This is another recipe from the cooking class the other day. We had a short discussion about this salad at the December cooking class, when one of the members mentioned it, that she orders it every time she goes to a restaurant here in Newport Beach, called Gulfstream (no website, but it’s on the corner of Pacific Coast Highway and MacArthur and you can read lots of reviews of the restaurant if you search online). It’s a very lovely, upscale restaurant, and quite pricey. I’ve never been there, although when it first opened I did go in and read the menu. I don’t know why I haven’t been back to try it, but just haven’t. But this salad definitely will encourage me. Our instructor, Tarla Fallgatter, loves to try to dissect a restaurant dish, and she had the salad there, promptly came home and worked out her version. We all really liked it. A lot.

I don’t seem to make rice salads much. I don’t actually make many carb-rich dishes anymore since my DH and I both prefer to limit our carbs. But this tasted so darned good, I think I’ll have to. What made this salad was the dressing. Tarla explained that she prefers to use a fruit-based vinegar on salads such as this one. She said we could substitute champagne vinegar, but she finds it much more acetic (meaning too acetic for her tastes), so encouraged all of us to run right out and find some pear vinegar. Lo and behold, I just happen to have some pear vinegar. If any of you read my posting about the contents of my oil and vinegar cupboards, you’ll understand why I say that. I’d have been amazed that I didn’t have it. Sure enough, I have a bottle (unopened, I might add) of Sparrow Lane D’Anjou Pear Vinegar. I think I bought it in Healdsburg last spring at a cute eclectic market on the plaza.
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When I tell you you absolutely MUST make this, I’m not kidding. It’s simple. Really simple. And oh-so-very delicious. It probably looks like a pile of gooey something with whipped cream. Well, it is, sort of. I’ve enjoyed pudding cakes for years, and was surprised at the cooking class that was held at my house yesterday, that lots of people don’t know about pudding cake. They’d never heard of it. Never seen it. I’ve made both chocolate and lemon pudding cake, but never gingerbread.

Pudding Cakes are different. Obviously, they’re not quite a true cake, or a true pudding either. They kind of defy explanation. Online I didn’t even find a very good definition about pudding cake. I went to my usual source, Harold McGee’s On Food and Cooking, a fascinating tome about the chemistry of cooking. This is the first time I’ve struck out, not finding an explanation in his book. And, as I said, nothing online either. Nor in my cooking encyclopedia, nor Martha’s Baking Handbook. Not even Dorie Greenspan. So, you’ll just have to settle for my homespun explanation.

A pudding cake starts off with a cake batter. It’s placed in a high sided ovenproof dish, then you pour boiling water (sometimes with butter added in this case) over the top. In the baking process, the cake part becomes a layer that kind of floats on top, and the hot water mingles with some of the batter and makes a pourable pudding underneath. You serve it warm to hot. Once it cools, the pudding part that made a nice puddle on the plate when you served it (as in the picture at top), becomes a thicker pudding. Which is why you want to serve it warm. The whole thing is some kind of chemical magic.

Probably the most common pudding cake is lemon. Southerners here in the U.S. think they own lemon pudding cake, I think. It’s a regular staple in the Southern diet. When I searched online I found several recipes with Southern roots. The one I’ve always made came from a friend in England. So maybe its origins are English. I simply don’t know. Maybe somebody who reads my blog will know! Or will have some kind of cooking encyclopedia with an explanation.

Anyway, the teacher, Tarla Fallgatter, used my home for the cooking class for this month. The hostess gets to choose the theme, and I opted for soups and chowders. And she always makes a dessert too. Tarla had mentioned that she’d made this dessert at several classes recently and it was met with lots of raves. Mine are now added to it.
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These aren’t all “new” books. Well, they’re all new to me. Some were received as Christmas gifts (the top four, all from my Amazon wish list) and the remaining ones I bought myself at a used bookstore in Placerville, California. Every time we go to Placerville to visit our daughter and family, I try to pop in to this great little shop called The Bookery on the old Goldrush-era main street. I always pause to pet the gray-haired dog who curls up on the dog bed near the front door, sometimes talk to the resident cat who lives on a shelf behind the cash register, then I make a beeline for the cookbook section. I’ve always been amazed at the quality of the books in this store – the cookbooks that is. For a small used bookstore, it’s always busy, and they have a convenient low stool in the cookbook area, which I use as I peruse the books.

Actually, my stack of books was higher than shown in the photo. Out in front of the store they had a table and a trolley heaped with Christmas books, all half off the marked price, which usually is 50% of the list price. It was the day before Christmas and they wanted to get rid of them! So I got those for 25% of the list price, the flyleaf price. There were some very cute books in that section, including some children’s books I’ll give to our newest grandson next year. They’ve been relegated to my Christmas stash way upstairs.

But, back to the bookstore. Sorry, I digress. This time I was there I was told, as I was checking out, that one of the owners (who wasn’t there) has a huge, I mean HUGE, cookbook collection. Numbering in the thousands, they told me. No WONDER the bookstore has a large cookbook collection. I suppose she passes on her discards to the store shelves. I wish I knew her. Maybe more of her discards would grace my shelves.

Although I already have a serious cookbook problem, as I’ve divulged here before. I already have bulging cookbook shelves. Now with these new books, I have no room. This stack, pictured above, is sitting on a piece of furniture at the moment in the kitchen/family room area. The Alice Waters biography has been removed and is sitting by my kitchen placemat. Always available for a little look-see if I have a spare moment while I’m eating a meal.

Two of the stack are novels (with one of those a food mystery). Actually both have disappeared to the upstairs library, where I keep all of my fiction. I have much more library storage in the upstairs office, where I spend several hours every day, mostly on my desktop computer. But for now, I’m enjoying just looking at this stack, getting ready for more pleasurable minutes of cookbook reading.

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Oh, I do adore soups. I’m sure I’ve gone on and on before about why I like soups – just the simple ease of them, they warm the tummy, great to freeze for another night when I don’t feel like cooking, and you don’t have to make all those different things . . . a protein, a vegetable, a salad, maybe a carb . . . you get it all right in the pot. Sometimes I serve soup with a side carb like a biscuit. Rarely do I make a salad, because a green salad doesn’t always seem to go with a hot soup. Maybe a half a sandwich goes better with it, but I had had a half a sandwich for lunch. So, since there’s rice in this soup, the meal is complete just the way it is.I remember reading this recipe in a magazine back about 1971. It was probably Family Circle or something similar. I was still experimenting with curry powder back then, and this one doesn’t have all that much curry in it, so it just has a faint hint of it. But it was the addition of apple that intrigued me. Somewhere around the same time I’d encountered a savory cold apple soup that became a regular on my summer entertaining menu. One of these days I’ll post that one. I really enjoyed making things that surprised people. You just don’t expect apple in a savory soup.This soup comes together in a jiffy, actually. I had chicken ?, celery ?, carrot ?, onion ?, chicken broth ?, rice ? and the spices ?. Over the years I’ve adjusted the recipe quite a bit – more chicken, more curry, more onion, more carrot, more thyme. But the bones of the recipe remain the same. We went to see Atonement, the movie, the day I made this. It’s a kind of a downer, although exceptionally well done. It made me want to get comfortable in front of the fireplace and be cozy. Soup fits in perfectly.Mulligatawny Soup has its origins in India. Here’s what wikipedia had to say about it:

• Mulligatawny is a type of Anglo-Indian soup. It is regarded as the national soup of India. A literal translation from Tamil “pepper water” (‘Millagu’ is pepper and ‘Thanni’ is water). Despite the name, pepper itself is not a vital ingredient. Rice and noodles are commonly served in the soup; the real dish the Anglo-Indians call “pepper water” is closer to Tamilian rasam than mulligatawny. Variations differ very much. Sometimes, the soup has a turmeric-like yellow color and is garnished with parsley and chicken meat, and is more soupy, which takes on its Anglo-Indian adaptation to be a thick, spicy meat soup.

Interestingly, curry is not a specific ingredient listed above. But think India-n food, think curry. I really like the addition, whatever version this is. And it’s very low in fat and sodium, providing you use low-sodium chicken broth. You could eliminate the rice too, if you wanted to make this a low carb meal.
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When my DH says this is a keeper, I listen up. He doesn’t say those words all that often. He enjoys my cooking and does tell me all the time how much he appreciates this dish or that. But those particular words just don’t come out of his mouth frequently. I heard them for this dish. He was intrigued enough by the appearance to ask me what was in it, how I cooked it. He keeps thinking that one of these days when he takes a several-day sailing trip on our boat, going out to Catalina, or one of the other islands within sailing distance of our shores, that he’s going to cook a nice dinner for his crew. (I’ve probably mentioned it before, but I don’t go on these jaunts because I get deathly seasick, or I’m so drugged up with Dramamine that I don’t function much, or suffer from very blurred vision if I use the scopalamine patch. All in all, I just don’t go. DH reminds me occasionally that he didn’t marry me for my sailing abilities. That’s for sure. He also didn’t marry me for my dancing style, either, but that’s another story.)

So anyway, he was curious about the chicken and nearly licked the plate. The recipe came from a restaurant out in our California desert – a French place called Cuistot. We’ve eaten there several times, and enjoyed the food. A reader wrote into the Los Angeles Times (December 12, 2007) asking them to get the recipe, which the chef provided. I believe the article said this is a common bistro kind of preparation. It’s easy – from start to finish it took me about 45 minutes, with 25 of those minutes the chicken was in the oven. You heat the oven to a phenomenal 500 degrees F. Yikes. But it works. If you have a heavy-duty skillet that can withstand that kind of heat, go for it (that’s what the recipe indicates). I wasn’t sure enough to subject my Look brand nonstick skillet to that temp, so after browning the chicken pieces I popped them in an ovenproof pan. Then I deglazed the browning skillet and made the sauce while the chicken was baking. It sped up the dinner process since I was able to take the chicken directly from the oven to the plate and spooned sauce on it immediately with a bit of the drippings from the blazing hot pan.

This is the kind of dinner you could throw together quickly – providing you have shallots on hand and fresh tomatoes. Most home kitchens would have the garlic, butter, red wine, vinegar and chicken broth. I forgot to add the garnish in my haste to get the plates on the table.

You see, I was late getting home – went to see Kite Runner at 3:55 and didn’t get out of the movie until 6:15. And, oh my goodness, was that a movie! I’d read the book a year or two ago, right after it came out. The photography was excellent – even though it was filmed mostly in China. The bulk of the real story takes place in Kabul, Afghanistan and Pakistan, but it certainly looked authentic. The story is heart-wrenching to say the very least about it. Highly recommended. And, of course, the book is better, but I thought the movie was exceptionally well done.

So, after a 30-minute drive home, it was late for dinner before I even started. Bang, clang, and I served it in a jiffy. And now this will go into the KEEPERS file. DH even asked that the next time this is on the menu, he’d like to make it. Now that makes this a real red-letter dinner! He’s never said that. Ever.
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Can you just leap through your screen and take a bite of this tart? Double dare you to ever find anything more heavenly than your mouth full of this creamy, buttery, chocolatey and raspberry concoction. Sinfully delicious.

This is another delectable item on the menu at the luncheon I attended the other day. The hostess, Robin, outdid herself with this spectacular dessert. The buttery short almond pastry, almost like a light cookie crust filled with chocolate, some currant jelly, topped with fresh raspberries, chocolate shavings, powdered sugar and draped with some real whipped cream. Oh my. So very good. Robin retrieved her recipe from a 1993 Bon Appetit issue to show us. I wrote down the title, and was fortunate to find it on the internet. This isn’t a quick little number that you can whip out in an hour. There are a number of steps, chilling, baking, watching, more chilling, etc. But, it was definitely worth it. We gobbled up the tart – which said it served 12 – but with several of us taking tiny slivers of seconds, it left just one piece. So, I’d say this probably serves 9-10 rather than 12. If I made this, I’d probably offer a bit more whipped cream. But, however you count the slices, you need to have some of this. Now.
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The other day I was invited to a lovely ladies luncheon. A birthday celebration. It was great fun. The hostess, Robin, was gracious and full of laughter and humorous stories. She had prepared a delicious lunch for the 6 of us. I happened to have my little camera with me, so snapped photos of the soup. It was absolutely sensational. I can’t wait to make my own batch.

I didn’t know anything about Senegal (other than it’s on the African continent) or its cuisine. Fortunately wikipedia had plenty of information:

• Because Senegal borders the Atlantic Ocean, fish is an important staple. Chicken, lamb, and beef are also used in Senegalese cooking, but not pork, due to the nation’s largely Muslim population. Peanuts, the primary crop, as well as couscous, white rice, bananas, sweet potatoes, lentils, black-eyed beans and various vegetables, are also incorporated into many recipes. Meats and vegetables are typically stewed or marinated in herbs and spices, and then poured over rice or couscous or simply eaten with bread.
• Popular fresh juices are made from bissap, ginger, Buy (pronounce bouy) which is the fruit of the baobab tree also know as “monkey bread fruit,” mango, or other fruit of wild trees. Desserts are very rich and sweet, combining native ingredients with the extravagance and style characteristic of the French impact on Senegal’s culinary methods. They are often served with fresh fruit and are traditionally followed by coffee or tea.

So, this soup dish utilizes a number of the staples of the Senegalese cuisine: sweet potatoes, peanuts, and chicken. Robin got the recipe from the food network site, and it’s an Emeril recipe from 2006. Usually I’m not inclined to try his recipes – purely a silly reason – I think Emeril appears to be more hype and entertainment than he is a good chef. But I have nothing to back up my claim. Just that I dislike his talking and demonstration style. So, thanks, Robin, for sharing this soup with us!
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Surely I’m not alone in having an occasional baking failure. I rarely have an actual cooking “failure.” But, this was a close call! One of my greatest cooking failings is that I don’t read the directions completely before plunging into the preparation. This time was no exception. But, hey, it’s a cookie, and what’s a little extra sugar, right?

Last time I made these, probably two years ago, after they were finished I even went into my recipe software and re-arranged the recipe, separating the ingredients for the bar part, the syrup part and the glaze part. So that I wouldn’t do exactly what I repeated – again – today. But did I print out the recipe and toss the old one? You can guess, can’t you? No. I didn’t. Dummy. Idiot that I am. So this morning, as usual, always with 101 things on my mind (gotta finish this quickly, need to pay some bills, make the bed, finish my makeup) before I leave for a luncheon. I did READ the ingredients. But I glossed over the directions about separating the sugar portion (some of the sugar goes in the syrup).

This recipe is a favorite (when I make it) of my friend, Cherrie. She’s an excellent cook, but she isn’t a baker, so she relies on her friends who are bakers (uh, that’s me and others, I assume) to give her some goodies now and then. And sometimes I give her a little bag of cookies which she parcels out in her DH Bud’s lunch bag. I gave her one of my Bishop’s Breads I made before Christmas. (I don’t mean to be going on and on about my Bishop’s Bread – it’s just that Cherrie has learned to love this like I do.) Just a slice with her afternoon tea. So when one of her friends called to tell me she was having a birthday luncheon for Cherrie today, I thought – oh, I’ll make a batch of those Brandied Apricot Bars for her. That will make Cherrie very, very happy. She adores these things. More than I do, actually. I mean, they’re really good, but she would happily cross a glacier to get ahold of these, and she doesn’t “do” cold. Of all the things I bake, these cookies may be her very favorite. It could be the little rolling warmth that emanates from your gullet after chewing one – after all, it does have brandy in it. Not cooked much, either. Supposedly the alcohol is cooked off when you heat alcohol to a boil, but since this is apricot brandy you use, it’s potent stuff and I’m sure there is still alcohol remaining, because I sure do get warmth in my mouth, throat and tummy when I eat these. Back when I made these the first time, Cherrie was actually staying with us for awhile. She and I were both having sleeping issues, often waking up in the middle of the night, not able to sleep (my reason was that I was taking Claritin-D; once I stopped taking that, I began sleeping better). But back then, if she heard me up, we’d meet in the kitchen, whispering so we wouldn’t wake up my DH, and tiptoe with a tea tray into our living room, light the fire and have some Earl Gray and one of these bars. Or maybe two. At 6:30 am, or so, my DH would wander out, sleep in his eyes and say what in the world are you two doing? He learned eventually – if I wasn’t in the bed with him when he awoke, I’d be in the living room with tea and a fire, or in my office playing some mindless solitaire.

So, back to today and too much sugar. What to do, what to do? I was already fully into the batter when I re-read the directions. That’s when I discovered my mistake. Oops. I had put a scant cup of white sugar into the batter. So, I cut down some on the brown sugar (about half) and used less sugar in the brandy mixture. The lemon juice topping requires a certain amount of sugar – otherwise it would turn out too sour, so I really couldn’t reduce the powdered sugar there. I also made these in a 9×13 Pyrex pan, so baked them slightly longer, and it made 32 bars, not 36. But even with all my bad reading and chemistry juggling, they turned out just fine. Amazing. And Cherrie was really tickled (see big smile below) with my plate of cookies. All for her, with a little bite for everybody else at the luncheon.

So, the recipe below, for these tummy-warming bars, is the corrected one. Note to self: print out the gosh-darned corrected recipe and put it in your file! (done!)
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Files: MasterCook 5+ and MasterCook 14 (click on link to open in MC)

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Most likely many of you, who read other food blogs, have heard about the macarons. That’s not macaroons, but macarons. I think that would be pronounced, in the French, like mac-a-rown. The s is silent, and you’d nasalize the rown too. Very swishy. I’d seen pictures of these gems on some other blogs, but two weeks ago when DH and I drove through Yountville and stopped at Bouchon Bakery, they had bunches in their display case. I had to try one, in chocolate. It was only (ha) $3.00 for one. It stayed in the car for 2 days before I brought it into my cousin Maxine’s house, where we were staying in Walnut Creek. We cut it in 4 quarters. I ate my two quarters in a jiffy. They’re hard to describe, other than luscious. Soft. Smooth. These had a lovely chocolate flavor. Ideal with a hot beverage of some sort.

Probably only upscale bakeries will have these, and I’d guess Bouchon’s would have ranked up there with the best there are outside of Paris. This macarons was absolutely to die for. If I see them again I’ll definitely buy more. Well, maybe just one. They’re quite rich with the filling in the center. Who knows how many calories there are. I don’t want to know! The meringue-like outside cookie part is not crunchy or chewy, but has just a little bit of texture. And the filling was so utterly smooth. So, there’s your lesson in French and pastry for the day.

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So I had these leeks that had been in the refrigerator for about 2 1/2 weeks. DH had gone to the market before Christmas and he mis-read my list – I wrote 6 leeks. He thought it was 6 bunches of leeks. Sigh. So I had a heck of a lot of leeks. They weren’t all that attractive, I’ll admit, since the outer layers had become wet and mushy. But the interior, the part we use in cooking, was just fine. A couple of months ago I made a leek and Kielbasa soup, but I didn’t have any Kielbasa, so wanted to use what I had on hand. I found a recipe on Epicurious that utilized many of the ingredients I did have, so I altered the recipe some (added pancetta, coconut milk, and some fat-free half and half) and deleted the items I didn’t want (potato, whipped cream garnish).

Then I got out my magic (onion goggle) glasses. Ta-da.

If you haven’t seen these, you’re missing a VERY good thing. I was skeptical they’d work since I cry buckets when I peel and chop onions. What was wonderful, though, was that I could SMELL the onion, but I got none of the biting tears. They’re a wonder! I took several snapshots of myself with them on, but every one was so positively ugly I couldn’t make you look at even one. I look like an owl. But thankfully, you only have to wear them for a few minutes. They come in colors – mine are green and white, as you can see. Get thyself to a kitchenware store soon and buy a pair of these. And go chop some onions.
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