I try to eat only what’s in season, but occasionally find
myself undone by beautiful produce. This has happened not once, but twice, in
recent weeks. The first time, I was undone by a cardboard box heaped with
mandarins, their still-attached stems and leaves an tantalizingly glossy green;
the second time, by a pyramid of plump cara cara oranges. In both cases, I was
powerless to resist and subsequently glad that I didn’t—seasonality be darned,
those citrus fruits were outstanding; juicy and succulent with the perfect
amount of tang.
But each time I peeled a fruit and went to pitch the rind
into the bin, I hesitated. Really, it was guilt—it seemed like one type of
environmental sin to buy fruit out of season, and another one to chuck part of
it away, and my conscience simply couldn’t take it. So I saved the peels,
letting them accumulate in my refrigerator while I decided what to do with
them. The idea, when it came, felt a little bit audacious and a little bit
obvious: why not candy the peels? I spend weeks searching for candied peel
every Christmas to make fruitcake, and perhaps that annual scavenger hunt made
me think that candied peel would be difficult to make. But no! Like many of the
other things I like to make from scratch (bread, granola, pesto), all it takes
to make candied peel is a bit of time.
Some recipes call for you to cut up your preferred citrus
fruit—clementines, grapefruits, lemons, oranges—in order to harvest their
peels. This is certainly an option, but I opted to save the peels from our
regular consumption over the course of a week or two, collecting them in a
covered dish in the fridge. A few might dry out a bit, but in my experience
they don’t spoil quickly. When you’ve accumulated a fair number, let your
preference for bitterness and your available time guide your next steps. If you
don’t like bitter things, cut away with the pith; if you’re low on time or your
pith-peeling skills need work, skip it. Blanch the peels at least twice—more if
you don’t like bitterness—then boil them in a sugar syrup. Strain off and
reserve the syrup for cocktails, let the peel dry a bit, then bake with it,
freeze it, or eat it as we do, straight out of the jar. I think it tastes
delicious, but maybe that’s just the imagined flavor of absolution for eating
out-of-season fruit.
Candied Citrus Peel
Sources: I Thought There Would Be Free Food
Makes as much as you like
Active time: ~ 1 hour; total time: ~4 hours
Ingredients:
Accumulated citrus peels, any variety—I’ve used
clementines, grapefruit, mandarins, and several varieties of oranges
Water
White sugar
Directions:
If you want your citrus peels to be less bitter,
use a very sharp knife to carefully cut away and discard as much of the white
pith as possible without slicing into the peel.
Slice the peel into your desired width; the ones
in the photo above are about 1/4-inch wide, but I’ve also done them thicker or
thinner—it’s your choice.
Put the sliced peel into a heavy-bottomed saucepan
and add just enough water to cover. Set the pot on the stove over medium-high
heat and bring to a vigorous boil, then drain. (You can keep this
citrus-flavored water to make tea with, if desired). Repeat the blanching and
draining process once more.
Use a kitchen scale to weigh the amount of peel
you have. Add it back to your saucepan along with the same weight of sugar and
water. For example, if you have 300 grams of orange peels, combine them with
300 grams of white sugar and 300 grams of water.
Set the saucepan over medium heat. Let it come
to a boil, and then reduce the heat to low and simmer the peel until it is
soft—it shouldn’t be mushy, but still have a bit of toothsomeness—and nearly
translucent.
Drain the syrup from the peel, reserving the
syrup for later use (recipe coming next week). Set the peel on a wire rack to
dry until it is just tacky, which may take several hours.
At this point you can toss the citrus peel with
additional white sugar. If the peel isn’t dry enough, the sugar will absorb
into it; if it’s too dry, the sugar won’t stick. It’s a fine balance.
Whether you sugar the peel a second time or not,
I prefer to store my citrus peel in a glass jar in the refrigerator. It also
freezes well for several months.
Can we talk about chickpeas for a moment? They’re one of my
all-time favorite foods, largely due to their versatility: they can be hummus or
chana masala; their canning liquid can be used to make mousses and puddings. Chickpeas
are like tofu, when done well (yes, tofu
can be done well)—they take on the flavors of what they’re cooked with and
in that process become something more than the sum of their parts.
Apparently everyone discovered the wonder that is chickpeas, given how few of them I’ve seen in the grocery store over the past few weeks. I hope people are doing more than draining and sprinkling them over salads, which is quick and tasty but also quite a lot of wasted potential. With a modicum of effort and not much beyond pantry staples, chickpeas can become something nigh on transcendent. Braised with tomatoes and enlivened by oranges and rosemary, these chickpeas are a bit citrusy, a bit herby, and a lot delicious.
Braised Chickpeas
with Tomatoes, Orange, and Rosemary
Source: Adapted from Milk
Street Magazine
Serves ~6 people
Total Time: ~45 minutes
Ingredients:
Olive oil
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon honey, plus more for serving
2 29-ounce cans chickpeas, drained
1 28-ounce can diced tomatoes or whole peeled
tomatoes, liquid reserved and solids chopped
1 medium orange (save the peel for the next two
recipes!)
1/2 medium red onion, thinly sliced
3 or 4 medium garlic cloves, minced
1 4-inch long sprig fresh rosemary
Salt and pepper, to taste
Fresh oregano and parsley for sprinkling, if
desired
Directions:
Heat a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add
enough olive oil to lightly cover the bottom, then add the tomato paste and
honey. Cook, stirring often, until the tomato paste begins to deepen in color,
about 4 minutes.
Add the chickpeas and tomatoes (along with their
liquid, if you used whole tomatoes).
Increase the heat to medium-high to bring
everything to a simmer, then cook until most of the liquid has evaporated,
about 10 minutes.
While the chickpeas are cooking, zest about one
quarter of your orange and set it aside. Slice the orange into quarters and set
them aside.
Reduce the heat to medium-low before adding the
onion, garlic, rosemary, and salt and pepper to the chickpea mixture. Juice
one-quarter of your orange into the Dutch oven, and stir well to combine.
Cover the pot and cook for an additional 10
minutes, until the onions are soft, adding a few tablespoons of additional
water if needed to prevent sticking or scorching.
Turn off the heat under the pot. Stir in the
orange zest before dishing the chickpeas into individual bowls. Drizzle with additional
olive oil and honey and sprinkle with fresh oregano and parsley, if desired,
before serving.
I’ve never had much use for traditions. I was something of
an iconoclast in my youth and thought that traditions were empty rituals, things
done over-and-over for the sake of being done over-and-over. I frequently (and annoyingly,
truth be told) bemoaned all traditions from the benign to the malignant.
Despite my best intentions, traditions have crept into my
life over the years. Part of that is due to moving away from home; part of it
to getting married and experiencing the fun of creating new rituals with my
partner. But most of it was Iraq. I was volun-told for a four-month deployment,
scheduled to depart in the spring. I was frantic that I would have to leave
before Easter, not simply because I didn’t know what the holiday would be like on
the base, but because I needed that last milestone, that last touch point with
familiarity before I left for a place that was deeply unfamiliar. I found
myself clinging to traditions in the days before I left, wanting to run my
favorite routes, visit my favorite coffee shops, and make my favorite dishes
one more time. When it came to Easter dinner, I took no chances at all, making
my now-traditional chicken, leek, and mushroom pie and a carrot cake for
dessert.
Several years older and a dubious amount wiser, I now see that
it was only because my upbringing was secure that I could question tradition
and see it as so unnecessary. Certainly, some of them are, but they’re also powerful.
When they are thoughtful, traditions provide us with fixed points from which we
can chart our course and our progress. They provide vantage points through
which we can study other times, either happier or more difficult than the one
we are abiding in. Traditions form anchors, the kind that steady us or the kind
that keep us from moving forward. It’s up to us to decide.
Nowadays, no Easter feels complete without a towering carrot
cake. For years, I used the same recipe, but this year I decided to push my own
bounds by making not one but three different versions to taste test. Much to my
surprise, the clear winner was not my traditional recipe, but it was the best
carrot cake I’ve ever had. It’s a three-layer stunner redolent of spices, chock
full of carrots and nuts, and crowned with the most glorious cream cheese
frosting. Really, it encapsulates my new and old feelings on tradition awfully
well—traditions do have their place, but there’s always room for improvement.
The Best Carrot Cake
I’ve Ever Had
Sources: Adapted, barely, from Stella Parks’ Brave Tart
Makes one 6-by-5-inch cake, serving at least 6 people
Active time: ~2 hours; total time: ~3 hours
Note: This might
be the best carrot cake I’ve ever had, but fair warning: it’s also the most
labor intensive. I highly recommend making this over the course of several
days. For example, prepare the custard for the frosting, chop and toast the
nuts, grate the carrots, and brown the butter on day 1. Bake the cakes on day
2, and make the frosting and frost the cake on day 3. Make sure to leave time
for the finished cake to set up before slicing it, or it will be difficult to
cut.
One More Note: I
call to make this in three 6-inch cake tins. If you don’t have this size pan,
you could make a two-layer cake using 8-inch cake tins or a one-layer cake in a
9×13-inch baking dish.
Cream Cheese Frosting
Ingredients:
3/4 cup milk, any percentage
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
2 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch
1 1/2 eggs (to get a half egg, crack one into a
small bowl, whisk, and measure out roughly half)
1/2 tablespoon vanilla extract
8 ounces cream cheese (I used Neufchatel)
1 1/2 sticks butter, softened but still cool (I
used salted butter)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
Salt, to taste
Carrot Cake
Ingredients:
1 3/4 cups walnuts or pecans (optional)
1 pound carrots
2 sticks butter (I used salted butter)
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole-wheat flour
1 cup white sugar
1/2 cup gently packed brown sugar
1/2 tablespoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground coves
1/2 tablespoon vanilla
3 eggs (no need for them to be at room
temperature)
Directions:
Make the
custard for the frosting: Put the milk in a small glass bowl or measuring cup
and heat it in the microwave at 50% power until it’s warm, but not boiling. In
a separate, medium-sized bowl, whisk together the sugar, cornstarch, and eggs.
Pour about one-third of the warm milk into the
egg mixture, whisking well, and repeating twice more. Scrap the custard into a
medium pot and cook over medium heat, whisking constantly. The custard will
change texture quite suddenly, going from fairly loose to thick and a bit
lumpy. Keep whisking, and keep
cooking the custard for another two minutes or so. At this point, it should be
very thick and quite smooth.
Remove the custard from the heat. After it’s had
a chance to cool a bit, stir in the vanilla extract.
At this point, you can cover the
custard—pressing plastic wrap onto its surface so that it doesn’t form a
skin—and refrigerate it for a few days.
Prepare
the nuts: Finely
chop the nuts and then add them to a skillet set over medium heat. Toast the
nuts until they’re golden brown and fragrant. This will likely take 5–10
minutes. Remove the nuts from the skillet and set them aside.
Prepare
the carrots: Wash, trim, and peel the carrots. Grate them with a box grater
or in a food processor, then set them aside.
Brown the
butter: Place the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Let the
butter melt before increasing the heat to medium. Swirl the pan regularly or
stir it with a spatula to ensure the butter browns evenly. Continue swirling or
stirring until the butter is clear, golden yellow, studded with little brown
bits, and smells toasty and delicious.
Note:
If the heat under your pan is too high, the butter might start to foam up,
making it difficult to see what color it is. Reduce the heat or even take the
pan off the stove for a few minutes to let the foam subside before proceeding.
Make the
cakes: Position a
rack in the middle of your oven before preheating it to 350°F.
Do your future self a favor by preparing your
cake tins now. Grease them well, with either cooking spray or butter, and line
the bottoms with parchment paper. Yes, you really should do this—after all,
you’re spending quite a bit of time making the best carrot cake ever, is this
really the time to skimp on preparation?
Stir
together the flours in a medium bowl, then set it aside.
Stir
together the sugars, leavening agents, salt, and spices in a large bowl; this
can either be the bowl of your standing mixer or any large bowl you happen to
have. Add the vanilla and eggs and beat the heck out of the mixture with
whatever you’ve got—standing mixer, hand mixer, bulging biceps—on medium speed
for five minutes (yes, really). The mixture should be light in color and fluffy
yet thick. Use a spatula to scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl.
If
you have a standing mixer that allows you to be hands free, add the butter in a
slow stream, beating into the egg-and-sugar mixture on medium-low speed. If you
aren’t using a stand mixer, add the butter in three additions, stirring to
combine after each addition. Once you’re done, give the sides and bottom of the
bowl another good scrape down.
Go
ahead and add the flours, mixing well to incorporate. Fold in the carrots and
nuts. It’ll look like there’s too much of them, but trust me—they’ll all fit,
and it will be delicious. You guessed it: give the bowl a final good scrape
down.
Pat yourself on the bake for having remembered
to prep your pans and preheat your oven ahead of time. You’re awesome!
Divide the batter evenly between your pans. If
you have a kitchen scale, you can be precise about this, but otherwise just
eyeball it. The cake will still taste just as good. Smooth the batter in each
pan, then pop them all into the oven.
Bake until the cakes are golden brown and a cake
tester inserted into the middle of each cake comes out with just a few crumbs
clinging to it. This was about 45 minutes for me, but I suggest checking your
cakes around minute 40, to make sure they don’t overbake.
When the cakes are done, remove them from the
oven. Let them cool in the tins for a bit before turning them out onto a wire
cooling rack, removing the parchment rounds from their bottoms, and turning
them right-side up again. After they cool, you can frost them or wrap them well
in plastic wrap and frost them the next day.
Make the
frosting: Several hours before you plan to make the frosting, take the
custard, cream cheese, and butter out of your refrigerator and set them on the
counter to soften.
Once they’re softened but still cool, congratulate
your past self for remembering to have taken out your ingredients ahead of
time. If you forgot or are short on time, give the butter and cream cheese a
few short blasts in the microwave on 40% power (do this separately, as they
have different melting points) to soften them up. Still give yourself a pat on
the back because hey, you’re baking the best carrot cake ever.
Stir the vanilla custard well. If it’s very
thick, mash it up with the back of a spoon and give it a good stir.
Put the butter and cream cheese in a large
bowl—again, either of your stand mixer or any large bowl. Cream them together
using a stand mixer, hand mixer, or your own power until they’re light and
fluffy—this should take about five minutes.
Add about one-third of the custard to the
butter-and-cream cheese mixture and beat well to combine. Scrape down the sides
of the bowl and repeat with the remaining custard in two additions.
Add the lemon juice and mix well. Give your
frosting a taste. If it could use a little more pizzazz, add a bit of extra
lemon juice and/or a touch of salt. Repeat tasting and flavor adjusting as
needed.
All
together now: Your cakes likely domed a bit while baking, so set one on a
level surface and use a serrated knife to carefully cut off the dome and create
a flat top. Repeat with the remaining two cakes. Pick up one cake at a time and
brush any stray crumbs from the sides or top; this will help ensure that your
frosting is smooth and bump-free.
Set one of the cakes on a plate or cake
decorating turntable, then dollop on a good amount of frosting. Use an offset
spatula or even a butter knife to work the frosting from the middle of the cake
to the edges. Add the second cake layer. If you have time, you could let this
sit in the refrigerator, to ensure your cake is straight and strong.
Add a dollop of frosting to the second layer,
and again work it from the middle of the cake to the edges. Add the third layer
and repeat.
At this point you have three options: leave the
cake as-is for a “naked” look, add a small amount of frosting around
the sides for “semi-naked,” as I have shown, or fully frost that
sucker, because it’s spring and a pandemic and YOLO.
If you’re going with either the semi-naked or
fully dressed version, scoop up a tablespoon or so of frosting onto your
spatula or knife. I prefer to start at the bottom of my cake and move up, so I
spread the frosting on the seam between layers and turn the plate around
slowly, working the frosting around the cake, adding more to my knife as I go.
If you need detailed frosting instructions, I recommend this guide.
Once the cake is frosted, set it to chill in the
refrigerator for at least an hour. If it’s going to be several hours before you
cut and eat the cake, consider draping it loosely with plastic wrap. When it’s
chilled, cut with a serrated knife and enjoy.
