black bottom cupcakes

The other day, Sadie got in trouble at school.
It seems that a bunch of kids were acting up, and, in her words, "she couldn't help it, and she joined in by accident."  She was on edge when I picked her up from school, and the afternoon just went down from there in flames of tears and 7-year-old sass.  Misbehavior at school is not Sadie's strong suit--she still thinks that "teacher's pet" is a good thing, and she strives for it.  And so I watched all of the emotions percolate through the day, and she would erupt with excuses (It's been 2 whole years since I got in trouble in Spanish class!) to stubbornness to full on lovey clinginess.  The day ended with her emerging bleary eyed from her bedroom at 9 pm, and she catapulted herself towards me with a hug.  She had a stomachache from the whole affair, and she was having trouble getting to sleep.  I gave her another kiss and tucked her into bed in the midst of all of the novels she had been reading that night, and that seemed to do the trick.



But a few hours earlier, before she had found her own quiet, things came to a head before dinner.  It was table-setting time, and when I told Sadie, the hands went on her hips, and she said that she didn't feel like it. 
For better or worse, I pulled out my inner 7-year-old, never too far from the surface these days. My arms went to my hips too.
"Well, maybe I don't really feel like making dinner for you any more."
The emotions of that day flickered across her face, and I saw them all in succession again.  Sometimes she reminds me of August weather around here.  Sunny, then the clouds come in and it pours, and then the sun is back as fast as it left.
She collapsed on the couch, and she stuck her butt up into the air like a toddler.  "I just can't!!!!"

Rosie took over and put the napkins on the table. And I sat there with Sadie for the few minutes before dinner, stroking her hair.  



Luckily it was a moment that I could pause in myself, because sometimes I can't wait for those moments when everything is golden and lovely.  I think that those are the moments that will make me pause, and say, everything is so beautiful! Let's stop here and take a breath.



And those moments do happen--they come often enough.  But more often, someone is having a hard time working through the day.  And if I can, I take a breath, and my eyes glaze a little, and like in this moment, I stroked Sadie's hair.  She will be eight on Sunday, and the complexities will continue to increase.  I think about what a friend of mine once said--how brave to raise women in this world!  What a challenge!  So complicated!



I'm not sure that I had thought about it in those terms before.  But now I do.  And somehow that links my girls to so many others women in my mind.  These moments of emotional complexity, of guilt and self righteousness and the need to be loved and to care for others and to be right and beautiful--I feel like I have more tools to help them start there way through this when I think of it as common.

And I can't say why, but it makes me think about the women in my life who are no longer here.  Maybe because it brings them to me too, and it brings them to Sadie, so that there are a whole lot more hands stroking her hair.

Yesterday, I sat and talked with a new friend, and we talked about a woman who we had both loved, who, more than  anyone, taught me about the meat and the joy in these complexities.  By the end, she was so good at that.

And I think about my grandmother, always my grandmother!  I think she was conditioned to feel miserable about so many things, and she fought it.  She celebrated so many things, despite herself, because why the hell not. 

Which brings me to black bottom cupcakes.  I make them on the first day of spring, because my grandmother did.  Because why the hell not.  It took me a few days to get to it this year--I had a cold, and I didn't want to do it.  But when I got to it, it was snowing, and we were all complaining about the snow gracing this first week of spring.  It was cold, and even the lilac buds were shivering.

But it snows every March, and every April.  And that's the meat of it all.  The freezing and thaw makes it easier to be thankful, I think.  And it teases with the smell of mud, and then freezes it before we can complain about the mud getting everywhere.  I love a good transition.  And a good cupcake.

 

Black Bottom Cupcakes
(I wrote about these a few years ago, but the recipe didn't quite make it for me, and so to line it up with the glorious memory of my childhood Spring party cupcakes under my grandmother's lilac bush, I messed with it quite a bit this year.)


Makes 12 cupcakes

For the filling:
8 ounces cream cheese at room temperature
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
5 ounces chocolate chips

For the cupcakes:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup whole milk
1/3 cup canola oil
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract

For the filling:
Beat together the cream cheese,  sugar, and egg until relatively smooth. Stir in the chocolate chips. Set aside.

For the cupcakes:
Preheat to 350 degrees.  Butter a 12-cup muffin tin, or line the tin with muffin cups. In a medium bowl whisk together the flour, brown sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt. In a separate bowl, use a whisk to beat together the milk, oil, vinegar, and vanilla. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and stir in the wet ingredients until just combined.
Fill each muffin cup halfway with cake batter. Top with the cream cheese filling so that the filling comes nearly to the top of the cup.  Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the tops are slightly golden brown. They will keep well unrefrigerated for 2 to 3 days if stored in an airtight container.

pannekaker

I love a recipe that comes from a grandmother.

It seems that every day at some point I think about my grandmother at night in her kitchen with yellowish light- getting batters together for the next morning's breakfast. I'm turning the sifter with a squeak, squeak and she's trying to get the dough out of her wedding ring. I loved that ring that squeezed her swollen finger. It was just old, and that was so refreshing to me as the child of the new age 80's.
It's been almost 15 years since I've baked with her, and I just can't seem to stop hanging out in those memories. But as I spend more time in my own kitchen, I notice a subtle but definite shift. Even at 31, I have a hard time believing in my own adulthood. I'm not sure when (if ever) it will ever sink in. But I can't ignore the fact that now it's my wedding ring encrusted with dough. Now it's Sadie with the sifter. Shirley might not be here physically, but it seems that without even consciously trying, I'm reenacting those memories. I'm playing her part in it all, and the girls have stepped into my old role.

This past week, we had a happy and spontaneous visit from Sarah and Jefferson. Usually we camp out up at their place in Portland, but this time they took hold of our guest room for a while. The night before they left, Sarah spied our little crepe pan and announced that we'd all be eating Norwegian pancakes the next morning before they hopped in their little car to head back up north.

As she whisked the batter and swirled the pan, Sarah started talking about her Norwegian great grandmother Volborg who passed this recipe down. I've known Sarah since I was two, and I'd never heard about Volborg.
In Sarah's family, these pancakes are reserved for Christmas and other special occasions when someone really needs a good pancake. They call them Norwegian Pancakes, but I'm pretty sure one might find them under the name of pannekaker. They are eggier than french crepes, and perfumed with cardamom. They were so fantastic that I begged her to let me share her family recipe. Of course! she said...Take it! If I can just get it down on paper...


And so, like most family recipes, this one might need a grandmother whispering in your ear. But Sarah has filled it in with as much advice as she could, and the experimentation will be up to you.

Norwegian Pancakes, or Pannekaker
(from Sarah, and Lyra, and Volborg)

serves four

4 eggs
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 stick butter, melted
pinch of salt
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
whole milk (see directions for amount)

Whisk together the flour, salt and cardamom. Beat the eggs in a separate bowl. Add the eggs to the flour mixture to create a paste. Slowly add melted butter while whisking. Add milk slowly until the batter coats a metal spoon- not too thick, not too thin.
Heat a crepe pan or small skillet until medium hot. Start to swirl the pan in a circular direction before you even pour the batter into the pan. Maintain the motion while ladling about 3/4 cup batter into the pan. Do not stop the swirling motion until the batter is evenly distributed. Return pan to burner, and flip when the underside is golden brown. Cook on the second side for 30 seconds, and then fold in thirds and transfer to a plate in a 200 degree oven to keep warm until serving.

Finding the right consistency of the batter will take a bit of experimentation. If the batter is too thin, it won't adhere to the pan. Sprinkle a little flour over the batter and whisk in. If the batter is too thick, it will look more like a pancake than a crepe. It should be so thin that you are worried that it will break- this is the texture that you are going for.

Serve with butter and maple syrup, on Christmas, or really any day that you need them.

orange soy braised pork ribs

I've been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately.
Maybe it was Turkey. She loved to go to interesting places, and while her friends would go hang out at their condo in Florida, she and my grandfather would be off on a folk dancing trip to Bulgaria. When it came to travel, she was a woman looking for real experience.
Or maybe it has something to do with what has been going on since I got back. A few days after my return, Joey and the girls and I went out to be part of a group photo to support a local library which may soon be extinct. As we were leaving the library and heading over to take Sadie to dance class, a few friends called me over.
"You know how you were thinking about running for the town select board a few years ago?"
It was true. I had considered it, but it just hadn't felt like the right time.
"Well," one friend said, "it's time."
So here I am, running for the select board of my little town. Although I usually end up frustrated when I attend town meetings, I'm going to attempt to step away from apathy and see what happens if I can get a seat at that table. It's a small town, but it is my town, after all.

My grandmother loved Great Barrington with all her being. She and my grandfather moved up here in the early 70's to start their bed and breakfast, and they both lived here until the end of their lives. They were all about participating in their community- between the two of them, they were centrally involved in everything from arts organizations to adult literacy, to the formation of our local co-op market.

I grew up here, and I never thought I'd come back after college. I was at the middle school when the occurrence of knife fights and eighth grade pregnancies was at its highest, and I just couldn't roll my pants or fringe my bangs the right way. But it turns out that as an adult and a parent, this is actually a pretty great place. My children were both born here, and this is their world, too. I'm here for good, and like my grandparents, I'm feeling inspired to put some time into it.
Still, I must say, seeing my name on the ballot at the caucus last night was totally surreal. We went into the fire station after dinner, and the girls cheered that we were "going to vote for mommy!" I know it's a small thing, but I'm just getting used to the idea. The final vote will be on May 10, and I'll be doing my best to refrain from holey jeans when I walk down main street until then. And when people question my sanity for getting into this process, I just think to myself that I'm channeling my grandmother, at least a little bit.

If I'm going to be doing my grandmother's work, I need to be eating my grandmother's food. I think that I've shared this with you before, but it bears repeating: My grandmother was a vegetarian who ate ribs. She never cooked them at home, as my grandfather was a vegetarian who did not eat ribs, but when ever she had the opportunity to sit down in front of a messy stack of ribs, she would roll up the sleeves of her button down shirt and get to work. There was not an ounce of squeamishness in her when it came to ribs- she would suck every thing off those bones, gnaw on them a bit, and then go back to being an avid vegetarian. It was her way.
The night before I left for Turkey, I made these ribs. We ate them with rice and a big pile of greens, and as Sadie sucked on the bones just like her great grandmother Shirley, I knew that they would nourish her through the ten days ahead of pizza and grilled cheese and whatever else lay before her.


Orange Soy Braised Pork Ribs
adapted from Gourmet, January 2005

serves 3-4

2 1/2 pounds pork ribs, separated
2/3 cup fresh-squeezed orange juice
1/2 cup soy sauce
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons grated ginger
a tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 tablespoon freshly ground pepper
1 cup water

Preheat oven to 325 degrees and place rack in the middle of the oven. Sprinkle ribs with salt.

Bring orange juice, soy sauce, sugar, ginger, garlic, and pepper to a boil in roasting pan over medium high heat, stirring until sugar is dissolved. Add ribs in to the pan, using tongs, turning to coat, and cover pan with a lid or foil.

Braise ribs in oven until very tender, about 2 to 3 hours.

Before Serving: Reduce oven temperature to 200°F.

Transfer ribs to a baking dish, arranging them in 1 layer, and keep warm in oven. Make glaze by boiling liquid, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until syrupy and reduced to about 3/4 cup, about 15 minutes. Brush glaze generously on ribs.

ruggala

Oh, holiday baking at last. I am so happy to spend my afternoon with you after all of this time.

This is my grandmother's ruggala recipe. This is the version that she typed out on her typewriter when she was a teacher in New Jersey, before she moved up to the Berkshires and started a vegetarian Bed and Breakfast. She mimeographed it and had it at the ready for when friends would say,
"Oh, Shirl, you must give me the recipe."


I never asked for a copy. I was fourteen when my grandmother died in a car accident, and I had no interest in ever learning how to make ruggala.


Little did I know.

This copy was tucked into a cookbook that I ended up with- I don't know where it came from,
but now I claim it for my own.

I think about my grandmother taking the time to type out this recipe, her quiet cussing over the ink spots, the stained folder in which she kept the copies. For every baker, there is at least one recipe that belongs to them, one that merits the joining of that recipe with their very own name.
These are Shirley's ruggala.


The last time I spoke to my grandmother, I was sarcastic and sour, I was very fourteen. She was more of a mother to me than a grandmother, and in the years before she died, she bore the brunt of my early teens. I remember that conversation so clearly. She and my grandfather stopped by and stood lingering awkwardly in the darkened kitchen for a few minutes, just to check in on my mother and I. I think that we were watching a movie, and I remember thinking that I just wanted them to go away. I probably said no more than five words to them that night, and for years it tortured me. I felt like the relationship was over, and nothing could change the last time we spoke.

A recipe, however, holds some magic in it. I find that rolling out the ruggala, I cannot make Shirley's ruggala without Shirley. I go back to the paper that she copied so many years ago, checking to see to what temperature I need to preheat the oven (350), and how much jam I should spread on the discs ("not so much as it will ooze out while baking"), and I have to tell you that the kitchen feels a little...fuller, like a large breasted, slightly insecure, blue-eyed, wonderfully lovely Pagan Jewish woman with quite a sense of humor is dictating the recipe to me.


Ruggala are a messy business. There is no reason to make a single batch when you could double the recipe, and before you know it, there is sugar and cinnamon on the floor, crunching under your slippers. There is jam on your nose, but it's okay. Your circles of dough might not be really circular. Some of them might roll up funny, and you'll have to give special care to your shaping on those. In the end, through all their faults, they will all look beautiful, and they will taste even better.

Shirley made hundreds of these every year. She rolled and rolled, baked them up, and then filled bags for the freezer. These ruggala, like most things, will be best for the day or two after they are made, but after that, freeze them and take them out for a party. They lose a touch of their flake, but none of their flavor.


Shirley's Ruggala (in her own words, with occasional commentary from me)

(note: these little Jewish pastries are spelled many different ways, but as far as I can tell, this is not one of them. But this is how my Grandmother spelled it, so ruggala it is)

3 cups flour
1 package dry yeast
1/2 pound butter
3 egg yolks
1/2 pint sour cream

Mix flour and dry yeast together and cut in butter until butter is about the size of large peas.

Mix egg yolks with sour cream in another bowl and add to first mixture. Blend in thoroughly. Gather together the dough and form a flattened circle with it.

Chill overnight, or longer of shorter, as convenient. (wonderfully specific, isn't she?)

Divide into 8 parts (as you would cut a pie). Roll each part (keep the remaining pieces in the refrigerator else they will be too soft to work with) over the following mixture.

1 1/4 cups chopped nuts- walnuts or pecans
1 cup sugar (I used 3/4 cup)
cinnamon, to taste (I used 1 1/2 tablespoons)

(she adds here... note: you may vary this to suit your own taste, i.e. add more nuts, sugar, etc.)

Spread some of this mixture on a pastry sheet (I used a silpat here, but you could also tape a length of parchment to the counter and that would work too) and roll, with rolling pin one part of the dough. Turn and roll again so that it will not stick. Do not use flour, but use enough of the nut mixture so the dough will not stick.

(just to clarify here, she tells us to use the nut and sugar mixture as we would normally use flour when rolling- this way the mixture gets rolled into the dough)

Roll into a circle about 6-7 inches in diameter and shape the circle not only with the rolling pin, but with your fingers. Try to get as round a circle as you can, without spending too much time handling it. Cut this circle into eight parts, spread your favorite jam or jelly (not too much as it will ooze out while baking). Roll each part from the outside of the circle on towards the center, the wide part to the narrow. Tuck under the narrow end so that it is closed fairly tightly. Shape into crescents.

Use tin foil (I used parchment) on your baking tins as this makes cleaning up much easier. It is not necessary to leave too much room between tge oastries as they do not rise much. Do not grease pan.

Bake at 350 degrees for 30-35 minutes, or until the tops are nicely lightly browned and flaky. You might find it might need a little more or less baking time- go by the color and flakiness you desire.

Take them off the tin foil with a metal spatula IMMEDIATELY else you will not be able to remove them. Turn them out onto wax paper, upside down, so that the bottoms are exposed to air and are able to dry out. They are very stick from the jam and need to dry thoroughly before you put them away- if not, they will all stick together.

One recipe makes 64 ruggala- eight parts, each one divided into eight parts. The ruggala freeze very successfully in a tightly covered container.

indian pudding

I love holidays with all my being, but I usually don't quite know what to do with them. By blood I'm half Episcopalian and half Jewish, but the Episcopalian ran off to be a New Age Guru in Texas early on, and the Jews decided that they would rather be Pagans and Buddhists and well, Yiddish club members.

As a child I yearned for anything holiday related, but most of the time, the reality didn't quite live up to my imaginings. There were a few moments that felt genuine, but the rest just felt unsettled. My grandmother would give me pens and pads and tape from the supermarket wrapped in little star of david wrapping paper for Hanukkah- that felt so special to me. And the Spring equinox parties that she would throw for me and my friends felt like true family celebrations. But those moments came in the midst of fantasies of storybook Christmas eves and randomly passionate Jesus obsessions. Holidays seemed to fit in with normal nuclear families and suburbs, and in my mind that was heaven.

As an adult with my own non-nuclear family now, I'm trying to find our own place in the holidays, and so far all I can say is that creating traditions is no easy feat. I'm working on it though.

Luckily, Thanksgiving is one holiday that has never presented these challenges for me. As a very thankful New Englander who loves a good meal and a big table, I fit right in.


I made my first Indian pudding for Thanksgiving when I was fourteen. It was the first holiday after my grandmother died in a car accident, and somehow I got it that it was important to create something for the meal.

Indian Pudding is one of those old desserts where you feel like you are making something of the few things that you are thankful to have. It gets deep at the Puritan in me to whisk together a little cornmeal and milk, to add a bit of maple syrup and molasses, a spice here and there. Put it on top of the wood stove for a few hours and there's dessert. Okay, actually I put it in my electric oven, but it's a nice thought, isn't it?



This recipe leaves out the eggs that you'll often find in there. I wanted to test out an eggless recipe so that I could make it for Thanksgiving and Sadie could actually eat it, but you can add 2 eggs to this recipe and it will make a bit of a more custardy pudding. It's great without the eggs too, so you can go either way.

I've got to say that Indian Pudding, although not as visited as the pumpkin or pecan pie, is a perfect Thanksgiving dessert. It carries all the spice and warmth that you want from a finish to that meal, but it is a simple thing, not so rich and sweet. Served warm, with a little maple whipped cream or a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream, it will insure that the bellies at your table will be left warm, contented and thankful.

Indian Pudding
loosely adapted from Moosewood Desserts
serves 6

4 cups milk
1 cup cornmeal (if you are adding in the two eggs, reduce this to 1/2 cup)
2 tablespoons butter
1/4 cup maple syrup
1/4 cup unsulphured molasses
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
3/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Butter a medium casserole dish.
In a heavy saucepan, whisk together the milk and cornmeal until smooth. Bring to a low boil, then reduce the heat, and simmer, stirring, for about 5 minutes, or until the mixture becomes quite thick. Remove from heat and stir in all of the remaining ingredients.
Pour the pudding into the prepared dish. Put that dish into a larger baking dish and fill the larger dish with about 1 inch of very hot water. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until the pudding is fairly firm around the edges and a bit soft in the middle. It might need as much as 75 minutes, but don't bake it for any more than that. Serve warm, and eat leftovers (yeah right!) for breakfast.

butter-toasted oatmeal with sticky apple topping

My grandmother held to a few very strong superstitions. I'm not sure why- it didn't really make sense with her personality. But two of her superstitious maxims have clung to me, no matter how hard I try to shake them. The first is that you should never EVER sleep with your feet towards the door of a room. She would always say that that was the way you would leave the room on your last day, so you better not tempt it. I try to tell myself that I don't hold to this, but really, between you and me, I have been known to shift a bed to the diagonal in the middle of the night because her warnings are keeping me a little bit awake.
The second one is a bit lighter in nature. She would always say that if you could keep the peel whole as you skinned an entire apple, that was just about the luckiest thing that could happen to you in the kitchen.

This morning I dragged my still sick but getting better self out of bed to make something exciting for breakfast. Sadie's wheat free-ness always puts a challenge on the fancy Sunday breakfast choices, so when I saw this lovely oatmeal in the new Gourmet cookbook, I decided this would be just the thing.

Yes, we eat a fair amount of oatmeal around here, always steel cut oats, and always in the slow cooker. It works, and it keeps everyone going, but it's not exciting, and it's certainly not fancy Sunday material.
Oh, ho, except this one uses... ready for this?...just a tad short of an entire stick of butter for four servings. I actually threw in that last tablespoon of butter out of laziness, and I think we all were better for it. So a stick, a stick of butter! De-licious.
I knew that I was making the right recipe, because even though it was 7:30 on a Sunday morning and I hadn't had a sip of coffee yet, I got the entire peel of that first Mutsu apple off in one piece. Those Mutsus are big apples, and I figure this is extra lucky.
Before I give you the recipe, I must admit one more thing. The recipe calls for half-and-half, but I had none. What I did have, however, was some of Paul's raw cream from this week. I don't think this can even be classified as heavy cream. It goes into some other territory- let's just call it heaven.


But you go on ahead and use half-and half. This will still be the best damn oatmeal you've ever had.


Butter-Toasted Oatmeal with Sticky Apple Topping
from Gourmet Today
serves 4

For the oatmeal:
2 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup steel cut oats
4 1/2 cups boiling water
1/4 teaspoon salt

For the topping:
1/2 stick unsalted butter (or throw in that last chunk if you're lazy)
2 Gala or Fuji apples (I used Mutsu), peeled, cored, and cut lengthwise into 1/4 inch-thick slices
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup half and half (or heaven if you can get your hands on it)

Make the oatmeal:
Heat butter in a 3-quart heavy saucepan over moderate heat until foam subsides. Add oats and cook, stirring, until oats are pale golden and have a nutty fragrance, about 4 minutes. Carefully add boiling water and salt and boil, stirring occasionally, until oats swell and oatmeal thickens slightly, about 10 minutes. Reduce heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, until oatmeal is soft and thickened, about 20 to 30 minutes. Keep it low and check on it often- you don't want to burn the bottom.
Meanwhile, make the topping:
Melt butter in a heavy skillet over moderately high heat. Add apples and cook, stirring occasionally, until they begin to brown. Reduce heat to moderate, add brown sugar and salt, and cook, stirring gently, until sugar is melted. Simmer topping until apples are very tender and almost translucent, about 15 minutes. Stir in half-and half and simmer until thickened, about 5 minutes.
Serve the topping over the oatmeal.