobado que todos las substancias que transmiten sabores no son necesariamente odoríficas, es el caso de la sal por ejemplo. Estaba si en lo correcto B-S cuando afirmaba que estos cuerpos sápidos debían ser solubles.

Más interesante es lo referido al "osmazono", que no es un término acuñado por B-S, aunque para la época una verdad incuestionable... hay que leerlo y también, a This.

Que recuerde, otras partes la "Fisiología" que me encantaron, es la meditación acerca de las "Medidas gastronómicas" y la de los efectos "enardecentes" de los alimentos. Las anécdotas muy amenas, nos transporta a su época, las costumbres, la gente, su apariencia, su modo de ser, de comportarse en la mesa... como recurso histórico es indispensable.

En Brillat-Savarin se aprecian las cualidades de un gourmet y el interés de un científico, una combinación que resulta sumamente enriquecedora para nuestro oficio, ya que al mismo tiempo intenta hacer de la cocina y el buen comer, una ciencia y un arte

Derretir 8 oz de chocolate con 7,25 oz de agua en una ollita, pasar a un bowl en baño María invertido y batir.
A medida que el chocolate se va enfriando mientras se bate, va tomando consistencia y mucho brillo. Si queda muy espeso se puede volver a fundir y repetir el proceso. Lo batí bastante mientras iba viendo las posibilidades en algunas fases del batido, consitencia, apariencia, etc... al finalizar, ya con una mezcla bastante espesa, lo coloqué en la manga y quedó como una mousse. También tomé una pequeña cantidad con una cucharita y formé una bolita perfectamente, como una trufa. Resulta algo super ligero aunque de un sabor intenso, no es grasoso como la mayoría de las preparaciones con chocolate que llevan yemas, azúcar y mantequilla o crema de leche...

Me voy por unos días de vacaciones. No se si merecidas, pero seguramente necesarias.
Será hasta prontito!

Alguna vez me iba a tocar decirlo! :D
Ya se ha hecho y verificado el recuento de votos. Y he aquí a los ganadores:



1) Cannella de La Zuccheriera

2) Graziella de Di Tv e Tv

3) Elvira de Tasca de Elvira




Felicitaciones a ellas!
Invitamos a todos los que no pudieron participar, porque llegaron tarde, porque recién se enteraron o porque todavía estaban festejando a enviarnos a este email sus mesas de año nuevo, para agregarlas en la galería.
Los resultados en inglés en el blog de la Chef Melissa, madre e impulsora de este evento. Un gracias especial a ella por su generosidad.

Más vale tarde que nunca... Desde Navidad que quiero publicar esta receta. Especialmente para Cristina, que fue quien me la inspiró. :)

MOUSSE DE DULCE DE LECHE EN COSTRA CROCANTE



Para la costra:
130 g corn flakes
70 g amaretti
70 g almendras
70 g nueces
120 g manteca
70 g chocolate

Seguí con pequeñas modificaciones en las cantidades la receta de Liliumbel publicada aquí. El procedimiento es el mismo. Se funde la manteca y se agrega el chocolate cortado. Se mezcla hasta que se haya derretido bien. Luego se incorporan los otros ingredientes previamente procesados. Se distribuye, presionando bien con una cuchara por ejemplo, en el fondo y bordes de un molde desmontable (usé uno de 24 cm de diámetro), preferiblemente con un papel manteca en la base (aunque no es necesario). Y se lleva al congelador.

Para la mousse:
400 g dulce de leche (usé 250 g del común y 150 g del repostero, más consistente)
150 cc leche
150 g ricotta (hubiese usado crema de leche si la hubiese tenido a disposición)
7 g gelatina sin sabor
3 claras
pizca de cremor tártaro

En una cacerola se calienta el dulce de leche con la leche, hasta que el primero se haya disuelto bien. Se mezcla con la ricotta y se agrega la gelatina disuelta en un poco de agua. Se baten las claras a nieve con el cremor tártaro. Y se incorporan delicadamente al resto de los ingredientes. Se vuelca sobre il molde preparado con la costra crocante. Y a la heladera (o freezer en mi caso porque no había más lugar en la heladera)
Notarán que se han formado dos capas de mousse en la foto. Es porque en el apuro no mezclé bien las claras con el resto, entonces sedimentó. La próxima vez podría agregar una clara más también.