Busy Day Banana Cake with Rum Icing

This cake began as something far more humble. With a pile of bananas turning slowly black in a bowl, it was about economy not indulgence. Banana bread, I thought, was a way to use up the soft fruit while still having something sweet (and maybe just the tiniest bit healthful) to snack on during the week.

Sure, I could of popped the bananas in the freezer and saved them for morning smoothies or another week. A week, perhaps, where I hadn't eaten restaurant meals almost every day, had far too many glasses of wine, pints of beer, and strawberry pie for breakfast. That would have been the prudent thing to do.

Instead I set out to make something that embodied my life at exactly this moment. The soft, black bananas? They are a symbol of economy, yes. But also of a ballooning list of things to do and things left undone. The wheat flour and the olive oil and the Greek yogurt are a nod to health. To balance, to clinging to the notion that no matter how stressful life gets there's no need to completely let yourself go.

The rum? The rum came in when I discovered I forgot to buy lemons, had no lemons in the house, and wasn't going out again. The chocolate chips were supposed to be dark chocolate slivers and were supposed to be left out (remember that nod to personal health?) but were tossed back in at the last minute when a half bag of semi-sweet chippies were discovered hiding in the bundt pan. Of course.

Because there was no lemon in the house there could be no lemon in the frosting to top the cake. (The frosting I was going to leave off because I'm healthy, remember?) And since thanks to the rum and chocolate chips it was indeed a cake not a bread, I decided to really go for it and put rum and a few teaspoons of half-and-half in the icing.

And there you have it. It's my my busy day cake. It's my life (it may be kind of crazy right now but perhaps I can try and have some fun) made real in a piece of banana bundt cake.

I am happy, however, to report that when I cut into this cake I was pleased to discover something. It wasn't over-the-top with boozy, sweet, richness. Instead it was a dense and moist, and not too sweet. It's far more like a bread that's been amplified with chocolate chips and sweetened just a bit by the slightly kicky frosting.

Perhaps it's a symbol of the idea that even when life runs a bit off course, it still more or less turns out ok?

Busy Day Banana Cake with Rum Icing
Adapted from 101 Cookbooks, who adapted it from a Melissa Clark recipe in Cook This Now

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup dark brown sugar
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 cup / 4 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate (or substitute a generous amount of semi-sweet chocolate chips)
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 1/2 cups mashed, VERY ripe bananas (~3 bananas)
1/4 cup plain, 2% Greek yogurt
1 teaspoon rum
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the icing:
1/2 cup dark brown sugar
1/2 cup confectioners' sugar
1 teaspoon rum
3+ teaspoons half and half (add half and half as needed to create the icing consistency you prefer. I wanted mine a little runny)

Preheat the oven to 350° F, and place a rack in the center. Grease a 9- by 5- inch (23 x 13 cm) loaf pan, or equivalent -- I used a bundt.
In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, sugar, baking soda, and salt. Add the chocolate pieces and combine well.
In a separate bowl, mix together the olive oil, eggs, mashed banana, yogurt, rum, and vanilla. Pour the banana mixture into the flour mixture and fold with a spatula until just combined. The batter will be thick. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and bake until golden brown, about 40-50 minutes. You want to get that beautiful color on the cake, but at the same time you don't want to bake all the moisture out of it. Watch carefully towards the end. The recommended baking time was 50 minutes, mine was done about 10 minutes sooner.
Transfer the pan to a wire rack to cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn the loaf out of the pan to cool completely.
While the cake is cooling, prepare the glaze. In a bowl, whisk together the sugars, the rum, and the half and half until smooth. When the cake is completely cool, drizzle the glaze on top of the cake, spreading with a spatula to cover.

Serves 10.

Winner: M.F.K. Fisher Musings on Wine & My Richness

There's nothing like having your disorganization and procrastination splayed wide for the whole wide world to see. Case in point: I'm an entire week late in picking the winner of a copy of M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations. It's totally my fault and I have no good excuse. It feels a little like I invited people over for a dinner party and then chose not to clean up (something I would never actually do, by the way). Guests show up and there it is: my mess. The pile of ironing on the couch, the kitchen that needs to be swept, the stack of mail and bills to pay.

But, as Pema Chodron says, "all this messy stuff is your richness." And so it is. And so it's not too late to announce a winner.

There were so many nice comments about lovely glasses of wine that it became impossible to personally pick the best one. So I made someone else do it. And Elizabeth, of the lovely Ring Them Bells, won with her description of Pinot noir from Lemon Creek Winery in Michigan. I'll be looking for a glass of this soon.

I plan to be back shortly with a roundup of things that have been keeping us fed in recent weeks. In the meantime, here's a reminder that not everything that looks messy is messy:

Musings on Wine and Other Libations

It's out! It's out! My newest book is out!: 

M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations 

"One of the greatest 20th century food writers, M.F.K. Fisher has graced us with a legendary body of work that contains many references to wine. Her passionate declarations of the pleasures of good food and drink were culture changing, and she elevated the status of wine in the United States. But a collection of Fisher's writings about wine and other libations has never before been published in one place until now. 

The pieces and excerpts in this engaging anthology -- edited by acclaimed biographer Anne Zimmerman -- span Fisher's notable writing career, from her indulgent, wine-drinking days in 1930s France to her years as a gastronomic grande dame living in California in the 1960s, 70s, and 80s. 

'M.F.K. Fisher is the best kind of wine writer. Not only does she make you more knowledgeable about and interested in wine, she makes you want to drink it.'"

Now enough of that fancy book-jacket copy! 

Here's the real scoop: You can win a copy of M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations by leaving a comment below telling me about your favorite wine.

It doesn't have to be a glass from an expensive or important bottle. Sometimes the best glasses are drunk on in the park, at the beach, or with someone special. 

So -- Tell me about your favorite wine and enter to wine a copy of M.F.K. Fisher: Musings on Wine and Other Libations, out May 1st from Sterling Epicure.

Cheers!

* The details: I'll pick a winner Wednesday, May 9th. One book will be mailed to a winner in the United States. 

** If you don't win, buy An Extravagant Hunger, Love in a Dish, or Musings on Wine from your favorite book seller. Pretty please?

A Girl And Her Pig, and a Lentil & Chickpea Salad

The other day I was talking with my friend Meg about being a "late adopter." We both have brand new i-phones and were discussing why (why?) it had taken us so long to bite the bullet and purchase one of these sleek new machines. It turns out we're also the kind of people that wait before buying a book we know we're going to love and abstain from heading the theater the first weekend a movie we're excited about is released. We decided maybe, just maybe, that there's a bit of stubbornness involved. That we don't want to be told we're going to like something, we want to figure it out for ourselves. 

Such was the case with the new cookbook A Girl and Her Pig.

I rolled my eyes when it arrived. April Bloomfield is on the front, a pig draped around her neck like an elegant feather boa. She's a celebrity chef, known for her restaurants in New York (The Spotted Pig, The Breslin, The John Dory Oyster Bar), and her gutsy menus of Euro/British inspired pub food.

I had brunch at The Breslin in December. What I remember more than the food was the huge (beer pint sized) latte from The Ace Hotel's Stumptown Coffee. (It had been a long, late night.) I've walked by The Spotted Pig a dozen times. It's on one of those crazy corners in the Village that I don't think I could find if pressed, but always manage to stumble upon while wandering. I hear the burger at the Spotted Pig is killer, but I've never had it.

The point, of course, is that the decision that I'm not going to like April Bloomfield's cookbook is based on nothing but stubbornness. Thank goodness for a rainy Friday, a hot bath, and the Dalai Lama.

The book arrived in the mail on one of those days where the sky opens up and spews rain. Around 4PM, instead of going to my favorite yoga class, I sank into a steaming bath with the contents of the day's mail, including A Girl and Her Pig. I didn't care if it got wet because I didn't care about it. It was going to be given away or sold or something.

But then, I kind of liked it. The best part of the book, written with JJ Goode, it that it has a distinctive voice. I don't know what April Bloomfield sounds like when she talks, but sentences like this are written with such a strong voice I can hear and see her:

"I loved Sundays. That was when my nan had us over for roast lunch, often pork with all manner of veg, much of it copiously buttered. (The next morning, we'd make "bubble and squeak" with the leftovers, forming little patties and frying them up, then eating them topped with a fried egg.) And later there was tea, not just the drink,  but the meal: my dad would set out a spread of cakes, like Battenberg and Mr. Kipling Bakewell Tarts, and crisps and sandwiches of strawberry jam or cucumber or ham." 

There's also illustrations that look like they were cut from a 1960s cookbook, an energetic cursive font, and chapter headings that could have been twee (meat without feet; the not-so-nasty-bits; potato and friends) but are charming. Never mind that I'm never, ever going to roast a lamb's head or make a tongue sandwich. I'm inspired!

Enter the Dalai Lama -- or rather the Dalai Lama's brother. Sean drove off early Saturday morning to attend a "teaching" with the DL's bro. (Did you even bother to think if the Dalai Lama has a brother? He does.) And I drove off to have coffee with a friend. I wanted to share the cookbook with her, so I packed it with me. By the end of our date it was raining hard enough that I had an intense urge to hunker down, so I drove directly to the grocery store. In the parking lot I hatched a plan: I was going to make something from A Girl and Her Pig.

I picked, at random, the Lentil and Chickpea Salad with Feta and Tahini. This seemingly simple salad took longer than expected to execute, reminding me that sometimes these celebrity chefs aren't respectful of the home cook's time. But it was worth it. Bloomfield calls it a "jumble of different textures and flavors.... It's completely vegetarian, and yet somehow, when I take a bite the cumin, the funky cheese, and the sesame seeds all conspire to create a flavor that I swear reminds me of roasted lamb."

It is indeed savory, and good enough to eat alone, though we paired it with good sausages. I like to think that's what any self-respecting British celebrity chef would do.

Lentil and Chickpea Salad with Feta and Tahini
Bloomfield says, "you might be tempted to follow a recipe loosely --I know I often am-- but on your first go, please try it my way. Then once you've made it two or three times, feel free to tweak as you like." 

For the lentils:
Scant 1 cup dried Puy or Casteluccio lentils, picked and rinsed over
2 large garlic cloves, halved lengthwise
2 sage sprigs
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

For the dressing and salad
2 teaspoons coriander seeds, toasted and ground
1 teaspoon cumin seeds, toasted and ground
1/2 large garlic clove
maldon or another flaky sea salt
2 tablespoons well stirred tahini paste
about 1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
1 and 3/4 cups drained chickpeas, low sodium if canned
1/2 small preserved lemon, pith and flesh discarded, rind finely diced
1 very small red onion, thinly sliced into half-moons
A handful of small, delicate cilantro sprigs
A scant 1/4 cup feta, preferably goat's milk
1 and 1/2 tablespoons raw sesame seeds, toasted in a dry pan till a shade or two darker

Make the lentils: Put the lentils, garlic, sage, and olive oil in a small pot, along with 2 cups cold water, and set it over medium heat. Let the water come to a simmer (don't let it boil), then turn the heat to low and cook the lentils in a very gentle simmer just until they are tender  -- about 25 minutes. Take the pan off the heat and let the lentils cool, then drain them very well and pick out and discard the sage and garlic. You'll have about 2 cups cooked lentils.

Make the dressing: Mix together the ground coriander and cumin in a small bowl. Mash the garlic clove to a paste with 1 teaspoon salt in a mortar. Combine the mashed garlic, the tahini paste, 3 tablespoons of the lemon juice, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, 1 teaspoon of the ground spice mixture, and 2 tablespoons water in a bowl. Stir the mixture well. Have a taste and consider adding another teaspoon of lemon.

Assemble the salad: Toss the lentils with the drained chickpeas, preserved lemon rind, and 1 teaspoon salt in a large mixing bowl. Pour in the tahini dressing and toss it all together really well.
Put the onion slices in a medium bowl and break them up with your fingers. Sprinkle in 2 good pinches of salt, then add two teaspoons of lemon juice. Add the 2 remaining teaspoons olive oil and the cilantro and toss gently but well. Crumble in the cheese. Give it another gentle toss.
Scatter a few handfuls of the chickpea-lentil mixture onto a large platter in one layer. Scrape the onion and cheese mixture into the bowl with the rest of the lentils and chickpeas and toss it gently so the ingredients are well distributed but the cilantro stays pert. Scatter this mixture on top of the lentils and chickpeas on the platter. Sprinkle on some of the remaining spice mixture and then the sesame seeds and serve.

Le Weekend

Where did the week go?

It's the nicest Friday in San Francisco I've ever seen, and it's made me incredibly dreamy. Here are some of the things I'm thinking about:

A solitary mid-afternoon snack at Prune in New York City:

1/2 avocado with hojiblanca olive oil, salt, and lemon:

This neon pale pink lipstick with a cinematic name.
The pecan tart with butterscotch ice cream and whiskey sauce I ate here last night.
The delicate, delicious, not-budget-friendly House Kombucha
Becoming an Irish housewife and baking brown bread.
A lovely book by an even more lovely author (more about this soon).
Loss.
The basket of bright red strawberries I bought today at Bi-Rite Market and ate one by one while slowly climbing a hill.

Enjoy.

New York in Bloom

 As I look at the pink trees I start to bloom:

P.S. The other night I made a riff on this recipe from DIY Delicious. Our "real food" bowls were stuffed with quinoa, kale, avocado and pistachio and topped with leftover chicken and tahini dressing. It was the perfect chocolate egg recovery meal.
P.P.S. I borrowed the name of this post from one of my favorite blogs. You must take a peek at LA in Bloom

Back again, with peach-whiskey chicken

And then, after nearly two weeks of eating alone, Sean came home. Hurrah!

And there was nothing else to do but make a man meal. You know the kind of meal I'm talking about. It's rich, it's meaty, it's probably filled with all sorts of things (ample butter, pounds of pasta, maybe a little meat-on-meat action) that you'd shy away from making on an average Monday.

And I must have missed him because I picked a doozy of a recipe to make for dinner. Instead of pulling a cozy favorite of the shelf (Silver Palate, or The Barefoot Contessa at Home), I cracked open The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food From My Frontier.

Let it be known, that although I have a deep affection for the pioneer life (born and raised in Utah, deeply devoted to sun bonnets and Laura Ingalls Wilder), I'm not a Pioneer Woman fan girl. But I can say this: Thank you, Ree Drummond, for making me believe that it is okay to start a week with a dinner that requires chicken legs, whiskey, a jar of jam, and four cups of BBQ sauce. Not to mention butter laced mashed potatoes.

Of course, I had to make this recipe my own. I started by making a double batch of my Grandfather's BBQ sauce. Once the chicken was cooking, instead of adding a jar of store bought peach jam I added homemade nectarine preserves. Fresh sliced peaches? There are none to be found in March. The chopped parsley garnish was replaced with cilantro. And I just didn't have the time to make mashed potatoes. Baked Yukon Gold, split, and topped with a healthy dollop of butter seemed to do just fine.

I'm enclosing the original recipe, both to give credit where credit is due, and to encourage going-with-the-flow. There's a lot of craziness in my life right now, and I find it helps to not have too many grand expectations -- or to stress too much about the little details. No peaches? No problem. Preserved nectarines will do just fine.

Peach-Whiskey Chicken
Recipe from The Pioneer Woman. Recipe presented in Pioneer Woman style, with step-by-step photos.

2 Tablespoons olive oil
2 Tablespoons butter
12 chicken legs, skin on
1 yellow onion, diced
1 1/2 cups whiskey
4 cups BBQ sauce
1 cup peach preserves
2 Tablespoons Worcestershire sauce
4 peaches, pitted and sliced into 8 slices each
Mashed potatoes, for serving
3 green onions thinly sliced
Chopped fresh parsley

Pre-heat the oven to 300 degrees. Heat the olive oil and the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Cook the chicken pieces until golden brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Remove from the skillet and set aside.

Add the onion to the skillet. Stir and cook over medium heat for about 3 minutes, or until translucent. Pour in the whiskey, taking care if you're cooking over an open flame. Cook for 3 minutes or so, allowing the whiskey to cook and reduce. If it seems appropriate, use that 3 minutes to pour some more whiskey and make a cocktail.

 

Grab your favorite bottled BBQ sauce and add it to the pan. Add the peach preserves, Worcestershire sauce, and 1/2 cup water, then whisk to combine. It won't look like much, but it will smell amazing.

Add the chicken back to the pan, then throw in the fresh peaches (if using).

Cover the skillet with a lid or aluminum foil and place in the oven for 90 minutes. When it emerges, the chicken will be tender and falling off the bone... the sauce will be beautiful, thick, and rich. You'll know it's done.

 Serve the chicken over a big mound of potatoes, spooning sauce over the whole thing. Sprinkle with green onions and parsley.

Make sure the table is set with paper napkins, you're in for a saucy night.