A little bread pudding for breakfast? Why not! I know, I seem to have a fixation with puddings this season. But there is something deeply satisfying about tucking into a warm meal, entirely self-contained, laden with eggs, vanilla, and a bit of dried fruit. (See, dried fruit makes it healthy.)

For a Sunday morning Brunch, with neither a savory egg dish nor a batch of fried-up pancakes sounding very appealing, I decided on a bread pudding utilizing a left-over Pandorro from the holidays. The Pandorro was subtly sweet, and sinfully rich, all on its own; so I made a simple, milk-based custard to complete the pudding. The custard was made with a few egg yolks, a few whole eggs, then tempered with a few cups of simmered low-fat milk, and fragranced with tiny flecks of real vanilla bean seeds to bind it together.

Dried apricots and Ranier cherries were roughly chopped and then added to the largely torn pieces of sweetened Italian bread. Mixed with the unsweetened custard and baked for 30-35 minutes at 350 degrees, the pudding was puffed and golden brown. When I cut into the pudding, steam wafted upwards, bringing with it the fragrance of vanilla, and dried fruit. The pudding was actually light, due to the eggs in both the custard and the Pandorro, and the apricots, which reconstituted just a bit during the baking process, offered a sweet-tart bite of fruit in this brunch time treat.

It’s true this pudding may have been a bit unorthodox, a sort of dessert for breakfast, but it was gobbled up by hungry guests waiting to get their Sundays off to a good start.

I must say, coming home from England, I did not in fact go for tea even once while I was there. No scones, no clotted cream, not even a crumpet was consumed by me. Chalk it up to jet lag, but come 4 o’clock I was in need of something slightly more potent than a cup of tea. Rather I think that I could have been intravenously hooked up to an enormous coffee urn.

Upon returning home, I realized that this lack of proper tea time treats left me empty. I was in need of a biscuit, or a crumpet, or better still, a scone. But even in the absence of tea time, I did end up with quite a few imported food magazines; so imagine my glee when while perusing through delicious magazine, I spotted a recipe for Potato Scones. The recipe was super simple. I whipped up a batch in no time, and to go with them, a cup of black tea.

Delightfully easy to make, these scones were mixed up and baked in no time. Half potato pancake, half bread product, these scones were dense, but somehow not heavy. The batter was made by boiling starchy potatoes until cooked, mashing then with an old fashioned potato masher, then adding flour. With no more than a handful of ingredients, they were truly delicious.

Similar to English Muffins, these scones were cooked on the stovetop in a heavy-bottomed, cast-iron skillet. This process gave these savory treats a delightfully crisp, golden brown crust. Maybe these were not the scones of my tea time dreams– they were a bit too savory to warrant a slathering of clotted cream– but they were homey, and comforting. And with a good smear of sweet cream butter, they were scrumptious. 

Depending on the weather, moisture of potatoes, humidity of the kitchen, etc. you may need to increase the amount of flour listed. You want the dough to be pliable yet hold together well. As the original recipe uses the metric system, I have also provided rough conversions.

Potato Scones
from delicious magazine

Makes 8-10 scones

450 grams/2 cups (about 4) floury potatoes peeled and cut into quarters
25 grams/2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon salt
75 grams/1/3-1/2 cup flour, plus extra for dusting
vegetable oil, for greasing

Boil the potatoes in salted water for 15 minutes, or until tender. Drain well and mash with the butter and salt until smooth. While the potatoes are still hot mix in the flour. This may require a bit more flour than listed. Your dough should be dense yet malleable, and not too sticky. Cool dough, then chill for one hour.

Place chilled dough on a clean surface, dusted with additional flour to prevent sticking, and lightly roll out until 1/2 inch thickness is reached. Take a biscuit cutter, or drinking glass, approximately 4 inches in diameter, and cut out scones. Re-roll the trimmings to obtain more scones.

Lightly grease a heavy-bottomed, or cast-iron skillet, and place on the stove, over medium-low heat. When pan is heated, place the scones in, and cook for 8-10 minutes, flipping once. Depending on the size of your skillet, you may have to cook the scones in batches. Finished scones should be golden-brown outside, moist and dense inside. Enjoy them with a cup of afternoon tea, or have them warmed for breakfast.

Well, I’m back. I trust you all had lovely holidays. I don’t know about you, but each year, at about Dec. 30, I get so ready for the hulla-balloo of the holiday season to be over– all of the gifts, all of the late nights, all of the gluttony. Maybe that makes me a bit of a Scrooge, but that’s just the way that I feel.

In terms of food the holidays are wonderful, but it’s right about this same time I start craving salads. Aaahh, the ascetic lifestyle, just a bit of lettuce and a soupcon of clear broth, and to quench my parched mouth– a glass of tepid water. That may be a bit extreme, I am a bourgie…but after a wintertime vacation in England (eating far too many starchy root vegetables) these are the things a girl dreams about on the long flight home. And when I arrived at my abode, refrigerator generally bare, I ran to the market to buy the salad fixins’ of my dreams.

On the plane ride home, with little else to do, I planned all of the meals I wanted to cook as soon as I was back in the warmth of my very own kitchen. First things first, while considering a duck salad and its list of ingredients, the components to this salad grew and grew, with the final touch, boozy dried cranberries getting added somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

The base to this salad, peppery arugula and curly frisee, were the perfect greens, both strong in taste and texture. Slices of roasted butternut squash, simply seasoned with olive oil, salt and pepper, then served at room temperature added a wholesome sweetness. Shredded duck breast, pan seared, skin removed then fried crisply as cracklings was the protein of choice in this wintertime treat. Shallots lightly sauteed in the rendered duck fat, and dried cranberries reconstituted in a bit of hot water mixed with brandy were the final, crowning achievements providing complexity and an added richness.

Lightly dressed with a Dijon vinaigrette, emulsified with both walnut oil and a flavoring of duck fat (it was there, come on now, you knew I would use it!), this salad wasn’t actually ascetic– but it was definitely delicious.

Well bourgies, I’m off! I’ll be taking a vacation from blogging for a bit. Enjoy the holidays, I will be back soon with more recipes for you all to try. And remember, don’t eat anything that I wouldn’t eat!

Let’s contribute to over-eating, carbo-loading, and the consumption of butter by the pound, by giving our guests another starchy yet scrumptious hors d’oeuvres, Roasted Sundried Tomato-Pesto Palmiers. It’s another super simple crowd pleaser that is sure to be gone by the end of the evening.

I adapted this recipe from that rolly-polly, queen of butter and all delightful things, Ina Garten. (If you’re offended by the previous description just substitute the word “jolly.”) By blending together a few choice ingredients, obtaining a pesto to your liking, then carefully rolling the entire concoction in store-bought puff pastry (because who has the time to make the fresh), slicing and baking this log of goodness, you will have a stunning and delicious supplement to any holiday party.

I made a bourgie pesto by combining walnuts (much cheaper than pine nuts), basil, a bit of raw garlic, sundried tomatoes in their oil, parmesan cheese, and olive oil. Remember to season well with salt and pepper, as this will be a filling for a fairly neutral dough. Mix all the ingredients but the oilve oil in a food processor. When you have the ingredients blended, add the olive oil. You just want the pesto to come together, but still remain fairly coarse. You are not making a pesto for pasta sauce, which would be much smoother and runnier. Once the pesto is to your liking, it’s time to roll away.

Take a thawed sheet of puff pastry, and roll out to 12 inches square. Spread a generous layer of pesto on top, covering to the edge. Now for folding the palmiers: take half of the dough, and fold to the center; repeat on the other side; now take folded half, and fold toward the center; repeat on the other side. You should have a rectangle of dough, with two folds on each side. Now close the palmier by folding one half of the dough on top of the other. Cut each roll into 3/8 inch slices, place on a parchment-paper-lined baking sheet, brush with an egg wash and bake for 6-8 minutes a side at 400 degrees.

The puff pastry will puff and expand. Your house will smell wonderful, of garlic and pesto. And your guests will be thrilled that they are not eating yet another baked brie. This recipe could be made and filled with a variety of spreads: basic pesto, a tapenade of olives, or simply a basic cheese. The palmiers also freeze beautifully, simply place, uncut in the freezer. When you are ready to eat the palmiers, thaw slightly, slice, and follow the same directions for baking.

For all you bourgies who have holidays parties that you are attending, or throwing yourself, I thought I would do a few posts on easy and tasty party foods to have. If you are tired of those mini cubes of cheese, and if you see one more deli meat platter you just might scream, try something simple and delicious instead.

Mini Jacketed Potatoes are adorable, perfectly diminutive lined up in an op art fashion. I don’t know why everything is more desirable shrunken into bite sizes, but it is surely the case with this hors d’oeuvres. Served at room temperature this snack offers the perfect bite of buttery starch. Jacketed potatoes are super easy to make, and require simply a few embellishments to make this appetizer into your basic bourgie fare.

I use an assortment of small, new potatoes for this dish, Yukon Golds, White Creamers, and Reds. I find the difference in flavor of each potato to be subtle, yet the skins, toasted a lovely golden brown, look beautiful lined up next to another. Roast the potatoes whole, tossed with olive oil, and salt and pepper, at 400 degrees. This can take anywhere from 40 minutes to one hour; simply pierce with a fork to test for doneness. When finished roasting, cool the potatoes until just warm to the touch.

Slice the potatoes lengthwise, placing halves on a serving platter. I topped each potato with a mixture of creme fraiche for thickness, and sour cream for tang. Then sprinkle the platter and the potatoes with finely minced green onion, a sprinkling of coarse salt, and a grinding of fresh black pepper. I opted for a traditional topping, but go ahead and get creative with smoked salmon, or blue cheese, the possibilities are endless. Simple to prepare, beautifully presented, and delightful to eat.

I have never been one for sauces. I usually prefer my meat to be unadorned, placed glowing and alone on my supper plate. That’s not to say I don’t marinate, or love a good braising liquid, but sauces themselves can often be overpowering. But not bearnaise!

I was just a wee one when I first tasted that smooth, delightfully creamy sauce. I had gone out to a swank, old fashioned steak house with my family. When my steak arrived, there was a sunny blob of a buttery substance languishing over the steak. I asked my mother what it was, and she replied, “That’s bearnaise sauce; try it, I’m sure that you will like it.” It was delicious, smooth, delicate almost, the perfect pairing to a robust steak.

It had been too many years since I last tasted bearnaise, so I decided to mix up a batch to be served with steak at our old skool dinner. Now granted, bearnaise sauce is not on the list of healthy accoutrements, with a stick of butter and egg yolks, some would even say it is a heart attack in a bowl. But for special occasions, it simply can’t be beat. Heart attack? Schmeart attack. It’s butteriness in a bowl, and really what goes better with steak than butter. So I say go ahead, bring back the bearnaise. And don’t forget to roast some potatoes to sop up any of the remaining juices!

Sometimes you have to return to the classics for dinner, or in this case dessert. Buried beneath a sumptuous layer of rich vanilla pudding are the very pieces of fruit that are so everyday yet so scrumptious– bananas. A little bit of a surprise for eager diners, it is the banana that brings this dessert from basic to bourgie.

I had never made pudding before; custards, bread pudding, creme brulee, sure, but good ol’ classic pudding had never bounded off of my stove. Making pudding yourself is so simple that I’m not sure if I will ever have to use a Jello Cook and Serve again. Rich, smooth and sinful, yet delicate and not overly sweet, this pudding was vanilla, flavored with pure vanilla bean seeds that flecked the surface of the pudding and imparted a wonderful, perfumey flavor.

And the bananas, the very fruit that turned this pudding from ordinary vanilla, into Banana Cream Pudding. Half hidden parfait, half pudding, the bananas were sliced super thin, and then laid on top of the first half of hot, not-quite-set vanilla pudding. After the slices were carefully placed on the surface, more pudding was added. The pudding then rested and set in the refrigerator. The warm pudding cooked the bananas ever so slightly, infusing the dessert with a gentle hint of fruit.

After a few hours of refrigeration, the pudding was topped with a bit of decadent, stiffly beaten whipped cream, and crowned with just a few shavings of toasted coconut. Eating this pudding, I felt like I was in 1955, without the icky Salisbury Steaks.

Banana Cream Pudding
adapted from How To Cook Everything

Serves 4-5

1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons corn starch
pinch salt
3 eggs
2 1/2 cups whole milk
2 tablespoons butter
1 vanilla bean, split and scraped clean of the seeds
1-2 ripe bananas
whipped cream
shaved coconut

In a saucepan, combine sugar, corn starch, and salt. In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, milk, and vanilla bean seeds (reserve the pod for another use), and add the milk mixture to the sugar mixture.

Over medium heat, with a wire whisk, whisk mixture well to eliminate any clumps. Stir constantly, while bringing the mixture to a boil, and thickening the pudding. This should take about 10 minutes. Stir in the butter.

Thinly slice the banana. Pour half of the pudding into individual cups. Place banana slices on top of the pudding, covering the surface. Pour the rest of the pudding on top, slowly as to not disturb the banana slices. Cover each cup with plastic wrap, putting the wrap directly on the pudding to avoid getting a skin. Refrigerate for a few hours.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Place untoasted, raw coconut on a baking sheet. Toast the coconut for approximately 7 minutes, until a golden brown color is achieved.

When ready to serve, whip cream stiffly, place a dollop of cream on unwrapped pudding, and sprinkle with shaved coconut. Enjoy!

The perfect weeknight meal. A detox from holiday Americana, but being a bourgie, still luxurious and never ascetic. Pennete pasta with pesto and petite green beans, and the crowning adornment, Ricotta Creme. Aahhh.

During the week, if you are anything like me, sometimes the most you can do is boil some water for a light pasta dinner. But you can enrich a typical pasta meal by the addition of a sumptuous Ricotta Creme with just a few ingredients. Lighten up the ricotta by starting out with a few tablespoons of whipped cream, beaten to stiff peaks. Add the ricotta, and a handful of freshly grated parmesan cheese. Blended until well mixed, with a little salt and pepper to liven up the mix, and now you have an accoutrement to make even the most bourgie proud.

This ricotta creme is light yet luscious, and need not only be saved for a pesto pasta meal. This shock of white creme may be used instead of the traditional parmesan on any plain style pasta: marinara, a la vodka, etc. If the pasta that you serve it on is piping hot, the creme will begin to languish over the pasta, melting soothingly into the main dish. It may not be the most traditionally Italian, but it is wonderful. One try of this creme on pasta, and you’ll be wondering what else you can put this delightful mixture on.

Absolutely pumpkin again! I am not actually the hugest pumpkin pie fan. It’s fine, I just don’t love it. I think it’s that I need more body, more substance from my pie, a nice piece of fruit to sink my teeth into. But for all of my complaining and declining of pumpkin pie, I actually love the squash itself, the wholesome flavor, the smooth mouth feel, and if you toss in a bit of pumpkin pie spice– forget about it.

When I found the recipe for Pumpkin Spice Cake with Honey Frosting in Everyday Food, I knew that this would be a recipe I had to try. Now I love Martha Stewart, but we have a rather tumultuous relationship. Her recipes have just never worked out for me, angel food cakes have never risen, sauces were bland, and chicken, let’s just say that the salmonella police came a callin’. But this wasn’t her recipe per se, just a recipe from one of her magazines that is trying so hard to reclaim a place in America’s entertainment lexicon after its CEO suffered a minor set-back due to a debacle with the U.S. government. So, in the spirit of holiday tidings (and justice for all!) I gave it a shot.

The cake was moist, dense, and hearty. The honey frosting was simply a cream cheese icing, enriched with butter, which was a nice foil for the intensity of the cake. But, if I must be truly honest, this wasn’t the pumpkin cake of my dreams. It was rather…clunky. There was nothing light about it, no cloud-like associations could be made. I added some large milk chocolate chips, just a few to play off the pumpkin pie spice, and they proved to be a strong addition, especially for any chocolate lover.

But a very peculiar thing happened. When the cake was done baking, golden brown crust achieved, toothpick pulled clean from the center, and the dessert had been cooled and subsequently frosted, I noticed during digging in with eager anticipation, the cake had not been evenly baked. There was one quadrant, and not even the center, the most dense part of the cake, where one half of an inch was a globby, orange mess. Just one quadrant, go figure!

How does this happen? And why does something like this happen every time I make one of Martha’s recipes? Is there some sort of crazy climatic consequence of living in Connecticut versus Berkeley, CA? And am I the only individual who ends up making every Martha recipe twice?