Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

Although it is widely available throughout the year, as are most root vegetables, beetroot (beets) becomes most relied upon in my kitchen when it is winter. Its earthy sweetness and intense crimson flesh give warmth to frosty days. Beetroot bolsters the winter frame of mind and pairs particularly well with ingredients that tend to keep the cold away (especially ginger). Beetroot is surprisingly versatile and always, to my mind, an enchanting root vegetable to behold.

Beets have not always captivated me, though, and my previous aversion to them is relatively common. My revulsion stemmed from containers of sliced, pickled beetroot that were (and remain) a mainstay in my parents' refrigerator. I sampled them but once and practically gagged from the acidity of the flabby slices. I was put off for more than twenty years, avoiding any dish that came into contact with beets, even if they hadn't been pickled. Great cookery writers - Tamasin Day-Lewis, Diana Henry and Deborah Madison and their powers of description - convinced me that I had been too swift in maligning the spunky root vegetable.

For some, there is not an aversion to the taste of beets, but rather to the preparation of them. Beetroots contain pigments that stain (and for some people, hard to break down internally), and I have not come across a quick or convenient way to peel beets once they have been cooked. In my experience, it just seems best to handle beetroots as quickly as possible and to rinse one's hands often. There are two good tips to stop the colour running if you're roasting or steaming beets:
1) do not cut the stalks but 2.5cm (1") from the top of the root; and
2) do not cut the tail of the root.

The only time you may want the colour to run is when preparing soups. When roasting, wrap cleaned beets in aluminium foil and roast at 200 C (400 F) until softened, approximately 45 minutes. Unwrap foil, and when cool enough to handle, the beets are easy to be peeled, then sliced or grated as you prefer. It is best to add seasoning to beets when still warm, so that the flavours you wish to impart are absorbed by the beets.

Beetroot Tart

For the Shortcrust Pastry (for a 22-25cm (9-10") tart shell):

1 cup (and up to 1/3 cup extra, depending on humidity) flour, sifted
100g (3.5oz) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
iced water

1) In a bowl, rub together the flour and butter with the tips of your fingers until a granular consistency is reached.
2) Slowly add iced water, one tablespoon at a time, until the mixture coheres into a ball. If it seems dry, you might need to add flour - you do not want it to be sticky. (If you prefer a golden tart, use one egg as the binder, and only add water if the mixture does not entirely come together.)
3) Once a ball has been formed, create a flat disc, and cover in cling-film. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes (you can leave it overnight)
4) Bring pastry out of the fridge and let rest at room temperature to become pliable (5-10 minutes if left in the fridge for 30 minutes).
5) Preheat oven to 200 C (400 F).
6) Put pastry on a lightly-floured surface. Roll it out with a floured rolling pin, turning the pastry after each pass of the rolling pin to ensure it doesn't stick to the surface. Roll it out so it can fit into a prepared (that is to say, buttered and floured) tart shell.
7) Allow to sit in tart shell in fridge for at least 15 minutes, and until you are ready to add the beetroot filling.

For the Beetroot Filling:

750g (1 1/2lb) grated beetroot (roasted, then peeled, as above)
1 tablespoon ginger, grated
2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses
salt
pepper
2 eggs, lightly beaten and lightly seasoned with salt and pepper
3/4 cup cream (or milk)

1) In a bowl, mix together the still warm grated beetroot, ginger, pomegranate molasses, and pinches of salt and pepper.
2) Beat eggs and cream together.
3) Pour egg mixture into

To Finish:

Shortcrust pastry, as above
Beetroot filling, as above

1) Preheat oven to 180 C (350 F).
2) Take pastry shell out of the fridge and pour beetroot filling into it.
3) Place on the middle rack in the oven and bake for 35-40 minutes.
4) Allow to cool for five minutes before releasing from tart ring.

I love the shot of rich colour, almost Elizabethan in its saturation. One cannot help but be drawn to it, forgetting the howling gales outside. The butteriness of the pastry rounds out the beetroot's earthiness. I have made this before with spices, such as caraway, but have found that they make the beetroot quite musty...Ginger, on the other hand, lifts the flavour profile entirely. This is a heady tart that provides something different when one is used to the same preparations for root vegetables over the leaner winter months.

I hope that this post convinces those with an aversion, however slight or great, to give beetroot another chance. If you need to be further convinced of the beetroot's versatility, see my friend Pille's blog, nami-nami.

Labels: Beetroot, Ginger, Tart, winter

To my mum,
To my angelheart Eric's mom,
To Eric's sister who is a wonderful mommy,
To my friends who are mummies,
and to all mothers:

Happy Mother's Day.



I woke up very early this morning, so I could bake something for mum on this special day; I really wanted her to wake up to the smell of something comforting and warm. Also, this would be the first Mother's Day that I have baked for her.

Last night, again in bed with cookery books piled up around me, I was determined to find something that my mother would want to slather with butter, preferably a loaf of sorts. Mum does not have the sweetest tooth, so because I wanted to find something semi-sweet, a treat for her, the quest for something to bake for her actually proved be challenging (made more difficult by the gazillion cookery book pages to leaf through).

In the chapter entitled "From Hedgerow and Bog" of her cookery book for cold climes, Roast Figs, Sugar Snow, Diana Henry includes a dessert from a grand Swedish hotel, Hennickehammar. The dessert is a toasted ginger cake served with wine poached cranberries. I thought poached cranberries might be a bit much first thing in the morning, but the cake sounded promising because mum likes ginger. I could imagine that this would have the appealing aroma wafting from the oven to induce mum out of bed (after a sleep in, of course) and to the kitchen.

Ms. Henry says that after one day, the cake is crumbly enough to be toasted, which is how they serve it at Hennickehammar. I thought mum might like it right out of the oven, slathered with butter, to eat along with her morning cup of English Breakfast tea. Being the good son, milking as much affection as possible, I adapted the recipe for mostly sentimental reasons. Mum baked heaps when I was a kid. One of her staple additions to scones, sweet muffins, and breads was sultanas. So, to appeal to sweet childhood memories, I substituted the dried cranberries for sultanas. (Incidentally, Ms. Henry adapted the recipe too, switching out lingonberries for cranberries.) Consequently, I had the sultanas plump up in the juice from a freshly squeezed (Australian) orange instead of using that of a lemon, which works wonderfully for cranberries, I'm sure, but not for sultanas - at least to my mind.

Toasted Ginger Bread
(Adapted from Diana Henry's Roast Figs, Sugar Snow)

125g/4 1/2oz dried sultanas (or cranberries, lingonberries...)
juice of 1 orange (or lemon)
300g/10 1/2oz plain flour
200g/7oz light brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
60g/2 1/4oz butter, melted
200ml/7 fl oz milk
1 medium egg, beaten
icing sugar, to serve

1) Preheat the oven to 180 C/350 F, and butter and flour a 1kg/1lb 4oz loaf-tin.
2) Put the sultanas in a small saucepan and add the orange juice. Cover and bring to the boil, then let simmer until the sultanas have plumped up (approximately 15 minutes).
3) In a large bowl, mix the flour, sugar, ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and baking powder together, and create a well in the centre.
4) Pour the melted butter, milk, beaten egg, and sultanas with its juices into the well. Stir these wet ingredients together, gradually pulling in the dry ingredients on the outside into the well.
5) Pour the batter into the prepared loaf-tin and bake for 50 minutes, or until the cake is cooked at the centre.
6) Cool on a rack.

As you can see in the top photo, the cake has cracked, and I don't know if that is normal or not - I forgot to consult Tamasin's Kitchen Bible by Tamasin Day-Lewis beforehand. This cake has a splendidly warm ginger aroma. I merrily toasted for crispy edges and over which I sprinkled a light cloud of icing sugar. Mum, of course, went straight for the butter.

I love you, mum.

Labels: Cake, Diana Henry, Ginger

There are many times when reading cookery books that particular ingredients keep popping up. Sometimes I do research to decide whether or not I'm interested in trying them out; other times I am fixated on them. It is when I can perfectly imagine the result of recipes that these ingredients come to the fore, as was the case with stem ginger. This was rather shocking to me at first because I didn't think I was a ginger fan, but then I started thinking of my favorite New Zealand treats: gingernut biscuits (cookies) and ginger crunch, which my fellow Kiwi, Bron, wrote about here). I was unlucky in my pursuit of the item through the conventional route (various markets: super, farmers', and those in between) before finding the product online and promptly ordering it.

Stem ginger is no more than what it sounds like - stem of ginger that has been peeled, chopped into cubes or shaped into globes, then preserved in a sweet syrup (not tooth-achingly sweet, though). I have used the product once already (in a Nigel Slater recipe for Double Ginger Cake) to great success, and now I'm ready to move onto other recipes that feature this special ingredient.

In Los Angeles, though technically Winter, we have been experiencing rather warm temperatures since the weekend (about 80 F/26.7 C), thus necessitating a double-pronged effort to: (a) use stem ginger and (b) make ice cream. Could I trust myself to create a receipe? No. I have neither the balls nor the culinary experience to yet trust my own palate and hand, and with all these cookery books around (that will soon have to be packed up into boxes and shipped to New Zealand or left in storage at my angelheart Eric's mum's house in the U.S.A.), how could I not at least peer into them (ok, let's be frank: I have my nose buried in them most of the time, and they can be found strewn, bookmarked and earmarked, throughout the sunny abode...nightstand, kitchen, dining room, bathroom...)?

Would you believe that I found a recipe that exactly answered my requests? Tamasin's Kitchen Bible by Tamasin Day-Lewis is a massive tome replete with invaluable tips (or what she calls "lowdowns") and information to improve one's cookery skills and to find recipes to suit all occasions and situations. I don't know how I didn't notice this recipe before, but the cookery book referenced is dense, people!

Stem Ginger and Spice Ice Cream
(from Tamasin Day-Lewis' Tamasin's Kitchen Bible)

16oz (450ml) milk
2 vanilla pods, split and insides scraped out
6 egg yolks
6oz (170g) unrefined caster sugar, or 2 tablespoons runny honey (I used chestnut)
20oz (600ml) double cream, or 10oz (300ml) of both double cream and creme fraiche
6-8 cubes stem ginger, starting off with 6, then tasting to see if more required
1 tablespoon ginger syrup
7 cloves and a few bits of cinnamon bark, crushed in a mortar
2 more cubes stem ginger, very finely chopped

1) Scald the milk with split vanilla pods and their seeds.
2) Whisk into egg yolks and either sugar or honey.
3) Return mixture to pan, cook over low heat, whisking as you go until it thickens. (You can also whisk madly at medium heat for approximately 10 minutes before the mixture thickens. The key is to ensure that the mixture does not boil and that the egg yolks do not curdle. If they do curdle, add a tablespoon or two of really cold cream off the heat and whisk madly to bring back together, or whisk madly to reincorporate after pot has been plunged into a sink filled with ice water.)
4) Remove from heat as soon as mixture has thickened and whisk in the cream/creams.
5) In the blender, whizz the ginger, ginger syrup, and half a teaspoon of the spice mixture. Taste to see if ginger predominates to your liking, if not, then add more cubes of ginger. Ensure that the musky backnote of spice is not lost, though.
6) Churn in ice cream according to manufacturer's directions (usually about 30 minutes), adding finely chopped stem ginger in the last few minutes. You could also put mixutre with very finely chopped stem ginger in an ice tray and freeze, remembering to stir the setting walls of the ice cream into the middle of the tray after the first hour, and then again an hour or two later in order to prevent crystals forming.
7) To further accentuate the point, I served the ice cream with preserved ginger.

This is the second time I have made ice cream with a custard base. I still find it too eggy. Next time I will use one less egg yolk to see what happens. To overcome the eggy-ness, I would actually use more of the spice mixture. There is no denying that the bones of this recipe are really great and that the result, though slightly eggy for my liking, was enjoyable spoonful after spoonful. I can always rely on Ms. Day-Lewis for an original and inspiring recipe that piques my interests.

Labels: Ginger, Ice cream, Tamasin Day-Lewis

Ever since I first read Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries I have wanted to make his Double Ginger Cake, which features in the entry for 9 January. It was raining the day Mr. Slater made it; I was preparing for what was to be the end of the latest hot blast of Santa Ana Winds and the onset of a climatic depression. All I wanted to do after reading the 9 January entry was to eat ginger cake, drink coffee, and curl up under the dusky orange glow of my favorite reading lamp with a good book. Finally, I can realize that unambitious dream - or is it indeed ambitious to plan for idle moments in these times of breakneck speed and instant gratification?

This cake, though easy to make, requires patience because Mr. Slater recommends waiting one to two days for the cake to mature. This will allow for the ginger to send out its zing and mellow with the molasses. The recipe does call for items that are not commonly found in the U.S., or at least the places in Southern California that I frequent: stem ginger (preserved ginger in syrup) and golden syrup, both of which can be ordered online, as I did for the ginger syrup. I have Blackstrap molasses, so I used that instead of golden syrup and then used light muscovado sugar when Mr. Slater uses the dark variety. I figured it would all come out in the wash, so to speak. And it did.

Double Ginger Cake
(from Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries)

9oz (250g) self-raising/all-purpose flour
2 level teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 level teapspoon baking soda (bicarbonate of soda)
1 pinch salt
7oz (200g) golden syrup (blackstrap molasses)
2 tablespoons syrup from stem ginger jar
4.5oz (125g) butter
3 lumps stem ginger in syrup, finely diced
2 heaped tablespoons sultanas (I prefer raisins)
4.5oz (125g) dark muscovado sugar
2 large eggs
8oz and 2 tablespoons (240ml) milk

1) Preheat oven to 350 F (180 C).
2) Sift flour with ground spices, baking soda, and salt.
3) Put butter, golden syrup and stem ginger syrup into a small saucepan and warm over a low heat.
4) Place diced stem ginger into pan, stir, then add sultanas and sugar.
5) Let the mixture bubble gently, stirring occasionally to prevent fruit from sticking to the bottom of the saucepan.
6) Break eggs into a separate bowl, pour in milk, and beat gently to combine.
7) Remove butter and sugar mixture from heat and pour into the bowl of dry ingredients, stirring firmly and smoothly.
8) Mix in the egg and milk mixture until all ingredients are combined - sloppy but with no trace of flour.
9) Scoop mixture into lined cake tin (Mr. Slater uses one that measures 8"/20-22cm) and bake for 35-40 minutes.
10) When cake passes the skewer test and unless you are serving it warm, let the double ginger cake cool, then tip it out onto greaseproof paper. Wrap it up in foil, and then leave to mature for 1-2 days.

Instead of using the size tin Mr. Slater recommends, I used a 9.5" LeCreuset stoneware oval baking dish. Judge yourself for the volume. I was not concerned because there was not a high quantity of raising agents, so I knew that the cake would slowly rise, semi-set, then rise again, and as the cake expanded ever so slowly, there was little danger of overflowing the chosen baking vessel.

This cake is now my second made specifically for the purpose of fulfilling my afternoon tea (or coffee in my case) cravings. The cake came out just as Mr. Slater describes, mildly crisp on the top, but dense and moist elsewhere. The rich color of the cake, gorgeously sumptuous dark brown exterior and almost cacao red in the center, alone beckons, but it really is the gorgeous aromas that the cake releases as its baking that really set my heart racing. Heady aromas and gut-filling substance are what Winter baking and cooking is all about for me, even if it is just for afternoon tea.

This will have to be it for just over one week because my angelheart Eric and I are off to Paris. Aside from the standard sight-seeing (it will be Eric's first time), I will be checking out the food...I will no doubt come back suitably recharged...and with a couple more cookery books!

Labels: Afternoon Tea, Cake, Ginger, Nigel Slater