When in Doubt or Freezing, Make Brownies

So, obviously, WOOL DAYS was totally fantastic. We saw sheep being sheared and lambs gamboling with wild abandon. We saw cloth being woven and pots being thrown and old timey leaflets being printed. I BOUGHT A BONNET, YOU GUYS, I REALLY DID BUY A BONNET. IT'S AWESOME. And the upshot to being us and therefore, you know, nutso, was that we were there at 9.30 when it opened, so by the time it got properly hot and crowded with harassed parents and their screaming children, we had toured the village, read the placards, tried our hands at carding wool (obviously sanitizing immediately afterwards), and even had time for a peaceful iced tea break at the reenactment General Store.

[side note: is it really necessary to provide a cafe in the dead centre of Old Sturbridge Village that serves french fries and hot dogs and pepsi? I don't think so. I'm not saying that they should only serve, you know, mutton, or whatever, but I do feel that a small attempt at authenticity here would not go amiss. There's nothing that jars you out of your happy 19th century fantasy faster than a seven year old boy smeared in ketchup carrying a Big Gulp larger than his head. I'm just saying.]

The only thing that was left was to stop at the much-touted farmers market on the way out, get some berries and honey and veggies and hit the road. 

So let me tell you about that. 

It was four stalls. One had plants. So. Three stalls. One had honey, fine. We got some honey. The other had those farmers market cookies that look really good at the time but once you buy an entire bag of them for $15 or whatever you realise that yeah they're ok but not $15 ok. The final stall had an enormous cooler full of bacon and sausages and steaks. So. Yeah. 

THERE WERE NO BERRIES. THERE WERE NO VEGETABLES. There were no stalls of wool, of beeswax candles, of lavender sachets. THERE WERE FOUR STALLS AND ONE WAS PLANTS AND ONE WAS PORK. 

We were disappointed, to say the least. We discussed our disappointment, um, vociferously?, all the way back home, with brief pauses for me to direct our car from the passenger seat with things like TURN HERE TURN HERE JUST FOLLOW THE RED SUV NO THE RED ONE THE ONE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU NO THIS IS NOT OUR EXIT IT SAID LEFT IN TWO MILES WE'VE DRIVEN TWO FEET DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GO TO WORCESTER NO I DIDN'T THINK SO SO WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO MERGE ONTO I-90 NORTH JUST FOLLOW THE DAMN RED SUV. 

The point of this little intro is to help explain that I was all ready and eager to make something for the LL's this week chock full of summer farmers market berries, something that would kick off summer and look all pretty and seasonal, and how I was cruelly thwarted in those attempts. 

But it turned out all right in the end, because Wednesday, baking day, dawned grey and rainy and frigid, with me huddled under a comforter and three blankets, with a sheen of frost on the field, and with me yelling across the hall WHY IS IT SO FREAKING COLD. 

So, partly because I had no berries, and partly because there was nothing summery about the day, I ended up making Brownies. Because, frankly, there is never NOT a good reason to make brownies. Brownies are comforting and delicious and easy and if nothing else give you an excuse to turn on the oven and stand next to it for a while. 

And also because I found the chocolate hoard I'd apparently created over the winter and forgotten about, in a wicker basket under one of the kitchen benches, and, I mean, we're talking Doomsday Preppers hoard here, and it seemed prudent to make a dent in it before someone else found it and declared me mentally unfit.

I mean, I know people say "You can never have too much chocolate."
But those people have never seen my secret baking stash.

LACK OF FARMERS MARKET BERRIES AND FREEZING COLD DAY BROWNIES

or

CREAM CHEESE BROWNIES

which are really 

NEUFCHATEL BROWNIES

The recipe for these is for "Rich Espresso and Cream Cheese Brownies" from the Bon Appetit Cookbook by Barbara Fairchild. I didn't add espresso to the cream cheese part because I did baking-with-coffee two weeks ago, and didn't add walnuts, because, if you're making a cream cheese brownie, why do you need walnuts? Exactly.

This was my first attempt at Cream Cheese Brownies (I KNOW, RIGHT?) so I was a bit apprehensive. I mean, I've eaten my fair share of cream cheese brownies, don't get me wrong, but make them? Nope. Not yet. This is probably mostly completely because Mum doesn't like cream cheese, and everytime the concept of cream cheese brownies comes up she delicately wrinkles her nose and says "Cream cheese is disgusting."

And when I point out, as I do, every time, that cream cheese is what makes up the bulk of not only Ginger but Pumpkin Cheesecake (which she has absolutely no issues with, for the record) she says "Well that's different."

And then I go do something else in another room for a little while.

The deal with these, like everything else I've made that requires cream cheese in the past, is that I used Neufchatel. Which is a fancypants way of saying "light cream cheese" although technically it is a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT CHEESE dating back to Normandy in the 6th century, and, thank you Wikipedia, is the reason that cream cheese exists because William Lawrence of Chester, NY, was trying to make Neufchatel in 1872 and messed it up. HOW'S THAT FOR A TRIVIA NUGGET. YOU'RE WELCOME. Below is the plain, no espresso, Neufchatel, "light", cream cheese brownie recipe I used. 

NEUFCHATEL BROWNIES

INGREDIENTS

• 1 stick unsalted butter
• 3 oz unsweetened chocolate
• 2 oz bittersweet chocolate
• 3/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 3 eggs
• 1 egg, separated
• 1 1/4 cups brown sugar
• 12 oz Neufchatel cheese
• 1 cup powdered sugar 

Melt butter and chocolate together in a microwavable bowl, stirring until totally smooth. Set aside to cool slightly. Combine flour, baking powder, and salt in a small bowl.

Cream the brown sugar, 2 of the eggs, and the egg yolk in a mixmaster until "very thick and billowy." Fold in the chocolate, and then the flour mixtures.

Transfer about 1/3 of a cup of the batter to another bowl - you're going to use it later after you add the cream cheese part. Spread the rest of the batter into the bottom of a 9 x 13 inch baking pan, and refrigerate until firm, about 15 minutes.

Now the topping. Beat the powdered sugar and Neufchatel in your mixmaster until very smooth, then add the one remaining egg and the egg white.

Spread the Neufchatel mixture over the chilled chocolate mixture. Put that previously set aside chocolate batter into a pastry bag (!!!!) and pipe over the cheese. This recipe indicates that you should pipe parallel lines and then swirl them with a toothpick. I was having WAY too much fun with the pastry bag, obviously, so I went for a grid, as you can see.

Bake at 325 degrees for, this is what Barbara Franklin says, 33 minutes, until puffy and golden. Cool in the pan before cutting and turning out. 

BEETLE NOTES

LL's please weigh in because I have yet to get final verdict on these. Mum deigned to try one and said it was good, but I do not trust her Cream Cheese / Neufchatel Brownie judgement AT ALL, so I'm hoping you guys have some feedback (and obviously hoping said feedback is not "um, Beetle, WTF").

I think I should have made the bottom chocolate layer thicker? It seemed very thin in the end. Or perhaps I should have used an 8 x 8 pan instead of a 9 x 13. They seemed like very thin brownies, and I would have liked them to have been big, thick WEDGES of dark chocolatey whippy cheesey awesomeness. They looked a bit too delicate for my liking. You can't tell the thickness of them from the photos, but they definitely didn't give that characteristic, optimal brownie heft that says "what you're about to eat is flipping wonderful and will take you ten minutes of chewing and swallowing just to manage 'OMG.'"

I ended up delivering the entire pan, complete with brownie knife and paper plates, to the library yesterday. This is because I tried to cut them up and transfer them to a carrier, but gave up after about 5 seconds. They were not going to come out of the pan in nicely cut squares, and I knew that if I kept it up I would end up with a pile of fragments that only vaguely resembled brownies. Maybe it was because I should have made them thicker? Maybe I let it go in the oven a bit too long? At 33 minutes the top was still pure white, and I left it in for a few longer until they were the golden colour you see below. Maybe that was a mistake?

Anyway, as a first time Cream Cheese Brownie experiment, at least I did not completely ruin them. They still looked and smelled like brownies (which is to say warm and delicious and chocolatey), and Mum did not spit hers out as she did with the coffee-cake-from-hell-CEF-disaster. 

AND, BONUS, I got to use my pastry bag. So, even if they turned out weird and crusty and semi-burnt and "don't ever use light cream cheese again because it doesn't work" and "maybe your mom was right about cream cheese brownies being gross can you please never make these again", and "for the love of all that is holy can we have something else next week" at least I got ten minutes of pastry bag happiness. 

Fingers crossed I get berries tomorrow, you guys, BFF and I are going on a country lane walk and farmers market raid, and if I can get my hands on strawberries or blackberries or rhubarb, I have some ideas that I have been DYING to try out. Because . . . 

IT'S JUNE ON SUNDAY, EVERYONE. AND BERRY BASED PIES AND TARTS AND CUSTARDS AND CONFECTIONS NEED TO BE MADE. 

EVEN IF I HAVE TO WEAR SNOWPANTS TO MAKE THEM. 

Happy Weekend!

Love,
Beetle

Memorial Day Lemon Cupcake Party (and Why I Don't Have a Blowtorch)

Did I ever tell you that Mum doesn't like cupcakes? Well she doesn't. The reason, or reasons, so far as I have been able to determine, are that: 

1. She doesn't like peeling the paper off the outside. 

2. They always have too much frosting.

3. [this is a direct quote] They look stupid. 

So I made cupcakes this week. 

Hey, it's Memorial Day weekend. I felt a small commemoration was in order. I mean, I am not going to be grilling ANYTHING; I am not going to be on a beach; I am not going to be wearing a sundress and laughing prettily at an outdoor garden party.* I figured the least I could do was make a few cupcakes, Mum's predilections be damned. 

*What I WILL be doing, incidentally, is cleaning, re-carpeting, and seasonally organising the shoes in the mudroom, and also attending "Wool Days" at Old Sturbridge Village where I intend to lose my head COMPLETELY over 19th century farm animals, printing presses, medicinal herbs, and dyeing and weaving techniques. I realise I am slightly in the minority when I say that I cannot, at the moment, conceive of a more amazing day out. I may even milk a cow, dear reader. Or wear a bonnet. 

Anyway. Cupcakes. Specifically, Lemon Cupcakes. 

MEMORIAL DAY LEMON CUPCAKES

or

LEMON CURD CUPCAKES WITH VANILLA BUTTERCREAM

The recipe for this one is the Lemon Meringue Cupcake recipe from darling Martha, which is topped with a crispy shell of Seven-Minute Frosting. I followed the cake part of the recipe to the letter, but decided to switch out the blowtorched*-meringue frosting for your run-of-the-mill-but-still-freakishly-good Vanilla Buttercream. 

*I don't own a blowtorch. The reason for this is because I am a pyromaniac and it is a firmly established supposition that were I ever to be given a blowtorch, I would immediately set the entire house on fire. One of the worst spots of trouble I ever got into was when my parents found me in the living room one cold winters day happily stoking a roaring blaze in the fireplace. Which I had lit. By myself. I was seven. 

Anyway. Cupcakes. 

I wanted something that was festive and summery, but not too summery. (We're not in June yet, dear reader, and I may add that as I type this sentence I am wearing wool knee socks, a fleece, and a down vest.) The berries haven't really hit the farmers markets yet, so all the wonderfulness with raspberries and strawberries and blueberries and blackberries is going to have to wait a few more weeks, and anything involving whipped cream and/or custard is a) difficult to eat when you are a Lovely Librarian and b) just going to slump and die an ugly death when left out of the fridge for more than 20 minutes. But lemon is a perfect transitional taste. Fresh and light and tart. Lemon it was. 

The cupcake decision was an easy one. I have nothing against cupcakes and I don't care what my sainted mother says. Cupcakes are fun. 

CUPCAKES

ARE

FUN.

The blowtorched version of these, according to Martha's directions, has a tablespoon of lemon curd spread onto the top, underneath the seven-minute frosting, which, together under the flame, I imagine, become a truly amazing gummy sticky lemony sugary mass of deliciousness. 

My "Beetle-is-not-allowed-fire" version involved cutting a small hole in the top of each cupcake and popping in a teaspoon of lemon curd. Apparently, according to the internet, this is widely done in baking circles. The obvious reason is WHO DOESN'T LOVE A CUPCAKE WITH A DELICIOUS GOOEY CENTRE? 

I mean, apart from my mother. 

And then I decided to go old school Buttercream, because it would sit well overnight and if there's one thing that screams "American National Holiday" it's a huge dollop of vanilla buttercream frosting atop a cupcake.

The batter for this comes together really well, even if you do spend a considerable period of time squeezing and zesting lemons. It calls for 3 tablespoons of zest and 2 tablespoons of juice. THAT'S A LOT OF LEMON FOR 24 CUPCAKES. I was worried that it would be overpowering, but my fears have been put to rest. It has been judged the right amount of lemon. PHEW. 

I approached the "coring" of the cupcakes with trepidation. I think this is because Joy of Baking actually suggested that I use an apple corer. Which. TERRIFYING. I totally prevaricated on this one out of sheer culinary intimidation. I let them cool for longer than I needed too, I folded and refolded the laundry, I organised the recycling, I gathered up all the painting drop cloths in the library and stacked them in descending order of paint spatter surface coverage. Finally, I told myself to pull on my big girl pants and get in there. 

I am ashamed to say it was ridiculously easy. I did not use an apple corer. I used a paring knife. I had a pair of antique lobster tongs on hand in case more extensive excavation was needed, but honestly it was about five seconds per cupcake, and it was all over. I felt accomplished, if a bit silly. 

It seemed shame to waste the centre of each cupcake, so I put all the little bites in a bowl and decided that Mum could safely eat these without offending her anti-cupcake sensibilities. I realised as I was doing it that they are, delightfully, the munchkin equivalent of a cupcake. THEY ARE CUPCAKE MUNCHKINS. This made me stupidly happy for a little while. 

Special Beetle Note: Mum's version of this for dessert last night was a bowl of cupcake munchkins spread with lemon curd and topped with buttercream. It was a deconstructed cupcake, if you will. Eat your heart out, Heston Blumenthal.  

And since coring them had worked out so well, it was obviously just the work of a few more minutes to drop a spoonful of lemon curd into each one. 

There is very little that needs to be noted about Vanilla Buttercream. The only thing that I WILL note here is that I forgot how much fun it is to use a pastry bag with tips. 

So get ready for A LOT A LOT A LOT OF FANCY FROSTING DECOS THIS SUMMER. 

[insert Beetle dorky happy fancy frosting dance]

All that remains is for me to wish everyone a Happy Memorial Day weekend, remind you all not to lose your heads and forget sunblock, and hope that I see some of you in the coming months. 

I can promise you fancy frosting, that's for damn sure.

In which I coffee-shock-baking-therapy myself

You know that saying that when you fall off the horse, you get right back on?

I GOT BACK ON THE HORSE, YOU GUYS.

I GOT RIGHT BACK ON THE COFFEE HORSE. 

AND I DIDN'T FALL OFF THIS TIME.

I EVEN BROUGHT WALNUTS WITH ME.

Mind you, there's enough coffee in this that even if you DID fall off the horse, you'd probably bounce right back up, and probably challenge the horse to a race across the dessert, but hey, the metaphor stands.

BAKING WITH COFFEE HAS BEEN RECONQUERED.

[INSERT KARATE CHOP OF TRIUMPH]

I have to say that for the most part, being able to eat approximately 5% of the food available to the rest of the world doesn't actually bother me that much. I'm so used to what I eat on a daily basis, and my tastes have been so accordingly adjusted, that it's very rare I think something along the lines of "Holy Jesus I wish I could eat that."

This is one of those times.

When you take the cake lid off this baby, and you inhale a glorious faceful of coffee and nuts and cream . . . it just smells so gloriously decadent and delicious that I must admit I did sort of consider eating a slice whilst driving myself to the emergency room just because it would have been worth it for 10 amazing minutes.

But then I remembered that we are going to go see GODZILLA today (for which I have only been waiting, oh, YEARS) and I wouldn't be able to make the matinee with Mum if I was hooked up to an IV-drip after getting my stomach pumped.

I ate some hardtack instead.

[beetle sigh]

BUT. For those of you who are NOT gastrically challenged. I present.

COFFEE AND WALNUT CAKE WITH COFFEE BUTTERCREAM

There is a delightful woman named Felicity Cloake at The Guardian who writes something called "How to Make the Perfect . . . " It's a truly spectacular column that breaks down the components of classic recipes, weighs ingredients and amounts against each other, pulls in various other chefs, food writers, and cookbook authors, and eventually arrives at the so-titled "Perfect" recipe. Even if I don't want to make whatever she's featuring, it's still totally fascinating. (Example: I have no immediate plans to make "the perfect steak and ale pie" and yet I followed the debate on tomato puree vs. vinegar and brown sugar with an almost comic intensity.) Anyway, I highly recommend it. PLUS. She gave me this cake. So. Yeah. Again. I present.

COFFEE AND WALNUT CAKE WITH COFFEE BUTTERCREAM

After comparing Nigella Lawson, Dee Drummond, and Nigel Slater's recipEs, I went with the "Perfect" recipe at the bottom, Felicity's own.



I followed it pretty much straight, below are the only small changes:

1. I used Gevalia ground espresso instead of instant coffee (after the CEF I'm deathly afraid of anything but pure coffee).
2. Added THREE tablespoons of it instead of two to the cake batter (go big or go home, eh, Beetle?).
3. Used dark brown instead of light brown sugar (purely because that's what I had).

I took a walnut shortcut too, and instead of pre-toasting and then chopping them (SIDE BEETLE NOTE: for those of you who don't know, the last time I tried to chop something, three weeks ago, I cut the top of my middle finger off. No fancy knife work for a while. Also if I want to use my middle finger for . . .  shall we say . . .  "conversational purposes" there's nothing like a huge piece of gauze and tape to really hammer the point home.) I used pre-chopped, un-toasted walnuts. From a store. From a plastic bag in a store.

Apparently this did not have a significantly negative impact. Good to know.

BEETLE NOTES





Felicity notes, delightfully, that the batter should "drop reluctantly from a spoon" when poured into the cake pans, and this definitely did. I was actually a bit worried at first that I should have added a bit of milk to make it more liquid, I had to spread it out in the pans with the aforementioned spoon, but it rose really nicely in the oven and was not in any way dry or too cakey.

 Note the post-baking rise.

My cake was much darker because of my sugar use. But hey. Walnuts. Dark brown sugar. We're all friends here, right? 

Right. 

The buttercream is a REVELATION. Even I know that, and I can't eat it. The reason, you ask? Well. On top of your standard "ingredients of awesome" that go into buttercream frosting, this one has FOUR TABLESPOONS OF HEAVY CREAM IN IT. (or "double cream" if you're British and weird.)

I know. I KNOW, YOU GUYS. But honestly, even from a purely technical standpoint, this the best buttercream I've ever put on a cake. It's so spreadable, it doesn't catch the cake and smear crumbs everywhere, and it doesn't get that crust that buttercream always does after an hour or so. It stays gooey and soft probably forever, if you can wait that long. Also, with two heaping tablespoons of espresso, the cream cuts any resulting acidity or bitterness. You get the depth and strength of the coffee but still keep the sweetness and whippy-ness. And the coffee itself returns the favour and keeps the heavy cream from pushing the whole thing over the edge. 

It's a symbiotic relationship for the ages, is what I'm saying. Coffee and cream. MAGIC. 

This cake is meant to be CAKE. This isn't one of those "I'll just have a tiny slice oh no that's way too much" cakes. This is a "SECONDS YES PLEASE HAND IT OVER" cake. 

Again, I say: GO BIG OR GO HOME. Make it, eat it. Wait a year. Repeat. You'll be happy you did.

Also consider the possibility that due to the coffee content, the resulting 72 hours of manic wakefulness will probably negate any bad caloric side effects.

AND walnuts are good for your brain.

I think the success of Coffee Walnut Cake can be summed up by the conversation I had with Mum yesterday afternoon before I picked her up from work. The cake was so pretty I had insisted it be delivered, uncut and pristine, to the LL's, and as such I had not set aside any for Mum. I called her to see if she wanted me to bring a tupperware thingy so that she could take a piece or two home for the weekend.

(I should note that at the time of this exchange the cake had been at the library for all of 4 hours.)

Me: Do you want me to bring you a tupperware thingy for the cake?
Mum: There's no more cake.
Me: What do you mean there's no more cake? I sent you in with an entire flipping two layer cake.
Mum: It's gone.
Me: THEY ALREADY ATE THE WHOLE THING?
Mum: Yep.
Me: Oh . . . well . . . cool.