A Stack of Dishes

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tea cake

The After Feast- and Gingerbread

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Stacks of Dishes with my morning Gingerbread
The gathering was easy and the company divine. Good food, delicious laughs and familial ease. It was a lovely day, one of the nicest I’ve had with my family in awhile. We were a small group, so there was plenty of opportunity to share and really get to speak with one another. My children are adults now and starting to point themselves into different directions. It’s one of the hardships when pulling together large groups. I love to entertain large raucous crowds, it’s so nice to “see” everyone, but I always leave feeling like I didn’t get a chance to really visit.
Yesterday was a sweet day for visiting. The sunny afternoon was filled with relaxed talk while my Mother and my son leaned back into couches, Olivia danced with herself in the corner as we put the desserts together, and my Uncle Joe told me stories of my Grandfather- who passed when I was too young to know him- as I put on the coffee. Priceless ease.
My favorite time, once the evening is over, is the quiet morning after. I’m a bit of a pain in that I really don’t like people cleaning up my kitchen. It’s not that I’m such a control freak or anything, it’s that there is something beautifully zen about the sound of soapy water, and the clattering of dishes and silver while I review the events of the evening. There is ceremony in the storing away of platters and serving pieces- my loved things amongst loved ones, now put to rest until the next gathering. As I look around there are remnants of the evening imprinted in the dents in the pillows, crumbs on the carpet, and scattered smudgy wine glasses. It all tells a story, and every story touches me. Beauty.
The morning held no rush for me. Everyone had headed off into the evening to their own homes so I was left to myself in the morning light to putter and fuss. This year for Thanksgiving my fiancee is at home in Louisiana with her family. It’s hard to juggle families and holidays. I know so many that have to do it, it’s not like I can complain really, it’s just that she is also my family, and it’s hard to be separated. This fact just made my morning that much quieter and that much more introspective.

Late yesterday, after finishing all my dinner preparations, I had a small chunk of time and a half a can of pumpkin left over. Since the oven was already on I pulled together a tasty Gingerbread for my after-feast breakfast. A simple homey tea cake.

This quick bread is SUPER moist with a nice mellow hit of molasses and a tender bite of ginger. The pumpkin doesn’t reveal itself, it merely adds moisture and depth. As you can see it slices quite nicely and could even do with a toasting and a pat of butter if that’s your preference.

I sliced mine up super thin to enjoy with my milky latte. It was a nice quiet moment in the morning light, before I began my post feast ritual.

Morning After Moist Gingerbread
makes one 4″x11″ loaf~ enough to serve 8-10
 
.5 can pumpkin puree (not pie filling)
2 large eggs
.5 c vegetable oil
.75c water
.5 c molasses
1c white sugar
1.75c all purpose flour
2 t baking soda
1 t salt
1t ground cinnamon
1t freshly grated nutmeg
2T freshly grated ginger
 
Preheat oven to 350˚ and grease 4″ x 11″ loaf pan
 
In medium bowl combine pumpkin, eggs, oil, water, molasses and sugar. Stir smooth.
 
In large bowl combine flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger.
 
Pour the wet ingredients into the large bowl and stir just until incorporated. This makes a fairly wet batter.
 
Gently spoon into the loaf pan and spread evenly.
 
Place pan into the center of the preheated oven and bake. After ~40 minutes test for doneness- Gently pressing on the top of the cake. When it is springy to the touch is it done. Alternatively use a toothpick to poke into center of cake. When the toothpick comes out clean it’s done.
 
Allow to cool for at least 15 minutes before removing from the pan.
 
 
 
 
 
Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!
 
 

 

Fresh Fig Cake

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Is there anything more elegant than a fig? I just love the deep purple color of it’s delicate skin giving way to ruby fruit inside. They say that when figs are ripe on the tree that they drip their sweet juice. How sensual is that?
Though what I really love about figs is that my Maternal Grandmother, Louisa, had a tree growing right outside her kitchen door. My Grandparents had a modest house in suburban New Hyde Park, NY. I remember coming in through the side gate into the patio along the side of the house. One would pass that tree as you took the steps up into the kitchen. As a child I couldn’t help gently touching those big mitt shaped leaves.
My Grandfather, Joseph, who died when I was a wee babe, was an avid gardener and worked that backyard himself. There are old faded snapshots of him- a very smart, proud and sincere man who emigrated here from Spain at the young age of 16, tending to his rows of vegetables. Many of the photos of my Grandfather show a serious man, but the pictures of him in his garden, wearing white shirt and suspenders, were relaxed and happy.
His family were grocers back in Valencia. They sold cured meats, pickles, olives in the great market. The market is still going strong today, though the family no longer has a stall. There was no family from Spain here, but my Puerto Rican Grandmothers family was. I am told that he would cook Sunday supper for everyone. The cousins, mostly from The Bronx, would gather and he would make paella. In the Hispanic culture big Sunday gatherings are hugely important. Long afternoons after church are spent relaxing, eating and drinking until the day ran out and it was time to put sleepy children into the back seats of cars and head home.
He had a legacy of sharing his hard work and success with this family. Unbeknownst to my Grandmother he sent money to the family in Spain who desperately needed it. It kept them from starving, it sent children to school and to college. For his wife and three children he moved them out to Long Island, Nassau County, which was big doings in those days. To live out of the city in the suburbs was moving up and a real accomplishment for a man who came to this country as a boy penniless.
It was he, that strong, stern, purposed man that planted that tree for my Grandmother. Tender acts of love. I wish I had known him.
So when rich purple jeweled figs appear in the markets I am more than compelled to reach for a basket and place it in my cart.
As a cake baker by trade it’s not in my habit to make cake for myself to have around the house. I do like scones though, and tea cakes and things of that sort. I have hankering for some scones, but somehow didn’t want individual blobs. I had noticed my long tart pan in the cabinet that hadn’t been used in awhile and thought it would be fun to make something in that.
Poking around I came across Heidi Swanson’s recipe for Buttermilk Cake in her latest cookbook, Super Natural Everyday. She made hers in a tart pan, (round), and used plums for her fruit. If you don’t own this cookbook than, uh…why not? Heidi is awesome, everyone says so, including me.
The cake is not overly sweet and made with whole wheat flour and a zing lemon zest. I made a few tweaks with my version, but it’s essentially the same. (it’s just so hard to EVER tell me what to do.)
The result was just what I was looking for. A simple easy eating treat that showcased my figs. The lemon zest gave it a refreshing lift to offset the earthiness of the whole wheat. Thoroughly enjoyable.
Enjoy!