blackberry-pear upside down cake

Hello friends,

I’m going to keep it short and sweet this week. I was hoping inspiration would hit and I’d be able to send you all a positive message of unity and hope before Thanksgiving. But today, I got nothin’.

It’s been pretty dark in this corner of the world for the past two weeks. The weather, shorter days and post-election mood have conspired to leave me feeling more than a little bit upside down.

So today, upside down cake it is. 

I have faith that, as with so many things that seem undeniably bad at the outset, some good will come of our current political situation. Hopefully, the results of this election will spark a demand for greater equality and inclusion in this country and beyond. Yossy from Apt. 2B Baking Co. has put together a fantastic list of some things we can all do to turn our anger and frustration into action. So get to it.

In the meantime, cheer yourself up with a slice of cake.

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Blackberry-Pear Upside Down Cake

• 1 ½ cups (10 ½ oz.) superfine sugar, divided
• 2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
• ¾ cup (7 oz.) unsalted butter, softened, plus more for the pan
• 3 large eggs
• Zest of 1 lemon
• 1 scant cup (4 oz.) all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 2 ¼ cups (7 oz.) hazelnut flour (or almond flour)
• 2 firm-ripe pears
• 2 cups fresh or frozen blackberries
• 3 tablespoons apple jelly

Rum Whipped Cream

• 1 ½ cups heavy cream

• 1 ½ tablespoons superfine sugar

• 1 ½ tablespoons dark rum

*Notes: I used Bob's Red Mill hazelnut flour for this recipe and I love how it turned out. (I have no connection to Bob's Red Mill, BTW. Just love this hazelnut flour!) Store-bought nut flour works best in this recipe because its finer grind gives the cake a lighter texture. If you're in Seattle, Dilaurenti carries an amazing (but pricy) Italian hazelnut flour that would be perfect in this cake. Another great alternative is Trader Joe's almond meal since it's quite finely ground. 

- You can also make your own hazelnut (or almond) flour by placing toasted and cooled nuts in the bowl of a food processor or blender and processing until they form a fine meal. You will be able to get a finer meal in the blender. Adding a tablespoon or two of sugar will help keep the nuts from turning to nut butter. If you go this route, your cake will be a bit more crumbly than if you use store-bought nut flour.

- I call for superfine sugar because it makes for an easier caramel and yields a finer textured cake. If you can't find it (or don't want to buy a box just for this recipe), you can make your own following the directions here. 

- If you use frozen blackberries, don't thaw them before baking. Raspberries or boysenberries would also be great in this cake.

Preheat your oven to 350°F with a rack in the middle. Lightly butter a 9-inch round cake pan with 2 1/2-inch sides. Line the bottom of the pan  with a round of parchment paper and lightly butter the parchment.

To make the caramel, bring ½ cup (3 ½ oz.) of the sugar and 2 tablespoons of water to a boil in a small heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring until the sugar has dissolved. Once the sugar has dissolved, do not stir or your caramel could seize up on you. Boil, swirling the pan occasionally, until the caramel turns pale amber. Remove the caramel from the heat and add the butter. Swirl the pan until the butter melts into the caramel. Carefully but quickly pour the caramel into the cake pan, tilting it to coat evenly. Whatever you do, do not grab your pan by the bottom as it will be very hot! Set aside to cool.

In the bowl of an stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter with the remaining 1 cup (7 oz.) sugar until just combined. (You can also use a hand mixer or even do this by hand if your butter is soft enough.) Add the eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Mix in the zest. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, cardamom and salt. With the mixer at low speed, add the flour mixture to the egg mixture and work until just combined. Set aside.

Peel and core the pears and slice them about ¼-inch thick. Fan the pear slices over the caramel, leaving a bit of room for the berries to show through. If you need to, save some slices back to leave space. Pour the blackberries over the pears. Arrange any remaining pear slices over the berries and pears.

Gently spread the batter evenly over the fruit. Bake until a wooden pick inserted into center comes out clean, 55 to 65 minutes. Cool the cake in the pan for 5 minutes. Invert the cake onto a cooling rack. Remove the parchment  paper if it sticks to the top of the cake.

Just before serving, heat the jelly and  water in a small saucepan over medium-low until melted. Brush the top of cake with the apple glaze. Whip the heavy cream, sugar and rum together by hand or using a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment or an electric mixer until soft peaks form. Serve the cake warm or at room temperature accompanied by the whipped cream.

Makes 6-8 servings.

roasted grape clafoutis

I’ve been thinking about alchemy a lot lately. Not the quest to turn lead into gold, but the type of magic that unfolds in the kitchen--the transformation of pantry staples into something transcendent.

I became somewhat obsessed with the idea of kitchen sorcery while developing the recipe for this roasted grape clafoutis. Like a soufflé or a a Dutch baby, a clafoutis feels like an impressive magic trick. You whisk together a few mundane ingredients (flour, sugar, eggs, milk), drop in a handful of fruit and slide your batter in the oven. Less than an hour later, you’ve got a puffed, sugar-crusted pillow of cakey, custardy deliciousness.

This clafoutis is based on a version my friend Rachael made during our Paris culinary retreat. Now Rachael is a talented pastry chef, so I was prepared for her clafoutis to be delicious (which it was). What I wasn’t prepared for were the the memories each bite unleashed.

Suddenly, I was 19 again, accompanying my mother on a work trip to France. Thrilled to be  abroad for the first time, I was in awe of everything: The Eiffel Tower! The Arc de Triomphe! Croissants! People actually smoking Gauloise cigarettes like they do in old French movies!!!

Near Alsace, we stopped for lunch at an unassuming restaurant with a hand-painted sign. The menu was classic French: steak au poivre, blanquette de veau, coq au vin. For dessert, there was something called clafoutis. I had zero idea what clafoutis was, but it sounded sexy and French so I ordered it.

When my dessert arrived, the unpitted cherries and hint of kirsch confirmed its continental sophistication in my mind. Sitting in a French restaurant eating what I thought was a refined dish, I felt grown-up. Wordly even. Miles from the Midwestern girl raised on Kraft Mac and Cheese and Eggo waffles. 

That clafoutis was proof that marvelous things existed. Sophisticated, delicious things. Things I wanted to be part of. 

Memories of that trip tumbled back with every bite of Rachael’s clafoutis: Our tiny rented car. Getting lost on winding country roads. The inevitable mother-daughter squabbles. The thrill of discovering steak-frites and being allowed to drink wine before my 21st birthday.

Amazement, too. That I had managed to wind my way back, however circuitously, to this country I love. I was shocked to realize how many of the twists and turns my life has taken were rooted in that trip: my French-Studies major, working in the department of French Painting at the Met, four years in Brussels pursuing a master’s degree in French history, working in a French restaurant in Seattle. 

And now, two decades after that first revelatory bite of clafoutis, I find myself leading culinary tours to Paris, sharing a love of all things French sparked half a lifetime ago. This feels magical, too. As though my 19-year-old self willed this life into being. Like I planted a piece of my heart in France and I’ve been returning ever since in order to feel whole again. 

Thoughts of that clafoutis stayed with me when I got home. When I started working on my own version, I wanted the results to feel like the transformation it embodied: a dessert that goes in the oven a simple custard and emerges miraculously golden and souffléd under a crackled sugar crust. Add to that the rum-raisin notes conjured up by roasting grapes with a splash of dark spirits and you’ll see why this dish tastes like magic. Served with a dollop of tart crème fraîche, it’s far grander than the sum of its parts.

It’s funny how all this nostalgia and serendipity got rolled into one roasted grape clafoutis. But it’s fitting, too, that this particular dish reminds me of how each time I come back to Paris I’m transformed into my truest and lightest self--through some mysterious alchemy of the soul.

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Roasted Grape Clafoutis

• 1 lb grapes, washed and dried
• 1 tablespoon butter, plus extra for the pan
• 2 tablespoons dark rum, divided
• 2 tablespoons water
• ¾ cup + 2 tablespoons sugar, divided, plus extra for the pan
• 1 tablespoon freshly-squeezed lemon juice
• ¾ cup all-purpose flour
• Pinch salt
• 7 large eggs, at room temperature
• 1 ⅓ cup heavy cream
• ⅛ teaspoon almond extract
• 1 ½ cups crème fraîche, to serve

*Notes: I recommend a sweet-tart variety of grapes for this recipe. The first time I made it, my grapes were too sweet and the finished result was cloying. If you can't find grapes with a little sour zing, add a bit more lemon juice to balance them.

- Having your eggs at room temperature allows the clafoutis to puff higher. If you forget to pull them in advance, just pop you eggs in a bowl of hot tap water and let them sit for 15 minutes or so before using them.

- Traditionally, this French dessert is made with cherries. But one of the best things about a clafoutis is that it’s supremely adaptable. In addition to cherries and roasted grapes, it’s lovely with pitted and sliced stone fruit such as plums, peaches, nectarines and apricots. A few handfuls of fresh berries work well in spring and summer. Apples or pears sauteed in butter with a splash of calvados, brandy or pear au de vie are perfect for making this dish in the winter months.

- Whatever you do, don’t skip the crème fraîche; you want that hit of tanginess to balance the sweet grapes.

Preheat the oven to 450° F with a rack in the center of the oven. Place the grapes (on the stem or not) on a parchment-lined rimmed sheet pan. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a small pan or in the microwave and pour it over the grapes. Sprinkle them with 1 tablespoon of the rum, 2 tablespoons of water and 1 tablespoon of the sugar. Roast until the grapes have softened slightly (their skins will shrivel a little bit) and the sugar has caramelized, about 20 minutes. Pour the lemon juice over the grapes as soon as you remove them from the oven to deglaze the pan. Set aside to cool slightly. Reduce the oven temperature to 375° F

While the grapes are cooling, generously butter a baking pan and coat it with sugar. (Mine was 8" x 11".) Invert the pan and tap out any excess sugar. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, ½ cup + 2 tablespoons of the sugar and the salt. Add the eggs and whisk until the mixture is smooth. This takes a minute--if the batter looks lumpy, just keep whisking until it evens out. Whisk in the cream, almond extract and remaining tablespoon of rum.

Arrange the grapes over the bottom of the prepared pan. Use a wooden spoon or spatula to scrape any juices from the sheet pan over the grapes. Pour the batter over the grapes. Sprinkle the remaining 3 tablespoons of sugar evenly over the top of the clafoutis and carefully place it in the oven. 

Bake until the clafoutis is puffed, golden-brown at the edges and just set in the center, 30-35 minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool slightly before serving. The clafoutis will deflate as it cools. While it is still warm, cut the clafoutis into slices and serve topped with crème fraîche.

Makes 6-8 servings.

Recipe adapted from Rachael Coyle of Coyle's Bakeshop

peach-raspberry pie

At 6:42 Monday evening I could be found standing on my (somewhat precarious) kitchen table in my pajamas photographing a slice of pie. This slice, to be precise:

The past weeks have been a bit frenzied around here and so I had decided to forgo my usual routine of putting on real clothing, applying makeup and perhaps even showering that day. (Who can keep track of such details?) Which is why, frizzy-haired and bra-less, I hesitated for a long moment before answering the door when I heard a knock. 

I poked my head cautiously around the door to find...our neighbor Lindsay. She and her boyfriend had just returned from Vashon Island with an abundance of oysters. And did we want to come over and have some? 

Every fiber of my un-scrubbed being wanted to say no. The light was changing quickly and I needed to shoot this pie for the blog. Beau was off running errands so I’d be on my own making small talk with neighbors I don’t know very well (an introvert’s nightmare). I’d be forced to emerge from my state of unkempt comfort and make myself presentable to the world. 

But a tiny piece of me thought: Why not? You’re tired of working anyway. Plus, oysters! I told Lindsay I’d finish up my shoot and be right over. 

I’m not sure if it’s because we’re having a heatwave. (Yes, temperatures above 80°F constitute a heatwave in Seattle. Don’t laugh.) Or because I’ve logged a lot of hours on various projects in the past weeks. Or because I figured our neighbors’ kitchen window looks right into our house and so they’re probably going to see me in my pyjamas many, many times in the coming years. But I decided I couldn’t be bothered to change out of my PJs for a trip across the lawn. I did, however, wrangle a little of the frizz out of my curls and put on a bra. I slid on a pair of flip-flops for good measure and headed out the door. 

Sitting on Mark and Lindsay’s front porch slurping briny oysters out of their shells turned out to be the most relaxing, carefree evening I’ve spent in ages. Beau showed up at some point. Mark poured us several glasses of a beautiful rosé. We learned about our neighbors’ jobs and hobbies and favorite restaurants in town. We discovered that Mark assembled a traditional Italian pizza oven at his family’s house on Vashon that we might one day be able to help put to good use. They informed us that we definitely shouldn’t miss the upcoming block party in our street. And that there are so many fruit trees in our neighborhood because it was once an orchard. 

The next day, I took over a couple slices of pie to thank Mark and Lindsay for their hospitality. I would have baked this pie regardless, because it’s summer and summer = pie. But after I dropped it off, I felt extremely grateful to be living in a neighborhood that’s as diverse and neighborly as ours. On our multicultural street, people know each other. We wave when walking past or stop to chat about each other’s gardens. We share oysters and pie. In the midst of all the hate and violence that have monopolized headlines in the past months, this feels like a small miracle. And a huge comfort. 

I’m happier than ever that we managed to find our way into a sense of community here on Findlay Street. And that I’ve got so many pies to bake in the summers to come.

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Peach-Raspberry Pie

• 1 recipe flaky pie dough (see below)
• 3 lbs firm-ripe peaches (about 6 large)
• 2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice, or to taste
• 2 ½ tablespoons cornstarch, divided
• 9 tablespoons sugar, divided
• ½ teaspoon ground ginger
• Pinch salt
• 8 oz raspberries (about 2 cups)

Flaky Pie Dough

• 1 lb + 2 oz (4 cups) all-purpose flour

• 2 tablespoons sugar

• 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

• 8 oz (2 sticks) butter, cut into 1/2-inch pieces and chilled

• 5 oz (1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons) lard, cut into 1/2-inch pieces and chilled

• 2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar

• 3/4 cup cold water

• 3 tablespoons cream or milk (or a whole egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water), to glaze

• 1-2 tablespoons turbinado, demerara or sanding sugar (regular old sugar will work, too)

*Notes: Peaches can release a lot of juice once you sprinkle sugar on them. If your peaches give off a lot of liquid, you’ll need to pour most of it off before baking to avoid a soggy crust and loose filling.

- Cutting your peaches into large slices (about 1 inch) limits the surface area and also helps limit the amount of liquid they give off.

- Lots of recipes say you need to blanch and peel your peaches. I don’t recommend it. I think it’s fussy and also makes the peaches feel a little slimy. Plus leaving the peels on gives your filling beautiful blush tones.

Prepare the crust according to this recipe.

When you are ready to bake the pie, arrange a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat it to 425°F.  

Cut the peaches into slices about 1-inch thick and place them in a large mixing bowl. Gently toss with the lemon juice and ½ cup of the sugar. Set aside to rest for 20-30 minutes. Pour off the juice from the peaches discarding all of it except for ½ cup. Toss the peaches (and ½ cup juice) with two tablespoons of the cornstarch, the ginger and a pinch of salt. 

Place the raspberries in a medium mixing bowl and toss with the remaining 1 ½ teaspoons of the cornstarch and 1 tablespoon of sugar. 

To fill the pie crust, pour half of the peach slices onto your well-chilled or frozen bottom crust. Arrange half of the raspberries over the peaches. Top with the rest of the peach slices and then the rest of the raspberries. Cover your fruit with your top crust. (Here’s a great tutorial on how to weave a lattice-top crust if you want to go that route.) Trim the edges to overhang by 1/2 inch. Fold the top edges of the lattice inside the bottom crust. Place the filled and topped pie back in the freezer to chill for 15-20 minutes. 

I know, I know. There’s a lot of chilling and freezing and waiting around. But taking the time to par-freeze your pie will keep the crust from slumping in the oven and make sure that lattice turns out gorgeously. :)

Brush the top crust with cream, milk or egg wash and then sprinkle with the turbinado, demerara or sanding sugar. Place the pie on a sheet pan and bake until the crust is lightly browned, about 30 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 350°F and continue baking until the crust is dark golden brown, about 45-60 minutes longer. I like my crust deeply caramelized; if you like yours less dark, feel free to take your pie out earlier.

Remove the pie from the oven and allow it to cool a bit and firm up before slicing. Leftovers keep best covered at room temperature overnight. If you need to keep your pie for more than a day, cover tightly and store in the fridge.
 
Makes 6-8 servings.

P.S. Try to save at least one piece for breakfast the next day. Coffee + pie = breakfast perfection!

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