Archive for the ‘Holidays’ Category

Dyed Easter eggs with leaf or flower motifs

28 March 2013

DSC_1386

I have dyed eggs this way since I was a little girl.

My grandparents lived in Switzerland, in a chalet overlooking Lake Brienz. It was a place straight out of a storybook and I have many Heidi memories, running up mountains and down steep meadows with cows in the field nearby, an isolated chalet in the distance, and the Alps all around. Sweet summer smells of sunshine and succulents can conjure up those memories unexpectedly, but I sometimes invoke them willfully, through rituals like these: every year for Easter I dye eggs with leaf patterns, as we used to do.

In Switzerland we easily found natural dyes at the pharmacy (they are still readily available): walnut husks for deep brown, dried mallow petals for blues, and all sorts of bark for various hues of yellow, orange, and red. But here in New York I’ve been compelled to use everyday ingredients, fruits and vegetables — even better! If only they’d worked. For years I was woefully unsuccessful with all vegetable dyes except onion skins, which are brilliantly reliable and produce a stunning deep brick red.

DSC_1379

I was on the verge of writing off all other colors, had I not recently been taunted by blogs and photos posting deep-hued eggs tinted with spinach, turmeric, red cabbage… Why not me? I’d been using the wrong method. During all those years of stubbornly prepared and pitifully useless homemade dyes I had followed the instructions remembered from the little Swiss packets: hard-boil the eggs for 12 to 15 minutes directly in the colored liquid. This did work with onion skins but other vegetables left no trace on the shells whatsoever. Determined to get something out of my cabbage after all (and wised-up by some online reading) this time I waited for the liquid to cool, plunged the already hard-boiled eggs into the dye, and left them in the refrigerator overnight. Magic!

This time I made the experiment with red cabbage only, but I know it is the way to success, and I see a bright multi-colored Easter-egg future ahead.

DSC_1172

Red eggs = onion skins, blue eggs = red cabbage, brown eggs = walnut husks brought back from Switzerland

Approximately 2 cups packed onion skins

Approximately 3 cups shredded red cabbage

18 to 24 eggs

White vinegar

Freshly picked leaves and flowers

Old/cheap tan stockings

Kitchen string

*

Prepare the dyes in two medium saucepans: about 8 cups of cold water for 2 cups of onion skins and about 6 cups of cold water for 3 cups of shredded red cabbage. Bring to a boil and simmer gently for about 30 minutes. Let cool.

Meanwhile hard-boil the eggs: bring a large saucepan of water to boil, gently place the eggs inside, and simmer gently for 12 minutes. Run immediately under cold water. Let dry and gently rub the eggs with a little white vinegar.

Cut the stockings into 3-inch (8-cm) squares approximately.

Place a leaf or flower onto the egg; carefully place the stocking over the leaf and tighten the stocking over the egg by gathering it at the back, thereby gluing the leaf to the egg. Twist the stocking to tighten as much as possible then bind it with a piece of string. **Alternatively, we also just tie rubber bands over the bare egg to create line motifs.**

Place the eggs in large jars, pour the cold dye over the eggs, and leave in the refrigerator until the egg acquires the desired hue.

Cut the stocking at the string and carefully remove it and the leaf (or flower) to reveal the design. **Be mindful not to scratch the egg as the dye can rub off while it is still wet.**

Once the eggs are dry, rub with a little oil for shine.

 DSC_1178

*

Related posts

Happy Easter!

Christmas cookies | Almond and currant (Corinth raisin) cookies

22 December 2012

DSC_0852_2

Traditionally, my mother and I divided baking duties for Christmas. I baked Stollen, she made everything else. A most delicious fruitcake that soaks in bourbon for weeks, gingerbread with the children, Zimtsterne (cinnamon stars), Haselnuss Leckerli (Swiss hazelnut cookies), and these almond and currant cookies. Recipes from our childhood, which she has baked for decades.

In a newly discovered enthusiasm for baking cookies, in the past couple of years I’ve sought out new recipes, to complement the Christmas spread. Last year I also decided to make these myself, to pick up the tradition, perhaps? They are understated, without the heady Christmas spices. They are my favorite.

*

The cookies must sit in the refrigerator overnight so plan accordingly, otherwise they are extremely quick and easy to make. They improve with time so, ideally, they should be prepared a few weeks in advance. Oh well.

1 cup (225 g) butter

1/2 cup (115 g) sugar

4 egg yolks

3 1/4 cups (400 g) flour

1 cup (100 g) slivered almonds

3/4 cup (100 g) currants (Corinth raisins)

*

Let the butter soften at room temperature.

Mix the butter and sugar and light and fluffy. Add the egg yolks and flour and mix well until the dough is homogenous and smooth.

Divide the dough into two equal parts. Add the almonds to one half and the currants to the other, kneading well until they are completely integrated.

Roll each half into a long log approximately 2 in (5 cm) in diameter. (Optionally, to make squarish cookies as shown above, flatten the log on four sides.) Wrap each log first in parchment paper then clingfilm, and place in the refrigerator overnight.

When ready to bake the next day, preheat the oven to 400°F (200°C).

With a thin sharp knife, cut the logs into thin cookies 1/4 inch (6 mm) thick. Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and bake 8 to 10 minutes, until they just start to turn golden. (They will feel soft to the touch but will harden as they cool.)

Store in a tin in a cool dry place for up to a few weeks.

*

Related recipes

Christmas cookies | Swiss Anisseed Chrabeli

Stollen

Candied orange and lemon peel

8 December 2012

DSC_1007

For years I’ve wanted to do this. Every time, as I gather all the ingredients to make Stollen in early December, I think I really should make candied citrus peel myself. But caught in the rush I end up scrambling and scouring stores desperately to find an acceptable option — usually just barely.

So I’m quite excited. It’s not as if I’d suddenly been graced with lots more time, rather to the contrary, but I guess that’s how it works.

It does take time — a few hours. Peeling, cutting, staying close to the boil. Repeating. It’s time-consuming. But simple. It’s meditative. And worth it.

DSC_0935

Orange peel

I candied the peel to use in Stollen, but there is plenty left over, which can be eaten as is, rolled in sugar, or dipped in dark melted chocolate to make orangettes. Mmmm.

5 oranges

3 cups (600 g) sugar

1 1/2 cups (350 ml) water (more for the first step)

To peel the oranges, trim off a ‘cap’ at either end so the orange sits in a stable position. Cut pieces of peel, equal to approximately a sixth of the fruit, from top to the bottom, including the pith and a bit of fruit. (The flesh can be used elsewhere for example in a fruit salad.) Slice the pieces of peel into strips 1/2 to 1-inch (1 to 2 cm) wide.
Place the peel in a smallish saucepan, cover with water, bring to a simmer and boil for a couple of minutes. Drain, discarding the water. Cover the peel with fresh water and repeat this three times (4 boils altogether).

Rinse the saucepan. Pour the sugar and 1 1/2 cups (350 ml) water, bring to a boil, then add the peel. Simmer, partially covered, for about an hour, removing scum if it occurs, until the peel is soft and translucent on the sides. (The pith should be translucent too.)

Place the pieces of peel on a rack or baking sheet covered with parchment paper and let dry for 24 to 36 hours.

Keep the syrup in the fridge and mix with sparkling water for a refreshing drink, or drizzled over plain yogurt.

DSC_0949

Lemon peel
(Same technique but the quantities are halved, and lemon peel can also be dipped in dark chocolate to make ‘lemonettes’!)

5 lemons

1 1/2 cups (300 g) sugar

3/4 cup (200 ml) water (more for the first step)

To peel the lemons, trim off a ‘cap’ at either end so the orange sits in a stable position. Cut pieces of peel, equal to approximately a sixth of the fruit, from top to the bottom, including the pith and a bit of fruit. (The flesh can be used elsewhere for example in a fruit salad.) Slice the pieces of peel into strips 1/2 to 1-inch (1 to 2 cm) wide.

Place the peel in a smallish saucepan, cover with water, bring to a simmer and boil for a couple of minutes. Drain, discarding the water. Cover the peel with fresh water and repeat this three times (4 boils altogether).

Rinse the saucepan. Pour the sugar and 3/4 cup (200 ml) water, bring to a boil, then add the peel. Simmer, partially covered, for about an hour, removing scum if it occurs, until the peel is soft and translucent on the sides. (The pith should not be white anymore, completely translucent.)

Place the peels on a rack or baking sheet covered with parchment paper and let dry for 24 to 36 hours.

Keep the syrup in the fridge and mix with sparkling water for a refreshing drink, or drizzled over plain yogurt.

*

Related posts

Stollen

The last Thanksgiving, for a while

29 November 2012

Thirteen years and a few months ago, Thomas and I moved to New York for two or three years. Thomas says one or two years. Apparently, we hadn’t discussed things in great detail. Actually, he went to DC while I settled in New York; it was clear that he would join me a year later. At least I think it was. (He did.) We had married in Berlin three weeks earlier.

Next summer we are moving to London. I know better than to give an estimated time-frame. I think it will be temporary. Thomas thinks it won’t. We still own our opinions.

So for me the holiday this year took on the slightly nostalgic sheen of our last Thanksgiving stateside, for a while. I pulled out a carefully folded, diligently preserved page from the Wednesday, November 17, 1999 New York Times: In a Berkeley Kitchen, A Celebration of Simplicity. I didn’t host Thanksgiving that first year, a friend had invited us to her huge, raw, self-renovated, artfully stage-managed Meatpacking district loft. She gave me the newspaper clipping and asked whether I might bake the cranberry upside-down cake. Of course I would.

The feast featured turkey and salmon, creamed leeks and lots of other sides that I can’t recall, though we helped prepare most of it that afternoon. There were probably thirty guests, in a grand space that could have accommodated sixty. We sat cross-legged on cushions around a long low candlelit table. I eavesdropped as a soul-searching dancer waxed existential with a timidly successful artist. New York! I had landed, incredibly, in the middle of a Woody Allen movie (I grew up in France, after all).

Now, when I pull out the yellowed, dried-out newspaper, that night comes rushing back. And those tentative beginnings in New York. Moving to a new city not knowing a soul (ok, two souls). The daunting search for work in a completely new world. It was scary and exciting and wonderful. Alice Waters’ Thanksgiving recipes remind me of all of it.

This year I didn’t prepare the cranberry upside-down cake because dessert is the one thing I don’t make on Thanksgiving nowadays, but I made her wild mushroom stuffing and the stewed fennel. For old times’ sake. And lots of other things. In the past I’ve stuck to a well orchestrated, carefully balanced mix of dishes and flavors that worked very well but kept bugging me as lacking the true spirit of American Thanksgiving, which, I know, is very much about the abundance of sides. Pushing aside this European restraint, I let go.

I would make mashed potatoes, of course, and a shaved Brussels sprouts salad I’ve been wanting to do for years. On the Monday before Thanksgiving I tried to make cranberry chutney. It wasn’t right. On Tuesday I cooked it again, with more sugar and some walnuts. I imagined something sweet and very thick, practically sticky. Wednesday evening Thomas baked his pumpkin pies, I made soup, and as I started a classic cranberry sauce I felt the chutney still needed more sugar, more cooking. It was getting late. But at 1:00 am I decided I must also make those pickled carrots I’d seen a few days before. And I had squash so I’d roast that with spices and a light touch of maple syrup. It was a lot of fun. The final menu looked something like this.

Celeriac and chestnut soup

Heritage turkey
Wild mushroom stuffing

Mashed potatoes
Stewed fennel
Spicy roasted squash
Brussels sprouts salad with pecorino
Pickled carrots
Cranberry sauce
Cranberry chutney

Desserts — pumpkin pies, pear and chocolate tarte, apple cake, tiramisu, chocolate soufflés …

The next day, elated from the party but also exhausted from it all, as we drove away to spend the rest of the weekend — traditionally — by the sea, and although our friends were already scheming to come to London to celebrate next year, I was practically ready to leave that holiday behind.

A new city, a new country, new traditions, surely. Of course I wouldn’t. I’ve taken Thanksgiving with me from Paris to Berlin and home to New York. London Thanksgiving will have to be, and forge its own traditions.

A carrot cake for Halloween

9 November 2012

I felt so organized, I had it all planned out. I would not only make the cake but photograph it and publish it here on Halloween. My plans were thwarted by a storm which, uncharacteristically among New York weather forecasts, turned out to be stronger and much more damaging than anyone expected. Taking the warnings lightly at first we didn’t stock up on food, water, or candles. We didn’t try to locate our missing flashlight.

Subways stopped running on Sunday evening; on Monday schools and offices were closed. Homebound by this citywide shutdown, we huddled and played games all morning. The hurricane was on its way, barely perceptible but for the blustery weather, and we were waiting. Suddenly we felt we must go out. Now was the moment, while there was still time.

The impulse was to go toward the water, see the swollen river, perch on benches to watch the eerily high Hudson. It seems frivolous now. The city was already deserted. The empty park, the windswept streets. We decided perhaps we should make provisions, after all, and my thoughts were, stubbornly, on the Halloween cake.

Some stores that had been open were closing, sending us and a few forlorn tourists on their way. We finally found one, ransacked of chicken and ice cream but with plenty of carrots and walnuts. I forgot to look for candles. We stopped at a pharmacy, they were sold out. I bought two different sizes of batteries hoping one might fit the flashlight, if I could find it.

That night the hurricane came with howling winds and crashing trees, but in our corner of town the power didn’t go out, the lights barely flickered. The next morning I even made the cake. Then the news started getting worse. Those without power were soon without water. Stories of houses burned to the ground, scenes of complete devastation.

So we started checking up on friends, offering food, hot showers, and power outlets. And friends came. And it was Halloween. And though all was dark downtown and broken elsewhere we went trick or treating in Harlem, with neighbors. I even finished the cake, with icing and evil-looking spiders. Just in time.

The news kept getting worse. Within a few days some areas recovered electricity, water, and heat; others did not. Many have lost much more. We were unnaturally lucky, so close and so unscathed. My mind hasn’t been on cooking. Feeding friends and family, yes, but not cooking.

***

Carrot Cake

For the past three years I’ve made carrot cake for Halloween, adorned with what I think are pretty cool, mean-looking, edible prune and cranberry spiders. I’m not exactly sure how I got hung up on that particular type of cake but in my mind it presented itself as the natural choice. I was inspired by a few recipes to achieve this one, which comes quite close to my ideal version of a carrot cake. Dense but moist, not too sweet, with nuts.

1 cup (225 g) butter (and a little extra to butter the pan)

1 1/4 cup (200 g) brown sugar

4 eggs

1/2 (150 ml) cup buttermilk

1 tsp vanilla extract

1/4 cup (75 ml) honey

2 cups (250 g) flour, half white half whole wheat

2 tsps baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

2 tsps salt

2 cups (250 g) finely grated carrots

1 1/2 cups chopped walnuts

1/2 (100 g) cup raisins

1 cup (250 ml) apple sauce

Take the butter out of the refrigerator to soften at room temperature for about 15-20 min.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C) and line the bottom of an 11-inch (28 cm) round cake pan with parchment paper. Butter the paper and the sides of the pan.

In a large bowl, beat the softened butter with the sugar until the mixture becomes light colored and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, whisking well to combine. Add the buttermilk, vanilla extract, and honey, mixing well.

In another bowl, mix together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

Add the flour to the sugar/butter/egg mixture, stirring just enough so the flour disappears.

Gently add the carrots, walnuts, raisins, and apple sauce.

Bake in the oven for 1 hour to 1 hour 15 min. The cake is done when a knife inserted in the center of the cake comes out clean.

*

Icing

8 Tbsps (110 g) unsalted butter

6 oz. (170 g) cream cheese

1 lb (500 g) mascarpone

1 1/2 cups (150 g) icing sugar

Zest and juice from 1 lemon

At room temperature, let the butter become very soft. In a medium bowl, beat it well with a spatula.

In a small bowl, beat the cream cheese well before mixing it with the butter. Once the cream cheese is incorporated with the butter, beat the mascarpone well before adding it to the butter and cream cheese.

Sift the icing sugar before mixing it into the butter/cream cheese/mascarpone mix.

Finish by stirring in the lemon zest and juice.

Refrigerate the icing about 1/2 hour before spreading it onto the cake.

*

Spiders

1 prune and 1 large sweetened cranberry per spider

Cut the prune into thin slivers lengthwise to create eight spider legs. Place the cranberry on the cake so as to make the body of the spider. Arrange the ‘legs’ around it.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 66 other followers

%d bloggers like this: