A Candy Cane Christmas

A stock compliment for food, at least in tv commercials, is 'It's just like grandma used to make!'.  It's not that grandma's cooking should necessarily be held up as the gold standard against which all other food should be judged (let's be honest, the course of history has surely produced grandmas who couldn't bake), it's the idea that grandma represents warmth, love and comfort [food] that the compliment seeks to evoke.  Unfortunately for me I grew up on the opposite coast from my grandma, and while we visited every couple of years as kids, there aren't really many things that I can remember her making, except - importantly - cookies.

My favourite cookies of grammy's were candy cane cookies.  She probably didn't make up the recipe herself; it appears in Christmas Cookies (1986).  But I didn't know that as a kid, and she was making them long before the publication of that book: my mom remembers her making them when she was little.  Nowadays if mom makes them she uses a handwritten recipe copied from grandma's - the best kind of recipe I think.

Not only do handwritten recipes show that the ingredients and methods are tested, but it puts you in touch with the writer and brings the recipe to life.  They might have additions and emendations, and, if you're lucky, they even have food stains to show their time in action (also a sign of a good cookbook).  They preserve history, but aren't stuck in it.  My mom's candy cane cookies are not just like grandma's, and mine are not just like hers.  It doesn't matter though, because they are yummy in every iteration, and a candy cane cookie will always mean Christmas.

The recipe for candy cane cookies can be found in the Recipe Box.  These cookies begin with one batch of basic cookie dough, similar to sugar cookie dough but with the addition of shortening.  To this grandma would add both vanilla and almond extract.  Mom adds vanilla, almond, and peppermint extract.  I add just the vanilla, then split the dough into two batches (which will be the two stripes of the candy canes) before adding almond to one and peppermint to the other.  The peppermint batch also gets red dye.

Take a small ball of each colour (less than a tablespoon), and roll them into strips.  Before doing this, you can optionally crush up about three candy canes to roll the red strips through, or you can crush them later to mix with sugar and sprinkle over the cookies just after they come out of the oven.  In my experience the sugar-candy cane sprinkles don't stick very well, so just to be safe I do both.

Roll the strips of each colour out to about the width of your pinky finger, then twist them together.  It is possible to make larger candy canes than this, but they may be more liable to breakage, especially if they will be travelling.

Then shape into a candy cane.  I do this before transferring to a lightly greased baking sheet, but if it is easier for you you could transfer the twist to the sheet and shape there.

These cookies do expand a bit when baking, so make sure there is a little bit of space between each cane.

If baking with candy cane pieces, remove from the baking sheet while still slightly warm, as the melted candy will stick to the sheet.

Finally, all you need to do is decide if you're leaving any for Santa...

Cake is the New Black

Let me tell you something about recipes: they lie.  Not about the ingredients or the methods or the order of the steps - those are all important.  Those can be jumbled or unclear, but that's another matter.  The lies come before all that.  The lies lie in the prep time.

When I say that the prep time is a lie (insert 'the cake is a lie' reference at will), I am of course exaggerating.  The lies aren't malicious, and in ideal circumstances they might even be truths.  The prep time is more like a fantasy, or that maybe-just-possibly-if-you-work-really-hard-barely-attainable goal.  If you've followed a recipe one hundred times you're bound to get quicker at it, or if you have a minion to set everything up for you before you start that would certainly speed things up too.  But if you've baked something one hundred times (or if you have a minion) then you probably aren't even looking at the recipe any more.  Recipes are for those of us who don't know what we're doing, and therefore if they insist on providing a prep time, they should tell it like it is: 'It will be an hour before this cake is even in the oven, and you'll probably be wearing half of it before it gets there'.  Then again, it could just be me.

Just after finishing off a large bag of apples making a pie, I saw this recipe from BBC Food and knew that I wanted to try it.  When I had another enormous bag of apples (another pie, two galettes and this cake's worth of apples, to be specific), I did.  It was my turn to bake for a class, I was low on time and the recipe said under thirty minutes to prep - perfect!

It wasn't perfect.  The cake was delicious and well worth it in the end, but between washing, coring and peeling the apples, and then waiting for them to become 'fluffy', it took much longer than the estimation provided in the recipe.

What are fluffy apples?

To be fair, I may be at least partly to blame for the extra time.  To start, when I saw how few apples 300g was (somewhere in the vicinity of two), I doubled the recipe.  I also made a mistake at this point in that when I read 'add the apples, water and sugar' I added all the sugar, when really only the castor sugar was meant to go in.  Oh well!  I can't imagine that the brown sugar affected the cook time though.

Are they fluffy yet?

I saw steam in the saucepan and covered them for 3-4 minutes as per the recipe, but when I took the lid off I didn't see much difference.  I left them to their simmering, and it did appear that the apples were softening (getting fluffier?) and that the sauce was thinning, but I still wasn't really sure what was meant by cook them 'until thick and fluffy'.  Then I bothered to read the next step, which was to beat them to remove lumps, and realized that I was essentially supposed to be making applesauce.  At that point I left them to continue simmering for I can't remember how long while I moved on to the second component of the batter.

First I was supposed to beat the butter and brown sugar, at which point I realized that I'd messed up and put the brown sugar in the sauce pan with the apples, so I beat the butter on its own instead.  The downside of this was that there was no sugar to create air pockets in the butter to lighten it, but the cake was light enough in the end so I don't think it truly suffered from the misstep.  Nor did it suffer from golden syrup that was past its expiration date.  I'd never used golden syrup before, but had inherited some from a friend and it had been hanging out in the back of my cabinet since then.  Since it was a syrup I wasn't at all concerned about it aging, nor was I surprised or worried to find crystallization inside the can.  I was, however, surprised by the presence of an expiration date on the lid.  Since I didn't want to kill anyone, I naturally sought the advice of google, who provided me with many instructions on how to age golden syrup, some references to Heston Blumenthal's use of 60 or 70 year old syrup and word straight from Lyle's factory that at least one of their higher-ups would only eat syrup that was past the 'best before'; apparently, like wine and cheese, this stuff gets better with age.  Remember that at your next dinner party.

In addition to the golden syrup, eggs and vanilla are beaten into the butter, followed by the flour.  The recipe calls for self-raising, but I don't keep that around, so I mixed baking powder into my flour before incorporating it (two teaspoons to one cup of flour).  After adding the flour, it was back to the apples.

Applesauce is fluffy right?

I had turned the heat off on the apples so they didn't overcook while I was distracted, and added the all-important calvados.  Then I beat them with a hand mixer, in a sauce pan that was definitely too shallow for such an activity... but what's a little extra laundry anyway?  Adding the baking soda was probably the best bit - I was not at all ready to feel like a mad scientist before the apples started fizzing and foaming, but I did!  And I liked it.  And maybe I am.

The frothing applesauce had to be added to the rest of the batter quickly, before it deflated, and mixing had to be similarly swift, but also gentle so as to not pop all the bubbles.  All together it didn't look very pretty, although it did smell nice.  Thankfully the oven did wonders for its image.

The cake had to come out of the oven after about 30 minutes to be beautified with apples, and I used more of the same Bramley since I did not follow the recipe's advice to buy a Cox's Orange Pippin especially for the purpose.  I don't know the reason for the different variety on top, but I don't think that it mattered.

While the cake was baking, I made the caramel sauce.  I had an idea that caramel sauce was difficult to make, so I was very pleasantly surprised to find straightforward and relatively quick.  You simply melt brown sugar and butter, add double cream (and in this case calvados), and stir.

I stirred constantly to prevent burning, but kept it over a low heat for sufficiently long to feel that it would be a nice thick sauce.  Mission accomplished.  I could stand a spoon in it after overnight refrigeration, and it had to be reheated for use the next day.

This sauce was a winner, possibly even the star of the cake.  The new mission is to think of something else to pair it with, maybe a brownie-shaped something...

Unlike the recipe for the cake itself, I did not double the caramel recipe.  In hindsight if I had I could have been enjoying it for days (smeared on shortbread perhaps? or over some vanilla bean ice cream? excuse me, I'll be in my happy place now...), but in reality there was more than plenty for the cake with just a single batch.

While I did find this cake to be more of a time commitment than I'd been anticipating, the recipe itself was not too difficult, no surprises (apart from fizzing fluffy apples), and the result was totally worth the effort (and the laundry).

Sophisticated Swine

If the cake has been commissioned, is it still procrastibaking?

The answer is yes and no.  Yes: if the commission is accepted, so is the time commitment, and therefore whatever it is that really should be getting done is not getting done.  No: when you're baking a cake that's not for yourself but rather for someone else, the pressure is on in a way that it obviously isn't for the average procrastibake.

Plus, you don't get to eat it.

Does this really matter?  No, probably not; payment compensates enough for the pain of pressure/lack of face-stuffing.  And in this particular case, so do fondant pigs.

My commission, should I have chosen to accept it (spoiler: I did) was to make a 'sophisticated pig' cake for a 15 year old's birthday.  These were admittedly puzzling instructions (my friend suggested a pig with a monocle), but they weren't anything much stranger than some requests I'd had or heard of working in the bakery.  To complicate matters a bit, the birthday girl didn't like chocolate (*gasp!!*), and so the little piggies could have no mud to play in. She also didn't like nuts, so marzipan was out.  Starting from that, I concluded that I needed fondant for the pigs and buttercream that I could sprinkle cookie crumbs on to signify dirt; not chocolate cookies though, no no.  Everybody loves vanilla cake with strawberry (and if they don't we can't be friends), so that was my suggestion for the cake itself, and happily it was met with approval.

This little piggy bought some fondant...

The first step was to make the fondant pigs, a.) so that they'd have time to dry out before I put them on the cake and b.) so that I didn't have to mess around with them on the day, risking something going wrong. I used google images to try to get some inspiration, and happened upon this great tutorial from candy ribbon sweets.  I won't give complete instructions here because they've already been so well done there.

I bought red fondant because the store was out of pink, but this actually worked to my advantage because it meant I could really control the colour by mixing a small amount of it in to a ball of white fondant.  I also added a touch of black fondant just to make the colour a little less bright and a little more natural.  I added some tylose powder to dry it out, and had a raw spaghetti noodle on hand to attach the piggies head to his body.  The first step is to roll out one ball for the body, a smaller one for the head, four even smaller ones for the feet, and, continuing to downsize, one for the snout and two for the ears.  You may want to cover the balls with a piece of saran wrap to prevent drying as you go along, although I didn't find this to be a problem.

Squeeze the tops of the legs so that they will be narrower where they attach to the body with fatter hooves, and attach them to the body (it helps if you rub a little water on the body where attaching legs to help them stick).  Using a decorating tool as shown on candy ribbon sweets, or simply using a knife, press a line into the hooves to create a cleft.  Poke a bit of raw spaghetti into the head or body where you want to attach them, moisten whichever piece doesn't have the spaghetti in it, and stick the head to the body (being careful not to poke the spaghetti all the way through one side or the other).  Mold the ears by making triangles and indenting them either with a decorating tool or a q-tip, attach them to the head, and mold the snout by pressing the final ball into a flat disc.  Attach it, and poke holes for nostrils with some of the left-over spaghetti.

I made two pigs, one perky and one pretty sleepy, and made extra noses/buttons with the leftover pink fondant to use as decoration on the bottom border of the cake.  I also made some ribbons with plain white fondant, using a handy ribbon-cutter tool that a caking friend suggested that I pick up.  They're quite nifty little things which came in a three pack of different sizes, and I can see how they'll be useful if I ever need to make a bunch of ribbons, as they're a bit faster than free-hand cutting, with much more consistent results.  There is a learning curve to getting the fondant pieces out of the cutter, but once you're past that it's a breeze.

 

This little piggy made swiss buttercream...

With all the fondant work done, the next step was to make the cake.  I used the Verastile Vanilla cake in the Recipe Box, originally from Martha Stewart, but since I've discussed it before I won't do it again here.  It doesn't really require much discussion anyway, it's vanilla cake!

The more exciting (read: time-consuming, dreams-of-a-stand-mixer-inducing) cake component was swiss meringue buttercream, the recipe for which can be found in the Recipe Box.  As the name implies, this buttercream is meringue-based, which is what can make it temperamental, but which is also why I like it.  Because it contains meringue, it is much lighter than the run-of-the-mill pure butter and confectioners sugar buttercream, and it is likewise often less sweet, although you can push it to the sicklier side of sugary if you so desire.  I don't.  This is also the type of buttercream often seen in wedding cakes, because it can be so silky smooth, and by substituting shortening for butter (*blegh*) you can make it pure white; substituting part shortening also helps prevent it from melting if you live in a warmer climate (I learned that on Craftsy watching their free 'Modern Buttercream' lesson - it's quite a useful tool for learning new tips!).

The first step to this buttercream is making the meringue, which is just sugar and egg whites.  I've found that using castor sugar is preferable to granulated, because the finer granules dissolve more quickly in the whites than do the larger ones.

I also tended to use golden castor sugar, since it gives a nice antique white colour.

 

Whisk the egg whites and sugar together and then set them over a simmering double boiler, whisking constantly.  Failure to whisk will result in very sugary fat-free scrambled eggs, and nobody wants that.  Continue whisking over heat until the sugar is completely dissolved.  (If you have a candy thermometer, this may be around 145F/62C).

When the sugar is completely dissolved, remove the whites from the stove and whip them to a stiff peak.

 

Allow the meringue to cool to room temperature before proceeding with the next step, which is to add the butter.  Butter should be added in pieces, either at room temperature or slightly cooler; if your meringue is still too warm and the buttercream won't come together, adding more, colder butter may help, as might popping it in the fridge for a bit, or adding confectioners sugar... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

 

Adding the butter will first soften up the meringue, but as you continue adding and beating (which is preferably done with the paddle attachment of a stand mixer, if you have one, because if creates fewer bubbles than egg beaters or a whisk), things may start to look a little startling...

 

Breaking down...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Near the 'scrambled egg' phase.

 

Hel-lo buttercream!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While the sequence of events may look disturbing when all you want is nice smooth buttercream, don't be alarmed.  Once you get past the scrambled egg phase - and if you're using a hand mixer, this may take quite a while - you can pretty quickly see the buttercream pulling itself together, and if you are using a hand mixer, you should be able to feel the change in consistency as well; it becomes much thicker than what it was in the sickly-looking broken-down stage.  If you're making the buttercream ahead and refrigerate it, note that you will have to re-whip it and go through these stages again.  Once finished the buttercream can be flavoured with vanilla or other extracts to taste (or other flavours too; whiskey is a personal favourite).

This little piggy put it all together...

I also made the cake itself ahead and froze it, letting it thaw a bit before I was ready to use it.  Freezing serves a dual purpose of preserving the cake's moisture, and making it less crumbly when splitting the layers.

'My, what a white bottom you have...'

 

I was interested to notice this time around just how much lighter the bottom of the cake was than the sides.  It's possible that they've always baked like this and I just never noticed, but I think it might be as result of the new pans I bought last month, with their light bottoms and dark sides, furthering my suspicion that they really do help to bake an even layer.

By contrast, I toasted my crushed biscuits in the oven to darken them up.  In the end they still resembled sand a bit more than dirt, but oh well.  What are you going to do when chocolate is off the table?  (If you're me, you'll probably wipe the residue off your face before someone realizes you're the one who swiped it).

Then I put it all together!  I layered the jam first with the buttercream on top, which was a bit difficult as the strawberry chunks made it impossible to get an even layer in the jam, and the kept poking up into my buttercream as I tried to spread it, mixing the two together... really no one but me was going to be bothered by this, and short of entering a competition it doesn't matter, but it would have been easier had I used a jam without pieces.  Layering buttercream first would have meant the jam would sink right into it, unless you worked layer by layer, freezing them between to solidify the buttercream before adding the jam... too much trouble it seems, and probably all to be undone once it returned to room temperature.

When icing the outside of the cake, it's best to put an excess of buttercream on the top, pushing it a bit down over the sides, and then using your offset spatula or palette knife to frost the sides, bringing the buttercream up to meet the bits that overhang from the top.  Then you can smooth it all out and remove the excess buttercream.  Following this a ridge will likely form around the outer edge of the top of the cake, and the corner can be sharpend by pulling this down and inward toward the centre of the cake.

Once iced, use your offset spatula to lift the cake onto on hand, and with the other hand scoop handfuls of crushed biscuit, cookies or sprinkles out of a shallow bowl and up around the sides of the cake.

Gently lower it onto a drum board or plate before finishing it off with a border, and, depending upon the occasion, perhaps some sophisticated swine.

These little piggies went 'wee wee wee' all the way to the party...

 

And this little piggy had none.

The End

Somethin' for Samhain

Samhain (pronounced 'sawin') was a festival celebrated on the 1st of November by the ancient Celts (specifically the Gaels, with the cognate Nos Galan Gaeaf being celebrated by their Brittonic counterparts), which marked the start of winter and the beginning of the new year.  It was believed that on this day the indeterminate boundary between this world and the Otherworld would be especially relaxed, with spirits and áes síde ('people of the síd', like fairies) out and about for a bit more fun than they might normally be on a regular occasion.  It is from this festival that our modern-day Halloween originates, though it has certainly changed in form and meaning over time: nowadays, the outlandish creatures we see wandering the streets at night are more likely to be four feet tall and have walked over from the house next door than out of a fairy mound, and our jack-o'-lanterns are carved from pumpkins rather than the potentially more frightening, severed-head-looking turnips of yore.

Another more recent development in the history of Halloween is the advent of pumpkin pie.  Sure, pumpkin pie wasn't invented for Halloween (and yes, if anything a stronger case could probably be made for its association with Thanksgiving), but nevertheless, with all that pumpkin carving going on to ring in this holiday, how can you not want a nice slice of something pumpkiny?  That being said, imagine if we were still carving turnips... google tells me that turnip pie is a thing, but my skepticism stands.

In truth, I know that quite a lot of people don't care much for pumpkin pie.  While I don't feel the same way, I think that I do understand it.  I think that it may be a texture issue in a number of cases, and for those cases I propose a solution: pumpkin cheesecake.  (For the rest: I'm sorry, all I can tell you is... more for us!).

Pumpkin cheesecake has all of the cinnamon-nutmeg-clove spicy pumpkin goodness of pumpkin pie, with the added benefit of cheese and a smooth (but never slightly slimy - sorry pumpkin pie, but you know what I mean), creamy texture.  It also has the nice contrasting crunch of a crumb base rather than flaky pastry.  That is why, for all these reasons and more, I love pumpkin cheesecake.  The ancient Celts were really missing out.

A tried and tested recipe for pumpkin cheesecake, and the one that I chose to use again this year, comes from Paula Deen.  I like it because it doesn't call for pumpkin pie spice, which I don't have and which can essentially be recreated with cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves anyway, and because it doesn't require two hours of cooling inside the oven.  I also like it because it is delicious.

There is nothing very complicated about the recipe.  I whisked the sugar and spices together separately before combing them with the rest to ensure good distribution, and I didn't beat the cream cheese too much before adding the pumpkin because it was already pretty smooth and I didn't want to over-beat it.  In retrospect, when I poured the batter into the prepared pan there were some bits of cream cheese that were perhaps a bit larger than desired, but all was well post-bake.  In fact, there were no cracks running through the middle of the cheesecake (and only one or two along the edge), which I think can be attributed to careful mixing.

Instead of using graham cracker crumbs for the base, I used crushed ginger snaps.  I liked the sharpness that the cookies added, a compliment to the spices in the cheesecake and a contrast to the mellow pumpkin, although I'm not sure if they made for a base that was crunchier or chewier than the graham crackers would have been.

Whatever way you slice it though, the cheesecake disappeared quickly, and I don't think it was the spirits who took it.