Stollen stole me

The 2010 December Daring Bakers’ challenge was hosted by Penny of Sweet Sadie’s Baking. She chose to challenge Daring Bakers’ to make Stollen. She adapted a friend’s family recipe and combined it with information from friends, techniques from Peter Reinhart’s book.........and Martha Stewart’s demonstration.

I know we're all supposed to be sick of rich, sweet foods right about now. I know we are all supposed to be gearing up for New Year's attempts at cleansing diets. I know it is high time for me to share a healthy recipe. But it is Daring Baker's Challenge revealing day, and I get to reveal this rich, sweet bread, in all its Christmassy glory. Anyway, the recipe is so good, I think it warrants just one more bake-off in the spirit of the season. Just to give it honor, just to get to eat it!

I first encountered stollen in Vancouver last December, right before moving California. I was picking up a few of my favorite double-baked almond croissants at my favorite European bakery, and there they were--smallish, unassuming logs of what appeared to be raisin-studded bread, generously sprinkled with powdered sugar. I was in a state of parting sadness, and so everything in that store seemed exceptionally romantic and lovely, and the stollen especially made me homesick already for the city and its good baking. I didn't buy a loaf that day, but I made a mental note to find out more. I read. I researched. And because I had already baked my share of holiday goods, I made it a future goal to try it out.

This year it was solidly on my list of baking, but I honestly had an inkling it would again be shoved to the back of the line, as fruitcake and cookies have a stronghold on my life. But then Daring Baker announced their December challenge. Glory! Stollen. Oh, well now it was essential. Now it got bumped to the very top. And it is a darned good thing.

I thought my holiday love would be this, which I made and did love much, or this, which I made and loved and already shared (though it needs a month or two to ripen still, so we'll see), but no, come Christmas morning I baked this beauty off for family breakfast, and there is no denying it, this time I am truly smitten. Stollen--this particular stollen, is my truest holiday romance. I cannot imagine going another Christmas without it. I can't imagine how I've lived without it thus far.

The dough is indeed, rich like panetone or Challah (eggs, butter, and sugar will do that), deglightfully reminicent of cinnamon rolls, only better, more filling, more chewy, and more kind when raisins are added. (Sad to announce, I do not appreciate raisins in my rolls. I find it jolting and odd. But that's just me.) The candied orange peel, well-suited and somehow subtle, the flaked almonds a discovery all its own--as nuts in rolls can also throw me off balance. My whole family enjoyed it--which is saying alot, when my sister doesn't like raisins either so much, and my brother and dad are not pannetone sympathizers. So it takes dislikes and it just chucks them out the window. When something is good, people know it. And oh, did we know it. Thanks to Penny, for the recipe and the challenge, what good would my Christmas breakfast have been without it?

Stollen Wreath from Penny of Sweet Sadies

I have kept the recipe exactly as Penny wrote it, though I did not add the optional red cherries, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

And just as a side note, it was spectacularly perfect for Christmas morning, even better, dare I say, than cinnamon rolls. But I believe its goodness was not solely due to its timing. I will make another batch (in another shape) soon and see what that aging does for it--if I can keep my mitts off of it long enough! Anyway, happy 3rd day of Christmas. And to those Daring Bakers--Happy Challenge!

Makes one large wreath or two traditional shaped Stollen loaves. Serves 10-12 people.

Ingredients

¼ cup (60ml) lukewarm water (110º F / 43º C)
2 packages (4 1/2 teaspoons) (22 ml) (14 grams) (1/2 oz) active dry yeast
1 cup (240 ml) milk
10 tablespoons (150 ml) (140 grams) unsalted butter (can use salted butter)
5½ cups (1320 ml) (27 ozs) (770 grams) all-purpose (plain) flour (Measure flour first - then sift- plus extra for dusting)
½ cup (120 ml) (115 gms) sugar
¾ teaspoon (3 ¾ ml) (4 ½ grams) salt (if using salted butter there is no need to alter this salt measurement)
1 teaspoon (5 ml) (6 grams) cinnamon
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
Grated zest of 1 lemon and 1 orange
2 teaspoons (10 ml) (very good) vanilla extract
1 teaspoon (5 ml) lemon extract or orange extract
¾ cup (180 ml) (4 ¾ ozs) (135 grams) mixed peel (link below to make your own)
1 cup (240 ml) (6 ozs) (170 gms) firmly packed raisins
3 tablespoons (45ml) rum
12 red glacé cherries (roughly chopped) for the color and the taste. (optional)
1 cup (240 ml) (3 ½ ozs) (100 grams) flaked almonds
Melted unsalted butter for coating the wreath
Confectioners’ (icing) (powdered) sugar for dusting wreath

Note: If you don’t want to use alcohol, double the lemon or orange extract or you could use the juice from the zested orange.

Directions:

Soak the raisins
In a small bowl, soak the raisins in the rum (or in the orange juice from the zested orange) and set aside. See Note under raisins.

To make the dough

Pour ¼ cup (60 ml) warm water into a small bowl, sprinkle with yeast and let stand 5 minutes. Stir to dissolve yeast completely.

In a small saucepan, combine 1 cup (240 ml) milk and 10 tablespoons (150 ml) butter over medium - low heat until butter is melted. Let stand until lukewarm, about 5 minutes.

Lightly beat eggs in a small bowl and add lemon and vanilla extracts.

In a large mixing bowl (4 qt) (4 liters) (or in the bowl of an electric mixer with paddle attachment), stir together the flour, sugar, salt, cinnamon, orange and lemon zests.

Then stir in (or mix on low speed with the paddle attachment) the yeast/water mixture, eggs and the lukewarm milk/butter mixture. This should take about 2 minutes. It should be a soft, but not sticky ball. When the dough comes together, cover the bowl with either plastic or a tea cloth and let rest for 10 minutes.

Add in the mixed peel, soaked fruit and almonds and mix with your hands or on low speed to incorporate. Here is where you can add the cherries if you would like. Be delicate with the cherries or all your dough will turn red!

Sprinkle flour on the counter, transfer the dough to the counter, and begin kneading (or mixing with the dough hook) to distribute the fruit evenly, adding additional flour if needed. The dough should be soft and satiny, tacky but not sticky. Knead for approximately 8 minutes (6 minutes by machine). The full six minutes of kneading is needed to distribute the dried fruit and other ingredients and to make the dough have a reasonable bread-dough consistency. You can tell when the dough is kneaded enough – a few raisins will start to fall off the dough onto the counter because at the beginning of the kneading process the dough is very sticky and the raisins will be held into the dough but when the dough is done it is tacky which isn't enough to bind the outside raisins onto the dough ball.

Lightly oil a large bowl and transfer the dough to the bowl, rolling around to coat it with the oil. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap.
Put it in the fridge overnight. The dough becomes very firm in the fridge (since the butter goes firm) but it does rise slowly… the raw dough can be kept in the refrigerator up to a week and then baked on the day you want.

Shaping the Dough and Baking the Wreath

1. Let the dough rest for 2 hours after taking out of the fridge in order to warm slightly.
2. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper.
3. Preheat oven to moderate 350°F/180°C/gas mark 4 with the oven rack on the middle shelf.
4. Punch dough down, roll into a rectangle about 16 x 24 inches (40 x 61 cms) and ¼ inch (6 mm) thick.

Starting with a long side, roll up tightly, forming a long, thin cylinder.

Transfer the cylinder roll to the sheet pan. Join the ends together, trying to overlap the layers to make the seam stronger and pinch with your fingers to make it stick, forming a large circle. You can form it around a bowl to keep the shape.

Using kitchen scissors, make cuts along outside of circle, in 2-inch (5 cm) intervals, cutting 2/3 of the way through the dough.

Twist each segment outward, forming a wreath shape. Mist the dough with spray oil and cover loosely with plastic wrap.

Proof for approximately 2 hours at room temperature, or until about 1½ times its original size.
Bake the stollen for 20 minutes, then rotate the pan 180 degrees for even baking and continue to bake for 20 to 30 minutes. The bread will bake to a dark mahogany color, should register 190°F/88°C in the center of the loaf, and should sound hollow when thumped on the bottom.

Transfer to a cooling rack and brush the top with melted butter while still hot.
Immediately tap a layer of powdered sugar over the top through a sieve or sifter.
Wait for 1 minute, then tap another layer over the first.
The bread should be coated generously with the powdered sugar.
Let cool at least an hour before serving. Coat the stollen in butter and icing sugar three times, since this many coatings helps keeps the stollen fresh - especially if you intend on sending it in the mail as Christmas presents!

When completely cool, store in a plastic bag. Or leave it out uncovered overnight to dry out slightly, German style. Enjoy!

Fruitcake: an obsession, a love

For one whole year I have been looking forward to the making and the sharing of fruitcake. I've been pondering fruity combinations, deciding whether or not to increase the spice or the almond, or both, and comparing recipes, techniques, and sources. In short, I've been a little obsessed.

Last Christmas was my first time even tasting fruitcake. Before then, I didn't realize people actually ate it. I thought fruitcake was one of those culinary oddities, a bit of bygone history that became a joke as soon as it was created--because no one really liked it. I thought fruitcake was the food that one's overly-perfumed Aunt Mildred would bake in quantity, giving relatives just one more reason to avoid her during the holidays.

But then I read an article, in this magazine with this recipe, and suddenly fruitcake sounded cool and exciting, traditional and homey. It was one of the good results, maybe, of colonialism. It was one of those British traditions my West Coast culture missed out on. The article inspired me to adopt a cool, exciting tradition of my own.

I tasted a bit of a Canadian friend's one year old cake, complete with those fluorescent green cherries on the same Non-Foods list as Dream Whip. And you know what? I liked it. It was, subtle. Dense. Dark. Spiced and vaguely reminiscent of brandy. It convinced me. Fruitcake--it would be my new lover. I mean, my new tradition. I wasn't necessarily ready to go out and buy those funky glow-in-the-dark candied things, but I was definitely game for learning more about it.

Last year was epic. I ended up spending copious amounts of time searching the nether-regions of the web, getting attached to the romantic idea of giving away blocks of cake as presents, and making in the end, four huge, fruity fruitcakes and one modest bowl of plum pudding. I went through four bottles of booze, seven pounds of dried fruit, more time and money than I every thought I could expend on holiday baking, and when I couldn't find affordable, corn-syrup-free candied citron, I made my own.


This year is a little different. I had leftover everything and cut the recipes down (to accommodate my loss of Canadian fruitcake enthusiasts) so I haven't broken the bank yet, and though I have spent a comparable amount of time daydreaming about the possibilities this cake provides, I think my infatuated, obsessed self is heading toward a more steady, mature relationship. Maybe.

Today, the fruitcake I have to share with you is a very particular fruitcake. This is Trinidad Black Cake, the Caribbean version of the fruit-packed brick the Romans created and the British popularized. It is what I brought back from Canada, though, obviously, it isn't exactly Canadian. It is even more dark and more boozy than its European cousin, but the idea is still the same. Lots of fruit, a little flour and butter to bind, some sugar and spice, and a good bathing in liquor.

Last year I felt like a hero after finishing this cake. I made three batches of the burnt sugar (a culturally significant ingredient which my California cooking experience did not include) before I actually had something to work with. The first batch I simply bailed too soon, freaking out when the sugar solidified into sugary shrapnel instead of melting when I thought it should. The second batch was perfect, but in one klutzy moment of haste, I knocked the pot over and splattered the black, tarish glop across the wall and floor, rendering it useless and me slightly depressed. By the third attempt you'd think I would be fine and the process magic, but the baby woke up just as the sugar began to smoke, and I ended up having to sing to him (who was crying) from the kitchen over the smoking pot of burning sugar. I hurried, I scrambled, I sang, and then, when the sugar was done and the poor kid was wailing with confusion, I ran to him. The house was so smokey I had to open the front door and all the windows so he (and I ) could breath. We lived, he settled down, and the sugar turned out, but there was an elegance and peace somehow missing that day.

This time around the scene was, and I mean this, actually peaceful. Cedar played outside with his dad while I prepped, and I got the whole well-ventilated kitchen to myself. It took all of fifteen minutes to make the sugar, and an hour or so to get the cake in the oven (did I mention I did this while on the phone). I pulled it out of the oven that night in a blissful state of awe. Sometimes, life is smooth.

This looks lighter than it should. I did not burn the sugar enough.
Be sure it is verging on black. Dark is cooking and black is done. Charred, and you've gone too far.

Anyway, if you don't like fruitcake yet, this recipe, I hope, might dispell any of the usual fruitcake aversion. It has no fluorescent fruit in it. The fruit that is included is blended which results in a more homogeneous texture. It is a smaller recipe than one might usually find, and so I have given you the permission to just try it out. Don't make four cakes to give-away. Just try it. Eat a little (a little! especially at first--the rum hits hard and fast) and let it age. If you like dark dried fruits at all, you just might end up in love with this cake. If you are among the fruitcake lovers already, maybe this can be something new to light that fire again. It sure sparked something in me.




Trinidad Black Cake (adapted from Sarina Nicole's recipe)

Like any widely popular dish, recipes for black cake abound. The variations which I find most tempting and will try in years to come have dried cherries swapped in for some of the other dark fruits, almond meal in addition to flour, cherry wine instead of cherry rum, and mixed essence in addition to the Angostura bitters. It is an issue of locating the ingredients though. I would love to hear what you try and how it turns out.


Ingredients:
Cake:
8 ounces butter
8 ounces sugar
4 eggs
zest of 2 limes
2 teaspoon almond essence
2 teaspoon vanilla
8 ounces all-purpose flour (1/2 cassava flour + 1/2 rice flour for gluten-free)
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon each ground cloves, grated nutmeg, ground allspice
Fruit Base:

8 ounces pitted prunes
8 ounces dark raisins
8 ounces currants
8 ounces mixed candied lemon and orange peel
1/2 bottle cherry brandy or cherry rum
1/2 bottle rum
1 tbsp Angostura bitters

Browning*:
8 ounces brown sugar
1/4 cup boiling hot water
Have on Hand:
1/2 more bottle of rum


Method**:
A Month or More Before:
Chop the dried fruit for the fruit base. Place in a large bowl or jar (I use an old, well-cleaned arichoke heart jar from Costco) and add the Angostura bitters, cherry brandy and rum. Stir to mix. Cover and leave to soak in a cool, dark spot. The longer it sits, the better it tastes. Some do this a year ahead, Sarina only calls for a week.

On the Day Of:
Blend Fruit Base:
Pour the soaked fruit and juices into a food processor and pulse until you achieve a mix of chunky bits and little bits.
Prepare Browning:
Burn sugar until coffee-colored, nearly black. It will definitely smoke. This is the most tricky for those not used to browning. Just so we're all on the same page, it should look and act like tar. Add hot water gradually when it reaches that dark color (it will splatter, be very careful). Mix well and leave to cool.



Once that is done…
Preheat oven to a low 250 degrees Fahrenheit. Cream the butter and sugar in a large bowl, then add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each. Add lime rind, almond essence, and vanilla. Mix and sift together flour, baking powder, and spices in a separate medium bowl. Gradually add sifted ingredients to creamed mixture. When completely incorporated, mix in fruit puree and browning.

Pour batter into a buttered and parchment-lined 9-inch spring-form pan. It will be fairly full. Bake for about 3 hours, or until a skewer inserted in the middle comes out with crumbs. Once it is out of the oven, soak the top with the remaining rum. This may take some time. The top of the cake will look rather odd, pale, and you may wish to forgo the rest of the rum. But I always have been able to get all that rum in the cake. Just be patient. Leave in the pan until the next day, and up to 'A Long Time.' It only gets better with age, so wrap well with waxed paper and foil and enjoy anywhere from a week to a year after baking. Enjoy!

*If I have scared you off with the burning sugar, then please note that you can also acquire 'browning' from a West Indies grocery, though the flavor is not as lovely, so I hear.

**For a nice video, and another recipe for those who appreciate fluorescent fruit, click here.

Tastes like more

I have these jars of homemade marmalade. A lot of marmalade. And, while I should be able to gift it ("should" here implies that, perhaps, I was not greeted with delight at the mention of marmalade, but rather a few nose-crinkles and a disdainful "isn't that kind of bitter?"), there are few I know who would really appreciate it. Well, one can only have so much toast.

If you find yourself in a similar predicament, then this is your day. For I have discovered a delightful marrying of practicality and good taste. Orange Marmalade Baked Oatmeal. Nothing too new--people have done this before. But it is certainly new to me. How I love discoveries!

It is a perfect oatmeal day--rainy and Christmasy, and in desperate need of palate-pleasing nutrition. I woke up off this morning, actually, and in a moment of clarity, whipped up a batch. I was eating my first bowl, thinking a little less groggily, ok, I can share this recipe, its not too bad. But then the carbs must have finally converted to sugar or something because, like a some holy epiphany, gong!, I finally opened my eyes and saw that the day was beautiful, that the oatmeal was more than tasty, and that my bowl was very empty. It tasted like more.


It also tasted nutty and orangy but less pungent than marmalade on toast. The softer side of marmalade. And with milk poured over it--my god, really, I think I am converted. To what? Well, I'll ponder that.

This baked oatmeal is not just a means to use up the plethora of marmalade stacked coldly in the pantry. It is now a proper breakfast--something to take the edge off the morning, something to look forward to. It is, for marmalade, a reason, maybe, to make more.


Orange Marmalade Baked Oatmeal inspired by Meatless Mondays

This is a great recipe for big families and extra holiday guests. It is quick, filling, and easily doubled (or tripled, or quadrupled). If you are so inclined, you can mix it all together the night before, omitting the baking powder (sprinkle and mix in just before baking the morning of), to soften up the oats and make it an even speedier baked breakfast.

3 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
3 tablespoons whole wheat flour
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon course sea salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup toasted walnuts, chopped or crushed

1 1/3 cups whole milk
1/3 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 egg, beaten
1/3 cup marmalade
1/2 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a 8x8 baking dish, set aside.

Mix first set of ingredients and set aside. Mix second set. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Spread mixture evenly in the buttered dish and bake for 25-30 minutes, or until golden and well-set in the middle. Serve hot with milk and a sprinkling of more toasted nuts, if you like. Enjoy!