Friday, July 11, 2008

Grandma's Teacakes

When I first started this blog, a few months ago, one of the first recipes was my Grandmother's take on Carrot Cake. Well, this recipe is from my other grandmother, the one on my dad's side.

When she was much, much younger, my dad's mother actually ran a bakery out of her home. She catered events in the small town they lived in, and people would come by their house to buy all sorts of baked goods. The front door on the house actually opened into the kitchen, so the front of the house doubled as her storefront.

By the time I was born, Grandma was far too old to still be baking, but people still talked about her legendary potato salads and pound cakes. My father's favorite recipe was her teacakes, a cookie that was very soft, almost pillowy, and only barely sweet. The recipe to these cookies had been lost, and when I was young my mother tried all sorts of recipes to try and approximate the storied teacakes, but none measured up to what my father remembered. They were all too crunchy, or too sweet, or doughy instead of soft.

It wasn't until we cleaned out her old house after my Grandfather's (her husband's) death that we found the recipe. It was on a card, tucked away on a high shelf under an unused flour container. My mother made the recipe to try it, and it turns out these cookies deserved every bit of their reputation for being addictive. The barely-sweet nature encourages you to eat lots of them because hey, it can't be that much sugar, right? And truth be told, I've never felt guilty about gobbling these. I keep some frozen for when I get cravings, or when my nightly tea just won't be complete without a little something special. I think that in a lot of ways, I like these better than chocolate, and that's saying something!

Grandma's Teacakes

1 1/2 cup flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup sugar
1 large egg
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 tsp lemon
1/3 cup buttermilk

Preheat the oven to 350F.

Whisk the dry ingredients (flour, salt, baking soda) together and set that bowl aside. Using a mixer and a large mixing bowl, cream the butter. Add the sugar, and beat that in until the mixture forms pale yellow, curd-like lumps and you can no longer see free standing sugar in the bottom of the bowl. Add the egg, and beat that in. Add the vanilla and the lemon juice, and beat some more. Add about 1/3 of the flour, and mix until that's incorporated. Add half the buttermilk, and beat that in. Add the second 1/3 of the flour, and beat. Add the rest of the buttermilk, beat, then add the rest of the flour and mix the whole thing for a minute or so to make sure it's creamy. At this point, the batter should be pale, smooth, and fairly soft.

Cover a baking sheet with parchment, and use a tbsp to drop cookies onto the sheet, about 2-3 inches apart (these will spread quite a bit). I can usually fit 12 cookies onto a standard size baking sheet, in four rows of three. Bake for 11-15 minutes, until the bottom edge of the cookie has just begun to turn brown. Do not be tempted to leave these in until the tops of the cookies brown. The tops should be very pale, and the bottom edge of the cookies should have just a very fine rim of brown. When this happens, remove the cookie sheet from the oven and let it sit for two minutes, then remove the cookies to a cooling rack to finish their cooling process. Repeat the cooking process with another cookie sheet, until you've used up all the batter (this recipe usually is perfect for two sheets with me).

These cookies are best eaten almost as soon as they're out of the oven, when they're warm and pillow-soft and amazing. They stay amazing for one day, and are perfectly fine the day after, but too much longer and they start to lose their delightfully soft texture. So if you don't plan to eat them pretty quickly, just stick them in the freezer. They never take long to thaw (five minutes, less if you've got a toaster oven), so that way you can have them whenever you want.

Servings: 20 - 25 cookies. It usually makes exactly 24 for me.

Artichoke Pasta Florentine

Florentine. Doesn't it sound sophisticated? As though maybe it's the sort of pasta one would eat in cathedrals, while making erudite comments about frescoes. It doesn't sound at all like a dish that you could throw together in fifteen minutes on a weeknight, when you've only got half an hour to eat in between a job and a class.

This is about as simple as it gets, but it will fill you up, it's ridiculously cheap, and it's fast. In short, this is the kind of dinner that you eat when fancy roasts have come and gone, when soups and braises are too time-consuming, and when all you need is food that isn't going to demand any thought. Plus, it tastes good, and is reasonably healthy. I say it's a win all around.

Artichoke Pasta Florentine

1/4 lb short-cut pasta (I like penne rigate)
1/8 lb spinach (my grocery sells 1/4 bags, so I just use half a bag)
1 can of tinned artichoke hearts, drained (get the kind tinned in water if you can, I find they saute better)
1 tbsp unsalted butter
Salt
Parmesan (I like shaved, but if grated is all you can get, go for that)

Begin by bringing a pot of water to a boil. Add the pasta and salt the water, then let it boil for 10 minutes or so.

While your water is boiling, chop your artichoke hearts into quarters or eights. In a large saucepan, melt the butter over medium-high heat and drop in the artichokes. Cook them for 5-7 minutes, until they acquire a lovely golden-brown sear on their bottom side (you can turn them if they sear too quickly. Both sides seared tastes better anyway, so go for it). They should smell really good during this process, all buttery and rich. When the artichokes are lovely and golden, dump in the spinach and remove the saucepan from the heat. The pasta should be about done by this point, so drain the pasta while the spinach wilts. Dump the pasta into the saucepan and stir everything together to mix it thoroughly. Sprinkle the whole thing generously with shaved parmesan (seriously, be generous with the cheese!). Stir again, to let the cheese get mixed in and melted around the pasta. Serve immediately, while the cheese is still stringy.

Servings: 4-6

Rutabaga-Leek Soup

It's been a long time since I posted a soup recipe, and if I recall correctly, the last time I extolled the virtues of unappreciated root vegetables. This is another one of those soups. The flavour is buttery and smooth, sort of like a good veggie stock's grown up cousin, but a bowl won't leave you feeling like there's a stone in your stomach.

You see, it's ninety-five degrees where I live now, and I am not in the mood for some wintery soup. So this one is lighter, and takes advantage of the snappy flavour of fresh leeks to add a bit of a twist. It's comfort food for when comfort food needs a lighter edge, like those days when you just feel the need to do something good for your body. I'm really kind of in love.

(Bonus! With food prices so ridiculous these days, underappreciated veggies tend to be cheap, because groceries want to get rid of them. So it's also cost-effective!)

(Extra-Bonus! It only uses one pot total, so the clean up takes about two minutes, and less if you've got a dishwasher!)

Rutabaga-Leek Soup

1 rutabaga, peeled (I find a vegetable peeler works best for this, but some people use paring knives)
1/2 small onion, or 1/4 medium one
3 large leeks, or 4 medium ones
3 tbsp unsalted butter
1 1/2 qts chicken stock
1 beef bouillon cube
1 can black beans, drained (I like Bush's)
6 stalks fresh thyme
2 stalks fresh oregano
Olive oil
Salt
Pepper

Begin by cutting your rutabaga into 1 inch cubes. These are supposed to be kind of rustic, so don't waste time with perfect knife work. Dump the rutabaga into a soup pot (which should be very large) about 1/3 full of boiling water, and add a small palmful of salt. Reduce the heat until the rutabaga is just barely boiling (on my stove this is medium-high), and cook for 10-15 minutes, or until the rutabaga is soft. When it's finished, drain it and let it sit until you need it.

While the rutabaga is boiling, chop your onion, then chop your leeks. Begin by cutting off the dark green leaves, and the very tip of the white end (the bit with the tentacle-ish roots). Wash your leeks thoroughly (this is very important, as leeks can contain dirt, and that's gross), then cut them in half lengthwise. Chop both halves into 1/4 inch thick semi-circles.

When the rutabaga is finished boiling and has been drained, rinse out the soup pot and return it to the burner. Lower the heat to medium and melt the butter, then drop in the onions. When the onions are soft and translucent, add the leeks and stir to coat them in butter. If you end up with too many leeks to coat sufficiently in butter, add a dash of olive oil to make sure they don't wind up sticking to the pot. Cook the leeks, stirring often, until they've softened and gone limp.

Add your chicken stock to the soup pot on top of the leeks. Dump in the rutabaga and stir, then dump in the drained beans and stir some more. Your soup should be substantial, but not overcrowded. You can add more stock if necessary; this is kind of an eyeball-it judgment. Add your herbs by just dropping in the whole stalk. You get the best flavour this way, and you can fish out the stalks before you serve it. Bring the whole thing to a boil again, then reduce the heat to low and simmer for 30 minutes. Taste, and adjust seasonings before you serve.

Servings: 8-12