Quick Fruit-Filled Coffee Cake

Blueberry coffee cake? Who turns that down?

I think I mentioned my stem to blossom-end philosophy last year during Tigress' Can Jam. I love using up everything I can, and that means that when I make juice or jelly or do something that leaves me with fruit pulp I invariably find a way to use it. This cake was born of that compulsion. It's incredibly quick and easy, and not too sweet; a great every day cake. One that you can leave out for a few days--it stays moist and if heated up for just a few minutes and you have a tasty treat.

I used rhubarb pulp from making rhubarb juice for the cake pictured below. It's color is a tad dull, but tasted great. The blueberry was leftover from syrup making. I really couldn't leave that goodness to waste. Spread over a thick batter and covered up with crunchy crumbles, and no one's the wiser. Saved from the compost!

Combine:

1 1/2 c. AP flour
1/2 cup of sugar
1 teaspoon of baking powder
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1/4 teaspoon of salt

Mix in a separate bowl:

1 cup of buttermilk
2 large eggs

Add the dry to the wet until just smooth. Don't over mix. Pour into a greased 10-inch spring form pan, and smooth the top. Spread about two cups (give or take) of fruit pulp over the batter. Cover with streusel topping. Bake at 350 degrees for about 45 minutes.

Streusel topping:

4 tablespoons of butter (oil works too)
1/4 cup of slivered almonds
1/2 cup of whole rolled oats
1/2 cup of sugar

Note: I do not sweeten the fruit, but you may want to depending on your tastes or the tartness of your fruit. The blueberries didn't need any extra sweetener, but for the rhubarb I sprinkled sugar on the layer of fruit before adding the streusel.

I love that this recipe only uses a few ingredients. If you don't have buttermilk, go ahead and use yogurt!

If you want to step it up and get fancy, head on over to these two amazing takes on a recipe for Rhubarb Kuchen:

Cakewalk: Rhubarb Kuchen
Tigress in a Jam: Rhubarb Krack

Dull, but tasty, rhubarb.

Rhubarb Mostarda

It's about 8:30 p.m. here in my little corner of the Hudson Valley, and the sky is just starting to get that cornflower blue cast to it, and the leaves are making a soft whisper, being blown by a cool breeze. The warm air is mixing with the cool wind, and it smells like baked mown grass, Russian olive and rose blossoms, chives and maybe a hint of rain. Since it stopped raining last Tuesday, I've been thrown into a summer-time idyll, and the things I want to write about pile up as photographs, but never make it to the page.

I've instead been working in the garden: pulling up rows of arugula and braising greens, radishes and lettuce. All of a sudden there is a deluge of things to eat from my yard. The strawberries are ripe and the rhubarb is flourishing. The asparagus is taking nicely to its new bed, and the potatoes seem to be in a race with themselves, they are growing so fast. The sugar snap peas aren't happy, but the purple podded peas are. The beets and carrots are coming along. The cucumbers sprouted in what seems like days. And the tomatoes. Oh, goodness, the tomatoes! It's really summer when the tomatoes are set in their cages.

This week I spent some time driving around tiny towns, like Accord and Alligerville, picking up ten pounds of rhubarb and dropping off jars of jam to worthy folks. My little boy and I have been making the rounds of all the playgrounds, and all the places to eat ice pops, or sorbets, or something fruity because he doesn't yet have a taste for vanilla or chocolate. At the ice cream stands families loiter, like us, and the older kids seem to be sniffing out summer vacation. We like to visit a park in Gardiner that is next to Sky Dive The Ranch so we can watch for people falling from the sky with colorful parachutes.

Today was another perfect summer day, and we didn't do much. We drove to Tractor Supply to buy chicken feed. We took a quick stroll over the Walkway Over the Hudson. Later on we hung around at the Kingston Point Park and flew a kite. Whenever you take the time to fly a kite, you think: what a good idea it is to fly a kite! The wind was perfect, and our new dragon flew up easily. There was a good mix of people down by the beach, and I closed my eyes to soak it all in. I grew up near the water, and it still is a deliciously comfortable feeling that floods every sense: the smell of sunscreen, the feel of the sand, the sound of the waves and children laughing, screaming or crying. The only thing missing was the salt. I do miss the ocean.

All of these things are just thick with summer. Bug bites and sunburns are just the price you pay; not as onerous as they will soon become. Right now I'm savoring instead the outdoor visits with friends, drinking icy cold beers, and snacking on some crackers, good cheddar and this really delicious rhubarb mostarda. I've been meaning to make mostarda for a long time now. It's an Italian condiment that's similar to a chutney, but not quite as pickled. My version has wild Alaskan lingonberries in it, thanks to Shae at Hitchhiking to Heaven. But think of this recipe as a blueprint. You could use any fruit really. And then insert it into your idyll.

Rhubarb and Lingonberry Mostarda

1 pound of rhubarb, chopped in 1/2" chunks
1 cup of lingonberries (or cranberries, or pears or apples)
1 cup of dry white wine
2 tablespoons honey
1 tablespoon of brown mustard seed
1 tablespoon of yellow mustard seed
1 teaspoon of salt
the juice and zest of two small oranges (I used satsumas, tart and bright, blood oranges would be nice.)
(optional: bay leaf, sprig of fresh rosemary)

Put all ingredients in a pot and simmer until it gets to a spreadable consistency. Some recipes say two hours, but mine was much quicker, probably because of the lingonberries, which are high in pectin. Store in the fridge. Serve with pork or chicken, or with a good cheese.

Buttermilk Muffins with Rhubarb Jam Centers

I have yet to write about the two wonderful rhubarb jams I recently made, and by the time I do it'll be too late. In the meantime, I am posting this quick recipe for these very tender, not-too-sweet muffins. I used some rhubarb jam from last year for the filling. It was made with Pomona's pectin, so it was firm and thus, perfect for this little filled muffin idea. Filling muffins is certainly not a new idea, but it is staunchly a good one! Try muffins made with buttermilk; they are so soft. If you don't have buttermilk, use yogurt instead. And of course, any firm jam will do.

Doesn't this little muffin look sleepy?

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2 cups of AP flour
1 teaspoon of baking powder
1 teaspoon of baking soda
1/2 cup of sugar  (I used sugar with a vanilla bean scraped into it, otherwise add 1 tsp. of vanilla or use real vanilla seeds scraped from the pod)

Mix these dry ingredients.

Then mix in a separate bowl:

1 cup of buttermilk
1 large egg
1/4 cup of vegetable oil

Have on hand a half-pint of jam.

Add the wet mixture to the dry. Mix quickly, but well. Using a well-greased muffin tin, scoop a tablespoonful of batter into each of the twelve spots. Then, using a teaspoon, gently place a small dollop of jam in each spoonful of batter, making a well with the back of the spoon. Then, using the tablespoon, put a scoop of batter on top of each muffin, trying as best you can to cover the jam up. Bake for about twenty minutes, but keep an eye on them after sixteen or so minutes. They should be golden brown, and if any jam escaped (you hope not, but it happens) it will be bubbling.

The Asparagus Bed

Why do I feel so good?

I don't believe I've ever come out of the garden feeling worse. In fact, I think I can safely say that 99% of the time, I walk out of the garden feeling much, much better. It's true that my back might ache, the bugs can be vexing, and the work can be totally exhausting. What I mean is this: if I'm feeling anxious or ungrounded, spending even just an hour in the garden can fix that pretty much immediately. (Check out this great article about Why Gardening Makes You Happy and Cures Depression.) And after a long, cold winter, being in the dirt is exactly what I need. I never realize it when it has me in it's clutches, but I get into a stone cold funk starting about February. This year it was longer and deeper because our winter was longer and colder. But now, although it's still chilly and tempestuous, warm one hour, cold the next (no one really described April better than T.S. Eliot), it's still spring, and I'm out there in the dirt. Feeling much better, thank you.

Two trenches with dirt in the middle to gradually add back as the plants grow.

Yesterday, I spent a good while starting asparagus beds. I made trenches five inches deep (digging deeper reduces yields, or so I've read) and topped with two inches of soil and compost, to be hilled up as the asparagus grow. I'm not a huge fan of asparagus, otherwise I would have planted them five years ago when  we moved in. I am, however, a huge fan of my husband, who loves asparagus. So, I finally broke down and planted 16 Purple Passion asparagus plants. Not that digging is awful, but because digging on my particular soil is awful. I have the rockiest soil imaginable. I do believe unearthed a small quarry from my garden beds. Halfway through digging the deep trenches I started chanting: I will never have to do this again, I will never have to do this again. Because I won't. The asparagus will be fruitful for upwards of 25 years. And if they die? I'm not doing it again!

The perennial garden.

Now I have a huge perennial bed: a row of vigorous rhubarb, a strawberry patch, and now, asparagus. Did you notice that this bed isn't fenced in? It helps that it's right next to the road, by a dangerous curve, so the deer stay away. But deer don't eat rhubarb or asparagus (generally, although they've been known to surprise me!), and so far the strawberries have been unmolested. There's nothing nicer than having a garden that produces for years and years, after only planting once!

Mulberry Rhubarb Lemon Jam

For this month's installment of the Tigress Can Jam, the pick of the month, courtesy of the amazingly prolific and expansive Joel and Dana of Well Preserved, was berries. I can't wait for the round-up on this one. Who doesn't love berries? There are so many of them, and because this season has been incredibly early, we are rolling in them right about now. My strawberry patch stopped producing a while ago, and I thankfully caught the very end of the season at a local organic strawberry farm just the other day. I've gone across the Hudson river to pick black, red and pink currants, as my three highly productive bushes got completely cleaned out one day. (I think the culprit was a chipmunk and some birds. My fault I didn't have them netted.) Raspberries are everywhere in the wild, the small black variety and wineberries, a similar wild raspberry. The big red ones are right on their heels. And though elderberries are the size of a poppy seed, their flowers are everywhere and can make a nice syrup or liqueur. So. What do make?

A few years back, there was a small mulberry tree grappling for a space among a thatch of honeysuckle bushes. I cut back all the bushes and let the tree grow. Mulberry trees are the forgotten berry tree, even though they are everywhere and seedling pop up in cement cracks. I think people used to appreciate them more, but now they are considered just a nuisance. When I was a child, we had a large black-berried tree right next to the back door. We would spend a good portion of the summer in it. Mulberry trees are great for climbing, they have low limbs and many of them. My mother once told me a story about how mulberry tree leaves were what silk worms were fed in order to create silk. I promptly began eating the leaves, which are edible, and at the time, quite tasty. One day, my mother decided that she had had enough of the big, black berries staining the doorway, and it was cut down. I was a miserable teenager at the time, so I'm sure I pretended to not care or was outraged and indignant, one of the two---or perhaps both.

This year I was thrilled when the tree promised to have a good yield of berries. We have a white mulberry tree, which pales in comparison to the trees with black berries, both in color and taste. My son, who is almost two, and I would walk past the tree every day to let out the chickens and graze on the berries. They are mild and lack acidity, but they are sweet and free for the taking. They lasted about two weeks, and at the end they really plumped out and took on a pinkish hue. Then, suddenly the birds took over, and they declared the season over. I neglected to take a picture of them while they were hanging in the tree. Early in the morning, it's hard to remember the camera, which isn't so bad a thing really. But I now realize there isn't one good picture of the white mulberries. Can you see them floating around with the rhubarb and lemon down there in the pot?

This jam didn't gel up too much, just like my rhubarb jam from last month, but it's incredibly delicious. I think there was a bit too much sugar in it. The taste is sweet and yet still tart, and the texture is wonderful. Strands of chewy lemon, chunks of rhubarb, and mulberries all retained their shape and became candied.

2 cups of mulberries (don't worry about those little stems, you can eat them!)

1 cup of rhubarb, diced

1 medium lemon, sliced finely

3 cups of sugar

Boil in a heavy pot until gel stage is reached, usually at around 220 degrees if you are using a thermometer. Process in boiling water for ten minutes. Makes three half-pints.

A walk down the block finds many black-berried mulberry trees, and the other day when I was looking out for a particularly good branch I had found earlier, I spied, thankfully, a large black rat snake, hanging out in the branch. Do snakes eat mulberries? Or was it just a really nice hot spot? I didn't linger to ask.

Rhubarb Liqueur

Last week I finally tried the fabled Rhubarb Liqueur I had made, which was inspired by this post from Mostly Foodstuffs. There's a bit of a wait, but it is as good as it was heralded to be. I was lucky enough to get a visit from intrepid preserver, Doris the Goat, of Doris and Jilly Cook who was teaching a class on preserving at the nearby Omega Institute. I thought what better time to break out the rhubarb booze? Maybe that's why Doris was such a wonderful guest, not only providing helpful information on my new (used) pressure canner but arriving with a jar of this in hand. Isn't it a wonderful world?

Even though it was daytime, we clinked my special little glasses, while the rest of her crew snoozed on the hammock. Doris' summary of the libation? "It's rhubarb pie in a glass!" And indeed it was. It came out perfectly; not too sweet, smells exactly of rhubarb, light pink color, and strangely (dangerously?) enough it doesn't even taste like alcohol. In fact, the night before I had tried it hoping it was good, because I talked it up and wanted to make sure I could back up that talk. I added gin to it because it just wasn't tasting like a pre-dinner cocktail. However, as an postprandial drink, it is superb on it's own. No ice, just basement temperature, served up neat.

The original recipe calls for Everclear or grain alcohol, but I chose the ever handy, and legal in my state, vodka. It has been said that the 90 percent alcohol content of Everclear pulls out more fruit essence, but I thought the vodka did an incredible job. Talk of alcohol soaked in fruit always makes people excited; it's that good. I made brandied apricots last year, and the cordial it made was stellar. I've got a few more quart jars steeping all sorts of things. What are you soaking in alcohol these days? Besides yourself, that is.

N.B. Deena, from Mostly Foodstuffs, made a good point in the comments about the lack of alcoholic kick in my liqueur, and that is: her recipe used grain alcohol, and the sugar levels were adjusted thusly. I used the milder vodka and should have taken down the sugar. Be warned!

Rhubarb Jam

If you have been reading the last few posts, you know that I have a little bit of a rhubarb problem. About twenty pounds of a rhubarb problem, actually. Lucky for me, this month's Tigress' Can Jam the chosen item is rhubarb, along with asparagus (which I ended up eating already!), picked by Sarah over at Toronto Tasting Notes. My biggest haul at once was just over 12 pounds from a local organic farm in Accord, NY. I admit, it was a little daunting once I starting working with it. Four pounds were chopped and immediately put in the freezer. Four more pounds were simmered, strained, with juice and the pulp frozen separately for later uses. Another four were used for this jam.

I haven't opened Mes Confitures since my winter obsession with it, and it was fun to dive back in, especially since there are so many rhubarb combinations. This recipe hooked me because of its execution. Over the summer a friend gave me a jar of incredible rhubarb ginger jam from Ethel's Kitchen in Martha's Vineyard. It was incredible; big chunks of rhubarb held their shape in a soft sea of stewed rhubarb. Whenever I have made rhubarb jam, it breaks down completely, and I've found that this technique is the way around that.

Now, if you are familiar with Christine Ferber's Mes Confitures you will know that it's often cryptic. And a lot of the recipes are incredibly sweet. This recipe is no different. What's cryptic is that there is no pectin in it: zero. Rhubarb doesn't have any natural pectin, there's no added pectin, and no apples or other high pectin fruit. I knew going in that I wouldn't get a jell at all, but in the future I think I will add pectin (for those who are interested, I would add Pomona's: 2 t of each calcium water and pectin). I'm not sure if this is a morning on your toast kind of confiture. It's really more of a confection than a spread. I would drizzle this on top of ice cream or a dessert. It's really a syrup with fruit suspended in it.

I used this incredibly thin, delicate, red rhubarb that I received from the generous Meghan Murphy, a journalist, who also runs the Hudson Valley Food Network (If you are local, this is a great site to join if you want to keep abreast of the farm to table scene. It's also a great resource if you are visiting the area!) I had posted on the site that I was looking for rhubarb, and she kindly found me some. The small diced chunks are a perfect texture; the maceration shrivels them and I find them, may I say it? Toothsome.

Rhubarb Jam adapted from Mes Confitures by Christine Ferber

2 3/4 pounds rhubarb (the recipe asks for 2 1/4 pounds net, but this is the amount I used)

3 cups sugar (recipe calls for 3 3/4 cups)

2 T lemon juice (recipe calls for 2 T)

Make a small dice with the rhubarb. Macerate with sugar and lemon over night in a ceramic bowl covered with parchment paper.

Strain the syrupy juice and bring it to a boil in a heavy pan. Bring it to 221 degrees on a candy thermometer. Add diced rhubarb. Return to a boil, mixing gently. Skim. (I didn't skim, and it did leave me with some foamy bubbles in the jam.) Continue cooking on high for five minutes, stirring. Put jam in hot jars and seal. Process for ten minutes, turn off the heat and let sit for five more minutes.

Note: Ferber does not water process so this processing time was my guess. I think it's fine, due to the high acid content in rhubarb, plus the lemon, but do be advised this is not a tested recipe for water bath canning.

So, now I have a few more pounds of rhubarb left, and the strawberries just started ripening. I'm blown away by how many I am getting. I picked a quart this morning, and that's with my son eating quite a bit. I'm sure there's going to be a good strawberry rhubarb jam recipe I can use from the Can Jam this month!

Roast Rhubarb Tart

Lately, I've been seeing posts about all things rhubarb, and I couldn't be happier about it. Rhubarb is one of my favorite things. It's sweet-tart flavor never fails to imbue me with happiness. I think it would be remiss to say that it's quick season and scarcity add to its mystique. When I was a kid, my mother used to make pots of rhubarb, simply stewed with sugar, and I would happily eat bowls of it. So, when I saw this very simple custard-y tart, I thought, good god, of course! Crème fraîche in the fridge (which, honestly, has to stop being a staple due to its ability to jump into almost any dish and make them much more caloric) and lots of extra fresh eggs put this tart into must-make territory. The recipe is from the Times Online via Mountainear, a lovely blog that I don't read often enough, but when I do, there's always something to love. This tart is very custardy, and on the not-sweet-at-all side! There's only a few tablespoons of sugar, so add some if you have a sweet tooth, or leave it be if you don't. There's no doubt I have a sweet tooth, but I loved how the lack of sugar left the rhubarb to be it's tart self, and the creamy custard to showcase the nuttiness of the crème fraîche.

While you're feeling rhubarb-y you could visit Cakewalk's post on this delicious Rhubarb Kuchen or a great post that includes, but is not limited to, a gorgeous pitcher of rhubarb juice.

Or, Sustainable Eats' recipe for Grandma's Rhubarb Custard Pie, because rhubarb really does pair well with custard. I have a similar recipe that I took the time to photo copy and write on the stained paper, "Great!!"

Or Chez Danisse's post on Star Anise Rhubarb. And then, with rhubarb snack of choice in tow, stay to read all the beautiful things she writes.

Roasted Carrot, Celery and Acorn Squash Soup

This soup really hit the spot for the past few rainy, then chilly, spring days. I roasted two acorn squash, a big bunch of carrots, and celery. Yes, roasted celery is delicious! I especially like to add it to sweet vegetables like carrots and squash, because it balances it out with its green parsley-ish taste. I sauteed onions in olive oil and then added all the roasted vegetables, added water and simmered to make sure it was all nice and soft. I added a small amount of fennel seeds, instead of the usual nutmeg or ginger. Then I got out the trusty immersion blender and went to town on it. It was perfect topped with crème fraîche and fresh chives.

And in local rhubarb news, I've been obsessed with my rhubarb plants these days with good reason. They are huge and by far, the most exciting plant in the garden at the moment. But even still, they are such vigorous and beautiful plants, and not to mention I love me some rhubarb, that I love them all year round. My plants just started to flower, and they looked incredible and alien, but due to my greedy need for more pieplant I had to chop the flowers down to encourage more stalk growth. I can't shut my piehole!

Garden Greens and a Pickled Egg

It's so exciting to eat fresh, green things from your own garden again. I feel so rich when I sit down to a plate that looks like this. And it all came from thinning my seedlings. I hate pulling seedings, unless I know that I'm going to eat them. These are from a mixed asian greens, arugula, and little baby radishes. There are slices of non-local fennel that I couldn't resist putting in, there-by sullying my hyper-local fare. It's okay by me. The sweet anise went well with the spicy bite of the rest of the greens. Topped with extra-virgin olive oil (I'm a little heavy-handed on that), salt, pepper and a pickled egg (courtesy of my chickens, and pickled in my carrot daikon brine). It was pouring while I ate it, and now the sun has broken out and the sort of crummy mood I was in is now lifting. Thank you sun!

And how's this for a mood-lifter? My first bunch of rhubarb laying amidst the passel of herbs I have waiting to go in a bed. This is from last week and is already steeping in what will become rhubarb liqueur. Sort of crazy that I didn't make jam from it, but that liqueur had me dazzled! I can't wait to pull more because there are tons of rhubarb-y things to make!

N.B. Those stumpy things are scallions that I stuck in some dirt. I've read about this in a bunch of places, but I finally did it with inspiration from Brooklyn Forager. It's amazing how fast these guys grow! And you just need a pot of dirt, really. It's a great gardening experiment for kids as you can see results daily. (Though, I'd warrant that adults like to see daily results, too.)