Cherry Soup

It’s that time of year.

Farmer’s Markets are exploding with great spring fruits and vegetables. My favorite among them is cherries. If this were prime time television, the cherry would be a superstar, hosting its own variety show in the best time slot possible. Like a Saturday night bookended by very special episodes of The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. Both of which would guest star Adrienne Barbeau.

It’s been a while since I’ve watched television.

Well, I’ve taken to cherries again this year like I always have, but this time, I am looking at them through Hungarian eyes. With the possible exception of the cucumber, whenever a Magyar is faced with a piece of fresh produce, he or she does what comes most naturally to them– they boil the hell out of it. Or pickle it.

There’s a dish I have always been meaning to try from our dear, goulash-eating cousins, and that’s Meggyleves, or Sour Cherry Soup. The only problem was that I didn’t have immediate access to sour cherries. I wanted it now, so I had to make do with the local ones instead. Since I wasn’t going for authenticity, I thought I might as well just appreciate the recipe for its inspiring qualities and move on.

Not-so-sour Cherry Soup

I’ve taken some liberties with this recipe. What I like about the original is its simplicity. I’ve basically adhered to that theme, just some slightly different ingredients. I do not recommend substituting whipped cream for sour cream. I tried it and it was, well, cloying. The sour cream adds just the right amount of tang– especially since we’re not using sour cherries. The Hungarians do know what they’re doing.

Ingredients:

1 pound fresh cherries, pitted

¾ cup sugar

1 quart water

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon cardamom (some like cinnamon, others, clove. You choose.)

1 tablespoon cornstarch

¼ cup Amaretto ( or Kirschwasser, or holy water from Lourdes.)

Juice of one lemon

Sour cream

Procedure:

1. Bring water, sugar, cherries, and cardamom to a boil. Simmer for 30 minutes.

2. Make a slurry of the cornstarch and two tablespoons of water. Pour into stewing cherries and stir until clear and slightly thickened.

3. Remove about one cup of the cherries and purée. Add back into the pot. Add lemon juice, stir, and chill.

4. Add Amaretto or other liqueuer before service, stir, then pour into bowls.

5. Place a generous dollop of sour cream on top and garnish with whatever you like, or nothing at all. I chose crumbled ameretti for all the obvious reasons.

Serves 4 to 6.

Valrhona: Serious about chocolate.

Yesterday, Valrhona Chocolate hosted a Single Origin Chocolate dessert tasting and demonstration at 350 Rhode Island Street– otherwise known as the new home of the California Culinary Academy. The joy I was experiencing in anticipation of having superior-quality chocolate waved in front of my face for the next few hours was only slightly dampened by enormous, cold space of the new school.

I knew I was in for some serious chocolate business here– the first person I met in the waiting area before the program began was Alice Medrich, the James Beard Award-winning cookbook author and arguably one of our country’s leaders in chocolate know-how. As we stood chatting about, well, anything but chocolate, other guests appeared with name tags designating their own, singular origins– pastry chefs of every candy stripe from around this city: Aqua, The Ritz-Carlton, Slanted Door, SPQR, La Folie, and a number of others. In terms of chocolate expertise, I was in way over my head, but I was there to learn, participate, and taste. Emphasis on taste.

The host of the afternoon’s program was Valrhona USA’s own pastry chef, Derek Poirier. Greg Mindel of Spruce, played Ed McMahon to Poirier’s Johnny Carson.

It is no small feat to entertain me for three and a half hours while sitting on a tiny, uncomfortable stool, but Poirier managed to pull it off. He began by explaining how –and how not– to make an emulsion. In this case, a chocolate ganache. The crowd was most attentive.

There was, however, dissension in the audience, with one man who happened to be an expert in molecular crystallization in firm, but polite disagreement. Yes, these people were serious about chocolate. I did my best to try to keep up, asking my neighbor, Cooking with Amy’s Amy Sherman (who is, by the way, a rather smart woman) if she understood everything. As part of the tiny, non-chocolate expert contingency, she confessed she did not. I was happy not to be the only one on that tiny, chocolate short bus.

But the discussion was very informative. Many of the techniques discussed one can easily apply to home cooking. The emulsion discussion was a prime example. “What do you need for an emulsion?” Poirier asked the audience,”Fat and water plus a bit of agitation at fusion point (35º C).” I thought how easy he made it all sound. And then I thought about what might happen if a large number of plus-sized people happened to be lolling about in hot tropical waters during an earthquake. Unlikely, true, but the thought took away my focus for a moment.

As he demonstrated a perfect cream and chocolate fusion, Poirier exclaimed, “This is very sexy– kind of like Heidi Klum.” I suppose he was referring to the smooth, beautiful consistency of the mix, but I couldn’t help thinking of the cream-like Ms. Klum’s own, more personal blending with hot chocolate, her husband Seal. Now that’s a good emulsion.

Over the course of the program, we tasted a number of desserts, most of which were quite happy-making. My hands down favorite was the “Cityzz….”, which also happens to be among the least attractive photos I took all day. This blend of meringue, chocolate, and hazelnut strip was gorgeous on the tongue and by far the least complicated of the day’s fare. Wondering about the name, I asked Mr. Poirier if it was named by a non-Anglophone. He believed this was so, which can only explain the odd spelling and over-extended ellipsis. Whatever the case, it suggests a weariness of urban life, as can only be conveyed by a Rhône Valley-dwelling Frenchman.

Other, more complex dishes were created, tasted, and discussed, like the disturbingly named Strawberry Melba Transparence, the components of which (almond streusel, strawberry marshmallows, whipped praline, and strawberry coulis [made to demonstrate a use for Valrhona's Absolu Cristal, a neutral-tasting mirror glaze]) were far more effective when tasted separately.

After several hours of dessert intake, the class experienced the telltale signs of sugar crash-and-burn: restlessness and fatigue. Poirier sensed our collective squirming and moved things along accordingly, setting us free to chat among ourselves and with him.

The mission– to connect professional Valrhona fans to each other and to the product– was accomplished and, I think, rather well.

Granted, this was a clear promotion of Valrhona’s products, but the attendees were, by and large, using this chocolate for one very simple reason– it’s possibly the best chocolate around. Fair trade, intellectual, small production, and, though not certified-organic, pesticide-free.

And it’s what many of the big boys and girls in Bay Area Pastry World are using and, therefore, what very well may be going into your stomach the next time you order dessert.

If you want to play with Valrhona Chocolate at home, you can find it for sale to the public, along with other fine chocolates, online at The Chocolate Source.

Urban Chickens: Do it yourself hen-party

Until recently, my knowledge of chickens– live ones, at least– was very limited. When I thought of poultry egg production, my mind turned to clucking, gossipy hens who, upon hearing the seductive croon of an emaciated rooster resembling a young Frank Sinatra with feathers, fainted dead away on the small mountain of eggs that just poured out of their backsides as a result of their brief, moony-eyed rapture.

That is, until I met Sophia [above, left] and Zsu Zsu [above, right], two Barred Rock Hens who make their home with the Kriese family in Redwood City.

I’d read about these hens at Urban Chickens– a fascinating blog started by Thomas and Melanie Kriese that began as an online diary about the joys and challenges of raising baby chicks into egg-laying adulthood, but has since grown into a mouthpiece for a kind of nascient-though-growing Poultry Rights movement. Yes, if you are looking for the latest-breaking local and national poultry news, you can find it there.

My original fascination with the website stemmed from an article outlining the municipal codes of San Francisco pertaining to poultry raising. Yes, that means raising chickens within San Francisco city limits. Apparently, anyone with enough room to keep a chicken coop 20 feet away from any human dwelling’s door or window can keep up to four chickens (sorry, no roosters) as pets! Somehow, I found this news very cheering.

Imagine waking up to find fresh eggs delivered a mere 20 feet from your back door every morning by animals who have imprinted more deeply upon you than your children ever will. Just please don’t expect miracles– hens lay on average once every 26 hours, which would give you…you’ll have to do the math yourself. If that is beyond you, you have no business caring for chickens since you most likely have enough difficulty just getting dressed in the morning.

[Above: Sophia's very first egg is on the left, her latest, on the right.]

Fresh eggs. Not farm-fresh, mind you. Fresher than that. Fresh from the business ends of your pets.

Pets that like you so much, they provide you with food. Yes, cats will occasionally offer you a small dead bird or lizard, but only a loving chicken can provide you with the consistent means to create marvelous omelets.

And if I had a dog, I’d be looking at him with deep disappointment right about now, too.

Not only do chickens-as-pets provide eggs, they gladly lend themselves to weeding and pest control. And the supply of fertilizer is nearly endless.

Chickens, it would seem, are good for the environment.

After the Krieses kindly allowed me to spend time with their docile, kid-friendly hens, they sent me off with a few eggs from their personal stash, wrapping the very-latest egg separately, so that I might distinguish it from the rest. I was eager to crack it open and have at it.

Upon return to my friend Squid’s house, I cracked open a beer, and then proceeded to do the same with the freshest egg in my acquaintance.

There was very little I wished to do other than eat it. But how? A light scramble, with just a little butter in the pan and a slight sprinkling of sea salt when it hit the plate. I cooked up a store-bought (though still organic) egg exactly the same way and compared the two. Everything about the ür-fresh egg was richer– the color of the yolk, the flavor, and the feel on the tongue. The store-bought egg was still good, but, you know where I am going with this, surely.

The thought of returning to my tiny, chicken-free apartment suddenly depressed me a little. Then I took another swig of beer, another bite of scrambled egg, and moved on.

If you think you might be eligible to keep some urban chickens of you very own, or just want to read about people who do, visit myurbanchickens.blogspot.com.

To purchase an Eglu, which is basically a Barbie Dream home for chickens, visit:

You Say Tomato: A Very British Grocery

There’s more to urban hunting and gathering than visiting one’s local supermarket. Grocery shopping need not be limited to the likes of Safeway, Whole Foods, and Trader Joe’s. They’re just so… corporate, and this shopper is a bit bored with the over-marketing of, well, markets. Small, individually-owned stores might not provide their customers with all their shopping needs, but they do offer something that the Big Boys cannot– individuality.

One such store exists in my Polk Street neighborhood– You Say Tomato. It’s British-owned and operated, by one David Kidd, originally from Stoke-on-Trent. If you’re unfamiliar with the name of that town, think again. Yes, the china with the Christmas trees on it– Spode. Very good. I’m proud of you for remembering. I hope dredging up those holiday memories wasn’t too painful for you.

Currently, a flexible-jointed punked-out doll greets passers-by from the front window with a gesture that is considered rather obscene in Britain, which might indicate that this is no typical tea-and-crumpets venue. No, it isn’t typical, but, well, there are the crumpets in the cold case to the left, and the tea sits proudly on the shelves near the back. Sensible Anarchists agree that one cannot undermine authority on an empty stomach.

I think it can be agreed that most Americans do, in fact, say “tomato” with the rough pronunciation of toh-may-toh when referencing Solanum lycopersicum. Though I am indeed one of them, I often find my inner voice pronouncing it toh-mah-toh like an Englishman, because I’m just that way and I have a rich, satisfying inner life.

There is evidence, however, that the English do not pronounce “potato” poh-tah-toh:

Mmm…prawn cocktail.

Though I am an Anglophile and have been since childhood– memorizing the Monty Python jokes I didn’t fully understand, and aping the signature hiss of Terry-Thomas, one need not necessarily be like me to enjoy this shop. Two minutes of browsing will make clear the refreshing British distaste for focus groups and gender-sensitive marketing:

(The above Yorkie Bar from Nestlé provoked a train of conversation with David Kidd that led him to pull up their UK adverts on Youtube. Much time was happily wasted by me upon my return home.)

Besides, browsing here is fun, largely because everything just sounds dirty, but isn’t: Crumpets, Country Ploughman’s Pickle, Ginger Nuts, Chicken & Mushroom Pasties, and my favorite:

How I love the British.

Beyond fun packaging, You Say Tomato is an excellent source for things like Devonshire cream, kippers, tea, jam, sweets, and just about any British foodstuff one could wish for. Don’t smirk. There’s something here for everyone:

Give a metaphorical “V” sign to the big chain stores once in a while and stop by for a visit– it’s definitely worth it. It’s a great resource for stocking one’s larder with tasty conversation pieces.

Now, for those of you who don’t understand the store’s name, shame on you. It’s an homage to one of George Gershwin’s most playful tunes, “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off”, though there is only mention of liking tomatoes, not saying the word, though that is, of course, implied.

I’ll let Fred and Ginger explain it to you. And on roller skates, too. If I have to explain who Fred and Ginger are, I might just have to kill myself.

You Say Tomato is located at:

1526 California Street (Between Polk and Larkin)

Tel/Fax: 415 921 2828

yousaytomato@sbcglobal.net

Hours of Operation

Monday: Closed

Tuesday- Friday: 10:00 am- 7:00 pm

Saturday & Sunday: 10:00 am- 5:00 pm

Elbow’s Room

A couple of weeks ago, I met up with my oldest friend in the world to mind her three-year-old while she had her hair cut and dyed. As a reward, she said, she would buy me chocolate. Fine, I thought. I’m not a chocolate freak, so she’d be getting off rather cheaply, in terms of childcare.

Of course, I had no idea what I was in for, chocolate-wise. She took me to Christopher Elbow Artisanal Chocolates, at 401 Hayes Street. This woman has always out-cooled me. Even living in Redwood City with three small children pulling her in as many directions, she manages to know what’s going on right under my nose before I can sniff it out. Damn her and bless her, too.

To me, Christopher Elbow sounds like the title character of a children’s book. He is either a misunderstood little boy in possession of either highly specialized super powers or, at the very least, a rich and imaginative inner life. As a chocolatier, I have tasted evidence of the latter, but will not entirely rule out the former. I selected only one chocolate to taste, since I wasn’t really in the mood for sweets. Port Wine Caramel. I took one bite and a remarkable sensation overtook me for a moment. Talk about a rich inner life…

There is a scene in the the 1971 film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in which Violet Beauregarde, the shapeless, gum-chewing champ, starts in on an experimental piece of Wonka chew and says, describing her experience, “It’s tomato soup! It’s hot and creamy– I can actually feel it running down my throat!”

That is very much what happened to me when I bit into the caramel. Except I could feel port wine running down my throat instead of tomato soup. And, of course, there was no dramatic change to my organic composition which necessitated my immediate juicing. But I tumesced, just a little.

Squid bought herself a box of nine chocolates ($20.00), which would last her nine nights. One before bedtime, like some sort of luxury sugar pill. I knew I’d be back to do the same. I hope she’s not placing them on her pillow in this heat.

Upon my return, I chatted a bit with a nice young woman behind the counter and asked her to pick out some of her favorite chocolates. I added a couple of my own to the mix and had them wrapped to take home so that I might taste them in private, since my prior experience and reaction suggested I proceed with caution.

Before leaving, I needed to sample a bit of drinking chocolate. The young lady suggested her favorite– the Ginger Caramel Milk Chocolate. I obeyed.

I took my chocolate into the drinking lounge and contemplated my impending sugar coma.

Though I was the sole human in the lounge at the time, it certainly didn’t feel, well, loungy. The upright seatbacks and hard surfaces of the armrest/places to put one’s beverage seemed to underscore the necessity of bracing myself for the sugar rush that was about to overtake me. The glowing tables unsettled me, reminding me as they did of the Milk Bar in A Clockwork Orange. I find the fact that this place has brought to mind two classic films from 1971 fascinating. Had a high-priced call girl in hot pants and a terrible shag cut sat down to join me, I might have drunk my chocolate faster.

As it happened, I did drink my chocolate too quickly. I ended up inhaling a bit of ground ginger, which provoked an unfortunate little coughing fit. I knew the ginger was there, but I thought it looked pretty and therefore refused to stir it in. It was my fault entirely. I snapped some more photos and left, following someone I can only describe as a crazy, even more childlike Butterfly McQueen down Gough Street. She was exceedingly friendly, stopping to say hello not only to every person she met along the way, but a pair of shutters, and, finally, a hibiscus bush. Selfishly, I did not offer her any chocolate.

When I arrived home with my chocolates, I realized I had neither the time nor the appetite to consume them then and there as I had planned. These were special chocolates– the kind one might savor while bathing in asses’ milk or worry over in a monkey fur bed jacket while digesting the latest gossip from one’s maid. They are luxurious and complex. They cry out for a momentary focus of one’s attention. They are an expensive mouthful, to be sure, but they are worth every penny, I promise.

Cross my heart and kiss my elbow. Go check it out.

Here are some tasting notes on the one’s I’ve sampled:

Bourbon Pecan– one might never know there is marzipan lurking inside if one isn’t paying attention. Made with Maker’s Mark bourbon.

Passion Fruit — I don’t naturally gravitate towards white chocolate, but it serves as a subtle carrier for a caramel so tangy with passion fruit that, if I were slightly more obsessive, I would become obese and diabetic from doing nothing all day but collecting hundreds of these confections, scooping out the caramel, and licking it off a giant antique wooden spoon.

Cabernet– Chocolate, caramel, and Cabernet Sauvignon. I am not certain which winery supplies the wine for this confection, but I was assured it is a California Cabernet. As with the (sadly missing today) Port Wine chocolate I sampled a couple of weeks ago, I experienced another Miss Beauregarde moment. Happy-making.

Bananas Foster– Enjoyable, but didn’t exactly scream Bananas Foster to me. Perhaps I should have set it on fire.

Banana Curry– Hot damn. This one is really excellent. Refreshing trickle of heat.

Rosemary– For some reason, sweets flavored with rosemary often have a subtle and mildly disturbing moldy flavor. This narrowly manages to avoid that sort of unpleasantness. Nice little salt kick at the end.

Strawberry Balsamic– Fun. And interesting– the balsamic acidity of the piece is an interesting contrast to the chocolate but, rather than accentuate the strawberry, it obscures it.

Orange Blossom Honey– Oh my Blossom Dearie. This one totally delivers. Salty caramel that allows the subtle orange blossom notes of the honey to peek through and say hello. I like you, you’re nice.

Persian– Get over any loathing you might have of marzipan. This is a wonderfully complex piece of chocolate. Cardamom? Is that sumac? Do you even have any idea what sumac tastes like? Wonderfully nutty– blame the marzipan.

Christopher Elbow Artisanal Chocolates is located at:

401 Hayes Street (at Gough) in San Francisco

Telephone: 415-355-1105

Store Hours:

Visit the website for more information:

www.elbowchocolates.com

Kate Smith’s Favorite Recipes

Well, God Bless America, it’s Kate Smith! I’ve recently been given a book of her favorite recipes called, of all things, Kate Smith’s Favorite Recipes.

If you know anything at all about me, or even care to, you know that I am fascinated with celebrities. Not the new ones so much– I prefer the dead ones. I couldn’t care less about Miley Cyrus, unless she has something to do with that restaurant in Healdsburg I’ve been wanting to visit. Or Clay Aiken and his scary new look. No, young, pablum-spewing singers are not my cup of tea. Give me an old, dead, pablum- spewer any day of the week.

Like Kate Smith. Now there was a singer. The Songbird of the South. Remember the song “God Bless America”? Ah, you do know who the hell she was. She had a big voice, a big heart, and an even bigger stomach.

And biggest of all was her radio program, as one might imagine from the overuse of exclamation marks:

Grand Baking News

Millions of Americans tuned in to hear her from 1931 to 1947– the year everyone basically started to tire of both the radio and Kate Smith. Fortunately, at the height of her popularity, she found time in her busy schedule to write a cookbook of her favorite recipes– all conveniently containing Calumet Baking Powder and Swan’s Down Cake Flour (the two primary sponsors of her show), which might explain why there isn’t one recipe for pie listed. Perhaps it was this very book that single-handedly killed the pie-baking spirit of the American Housewife. Just think about that for a moment and remember– you heard it here first.

But she did love to bake. And Eat. And who doesn’t? These bathing beauties the art director cleverly huddled around Miss Smith certainly look interested.

And so was I, naturally, because it’s been a while since I’ve made a man rave (see: copy below). I thought I’d follow the advice of an expert.

I chose to make Grape-Nuts Bread because I figured no man in his right mind could eat such a thing and not rave.

Grape-Nuts Bread

Grape-Nuts was also a sponsor of Kate Smith’s radio program. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any Postum’s Fake Coffee (yet another sponsor) to drink along side it. I chose to make this not-so-sweet loaf out of respect for Miss Smith– she lost a leg and eventually died from diabetes. It is a rather heavy concoction, not unlike the Songbird herself. It’s hearty and oddly satisfying, especially when toasted and struck with great lashings of butter.

Here is the recipe exactly as written:

Ingredients:

2 cups milk, scalded

1 cup Grape-Nuts

3 cups sifted flour

4 teaspoons Calumet Baking Powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 cups sugar

1 egg, well beaten

3 tablespoons melted butter or other shortening

Procedure:

Pour milk over Grape-Nuts; cool. Sift flour once, measure, and add baking powder, salt, and sugar, and sift again. Add egg and shortening to Grape-Nuts mixture and stir well; add flour mixture, stirring only enough to dampen all flour. Turn into a greased loaf pan, 9×4x3 inches; let stand 20 minutes. Bake in moderate oven (350° F.) 1 hour and 20 minutes, or until done. Bread should be stored overnight to cut easily in thin slices.

Grape-Nuts Fruit Bread. Increase salt to 1 ½ teaspoons in above recipe; add 1 tablespoon grated orange or lemon rind and 1 cup currants, chopped raisins, or finely cut prunes to Grape-Nuts-egg-fat mixture.

How’s that for semi-colon use?

Makes one loaf.

And, yes, I know what you’re thinking. You still haven’t seen Miss Smith performing. You still don’t know what all the fuss was about, so I’ll leave you with someting very, very special– a Salute to the Beatles Miss Smith performed on the Cher Show (after the divorce– no Sonny) with, of course, Cher, and Tina Turner.

I firmly believe this specific performance was the coup de grâce for a once-beloved genre– the Prime Time Variety Show. Enjoy.

Kate Smith– murderess of both the American Variety Show and American Pie. She may have been, in her sweet, Southern way, the Kremlin’s most effective secret weapon against us ever. Think about that for a moment and remember– you heard it here first.

May is Coffee Cake Month

A couple of years ago, when my friend Thrasso came to visit me from Canada, he mentioned that May had been officially designated as Coffee Cake Month. When I asked how he came by such an important nugget of information, he told me that it was, at least, Coffee Cake Month in his world. He finds it useful as a month-long ruse to get people to give him cake.

His visit, which conveniently occurred during the month of May, was spent spreading The Word. Like some sort of wavy-mopped herald, he trumpeted the news of Coffee Cake Month across San Francisco: to bartenders, shop girls, friends, strangers. He pretty much told everyone he came into contact with about it. The woman behind the service counter at Tartine Bakery even nodded and gave him a wan “I knew that” sort of reply as she wrapped up our non-coffee cake purchases. Not-so-secretly, he was hoping she might drop some of his favorite baked good into our bag. The ploy was unsuccessful, but it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part. Undeterred, he spread the gospel of Coffee Cake for the rest of his visit. I wonder how many people took his announcement to heart?

I did, for one. God protects those too easily open to suggestion.

I decided to do a little research. I Googled “Coffee Cake Month” and came up with little more than mail order Cake-of-the-Month clubs. I did, however, manage to find something called “Coffee Cake Day” at Rumela.com, which was disheartening, as it reduced the amount of celebration by 29 days. At the time of this printing, Rumela.com is a rather creepy website with side bars and ads daring me to click on things like “The Fart Button. Press it. You know you want to.” and “Mate 1 Intimate Dating.” How these things are related to coffee cake, I am uncertain, but there must be some yet-to-be-undertood connection. Here is what I was told about Coffee Cake Day. The grammar is theirs, not mine.

“Every year we celebrate Coffee Cake Day on 7^th April, it is an important event to all people because cake is a fantastic food to us at any time we love to eat it, not only a testy food it’s have a good food value. However indulge and pamper yourself with loads n loads of yummy and delicious treats, and share the taste of fun with all your friends, family and sweetheart also make the day more attractive with some beautiful coffee cake.”

So that’s what fun tastes like.

I wondered to myself if this was how holidays get started. Some random person comes up with an object to celebrate and tells two friends, then they tell two friends, and so on, like a Fabergé Organic Shampoo commercial. Or, in Thrasso’s case, this coffee cake business might be a Canadian thing, though I tend to think of them as eating daintier cakes with the tea they drink after stirring a bit of milk into china cups with their 1981 Royal Wedding commemorative spoons. If you happen to be a Canadian and reading this, I know you have one of these spoons. In fact, I believe all 33,098,932 of you own one or, at the very least, have easy access to one. I’ve seen them and I have used them on more than one occasion.

I have decided to join Thrasso in his drive to make May an international celebration of all things coffee cake or, at the very least as a month of Coffee Cake awareness and reflection. My hope is that, by spreading the word and baking these cakes every May, our celebration might blossom and overtake other, competing May Awareness celebrations like National Arthritis Month, Haitian Heritage Month, and National Stroke Awareness Month.

Try making your own sometime. They are fairly simple to make and there are thousands of recipes of varying degrees of palatability from which to choose. Make May  your month of coffee cake experimentation and devotion. Join us and bake off a few to present to friends and loved ones and encourage them do do the same.

Together we can provide for the snacking needs of the entire world.

Please  join us for next year’s  1^st Annual Coffee Cake Film Festival which I will be hosting as soon as I can find enough films in which this underappreciated cake is featured.

And  do tell two friends.

The Mint Julep

In honor of the 134th annual Kentucky Derby, which just happens to be happening tomorrow, I am making mint juleps. How could I not? Since I am neither a Southerner, nor have I ever been to Churchill Downs, I very easily could not. But I have lots of Southern friends and often like to pretend I am from the South– especially when I’ve been drinking bourbon. If I drink rum, I like to pretend I’m from the Midwest.

Ah, Magnolia. Ah, Churchill Downs. I’m certain that, had Sir Winston ever visited Kentucky, he would have downed several. Juleps, I mean. In case you didn’t know, the mint julep has been the official drink of the Kentucky Derby since 1938. Prior to 1938, I very much doubt anyone cared about officially recognizing official drinks.

The Julep, courtesy of Merriam-Webster.com: ju·lep

Pronunciation: \ ‘jü-ləp\

Function: noun

Etymology: Middle English, from Middle French, from Arabic julāb, from Persian gulāb, from gul rose + āb water (that’s rosewater, in case you weren’t following).

Date: 14th Century

1: a drink consisting of sweet syrup, flavoring, and water 2: a drink consisting of a liquor (as bourbon or brandy) and sugar poured over crushed ice and garnished with mint.

For the purposes of today’s post, we will focus on number two. Definition number two, that is.

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I am a sucker for a good mint julep, and it isn’t very often one comes across one– especially in California. When I was a young lad living in Los Angeles, my favorite bar/restaurant was called Ports. It had no sign, yet the habitués were congenial. I once asked my favored bartender to make me a julep, but he lacked the necessary fresh mint and therefore refused me. Two warm summer evenings later, I asked again for a Julep and he replied again in the negative. I then produced a large bunch of spearmint, presenting it to him as I would a nosegay. He accepted, sniffed, and made everyone at the bar a julep. And then we started dating.

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Until I ran out of mint.

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The Mint Julep

Thought it may sometimes seem that the Persians pretty much invented everything, it’s the American South that may lay claim to the mint julep. Sometime during the 18th Century, white people living below the Mason-Dixon line started drinking this concoction of bourbon, ice, sugar, water, and mint. Henry Clay introduced the drink to the swamps of Washington, D.C. in the early 19th Century at the Round Robin Bar in the Willard Hotel, months before the hotel was bought out by the InterContinental chain.

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What I enjoy so much about the julep is that it is refreshing, incredibly easy to make, and yet not so simple. There are essentially five ingredients and twenty-seven thousand theories upon how to make one. For an excellent read on what is, what is not, and what might be considered a true mint julep, I encourage you to read Jason Wilson’s story Juleps for the Derby? All Bets Are Off. It made me a very, very happy fellow.

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Ingredients:

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About 8 fresh mint leaves, plus one attractive sprig for garnishing

1 teaspoon of superfine sugar (it dissolves better than table sugar)

3 ounces Kentucky bourbon

a good splash of soda water

Crushed ice, and lots of it

Powdered Sugar, for dusting (I’d never done this until reading Wilson’s article, now it shall be forever part of my Julep schtick)

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Procedure:

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1. Chill a tall Collins glass or silver julep cup in your freezer for a few minutes.

2. Combine mint, sugar, soda, and half of the bourbon in the bottom of the glass. Muddle gently.

3. Add a few spoonsful of crushed ice and stir. Fill the glass the rest of the way with ice, top off with the second half of the bourbon, garnish with mint, and dust with powdered sugar.

4. Drink immediately, but don’t grab the glass around the middle unless you wish to give yourself away as unrepentently Yankee.

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Serves 1.

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If you now have especially strong feelings about the mint julep, you might wish to join the Mint Julep Sisterhood. Please watch this instructive video. NB: Granny Mae is wearing a snood, which means I must love her, in spite of her toothlessness.

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If you have been suffering from the Vapors, I hope this has helped. Enjoy your Derby Day.