Over the years a vendor at the local farmer’s market has occasionally offered a corn bread. Not a cornbread, the often sweet quick bread, but a yeast bread with some cornmeal added to the dough that was baked into a round loaf. During the summer it made a marvelous BLT. But its appearance was sporadic, and I hadn’t seen it in quite awhile. Or thought much about it. Until a trip to Slovenia, where, lo and behold, a yeast-raised corn bread was part of the bread basket wherever we went. Toasted, it was fabulous for breakfast, with a drizzle of honey.
Sure, cornbread, that American staple, is a great option to accompany chili, stews and other hearty winter fare. But you really ought to give corn bread a try.
Two favorites for a Corn Bread/Cornbread Throwdown:
Maple Cornbread: Via King Arthur Flour, a ,moist easy-as-pie recipe that smells heavenly when baking, thanks to a touch of maple syrup.
Rhode Island Corn Bread: From the Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant cookbook. The name says New England, but this recipe captures the taste of those wonderful Slovenian bread baskets.
The cocktail shaker gets a workout whenever Dave, the family mixologist, comes to town. Cocktail of the Day offerings this time around included a mix of classics with a twist and Dave’s own specialties, all gin-based:
Waldocot: A true original, created to utilize Allspice Dram, a Caribbean liqueur that’s not an easy mixer. Dave hit on the idea of blending with apricot liqueur, which takes the Allspice Dram out of the realm of wintry flavored drinks, where it tends to land. The name? A nod to the Waldo neighborhood of Kansas City that Dave calls home.
A martini variant finished with essential oils, which bump up the aroma and flavor. The name is taken from the Medieval Latin word for a gathering of flowers, or collection of fine extracts from the body of a larger work, and here’s why. For one drink, shake 1/2 ounce gin and 3/4 ounce Lillet blanc with ice. Strain into a cocktail glass and top with one drop each of clove and yuzu (distillation of these and other essential oils available via our friends at Herbal Alchemy).
The Last Word: A magical mix with Chartreuse, lime juice and Maraschino liqueur.
Aviation Poire: A touch of pear liqueur lifts the classic Aviation cocktail to another altitude.
English Rose: A dainty name for a cocktail that packs a punch, with gin, apricot liqueur, dry vermouth and grenadine.
There’s something old-fashioned about quince. It could be partly because the fruit is rarely seen in U.S. markets these days, despite its likeness to the apples and pears that overflow grocery bins. That very scarcity, coupled with the fact that quinces have a dry, astringent flesh that needs to be cooked, and so can’t be eaten out of hand like their more alluringly juicy cousins, might explain why the fruit isn’t a part of our typical repertoire, even though quince trees are still abundant – and abundantly ignored – around the country.
A tasting of quince jam, served on a cracker with a bit of cheese at the greenmarket, persuaded me to pick up a few of these fall fruits. After all, cheese and quince paste (in a form somewhere between a dense jelly and fruit leather) are a classic pairing in Spanish cuisine. (I’ve even been known to serve some cheese and quince paste on matzo for a tapas meal served during Passover.) And the idea of cooking up a quick jam or compote that could accompany a meal of roast meats and vegetables, or be utilized for dessert in a tart of pastry, seemed appealing.
A browse through The Foods & Wines of Spain, by Penelope Casas (Knopf, 1982) turned up a version of the jam, and Banda de Almendra (Almond and Marmalade Puff Pastry Strips),which would take advantage of some puff pastry in the freezer. The quince (membrillo) marmalade cooks up in no time, and a little bit tops puff pastry strips, sprinkled in this case with some chopped leftover walnuts. A Spanish-born sampler recognized them immediately: “Ah, membrillo!” After he relayed that they also known as Corbatas (“ties”), a batch was obligingly shaped into neckties.
Here’s a new way to try pumpkin: in a pickle. This recipe for Quick Pickled Pumpkin is just that, and the results will add a bright, unexpected punch to fall menus of all kinds. (Plus offer an excuse to jump on the pickling bandwagon.) The only key here is to let the pumpkin do it’s thing, marinating in the brine. The pumpkin may seem too salty at the beginning, and the brine too harsh, but an overnight rest softens the squash and melds the flavors. We’re thinking the next batch might be good with some star anise and clove.
Contrary to our Midwestern roots, the Three Points cooks will not be adding Snicker Salad to the Thanksgiving table this year (or any year). The New York Times reveals that the top Google searches for recipes in all 50 states this week place Nebraska (Kate’s home state) at the center of the Snickers Salad belt. The ” salad” is composed of whipped topping, apples, chopped-up Snickers bars and, sometimes, pudding mix.
More in keeping with our dinner in D.C. (where the top search was for “corn pudding”), we will be having Mrs. Apple’s Creamed Corn, a traditional Pennsylvania recipe made with dried sweet corn. That ingredient was, of course, purchased via an online search.
Meanwhile, the top searches this week on Three Points Kitchen reveal more diverse global interests: Cranberry Coffee Cake, Salsa Verde Cruda, Pan de Coco, Tamarind Ice Cream, Allspice Ice Cream, and Povitica.
I know, I know, povitica/potica has made a few appearances here at Three Points Kitchen. But the Eastern European nut bread is a family holiday tradition, especially as part of the Easter basket and subsequent dinner. But part of the fun of baking comes from where experimentation and exploration can take you.
OK, sometimes innovation is a matter of necessity. Arriving in D.C. for Kate’s annual Easter feast, I realized I’d forgotten the walnuts needed for the traditional povitica filling. Kate suggested substituting pistachios from a stash she had on hand. My mother would not have approved (she barely tolerated the cheese filling option that is also traditional), but our revolutionary idea proved relevatory. Swapping out ground pistachios for the same amount of walnuts in the basic recipe, keeping the cinnamon and adding a touch of almond extract, took this batch of povitica to a delicious new place. The Turkish turn it took seemed entirely in keeping with the culinary influences found throughout states of the former Yugoslavia from where our family recipe hails, and the swirl of green pistachio filling lent a springtime touch.
Sorry mom, but this one’s a keeper. Try the recipe here.