The apple doesn't fall (too) far from the tree: Grandmother's apple cake

Grandmother’s apple cake was probably the only dessert my mother ever baked. I vaguely remember her cursing over piecrust, but can’t recall the pie. Probably because the cursing, from the lips of a woman who might threaten to wash your mouth out with soap for saying "sheesh," made such an impression that other details slipped away.

I used to tease my mom that the domestic gene skipped a generation. If slogan t-shirts had been invented when we were kids, Mom would have worn the one that said, “I’d rather be painting.” Let’s just say my mother was born too soon. She was a gifted painter and sculptor saddled with four children because that was what was expected of her. She wore her wifely and motherly duties, especially cooking, like a ball and chain. A very heavy ball and chain.

Grandmother, on the other hand, took an interest in cooking. As I have mentioned from time to time on this blog, Grandmother (never Granny, Grandma, or Gran) had her shortcomings in the empathy department for her fellow humans, most notably her children, but she possessed powerful instincts when it came to food. With help from a cook and a nanny when her five children were young, Grandmother carried her motherly duties a lot more lightly than my mom did. Yet she, too, had her priorities. Her t-shirt would have said, “I’d rather be playing bridge.”

Perhaps a preoccupation with social life drove my grandmother’s interest in food. Or perhaps for her, as for me, food simply held a fascination. To glean some insights into what might have made her tick, I recently pulled a few of her cookbooks off the shelf. She had a habit of scrawling recipes and comments in the columns, on the back pages, on the book flaps, and just about anywhere there was space. Many of them were recipes from friends or from her sisters: Dolly D’Aloia’s thumbprint cookies, Twinnies’ chocolate fudge, Emma’s Icing. Somehow they all sounded familiar.

My Grandmother with admirers

Then I realized the same recipes appear in my mother’s recipe box, carefully copied. Though she took little pleasure in cooking, my mother occasionally relished recreating dishes from her childhood, particularly sweets. And she, too, took up the habit of writing in her cookbooks.

Grandmother inscribed one book, Lowney’s cookbook, produced by the makers of cocoa and chocolates, with her name, date, and the words “My first cookbook.” I imagine how pristine it once was, and how excited and grown up she must have felt to embark on her new cooking adventure.  After more than a lifetime of use, it has lost its binding and the pages crumble each time I open it. The stains, faded scribbles and notes tend to congregate in the dessert section. The once blank pages are filled with recipes jotted down with lists of ingredients, no instructions: Aunt Livia’s Cottage Pudding, Molasses Layer Cake, Hot Milk Sponge Cake, Lillian's Candy. A testament to the way food and cooking connect us.

One significant discovery I made in Grandmother’s books was an entry for ‘Mother’s Apple Cake’. My mom always referred to it as Grandmother’s apple cake, and I simply assumed that the grandmother in question was my mother’s mother, my grandmother. So after this revelation, I asked my mom about it. “Yes,” she said, “that was my grandmother’s cake. We kids used to sneak into the kitchen for a slice on Sundays when we visited. They expected it, so there were usually two or three cakes cooling on the table.”

Something came over my mother when she spoke of that cake, that kitchen, that time. She had just finished showing me a photo album that my grandmother had made for her. As we looked at the album she sighed and said, “I guess my mother did love me after all. She made me this album, with pictures of me.” My mother—who is now in the looking-back stage of life—never felt particularly loved by my grandmother. Yet she recalls her childhood with happiness, surrounded by family, filled with Sunday dinners, and the constant ebb and flow of cousins, aunts and uncles. And apple cake, always the warm, inviting apple cake.

My Aunt Mary, Mom, and Uncle Billy

Mom, age 12 or 13

The cake part of this cake is not very rich; it is just an excuse to pile on the apples and end up with slices of cinnamon apple goodness. It is quick and easy enough to make for breakfast on the weekend, or anytime you need a fast apple fix. Plums, peaches and pears are welcome here, too.

Grandmother’s apple cake

Make one 9-inch cake 

For the cake:

1 cup all purpose flour

1/4 cup sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 /8 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, thinly sliced

1/4 cup milk

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

3 apples, peeled, cored and cut in 3/8-inch thick slices

For the topping:

3 tablespoons sugar

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 tablespoon butter

1. Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Butter a 9 by 2-inch round cake pan. Dust the pan with flour and tap out the excess.

2. Whisk the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt together in a bowl.

3. With your fingers, crumble the butter into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse meal.

4. Beat the milk, egg and vanilla together with a fork until combined. Add it to the flour mixture and stir just until combined. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan. Spread it evenly in the pan with the back of a spoon.

5. Starting at the outside edge, arrange the apples in a circular pattern over the cake, overlapping them slightly.

6. For the topping: Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in small bowl. Sprinkle it over the apples and dot with butter. Bake for 25 minutes, or until a skewer inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean when withdrawn.

6. Cool the cake in the pan. Cut in wedges and serve warm.

More apple recipes from this blog
Apples baked in cider (a Food52 wildcard winner!)
French style apple tart
Homemade applesauce 


And still more from around the web 
Dorie Greenspan's French Apple Cake posted by David Lebovitz 
Drunken Apple Cake from Leite's Culinaria 
Apple Upside Down Cake from Simply Recipes 
Gluten-Free Apple Cake from Elana's Pantry 
Hearty Apple Loaf from Sprouted Kitchen

Some like it hot: pickled jalapenos

I am trying (unsuccessfully) to make peace with the end of summer. I know, I know. There are plenty of people (Man of the House, for instance) who love the fall and relish the new nip in the air.

I am not wired like that.  I struggle with my resistance to the change, but glass-half-empty is in my DNA. When the light fades earlier and earlier every evening, I feel wistful. What to do? Get summer into jars.

Being an eleventh hour type, and being preoccupied these last few weeks by settling College Boy into his first apartment, I now have only a few precious weeks left to do that. Nevermind. There is still a lot to choose from. I have peaches, pears and plums ripening on the kitchen counter for jam later this week, and I have just finished another batch of pickled jalapenos. A batch would seem like a lifetime supply, but I know they will be gone in a month or so. But oh they are good while they last.

My first Thanksgiving at my soon-to-be in-laws opened my eyes to the necessity of having a jar of jalapenos around at all times if I really wanted to be part of the family. Sure, we had the turkey, the stuffing, the mashed potatoes, the pies, but perched right there on the table next to the cranberry sauce was a small dish of jalapenos. A revelation! I watched in awe as my mother-in-law daintily cut a tiny piece of the pepper on her plate and popped it in her mouth. “A little chaser, “ she said with a sheepish smile.

Who knew? I’m from New Jersey.

The do-it-yourself pickling project started a few years later, when we lived in the country and our local grocery store did not supply us with jalapenos. How crazy is that? I had to take matters into my own hands. After the first attempt proved successful, soon I was making enough to give as token Christmas presents to my many sisters-in-law. I even grew jalapenos in my garden. Wow, I was ambitious back then. Now I see piles of jalapenos at farmers’ markets; you can also buy them from just about any grocery store (where you can buy them in jars, too, but that’s beside the point.)

Just in case you think pickled jalapenos are all about the heat, think again. I am here to tell you there is much, much more. By the time you add herbs, carrots and onions to the mix you begin to understand the argument in favor of pickling them yourself. The bonus vegetables take on the heat of the peppers, and the peppers take on the flavors of the vegetables. The marriage is a happy one even if it doesn’t last.

Oh, and p.s, our own marriage worked out, maybe it has something to do with the pickles?

Pickled Jalapenos

Makes 3 pints (recipe can be doubled)

I probably don’t have to tell you how to eat these, but I should mention that the pickle ‘juice’ is just the ticket for spicing up guacamole or sprinkling over the contents of a taco. Save it until every little drop is gone because you can add it to anything that could use a little puckery heat. (Corn chowder, for example, if you haven’t made it yet this summer.) Process them in a boiling water bath if you make lots and lots and want to give them away, or store them in the refrigerator for up to six months.

1 pound jalapeno peppers

2 sprigs fresh oregano, cut in 3-inch lengths

3 sprigs fresh thyme

3 bay leaves

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 white onion, halved lengthwise and thickly sliced

2 carrots, thickly sliced

6 whole garlic cloves, peeled

1 teaspoon salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper

2 1/2 cups white vinegar

1/4 cup water

1. Cut a small cross in the tip of each pepper. Leave the stems intact.

2. Place 2 lengths of oregano, 1 sprig of thyme and 1 bay leaf in each of 3 pint jars.

3. Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the onions, carrots and garlic. Cook, stirring often, for 5 minutes or until the onions wilt.

4. Add the jalapenos, salt, pepper, vinegar and water to the pot.  Increase the heat to high and bring to a full boil. Adjust the heat to a simmer and cook for 3 minutes.

5. Set a colander over a bowl. Ladle the vegetables into the colander, and reserve the liquid that collects in the bowl.

6. Pack the peppers and vegetables into the jars. Ladle the hot brine over them, leaving a 1/4-inch head space. Gently slip a wooden skewer or chopstick between the peppers and the side of each jar to release air bubbles.

7. Seal the jars and store in the refrigerator for up to 6 months. Or, for room temperature storage of up to 1 year, process the jars while still hot in a boiling water bath for 10 minutes.

HOW TO PRESERVE IN A BOILING WATER BATH

(You will find a visual tutorial on water bath canning here.)

1. Fill a large, deep pot with enough water to cover the jars by 1 inch. Bring to a boil.

2. Inspect canning jars for cracks and discard defective ones. Thoroughly wash the jars in hot soapy water or run through the dishwasher.

3. Wash the lids and screw bands. Use only unused lids each time to ensure a good seal.

4. Fill jars to within 1/4 inch of the top (headspace) with hot pickles. Wipe the rim of the jar with a clean, wet paper towel before covering with the lid. Screw on the bands.

5. Set a rack or a thick folded dishtowel on the bottom of the pot of boiling water.

With a sturdy pair of tongs, place the jars in the pot.

6. Process the jars at a gentle boil for 10 minutes. If necessary, add more boiling water to cover the jars by 1 inch.

7. Remove  the jars from the water with tongs and set on a dishtowel to cool.

8. After12 hours, check the jars to ensure that they are sealed.  Press on the center of each lid; it should remain concave.

9. Label and date the jars by writing on the lids with permanent marker.

10. Remove the screw bands to prevent them from rusting and store the jars for up to 1 year in a cool, dark place.


Want more pepper recipes?
Potted peppers from The Garum Factory 
Pickled serranos from Pinch My Salt 
Sweet Pickled Jalapenos from Simply Recipes 
Preserved Red Peppers from Hunter, Angler, Gardner, Cook

 

It ain't over 'til it's over: corn chowder

Technically, it is still summer. But after September 1st, it sure feels like it’s over. I hate that.

Why? Some folks like it cold, and some like it hot. I like the in-between, but mostly on the warm side. I am the happiest in June, when the summer spreads out before me like a cool green meadow that goes on and on. Sigh.

The upside to September: kids are back in school (sigh again, this time a sigh of relief.) Don’t get me wrong; having your kids home with unstructured time is wonderful in an old-fashioned Leave-It-To Beaver kind of way. But hallelujah when that school bell rings!

The other upside is, of course, a veritable banquet of vegetables in the market to choose from. 

When I make this corn chowder, I am always reminded of the virtues of humble American cooking. Sure, Italian food has sex appeal, but when you apply its primary principle—spectacular ingredients used simply—we Americans can go toe to toe with them any day, especially in September.

With justly famous Yankee ingenuity, our New England forefathers used what they had on hand to make food for sustenance. These resourceful cooks layered ingredients like salt pork, cod, onions, potatoes and a few herbs in a pot (the word chowder is purportedly derived from chaudière, the name of a French cooking pot) with milk and water. Sustenance always came first, but look at the result: salty bacon paired with clams or cod, tamed with cream and potatoes. Now it’s getting interesting.

Read more and find the recipe at the Magazine of Yoga.