Only in Louisville...

I was born and grew up in Louisville, Ky. I (wrongfully) assumed that everyone knew of – and loved – pimento cheese, benedictine cheese, The-Pie-Which-Shall-Not-Be-Named, and Henry Bain sauce. I've written about the first three of these Louisville originals before, so it seemed only fair to introduce you to Henry Bain.

Mr. Bain (1863-1928), the creator of this piquant, tangy, brown condiment, was a head waiter at the private Pendennis Club in downtown Louisville. He developed the sauce for steaks and locally killed game. Legend has it that the all-male club members would routinely bring their kills to the club to be cooked and sauced with the magical Henry Bain sauce.

My grandfather was a member (and long-ago President) of the Pendennis Club so I have lots of memories of dining at this club. (For many years, membership was only open to males. All female guests had to enter the club via the side door. At some point, that rule was dropped; my grandfather however, insisted that my sisters and I continue to observe the old tradition. Out of respect for him, I did – rather begrudgedly. I'm pleased to report that today, the membership is far more diverse than in my grandfather's day and, when invited, I proudly enter by the front door.)

I've seen some jars of Henry Bain sauce for sale at local grocers and specialty food stores; but here's the thing: it is simple to make. You just dump 6 ingredients from the condiment aisle of Kroger into a bowl, mix it up, and funnel it into jars. That's what I did in about 10 minutes last night. I used recycled maple syrup jars and here's the result of my efforts:

I need to figure out how to print a Farm Dover label and then I'm all set to give four lucky people a bottle of this Louisville tradition.

In addition to being delicious on a steak or chop, you can simple pour some over a block of cream cheese and serve with crackers. 

Here's the recipe that I used...
_______________________

Henry Bain Sauce

ingredients
1 (17 ounce) jar Major Grey chutney
1 (14 ounce) bottle of ketcup
1 (10 ounce) bottle of Worcestershire sauce
1 (12 ounce) bottle chili sauce
1 (10 ounce) bottle of A1 Steak Sauce
A couple of dashes of Tabasco Sauce

preparation
Mix all together and pour into sterile jars.

Note: the original recipe also calls for 4.5 ounces of pickled walnuts. In all the recipes I found, it was considered an optional ingredient. I suspect that is because this ingredient is hard to find nowadays. 

Enough

Nearly every meal that I've made for Ed and me in the past two months I've served in simple white bowls. For breakfast, it is steel cut oatmeal, granola with yogurt and berries or cream of wheat. For lunch and dinner it is sometimes a soup; sometimes a stir fry; sometimes a salad. I fill our bowls with goodness and it is always enough – not too much, not too little, always just enough.

We gave up drinking alcohol for Lent, so "setting" the table involves filling our two bowls, figuring out if we need forks, spoons or chop sticks, and filling two glasses of water. It's weird how simple this feels to me – but it feels just right, right now.

I'm not sure how I got in the habit of serving our meals this way. Perhaps it is left-over from our January Asian travels where we scooped bits and pieces of our meal into rice bowls. Or maybe it comes from our experience of placing food in monks' bowls at day break in Chaing Mai, Thailand.

Perhaps it comes from reading too many food blogs that boast the merits of "abundance" bowls. Or maybe it comes from buying six bowls to go with my mom's china and then being excited to use them.

Whatever the reason, it suits me for now. Perhaps later in the spring, I'll want to spread out the bounty of our garden on large white platters, and in summer, I may want to go back to my bright colored Fiestaware. But for now, these simple bowls are enough, just enough.

_______

What to know what I've served? Check out these links:

Corn Chowder
White Chicken Chili
Chili Con Carne
Green Chili with Pork and Hominy
Tom Kha Gai Soup
Cold Lentil Salad With Cucumber and Olives
Mango Salad
Chickpea Salad with Lemon and Parmesan
Gingery Roasted Butternut Squash and Sweet Potatoes
Bubbling Bacon Butter Beans
Spicy Thai Steak Salad
Coconut-lime Sweet Potato and Chickpea Stew
Black-Eyed Pea Cassoulet
Minty Millet & Pomegranate Salad
Butternut Gratin
Slow Cooker Chicken Tikka Masala
Linguine con Vongole
Shakshuka

Can't wait to move on to bowls full of spring peas and asparagus...

Make it your own

Remember playing "telephone" when you were a kid? Someone would whisper a phrase and it would be passed along from person to person. The last person would repeat what he/she heard and it would be quite different from the original phase -- sometimes outlandishly so.

Well, that is what happened to the cake I baked this weekend. It all started with this cake recipe developed by dessert genius Alice Medrich. It was a dark and spicy pumpkin loaf and it is featured in her new cookbook Flavor Flours.  The cake ingredients included buckwheat flour, pumpkin puree and raisins. 

Cookbook blogger David Lebowitz was inspired by the recipe, but changed it up a bit to include white flour (instead of buckwheat), a yam (instead of pumpkin puree) and apricots (instead of raisins).  He also added a cream cheese frosting. 

One of my favorite bloggers, Shauna James Ahern, took a crack at making it gluten free and chose to add dried cherries in place of the apricots, tossed in a cup of chopped hazelnuts and baked the cake in a bundt pan instead of a loaf one.  She chose not to frost it at all.

I took it from there and substituted a cup of black walnuts (which Ed had nicely harvested last fall, husked, cured in our garage all winter and then cracked and carefully dug out the kernels) for the hazelnuts. I also added a teaspoon of homemade vanilla and drizzled some dark chocolate on the cake's top.

So what started out as loaf cake with pumpkin and raisins, ended up as a gluten-free bundt cake with cherries and walnuts. Oh, and don't forget the chocolate frosting. 

I served my own version of the cake tonight and it was well received.

Ensor sisters, with Agathe (French exchange student – far left) and Jake (friend of Belle's)

came out to Farm Dover for a BBQ dinner, followed by Sweet Potato-Cherry Bundt Cake.

Here's the recipe that I used. 

How would you make it your own?

__________________________

Sweet Potato-Cherry Bundt Cake, adapted from Shauna James Ahern, who adapted it from David Leibovitz, who adapted it from Alice Medrich. My changes are noted in italics. 

115 grams (about 2/3 cup) dried cherries
1 tablespoon honey
1/2 cup water
225 grams (about 1 3/4 cup) Gluten-free Girl all-purpose flour blend.
(I used Bob Red's Gluten-Free All Purpose Flour -- but I am planning to purchase the Gluten-free Girl's blend.)
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
200 grams (1 cup) organic cane sugar
90 grams (1/2 cup) coconut sugar
1 large egg, at room temperature
75 grams coconut oil, melted
zest of 1 lemon
1 cup sweet potato puree
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
125 grams (1 cup) toasted hazelnuts, coarsely chopped
(I used black walnuts instead of the hazelnuts)

Prepare the cherries. Chop the cherries as finely as you can. Drizzle the cherries with the honey, then cover with warm water. Let the cherries sit for 30 minutes, then drain the cherries. Save the water. Set aside.

Prepare to bake. Heat the oven to 350°. Grease a bundt pan liberally with coconut oil.

Combine the dry ingredients. Whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

Make the batter. Whisk together the cane sugar and coconut sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer. With the mixer running on low, add the egg. When they are light and fluffy together, drizzle in the melted coconut oil and mix until coherent. Mix in the lemon zest.

Finish the batter. With the mixer running on low, pour in 1/2 of the dry ingredients, then the sweet potato puree, then the rest of the dry ingredients. Add the cherries and hazelnuts, then drizzle in the leftover honeyed water until the cake batter is light and pourable.

Bake the cake. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake until the top of the cake has started to brown, the edges are pulling ever-so-slightly away from the sides, and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 35 to 45 minutes.

Allow the cake to cool to room temperature before removing it from the bundt pan. Serve immediately.

Would you like to try a little marmalade instead?

   "Many people

     Think that

     Marmalade

     Is nicer.

     Would you like to try a little

     Marmalade

     Instead?”

– from The King's Breakfast by A.A. Milne

I made a batch of marmalade on Wednesday afternoon and it was quite nice. Peeling a bowl full of oranges and lemons and then chopping the peels into thin ribbons was both beautiful and fragrant.

On and off during the afternoon, I had flashes of déjà vu.  I think it is because my grandmother always served orange marmalade on her peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (with the crust trimmed off). I don't think she make it herself, but kept a crock of Dundee Orange Marmalade in her hallway closet pantry. If I remember correctly, she would then use the empty jars to organize some of her sewing supplies. I wish I had some of her old jars. Aren't they fabulous?

Two forces came together to inspire me to make a batch of this citrus peel jam. The first was I had a very large bowl of citrus that I picked on our recent trip to the Juniper Club.

And secondly, my sister Kathy gifted me my mom's copy of A.A. Milne's "When We Were Very Young" and it features a funny poem about a King who wants a little bit of butter on his royal slice of bread.

Turns out the alderney cow didn't wish to oblige the dairymaid with cream for the butter and suggested that the king might like marmalade (thickly spread) instead. He did not. He wanted butter.  

I think marmalade doesn't get the respect it deserves in my part of the world. Grape jelly is more likely to be spread on U.S. pb&js. Marmalade is highly regarded in the British Isles and its many former colonies. Food writer Elizabeth Field wrote an extensive history of marmalade for her Master's in Gastronomy. Imagine that! 

I love to learn about the history of foods. It adds a whole other level of appreciation to my interest in all things culinary. According to Ms. Field, marmalade had its beginnings more than 2000 years ago when it was first made as a solid cooked quince and honey paste. 

The switch to orange marmalade happened in Scotland in the 1790s when imported Seville (bitter) oranges were used to produce a thinner form of marmalade, cooked for shorter time. Soon enough Scottish cookbook authors turned marmalade making into an art form, introducing the term "chips" for the shreds of orange rind that were included in the jam. Its popularity got a boost with the new Scottish pattern of serving marmalade as a breakfast and tea-time food rather than an after-dinner digestive. 

Janet Keiller, of Dundee, Scotland, was among the first of a series of late 18th and early 19th-century Scottish grocers' wives who established commercial marmalade factories. Her business prospered. In 1828 her son, James Keiller, joined the business and changed the name to James Keiller & Sons. (Seems to me he should have changed it to James Keiller & Mom, but he didn't ask me.)  It is still available today, but the jar is not nearly as coveted.

In addition to spreading on toast, I'm planning to mix my marmalade with some soy sauce and use it as a marinade for tonight's salmon dinner. Just realized it is almost 6:30, I better get cooking...

All Puffed Up

Made a Grand Marnier soufflé with créme anglaise sauce for our day-late Valentine's dinner. As I pulled it from the oven, it was beautifully golden and all puffed up – as was my ego! Nothing like this gorgeous dessert to make a girl feel like a professional baker -- and hopefully make Ed feel like the special guy I think he is.