Deelish Dish

shortcut caramel apples

Last weekend the little bro came over for caramel apple making and a Halloween movie marathon. The little bro is an 11 year-old and because he has the appropriate attention span of one, this baking/movie party quickly became a frenzied solo caramel apple fiasco to the soundtrack of Halloween. If I had been by myself initially, I might have done a recipe from scratch with various toppings and much more attention to detail but I figured elementary schoolers need shortcuts. Apparently shortcuts mean watch-and-eat-but-don't-lift-a-finger-then-complain-that-I'm-doing-it-wrong. Hrmph. Kids.

I attempted the simplest, easiest process I could think of: buy some Granny Smith apples and popsicle sticks, melt some caramel in a bowl and dip the apples. How hard is that to mess up? Not very hard. I had a few issues. Isn't it annoying when you succeed with flying colors at complex things and then fail absurdly with the most basic ones?

I thought solely melting packaged caramel pieces would be such cheating that I looked up a couple recipes and decided to add a teaspoon or two of milk (boy, all that cheating guilt is gone now). I guess it can be water too but milk sounded best for texture and taste. And I was right in terms of taste but the consistency was just impossible. The toppings were not having it.

The caramel should be heated by stove or microwave until as hot as possible, without burning. This will mostly likely be molten-lava hot but it is optimal for the toppings to stick and stay. Be very careful when handling, especially if there are children around.

Dip the apples into the hot caramel and then roll into or sprinkle with toppings of choice. The tricky part is, you need to do non-chocolate toppings right away but wait for the caramel to cool a bit with chocolate ones or they'll melt right off. Nuts, gummy candy, or sprinkles work fine but chocolate or chocolate chips should be added after the caramel has cooled slightly.

I personally love chocolate-dipped caramel apples but kids tend to go for the massively-covered, brightly-colored ones. M&Ms or gummy bears are always a hit. Now that I think about it, the best caramel apple I ever had was with white chocolate and crumbled Oreos. And I don't even like white chocolate. The combo of flavors just works magic.

If you can get the M&Ms to stick and stay, without sliding or cracking, you're a genius. I think even after dipping and rolling, you still have to manually place some. This batch was done entirely willy-nilly but at least they didn't melt or crack. And I'd only attempt biting into one of these apples after slicing. Those suckers are brutal.

If you want the chocolate layer outside the caramel to be smooth—perhaps for additional toppings on top of that coating—it has to be very melted (but not burned) as well. I'd also use a deep bowl for dipping that allows coverage of the whole apple on the first try. My mistake was hot-ish chocolate and a shallow bowl, which I had to make up for by rolling and patting with a spoon.

I was a bit annoyed with the finished result but they still tasted great. I'm wondering if I should have added that milk at all—next time a perfect consistency will be my aim. Nevertheless, all taste-testers, young and old, approved. Caramel apples are such a big part of Halloween festivities every year—the process as much as the outcome—that you can't really go wrong.

makin' whoopie

I had my very first whoopie pie about ten years ago when I was in Boston, at a great bakery called Mike's Pastry. I think I was strung out on stress and fatigue from days of college scouting because as my family members and I opened our box of goodies to divvy up our treats of every variety, and someone "accidentally" took my whoopie pie, I threw a fit. Childish, immature, yeah yeah. I had been eyeing that giant, creamy, pillowy, chocolate cakey, long-lost-relative-of-an-Oreo behind the glass with fervent anticipation. Have you ever seen a whoopie pie? A real, traditionally-made, towering sandwich of dark chocolate and cream? Well, if you're a chocolate fiend, like I am, restraint is difficult. Probably because my inner child comes out and I feel like I'm in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory. Flavor comes second to pure aesthetics and your head spins from all the stimuli. "The snozzberries taste like snozzberries!"

Annyyway, I got my pie (with a bite in it!) and it was still amazing—like a taste of heaven. But it was the last time I saw a whoopie pie until now. Whoopie pies are traditionally a New England dessert sometimes called gobs, black-and-whites, or bobs, which I didn't know but makes sense since every time I mention a whoopie pie here in California I get a blank look. Whoopee cushion? Whoopi Goldberg? Making whoopie? Noooo. Well, as I've been in the Halloween spirit lately and wanting to bake something new (and relatively easy), I picked up this month's Everyday Food and decided on some whoopie pie experimentation. They were loads of fun and tasted lovely but after all was said and done, I'd do a few things differently. I'd probably dye the cream a fun orange (or appropriate color for another holiday) instead of sprinkles. And, I'd probably use this recipe because of the rich chocolate cocoa powder and the marshmallow-y filling. That's how I remember it originally and the recipe I used wasn't nearly as impressive on the filling side. But so it goes.

The moist texture of the cakes comes from this secret ingredient: unsweetened applesauce. I'm sure everyone knows this and I'm alone in my bewilderment. I find it really weird but really fun when totally unrelated ingredients are thrown in a recipe. It was a good thing I actually looked at the list of items I needed before shopping at the market because I never would have guessed applesauce. Who buys applesauce? People who have kids or like pork chops. And who bake moist whoopie pies. 

The recipe instructs to drop heaping tablespoons of the cake dough about two inches apart. Try to give them ample room because they really expand. And as you drop them onto the baking sheet, aim to make them as round as possible. I made the mistake of having a few oval-shaped cakes that looked like footballs as the end result. 

My best advice for these pies is patience. Cool them COMPLETELY before spreading the filling and sandwiching or they'll break apart. Put them in the freezer for 10 minutes or so to harden them a bit.

makes me want to curtsy

 

With the impending decoration and preparation madness in mind, I realized I needed something Halloween-esque to kick off the inspiration for creation. I needed a Halloween apron! And since I've been perusing but never purchasing from Etsy for months (I know! The world of homemade crafts and goodies lays before me), I thought it was about freakin' time. So I searched the many wonderful shops for an apron that exhibited the following criteria: 1) cute/retro/vintage design 2) NOT choke-me-around-the-neck grandma-style, head-to-toe ruffles and frills and the likes. And then I found this adorable little thang at a shop called Yoopers. A half-size, three-pocket wraparound with a "retro trick-or-treat" fabric design. Cha-ching! Exactly what I wanted: cute and functional. But the best part about buying from Etsy is that friendly, personal, one-on-one shopping aspect. You know who and where you're buying from, and most likely, it's another crafty susie-homemaker kinda gal just like you on the other side of the country. When I opened my package, which was so beautifully wrapped and speedily sent to me, there was a hand-written note and a pressed-flower magnet hidden in one of the apron's pockets as a "Thank You". I was awww-ing the whole time. I don't even want to put it on and risk disturbing its precious perfection. But I will, and come orange-and-black popcorn ball making time I'll be the most spirited baker in the kitchen. (As if that was ever a question before.)

How you like dem apples?

My parents moved into their current home almost a decade ago and from the minute I first stepped out onto the deck and gasped "apple trees!" I've been dreaming up millions of ways to use all 'dem apples. And now, all these years later, I've finally put them to use. My parents, of course, have used the apples (and blackberries and plums) from their yard numerous times, but until last weekend, I hadn't even tasted one. I feel very guilty and embarrassed to admit this. I took them for granted and I'm sorry. I still don't even know what kind they are, but plan on looking into it. [Cough.]

So as the days are getting shorter and the air is slowly becoming crisper, I've had the urge to bake something still summery and seasonal, yet cozy and warm. So I made autumn in a dish: apple pie. I don't know why, but for some reason the process of making apple pie feels different from other pies. Maybe it's the picking, peeling, coring, and slicing steps that are so ceremonial and Zen to me. Or maybe it's because they are from my family's home. I just feel like a lot of love goes into an apple pie. The finished product looks, smells, and tastes like....ahhh. You know that scene from Sleeping With the Enemy where she's picking apples and putting them in her lifted skirt when the cute-drama-teacher-neighbor catches her? "I don't make deals." She dumps them on the ground but eventually he brings them to her house and she makes a pie and brings it to his for a pot roast dinner? Maaannn. Well, I salivate every time. This is my problem. Even movies about domestic abuse make me hungry.

Anyway, apple pie evokes utter coziness to me so I had to kick off the fall (we're officially still two weeks away) with a delicious double-crust monster pie. I was going to call this pie "Mile High Apple Pie" because the amount of apples I piled in there seriously went against the laws of physics, but I like simple. And besides, "Mile High" conjures an image of...well, Ralph Fiennes. Get what I'm saying? Annnddd, double-crust means extra goodness of the best part of the pie! None of that jive-talkin' lattice (or worse, single crust) foolishness when it's apple time!

The apples I picked were from two types of tree. One was large with big, light green apples and the other was small with these little, round, shiny reddish-green ones. The bigger apples were less juicy but not as tart as the tiny ones, so I decided I couldn't go wrong with a combination of flavors and textures. We picked so many that we had tons of leftovers, with which we filled bowls and arranged for display and snacking. The polished look of the small apples makes for beautiful presentation; my mother filled a large white ceramic bowl with similar apples and wrapped with cellophane as a birthday gift last year. It was so creative and quite stunning.

I don't think I've ever looked up a pie dough recipe because I've been using my mother's "foolproof" method since I started baking. The ratio of flour and butter (plus water) is basic and easy to remember. I also always remember two things: 1) never over-handle the dough and 2) cold cold cold. As in, use cold butter, cold water and also refrigerate or freeze the dough before forming and baking. You can use a food processor to mix your dough but I think cutting the butter into the flour is just as easy. I add water to consistency and test it by pinching or squeezing a small ball to see if it holds together.

Peeling, coring, and slicing the apples used to take ages until I found this nifty little beast. It peels and cores at the same time and makes people (not me, of course) squeal in delight the entire time. In a couple of seconds, it leaves an apple in a perfect curly-wurly spiral that is ready for a slice, mix and a throw. It's the greatest shortcut ever and it works on potatoes too. This one is from Williams-Sonoma but you can find them at various cooking stores and on Amazon.

It's best to be as quick as possible when forming the dough. Dough is a stubborn little thing and does not like to be handled. Some fast ball-forming followed by flattening in ziploc bags for refrigeration is key. A good 30 minutes in the refrigerator is enough but some suggest up to an hour or more.

A little lemon will prevent the apples from browning right away. I sliced the apples in fourths or halves but you can slice them smaller as you choose. Texture-wise, I think a good apple pie has big, chunky pieces and is not just applesauce with crust. Don't make me vom.

After chilling the dough, roll one ball out into about a 12-inch diameter circle to form the bottom crust. This particular pie was a lot of crust—I even trimmed some off around the edges. But again, the secret to a good pie is the crust. So I say the more the merrier.

Add lemon juice and zest, sugar, cinnamon, and a tiny handful of flour. The improvised flour is not in the recipe but it helps the consistency and is in many apple pie recipes, so I figure I'm forgiven. Piling the apple mixture into the pie shell is difficult when you're going for a behemoth of a pie like this. I'm not sure the photo does it justice but it took two sets of hands (thanks Mom) to get it stable, poked with nuggets of butter, and covered by the top crust. Since the apples will cook and reduce in size dramatically, I tried to fit as much as possible without causing a landslide (on the apples' part) and subsequent meltdown (on my part). It was like apple Jenga but luckily I'm really good at Jenga.

pump up the jam

All summer, I have been planning an all-out jam-making day but kept managing to distract myself with other things (read: work). That is, until I hit breaking point at the supermarket the other day. I stumbled upon nectarines on sale for a dollar a pound and EUREKA: the time has come to make jam. Sweet, sticky, delicious, homemade preserves. It’s such an aestival activity, what better way to celebrate the end of summer? You can enjoy it all year long when it’s sealed in a jar. So I enlisted the help of my mother and we puuump-pumped up the jam together. In total, we canned about 20-30 jars which would take over my Polly Pocket cupboards but merely added a small sub-section to her already established collection. I took home half the batch and, although I’m not really into toast or pastries for breakfast, I can’t wait to spread it all over anything and everything within reach. Crepes? Mmm. Meat? Yes, please! This shoe? Why not! And I am still in the honeymoon phase of amateur cooking, where I look at my creation and think: I made you. And with some festive packaging and primping, they’ll make wonderful holiday gifts. HO HO HO…guess who’s comin’ to town!

Choose ripe, unbruised nectarines. Prepare the fruit in the way that best fits your jam texture preference (i.e. larger pieces for chunkier jam, peel or no peel, etc). Peeling the nectarines isn't necessary but optional. If I had used peaches, I'd probably have peeled them because some people are fuzz-phobes (I won't name names).

I quadrupled a single recipe to yield so many jars of jam, so appropriately used a large stock pot. You can use a smaller pot depending on your batch size, and of course, the fruit will boil and reduce a bit.

Before you yell at me, I'll say it: I used pectin. The old-fashioned recipes don't use this gelling agent but it's a great shortcut to help your jam (or jelly) set. It's natural and not unhealthy, it just gets a bad rep because it's not part of the old school jam-making process. I used Sure Jell powdered pectin; you can buy it in powder or liquid form, sold in most grocery stores.

I bought brand-new canning jars from the grocery store but you can use recycled ones too, just be sure to sanitize them again. Wash and boil, leave in pot of simmering hot water while cooking. Use a jar lifter to remove them as they will be very hot! Adding a sliver of butter or margarine to the cooking fruit (above: bottom right photo) will take the extra foam away.

Cooked and ready to be canned! I like chunky jam like this but you can chop or mash it more at the beginning to achieve a smoother consistency. Play with it and make it your own. You're the boss.

Using a funnel, ladle quickly into jars. I tried to aim for one ladle of fruit chunks, another of just liquid from the pot. That way, each jar will be 50-50 and the last few jars from the pot won't be without the fun! Make sure to fill each jar to the brim (about an 1/8 of an inch from the top) so it will seal and store properly.

After filling each jar, we inverted them one by one to speed up the sealing process. This is just a step to do while set aside, but the jars need to be boiled again or they will spoil.

This is the best part. The jars vacuum seal and make a loud "pop!" sound as the lids dent inwards. (My mom shrieks every time, "Woop! Did you hear that?") You can test each lid before storing by pushing on it, to be sure it's safely sealed.

last days of summer

One of my favorite things about summer is the ripe, sweet, juicy, and delicious fruit that comes with it. Picking berries, especially blackberries, reminds me of my family and my childhood in Oregon. We used to hike (what felt like) miles, scale fences, scuffle through brambles, battle poison oak and bees, and create human pyramid boosters to reach the plump, perfect berries. Then we'd bring our overflowing buckets of treasure home to craft pies and tarts, sprinkle over ice cream and cereal, and make icy smoothies on hot days. We loved it. But like most of the cozy traditions in our family, it was also the ceremony of it that we loved. And still do!

In the spirit of seizing the season and keeping the berry-picking tradition alive, I recently took my younger brother on a walk—bowls in hand, dogs trailing close behind—to hunt for blackberries. We only collected a couple bowls full (what was left after the birds and hikers had been there), but it was enough for a delectable berry dessert. And since I'm a little sick of pies at the moment, I thought I'd switch it up with some crumb bars from Martha's Everyday Food.

The Blackberry Crumb Bars are ridiculously easy and ridiculously good ("really, really ridiculously good-looking"). They are a perfect combination of soft cake, tart berry, and a sweet, crunchy top. It's really the crumb top that makes it—without it, they would just be nothing. But I also have to say that it's the tartness of the blackberry that balances the two ultra-sweet parts as well. Deb over at Smitten Kitchen recently made this recipe with blueberries which I wouldn't think would have the same effect. She did add lemon juice and zest to her recipe though, which is along the same lines. As long as there's some zing to it, it's a deelish dish.

Fresh, juicy blackberries! The process of picking is so fun and satisfying. Saving 20 bucks is nice too.

The recipe calls for two cartons but I just loaded up the berries to completely cover the batter.

Chilling the topping is crucial—it makes crumbling it into pieces over the berries much easier.

The crisp, golden brown top gives it a heavenly crunch. And, even after a day or two in the fridge, a quick broil in the oven will crisp it back up again.

banana + toffee = banoffee

A recent holiday in the U.K. left me charmed by the land, the people, and the food. Since most of my visit was spent in the countryside, the latter consisted of fresh, homemade everything. One particular day, while visiting a town called Rockcliffe on the Southern coast of Scotland, we stopped in a little cafe known as the Garden Tea Room. It's a small and, evidently, undiscovered spot (I can't find any information on it anywhere) with a grandma's-home-cookin' feel (or is that all of Scotland?). We shared a simple sandwich for lunch and for dessert ordered the famous banoffee pie and cappuccinos. Now let me preface: I'm a major chocolate fiend who rarely drools/daydreams/obsesses over other non-chocolate desserts AND I kind of dislike toffee/caramel/syrupy things. Seeing that banoffee pie is a load of bananas and cream on top of a layer of toffee (bluh), I didn't think I'd last a bite. But OH.MY.GOD. It was one of the most amazing pies—€”the most incredible combination of flavors and texture—€”I have ever tasted. The thick cream, pulpous bananas, smooth toffee and grainy biscuit crust. Humina humina humina. I couldn't wait to get home and force-feed everyone I know.

The original banoffee recipe involves carmelizing sweetened condensed milk, but since this often leads to explosions and failed pies, some use premade caramel sauce substitutes. Because banoffee is quite popular in the U.K., Carnation started manufacturing cans of Caramel "Dulce de Leche", much to the delight of all the short-cutters out there. You can count me on that team, so of course I brought a couple cans home with me. Also, VERY important—€”I was given a stern lecture that banoffee is not banoffee unless the crust is made of digestive biscuits, NOT graham crackers. You'd think I'd have be told to carmelize the condensed milk the long way too, but I have a feeling certain people know that I'm not incapable of blowing up the kitchen. And lastly, good ol' heavy whipping cream was dolloped on top of the bananas, but I was (again) informed that Britain's double cream is the superior way to go. The Brits have standards, people. But alas, there is no American equivalent for double cream, so I had to settle with my apparently inferior resources. The final product was pure deliciousness that my entire family reluctantly—then enthusiastically—devoured in hours. The three-day sugar coma that followed was well worth it.

The secret ingredient. Shhhh.

The digestive crackers balance the super-sweet caramel. The texture is perfection.

Even after chilling the pie, the caramel layer is syrupy and runny. Keep this in mind when cutting (and eating) the pie.