Oven Caramel Corn

In the time it takes to go to the store and purchase a box of Cracker Jacks, you can make your own homemade version, which is tastier and surely healthier and fresher than something made three months ago in a far off factory somewhere.

All you need is popcorn, butter, brown sugar, corn syrup, vanilla, salt and baking soda.  The actual hands-on cooking time is but five minutes.  After the caramel is poured over the popped corn, it spends an hour in the oven.  And voila -- homemade caramel corn!

Pop some corn the old-fashioned way -- in a bit of oil on the stove top.  (I suppose you can use microwave popcorn, but I've always hated it, so I can't recommend it.)  Put it on a sheet pan that you've lined with foil or parchment paper.

Next, place the remaining ingredients (except the baking soda) in a saucepan and heat.

Cook the mixture for about five minutes, stirring all the while.

Remove the caramel from the heat and add one teaspoon of baking soda.  (Do not skip this essential step.) Pour the caramel over the popcorn and, using the wooden spoon, try to mix it in.  Don't fret about it; you'll have plenty of opportunities to repeat this step.  Every 15 minutes, during the one-hour bake time, open the oven door and mix the caramel with the popcorn.

Soon it will be done -- and delicious.  You can add peanuts at the beginning if you really want to replicate the Cracker Jack experience, and you can also add a small toy.  These days the "prize" in Cracker Jacks is likely to be a small sheet of paper featuring a history quiz -- I experienced this recently, a convoluted "game" with obtuse hints.  The answer was Susan B. Anthony which, despite having a master's degree in American history, I couldn't figure out.  If only I'd continued on to the Ph.D.  My advice -- put in a real toy.  No need to turn a fun snack into a learning moment.

"Missouri" Dessert

One of the main reasons I blog is that it's a wonderful excuse to bake the interesting and unusual recipes I encounter. And this Missouri Dessert is among the most unusual.  Plus the recipe card has two notes at the top: "Mother" and "very good" which to me is like screaming "bake me now!"

And so I did.

I've only been to Missouri once, back in the days when I was a newspaper reporter at a daily in Indiana and a bunch of us from the paper drove to a journalism conference in St. Louis (after making the essential liquor store stop to stock up for the journey).  I don't recall much of the city except the arch, and our dinner that first night at windowed restaurant atop a tall building that rotated 360 degrees several times during our meal. "I feel like I've been spinning all day," said fellow reporter Lynn Hailey. Still recovering from the car ride (did we really finish a bottle of schnapps along the way?), we all agreed.

Now on to today's dessert.  St. Louis has a famous dessert, Gooey Butter Cake, but I'd never heard of Missouri Dessert. It's quite unusual -- a basic yellow cake, almost reminiscent of cornbread, topped with meringue.  Typical of early 20th century desserts, it's not overly sweet.

It's easy to make (and even easier to eat).  At the beginning, it appears that the cake batter has curdled.  But, if you continue, all will smooth out.

Pour the batter into a pie plate.

Cover the base layer with the whipped egg whites . . .

and carefully spread it so it reaches the edge of the pie plate, completely covering the base.

Bake until the meringue is a lovely golden color.

Missouri dessert has three layers -- the crunchy top, the smooth meringue beneath and the cake layer below.   (It would have had a four texture, if I'd only remembered to sprinkle chopped nuts on top.) Quite a result using only butter, sugar, flour eggs, milk, baking powder and salt.

Below is a photo of Lynn and I in front of the newspaper building, and at bottom is some of the newspaper staff at a holiday party, c. 1979.

Chocolate Drop Cookies

Tragedy struck the Cake Bakes kitchen on Saturday -- our dishwasher broke.

Now that may not be a big deal to some people, but to me it's a deal breaker.  We never hand wash dishes; we don't even have a dish drainer.  If the dishwasher is full, we just leave the dishes in the sink until the next load.  (Now my secret is out.) I could live without any appliance except my beloved dishwasher.

Luckily, we weren't hosting a dinner party, but we were expected to bring dessert to our friend Alec's party in Chelsea that night. So I had a new criteria in mind as I searched through my recipes -- one that didn't require a lot of kitchen equipment and utensils in its preparation.  And it had to be chocolate, as Allen, another dinner party guest, is a big fan of chocolate (and faithful reader of this blog).

Cake was out, as it's like making two desserts, what with the cake and the frosting.  Brownies seemed too boring, and so I was pleased to find this c. 1950s old-fashioned chocolate drop cookie recipe.   They were soft, rich, delicious and typical of mid-20th century recipes, not overly sweet.

Below is a photo of all the equipment required: A chef's knife, a one cup and a 1/4 cup dry measuring cup, a two-cup glass measuring cup, one Kitchen Aid bowl and beater, a cutting board, a butter knife, measuring spoons and one mixing spoon.

And with those few utensils, plus this cooling rack, I got this:

I frosted some of the cookies with a mixture of confectioners sugar and milk (pictured at top) and left some plain.  These are perfect for the cookie jar (if they last long enough to make it in).

The recipe is below.  I followed it exactly, using butter for the shortening and two ounces of Scharffen berger unsweetened chocolate instead of a supermarket brand.  If you don't have buttermilk on hand, you can make a close enough substitute by placing one teaspoon of lemon juice or white vinegar in a measuring cup, adding about one cup of milk and let the mixture sit about five minutes until it thickens.

Poverty Cake (And Jews Without Money)

Working at Henry Street Settlement, a social service agency founded in 1893 to fight the social causes of poverty, I tend to think about poverty a lot.  I've been thinking about it even more than usual, having just read Michael Gold's 1930 best seller, Jews Without Money, a semi-autobiographical novel of his childhood on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.  In the book, Gold (a communist who co-founded The New Masses and later was a columnist for The Daily Worker), blamed every misfortune, large or small, on poverty.  (I was lucky enough to attend Vivian Gornick's illuminating salon/conversation about the book at the Tenement Museum's Tenement Talks; the next and final session of her Immigrant Novel Series there is March 5, when she will tackle another classic, Henry Roth's Call It Sleep. Do consider going to that, or you can spend the evening with me at a poverty-fighting event at the Park Avenue Armory that night, The Art Show Gala Preview to benefit Henry Street.)  

That's a long way to get to Poverty Cake but here we are. Initially, I figured it was another version of Depression Cake, Poor Man's Cookies, Canada War Cake or any number of similarly named confections created when butter, sugar and eggs were scarce.  But, as the DH said upon trying a slice, "This poverty cake is rich."  And it is -- rich in flavor and fat (it has both butter and eggs) and is a really good spice cake -- not at all what one would expect from poverty cake. This would make a perfect after-school snack.

To make the cake, boil the raisins in the water and then add one stick of butter.

Add the rest of the ingredients and then simply pour into an 8 x 8 inch pan, which you've either greased and floured or lined with parchment paper.

This cake travels really well.  Of course, I brought some to work...

...where even poverty-fighter-in-chief David Garza had a small piece. (Who would want a big piece of poverty?)  

Henry Street's original poverty fighter, founder Lillian Wald, was fond of the expression "full of ginger."  This cake isn't full of ginger, but has plenty of other spices.

The cover of the latest edition of Jews Without Money -- a compelling novel certainly worth a read. In it the narrator writes that poverty makes some people insane, and he quotes his father as saying:  "It's better to be dead in this country than not to have money."

I Name Thee Gingersnaps

Last Saturday, I hosted a dinner party attended by some very knowledgeable  food world folks but fortunately one of them, Arthur Schwartz (along with his charming partner Bob Harned) brought the main course -- delicious barbecue from Fletcher's in Brooklyn.  Responsible only for dessert, I decided to make Three-Ingredient Lemon Chiffon Pie (thinking it would be a refreshing counterpoint to the rich entree) and some cookies (pictured above) from a "new" old recipe in my collection.

The recipe intrigued me for three reasons: it was untitled (as in what kind of cookies are these?), its unusual method of preparation, and because of a note at the bottom of the scrap of paper on which it was written:  Cookies from Mrs. Martin she had gotten it from Edith's mother.  (More on these wonderful cookies later in the post.)

The dinner got off to a most inauspicious start or, as Arthur said, it was "fakakta."  First, the DH was called into work last-minute.  Arthur and Bob, upon arrival at my place, discovered that the barbecue order was missing some essential dishes, and had to return to Fletcher's.  Aylin OneyTan, the renowned Turkish food writer visiting New York for a cookbook conference, was running late.  But not as late as two other guests, Joe Mizrahi, of Smokin' Joe's True Blue Texas Barbecue  and his girlfriend Lilly Braun Goldbard whose family emergency found them an hour away in Jamaica, Queens, when they should have been in Brooklyn.

But it all turned out fine.  The DH arrived home in time for the end of the main course.  Arthur and Bob got the missing ribs -- and a parking spot.  Aylin arrived bearing wonderful Turkish treats (more on that below), and Joe and Lilly made it here in record time, though Joe, in his rush, did not bring the artisenal hot dogs and kielbasa he made and wanted us to try. Hopefully, there will be a next time.

From left: Joe, Lilly, the DH (Paul), Arthur, Aylin and Bob.

Now, on to dessert.  These cookies, which are really gingersnaps, are delicious, even better the day after they're baked.  You can make then thin and "snappy" or make them a bit thicker and softer.   They're excellent in both incarnations.

In most cookie recipes, one creams the butter and sugar.  This recipe calls for boiling sugar and molasses, and then melting the butter in the hot mixture. Aylin, an expert in Turkish cuisine, said she was familiar with this technique, but I've rarely seen it in American recipes.

When the mixture is cool, the eggs are added.

The dry ingredients, among them flour, cinnamon and ginger.

The recipe says to "add flour enough to roll."  I used about five cups.  This makes a lot of cookies.  You can cut them with any cookie cutter, but I'd recommend one not exceeding 1.5 to 2 inches.  The dough is sticky and smaller cookies are easier to transport the baking tray.

If you want a soft, chewier cookie, roll the dough a bit thicker and reduce the baking time.  Do the opposite if you want a crispy cookie.

These cookies played second fiddle to the pie (as cookies often do) but if I'd not had so much wine, I would have remembered to serve what would have been the evening's highlight dessert -- Pismaniye.  This Turkish sweet, brought by Aylin, looks like string (below).  It's made by blending flour roasted in butter into pulled sugar and is sort of like cotton candy, so it's fun to eat, but has a more interesting texture and more complex flavor.

I should have figured Aylin would have brought something interesting.  She led a Context tour that the DH and I took in Istanbul, introducing us to all sorts of mind-blowing foods.  And even though she lives in Turkey, I can still follow her (and so can you!) as she writes the Fork and Cork column in the English-language Hurriyet Daily News.

Finally, the cookie recipe!

Gingersnaps
1 C sugar
1 C molasses
1 C butter (two sticks)
2 eggs, beaten
1 tsp. baking soda dissolved in 1 tbs. hot water
1 tsp. ginger
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 tsp. salt
5 (or more) cups of flour

Preheat oven to 350 degrees

Bring sugar and molasses to a boil.  Turn off heat and add butter. When mixture is cool, add beaten eggs.  Mix thoroughly and add baking soda, ginger, cinnamon, salt and flour.  Add flour one cup at a time.
You can refrigerate dough to make it a bit easier to roll out, or simply roll out immediately.  Place cookies on parchment lined baking sheet.
Bake cookies for about 8 minutes.

Note: You can control the texture of the cookies by rolling them thinner or thicker and baking them longer for a crispier texture, less for a chewier cookie.
I sprinkled the cookies with a pearl sugar for visual interest, but this step isn't necessary.

Old-Fashioned Lemon Cream Scones

Can a scone effect change? I made these recently for the caregivers at the nursing home where my mother-in-law spent the final two weeks of her life. When Lucy was admitted to the home, her daughter quickly assessed the situation and asked that I bring baked goods for the staff, thinking that small acts of kindness (or sweetness) might translate into more attentive care.  I don't know if the brownies, cakes and cookies had their intended effect, but I hope that the joyful hugs of appreciation I received from the nurses were extended to Lucy each time they entered her room.

In general,  I am not a fan of scones -- so little butter! -- but once in a while, a well-restrained baked good can be a good thing. And unlike many scones I've known, these are, while not exactly bursting with moistness, not dry either.  Plus, they have cream and lemon, both promising ingredients in anything sweet or savory.

The carefully printed recipe card is probably from the mid-20th century, modern enough to have the method listed but old enough to simply say "hot" oven (which I took to mean 375 degrees).

The first order of business is cutting the butter into the flour, a task I always hated until I discovered the wonders of the food processor.

Mix the lemon zest with the sugar.

Mix the ingredients until all the flour is moistened.

Roll the dough and cut into squares, and then triangles. (Love the illustration of this on the recipe card.)