The Eight Hour Chicken Sandwich

DH arrived home yesterday from a long business trip and, wanting to make him something special for dinner, I decided to surprise him with a chicken sandwich.  But, as the late great Laurie Colwin said, a really good chicken sandwich takes hours -- one needs to roast a chicken, bake a loaf of white bread and whip up a batch of homemade mayonnaise.  So that's exactly what I did.  Eight hours later, dinner was served!

Using a vintage bread recipe (see the bottom of this post), I put together the dough and then seasoned and roasted a chicken.

Next, I made some delicious mayonnaise in just five minutes, using the ingredients below.  One *should* hand whisk the oil, but I did it all in the blender and it was perfect.

Using the best quality ingredients -- like this olive oil (axiomia.biz) and Edmond Fallot mustard (from France)  --
will make for an excellent mayonnaise.

Finally, at about 6 p.m., all the elements were in place and the sandwiches were ready to be made.  (But it's not like I spent all those hours in the kitchen  -- I went to the gym when the bread was rising, shopped the farmer's market when the chicken was roasting and worked on a freelance job while the bread was baking.)

I halved the bread recipe and got two smallish loaves.  The kitchen was perfumed with the aroma baking bread for hours.

I let the roasted chicken cool before slicing it.  Only white meat for DH.

Once you see how easy and delicious homemade mayonnaise is, you might never go back.  I used a modern recipe I found on the internet.  

These sandwiches were wonderful; the addition of farmer's market tomatoes and lettuce only made them better.  

Of course, chicken sandwiches can be made in five minutes with store bought bread and mayonnaise and a supermarket rotisserie chicken.  But there's something quite satisfying about going back to the very basics, to the elemental building blocks to create something -- that kind of activity is too often lost in our swirling busy world.  (Of course, maybe it's lost precisely because making a chicken sandwich takes eight hours, and we have better things to do with our time.)

The bread recipe I used is below, but I wouldn't recommend it.  I much prefer this recipe, if you're going to make the effort to bake bread.

Grandma's Chocolate Layer Cake for George Stoney's 95th Birthday

On Sunday night, I found myself on the J train headed to Chinatown to celebrate the 95th birthday of documentary film legend George Stoney. Of course, I baked a cake.

Even though this a yellow cake, it's called a chocolate layer cake. (Didn't they think anyone would notice that it's not chocolate??)   The recipe  is from my very first childhood cookbook which is old enough to "qualify" for my blog.

This is one of those old-fashioned, delicious cakes that's a snap to make because nearly all the ingredients are simply placed in the mixer and, well, mixed all together.  No need to follow a lot of complicated steps to get a wonderful result.

Butter, flour, milk and vanilla are mixed together to form the batter.  Two eggs are added later. 

Like many cakes, this one forms a dome when baked, which can make for a lopsided looking confection when frosted.  So to get two flat-top layers, simply take a serrated knife and carefully slice off the dome of each cake, keeping your knife parallel to the cake layer.

Hard to see in this picture, but the layer at the top still has its dome;
the one in the foreground has had its top sliced off so that the top of it is flat.

The dome is a wonderful treat for the baker (and anyone else who wanders into the kitchen) and it's a perfect way to taste the cake to make sure it's good.  (Adding some leftover frosting never hurts either.)

George's birthday party was a lot of fun.  There were many people, several of them former students, eager to sit with him for a few moments.  (I think he still teaches at NYU!)  He held court, surrounded by his fans, friends and fellow filmmakers including Albert Maysles (Grey Gardens, Gimme Shelter).

George Stoney, right, with Albert Maysles

During my few moments with George he told me that when he worked at Henry Street Settlement (my current place of employ) in the 1930s, Lewis Hine taught photography there.  George and I had exchanged a number of emails prior to his party and have plans to spend some time at his apartment as he reminisces about his time at the Settlement.

Among the guests at the party was Suzanne Wasserman (above, having her cake and eating it too), a filmmaker and historian who first told me about George's involvement with Henry Street. Thank you, Suzanne!

For those of you who have read this far, I'll share a secret.  I cut a slice of cake to photograph it. Determined to deliver a "whole" cake, I slipped the slice back into place and covered the tell-tale cut lines with some extra frosting.  And then packed up the "patchwork" cake and brought it to the party.  And no one knew (except Suzanne, and only because I told her).

Eleanor's Amazing Date (Cake)

At the beginning of the 20th century, and right through the 1950s, date cakes were commonplace.  They were served at church dinners and picnics, at afternoon tea and Sunday supper.  Nearly all of my recipe boxes and cookbooks feature at least one, and often several, date cake recipes.

I don't know why date cakes fell out of favor; dates add moisture and a unique complex sweetness to baked goods.  (Plus, they are a truly sensuous fruit, unlike raisins which I associate with disappointing childhood snacks and dried up pellets whose only use was to turn their cardboard box containers into rattles.)  I bought the box of dates (above) and they were so addicting that I had to put them in a cake before I ate every last one.

Try to get "real" buttermilk, instead of the commercial product sold in most supermarkets.

This takes a *bit* of work to put together, but your efforts will be rewarded with a stunning, scrumptious cake.  The steps are many:  grate the orange peel, chop the nuts and dates and flour them, separate the eggs and whip the whites, alternate adding the dry ingredients with the buttermilk -- you get the picture.  The dates I used were so moist that even after being chopped and floured  they clung together in clumps, as if they were on teenagers on a date.

Using good eggs (not the cheap supermarket variety) makes for a better cake.

Grating orange rind is easy if you use a microplane.

To avoid overbeating the egg whites, add a bit of cream of tartar to them shortly after you start whipping them. Fold carefully into the batter, so as not to deflate them.

This recipe calls for a topping to be spooned over the cake while it's still in the pan.  Don't cook the ingredients (as I did until I realized my mistake).  Just mix them together and spoon atop the warm cake while it's still in the pan. I was worried that the sugar in the topping would cement the cake to the pan, but it released beautifully.  It was a sweet, comforting, real taste of the past.

What Happened at the Pie Contest?

The Daisy Flour Pie Baking Contest, held yesterday at the Brooklyn Kitchen was a fabulous event, and it was truly exciting to just how many accomplished pie bakers are around.  There were several super imaginative entries -- a frozen watermelon pie and one called chubby hubby that had pretzels arranged on top.  And I don't believe that there were two pies alike.  They ranged from coconut cream to blackberry, and beyond.  The only rules were that entrants had to use Daisy pastry flour and that the pie be a sweet, not savory, one.

Pies on parade.  There were about 40 entries.

The event was packed and I didn't get to taste -- or even see -- all the pies.  It was a bit chaotic, and I'm not sure exactly who got second and third place (one was a fruit pie), but the first prize winner entered a lemon chiffon pie.  I was glad to note that the pie baker was a woman "of a certain age."  Probably my age, but I think everyone is older than me (especially the older I get -- call it denial).

Once the judges got their slices, it was open pie season (read: feeding frenzy).

It was disappointing not to win, but once I tasted a piece of my buttermilk pie I knew I wouldn't.  The filling, which should have been smooth and creamy, was a bit grainy.  Perhaps I overbaked the pie, or maybe it was because I inadvertently bought skim buttermilk instead of full fat and it was too late to get the right stuff by the time I realized it.  However, DH, who was roaming the event with his camera (he took all these photos), said that my pie created a lot of buzz -- everyone's talking about it, he reported.  Everyone but the judges, I guess!

After.

Still, I learned a valuable lesson and you can too:  Always, always use pastry flour in the crust.  It made a world of difference.  The dough was much easier to handle, and it didn't brown too quickly in the oven, eliminating the need for the always annoying aluminum foil collar.  My filling wasn't first rate, but my pie crust really rocked.

My entry, a buttermilk pie

Pie Contest on Saturday!

Here's an idea for all you pie-loving New Yorkers out there -- come to the Daisy Pie Contest at 4 p.m. tomorrow (July 23rd) at the Brooklyn Kitchen in Williamsburg.

The $5 ticket (all proceeds go to the Greenpoint Soup Kitchen) will get you a taste of the entries -- 40 sweet pies in all.  The first, second and third prize pies will be judged by baking experts, but the Grand Prize can literally be bought.  For just $1 per vote, you can vote early and often for your favorite (all proceeds go to charity).    So bring lots of money and vote!  And I wouldn't mind if you all cast a few ballots for my entry, a buttermilk pie.

My Mother's Mandel Bread

Mandel bread -- aka Jewish biscotti -- is among my mother's favorite treats so for her 82nd birthday (today!) I prepared the cookies from her own handwritten recipe card.  Of course, the recipe called for chocolate chips, a rather nontraditional  ingredient, but to my mother, it's not dessert unless there's some chocolate involved.

Like biscotti, mandel bread is baked twice, first in a loaf form.  When the loaf is still warm, using a good serrated knife, slice it just like you would a loaf of bread.

Lay the slices (they will be somewhat soft) on a cookie sheet or hotel pan and then bake them at 400 degrees for about 10 minutes. (This detail is not in the recipe below.)

Is this easy?  Absolutely.  IF you're not making it for your mother.  (You can read about some previous issues in my post, Calling Dr. Freud.) I had to toss the first dough -- I had forgotten the sugar.  You can see the loaf below, leaching oil, on account of this essential missing ingredient.

And for my second attempt, I mis-measured the oil but, determined to save the dough, I simple added some extra flour and sugar.  Although the loaf spread way more than I thought was normal, I plowed through and it all turned out ok.

Mandel bread is not my cup of tea (or coffee), but it makes a nice gift.   Happy birthday, Mom!

Red Currant Tea Cake

Impulse buying is among my favorite hobbies, which is how I ended up with a pint of fresh red currants from the farmer's market.  Who could resist these glistening ruby-like berries?

I nearly succumbed to a modern recipe for a financier-like cake which would have been appropriate because yesterday was Bastille Day, but I found a c.1904 blueberry tea cake recipe that I thought might work.  And it did, beautifully. Both the folks at DH's workplace and mine quite enjoyed these tea cakes, although one wag suggested that a glaze would "enhance the experience."  (Of course, he works with DH, and not at the illustrious Henry Street Settlement with me.)

Except for the truly tedious task of removing the stems from  the currants,  this may be the easiest recipe I've made this year.  No need to add ingredients in stages, mixing this with that, beating eggs separately, etc. -- all the ingredients (except the currants) are simply poured into a bowl and mixed together.

The currants should be "floured" before adding to prevent them from sinking to the bottom of the cake.  Just put them in a bowl with some flour and shake them around to coat.  Then carefully fold them into the batter.

Like many old recipes, this one didn't specify the size or number of pans to be used.  I guess everyone simply knew what should be used to make tea cake.  Luckily, at the last minute (when the batter was already prepared) I remembered a vintage mini-loaf pan I bought a while back at a flea market in Pennsylvania.  I quickly greased and floured it and spooned the batter in.  Miraculously, I had the perfect amount of batter to fill all 12 molds.

A few production notes:
If you don't have one of these molds, don't worry.  A loaf pan would be fine, as would a round cake pan or two.  And you don't even need currants to make this -- blueberries are called for in the original recipe. I added about 1/3 cup extra sugar above what the recipe called for and sprinkled some on top of the cakes before baking because I thought the four-cups-of-flour to one-cup-o- sugar ratio would yield a cake that wasn't sweet enough.  Plus, currants are much more tart than blueberries.
And finally, watch the butter closely while melting it.  If you're fortunate enough to have a pilot light on your stove (like I do, below), simply set the butter in a small saucepan or measuring cup atop that for a few minutes.