Grape Expectations

Is it possible we find ourselves at summer’s end once more?  I’m shocked every year when it happens.  Another summer has flown by, the heat breaking to let the warm days and cool nights of September move across the threshold.  Everyone is out at Washington Square Park trying to soak up those last few rays of strong sun before fall classes hit high gear for the incoming NYU students.  Jazz is playing throughout the park; people relaxed in conversation, reading books or sleeping on the lawn as acorns rain down from above, squirrels beginning their cold weather food storage.  It’s a perfect day, a very different day from those in the past week full of rain and wind from hurricane Irene.

The hurricane is all anyone would or could talk about last week, it was the only thing that seemed to matter, and although I didn’t want to play into the hype it was nigh on impossible to escape from the doomsayers and forecasters appearing on every channel twenty-four hours a day.  To have a hurricane hit New York City is a big deal; an unheard of circumstance and my parents were lucky enough to come for a visit on such a historic and bizarre weekend.  Never before has the city shut down all its public transportation and evacuated low-lying areas of the 5 boroughs.  Even our town of Ossining declared a state of emergency, not allowing anyone to drive on the roads after 6pm the night the storm entered the area.  I have been through two hurricanes in the past and I wasn’t looking forward to a third. 

What I was looking forward to was my parent’s visit.  The last time they saw Siena she was only three weeks old and obviously a lot has changed since then.  She has become a person all her own, complete with a couple of teeth breaking through the surface of her lower gums.  She has become somewhat mobile and able to sit on her own, full of charming smiles for all and I wanted Grandma and Grandpa to get to experience this while she’s at such a cute age.  I had been planning their visit for sometime and had a list of activities scheduled for the big weekend, but unfortunately Irene had plans of her own.  Life happens while you’re planning it, right?

Last week was a strange one in general.  Not only was there a hurricane but also the aftershocks of an earthquake in Virginia could be felt in NYC.  I was sitting at my desk working like usual when I felt some serious foot tapping.  You know the kind if you ever sat somewhere with a wooden floor and someone close by is incessantly tapping his or her foot while they work.  I know it so well because its something I do from time to time myself, but I digress.  I was sitting at my desk becoming momentarily annoyed with the tapping and turned around to see who was doing it.  No feet appeared to be moving.  The shaking kept going and seemed to get a little stronger and I thought maybe people were moving large objects across the floor in the office above us but that didn’t seem quite right either.  By this time everyone in the office was looking around and a slight alarm bell went off inside.  I looked at the bay of windows and door leading out to the balcony over which an exit sign is stationed.  It was vigorously swaying back and forth.  I knew this wasn’t right.  Along about this time the owner asked us to calmly evacuate.

The whole building was trying to casually flee down the stairs, not knowing what the heck was going on but hoping for nothing terrible or extreme.  By the time we were outside and found out what had really happened, everything was calm again.  People walking around outside didn’t even feel a thing and I guess the higher up you were in a building the more you felt the movement.  We are luckily on the fourth floor and not any higher.  I wouldn’t have wanted to be visiting the Empire State Building that day.

After that, a hurricane didn’t seem quite implausible… ludicrous, maybe, but not impossible.  It seemed especially nuts when the mayor made storm evacuations necessary and decided to shut down mass transit.  It meant something and was a little scary.  My parents not afraid of a little weather, especially considering all the tornadoes in the Midwest this year went ahead with their trek, and we tried to make the most of it.  Although I wanted to do lots of outdoor activities, the real reason for the visit was to see Siena (and us) so as long as we got to do things together it was okay.

The Friday they arrived was nice and warm and sunny, the way an August Friday afternoon should be.  While Brian and Siena entertained them, visiting the High Line, an above ground bridge/railroad track running along a portion of the West Side of the city recently turned into a park, I finished my work week so we could go home and get ready for the weather craziness everyone was talking about.  Trying to leave the city by regular means was an act of patience.  What normally is an hour drive to get home along the West Side Highway turned into a two-hour plus journey through the center of the city along Broadway (the West Side Highway was ridiculously jammed) until we got up past the George Washington Bridge and could escape Manhattan.  Everyone had hurricane fever and it was taking nearly an hour to get through tunnels and across the main bridges.  The whole situation reeked of people who had seen too many disaster films.

Saturday dawned with some clouds and drizzle already beginning.  I had hoped to take a trip to Stone Barns that day, taking Siena to visit all the animals and go for a walk through the woods.  I called to see if they were open, but was told in jest they were worried about flying sheep harming their guests and had decided to remain closed to the public until the storm had passed.  Strike one!  Our plan B was to drive up north to West Point Military Academy to check out the grounds and museum.  My step dad, Randy, was in the military and is quite the weaponry buff.  This seemed like an interesting place to take him. 

Most of the grounds are closed to the public, but there is a visitor’s center and museum where you can take self guided tours.  Though the visitor’s center didn’t hold a lot of interest for anyone, the war/military museum had quite a few fascinating items, even for someone such as myself who has never done more than shoot a bb gun as a kid (and even then I was afraid I might actually kill something).   The museum had many paintings of famous generals depicted in battle scenes; most were thoughtfully and carefully crafted.  Several were so vibrant and full of color, discovering my favorites oftentimes being created by French landscape painters of the 19th century.  But one of the most unexpected spaces was the basement.

The West Point basement is full of big old guns, the kind you might find on a pirate ship or from the civil war.  Cannons of every shape and size were represented along with several different tanks and a hydrogen bomb.  The old cannons fascinated me most.  The rustic quality and worn down patina they had was somehow romantic.  I’m sure the wars they were in weren’t particularly charming, but thinking of the historic time frame in which they had taken place had the nostalgic quality that gets me every time.  Randy seemed to enjoy himself and we all learned a little bit as we moved through the levels of corridors lined with guns and knives and every sort of fighting device and uniform you can think of.

After that we made an attempt to go shopping for baby clothes at the mall, but all the stores were closing early so that the employees could get home before the curfew began.  We swung by the grocery store on our way home, giving in somewhat to all the pandemonium being proclaimed on the television and radio, stopping for emergency supplies in case we lost power for several days and had to “rough” it.  I have never seen the grocery store so full of people and the shelves so empty.   There was hardly any bottled water to be found and the bread isle was just as bleak.  I began to think maybe I should start cooking as much food as I could in preparation for an onslaught.  Our stove is gas, so I figured should the power go out I would still be able to make things, and of course bake.  I wanted to be out of the store, though, because all the panicked people were making me feel a little nutty.  I grabbed some essentials, including a bag of the first round of golden New York apples arrived for the pre-harvest season.  You can always bake something if you have a stocked pantry and some kind of fruit.  I was set.

It’s good to start “apple dessert” exploration a little early.  When the apples really start coming on in late September/early October and there is an overabundance I find it nice to have a recipe or two at the ready to know what to do with them.  I decided to get creative and paired the apples with grapes, making individual apple grape crumbles, the topping studded with freshly grated nutmeg and Chinese Five Spice powder.   Much to the excitement of everyone waiting out the storm, they were a pleasant and fragrant distraction.  The recipe is as follows:

Apple and Grape Crumbles

Ingredients:

For the fruit:

2 pounds Golden Delicious apples, peeled, cored and sliced fairly thin (1/4 inch)

2 teaspoons grated lemon zest (from one lemon)

2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice (from one lemon)

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/4-cup all-purpose flour

2 cups mixed red and green grapes, sliced in half

For the crumble:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2-cup light brown sugar, lightly packed

1-teaspoon kosher salt

1/2-teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder

1/4 pound (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, diced

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a large bowl combine sliced apples, lemon zest, lemon juice, granulated sugar, and flour.  Toss well.  Gently mix in the grapes.  Allow the mixture to sit for 5 minutes.  Spoon the mixture into ramekins or custard cups (6 to 8 depending on the size).

For the topping, combine the flour, granulated sugar, brown sugar, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, Chinese five-spice powder, and the butter in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment.  Mix on low speed until the butter is the size of peas.  Rub the mixture with your fingertips until it’s in big crumbles, and then sprinkle evenly over the fruit.  Place the ramekins on a sheet pan lined with parchment paper and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the tops are browned and crisp and the juices are bubbly.  Serve warm or at room temperature.

If you want to make these early, store the unbaked crumbles in the refrigerator and bake before dinner.

Crumbles and cobblers are a simple, easy to please dessert anyone can make.  I know my parents like a good, traditional dessert and though adding grapes seemed like a wacky thing to do, they really are a great addition.  The flavor, though not quite like raisins, are also not quite “grape” either.  Cooking the grapes enhances their flavor, a slight caramelization taking place making it not the fruit it once was, but something altogether different and refreshing.  The spices in the topping speak to the fall season headed our way.  This is a perfect finish to any meal that won’t keep you in the kitchen for long at all…especially if you want to be glued to CNN waiting for your power to go out.

I was inspired and happened to have the grapes on hand because of a bread I made earlier in the week.  The September 2011 Everyday Food has a recipe for Almond-Grape Tea Cake and the bread, which is studded with red and green grape halves, looked very seventies to me.  The vibrant color of the grapes against the golden crust had a whimsical look, but also the controlled design of basic pattern making.  I hadn’t previously used grapes in my baking, but had noticed from time to time recipes for grape tarts or pies, generally using grape jam as the filling or reducing the grapes in a saucepot to make compote.  Keeping the grape halves intact was a simple twist and one I felt like exploring.

The bread is fairly dense because of the large quantity of almonds used.  They are ground up in a food processor along with sugar to make what is essentially almond “flour”.  If you have ever tried to buy almond flour at the supermarket you know that its expensive, and when it’s this easy to make your own I suggest doing it if for no other reason than to save a little money for your pocket. 

Both of these grape enhanced desserts were very easy, and that’s the kind of recipes I like to go for when I’m doing a weekend of entertaining.  The Barefoot Contessa is fond of saying “you and your guests won’t have more fun if you spend the entire weekend in the kitchen preparing meals”, and she’s right.  Elegant dinners and “fancy” desserts are often best left for big celebrations or small get-togethers.  Spending as much time with your guests as possible while still offering simpler foods, lovingly made is the best way to be hospitable.  So, while we munched on our dressed up pasta dishes and fruit crumbles we obsessively watched the news and waited for mass destruction to fall upon our heads.  “Goodnight cruel world”.

Almond-Grape Tea Cake (from Everyday Food, September 2011)

Ingredients:

10 tablespoons (1 1/4 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for pan

1-cup all-purpose flour (spooned and leveled), plus more for pan

3/4-cup sugar

3 large eggs

1 1/2 cups slivered almonds (1/2 pound)

1/4-teaspoon fine salt

1-teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 1/2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest

18 grapes, halved crosswise (red and green)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Lightly butter and flour a 3-by-8-inch metal loaf pan.  In a large bowl, using n electric mixer, beat butter and 1/2 sugar on high until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.  Beat in eggs, one at a time, until combined, scraping down bowl as needed.  In a food processor, pulse almonds and 1/4-cup sugar until finely ground.  Add flour and salt and pulse to combine.  With mixer on low, beat almond mixture into butter mixture until combined.  Beat in vanilla and lemon zest.

Transfer batter to pan and smooth top.  Press grape halves into batter in rows and bake until a toothpick inserted in center comes out with a few moist crumbs attached, about 1 hour, rotating pan halfway through.  Let cake cool in pan on a wire rack.  To serve, remove cake from pan and slice. (Store cooled cake, wrapped in plastic, at room temperature, up to 3 days.)

We awoke to the sound of wind and rain beating upon the windows, but it wasn’t nearly as loud as the air conditioning units still running in the windows.  We hadn’t lost power!!!  Overnight the storm had been downgraded to “tropical” and our house; being well above the river was taking no more of a beating than an average heavy rain.  We were saved!!!  And that’s good because the people painting our house had literally finished up two days before. 

Prior to the storm our house was in desperate need of a facelift.   If you own an old home then you understand the maintenance and responsibility that comes along with becoming its caretaker.  There is a new project constantly in need of doing, be it a simple update or replacing old wiring and plumbing.  We had put off painting the house for a couple of years for the obvious reason of expense.  An old Victorian has a lot of details and in our case is extremely tall.  There were four colors on our little gingerbread house when we bought it, but we decided to take it down to three to tighten things up a bit. 

I’ve always liked the orange of our house.  I never imagined myself living in an orange house with forest green trim, but it somehow fits.  Brian and I both have a passion for grey and had been talking for some time about freshening up the house, keeping the orange but punching it up a bit.  The green trim made me feel like Hansel and Gretel might stop by at any moment to ask for a cookie to which I would be forced in turn to bake them in my oven to keep in line with the story, but replacing the green with grey seemed a clean, modern addition to our home without losing the historic feel.  It took the painting company nearly a month, on and off, between rains and carpenters replacing rotted boards to pull off the feat.  I absolutely love it!

Irene left “Charlotte”…the name of our house…unscathed.  I found a few downed branches and green oak leaves were scattered all over the back yard, but other than that we were none too worse for wear.  Unfortunately I can’t say that for everyone in towns surrounding us.  The family and I decided to get out of the house and go for a drive, being released from lockdown by the town, to cure the mild stir-crazy feelings that came from being stuck in the house for almost 24 hours.  Plus, I was curious to see how bad things really were.  The news said it may look nice outside right now, but it’s best to stay home and let clean-up crews go about their business, especially with all the downed trees and flooding going on.  We, of course, in a spirit of adventurousness ignored the news anchors we were so tired of listening to and set off for adventure.

Driving north along the very raised Hudson River we made our way past Peekskill and across Bear Mountain Bridge.  Our thought was to make our way toward Beacon, a cute, artsy river town to see if any stores or restaurants might be open.  The drive to the bridge is a beautiful and winding stretch of road leading into the mountains and along the cliffs looking over the river.  There is a great scenic area to stop and look out at the water and farmland, also where you can catch a glimpse of Indian Point nuclear power facility (not so glamorous).  Waterfalls had sprung up everywhere as if by magic, running down the sides of the cliffs overhanging the highway causing us to feel like (according to Brian) we had entered an Irish Spring commercial.  The light from the sun occasionally peaking through the still cloudy sky glinted off the water, revealing sparkly mists as we drove by and underneath the flow.

Stopping at Fort Montgomery, a small outpost/heritage site near the bridge, I got out to take a better look at the water.  A small trail led down to a footbridge crossing the Hudson and leading off into the forest.  Making my way down the trail was like scaling a waterfall.  The water was pouring out from the ground, down the side of the hill, running off to catch all it’s friends in the swiftly moving stream.  Things didn’t look particularly bad from the footbridge but the water was definitely rising.

Continuing north we finally made it to a place where the road was closed and traffic was backing up.  The radio had proclaimed many highways and the interstate closed due to flooding.  Turning around we thought to find an alternate route to Beacon, but again no dice.  Road closed.  Strike Two!  We turned off into a small town with the goal of getting some coffee before completely giving up our adventure and returning home, but found the town had no power and a massive run-off stream flowed through the center of it all as citizens gathered around to watch.  It appeared as if only a short time before the town’s Main Street had been under water.  Strike three, you’re out!

The scene was much the same all the way home.  We tried a few more alternate roads for a change of scenery but found bridges covered in water and the small streams normally lapping lazily along the roads had overflowed their banks placing forests in the middle of swiftly moving new rivers.  It was pretty bad out there.  As if to have one last hurrah, the wind picked up as Irene left the area bringing down more branches and tipping over trees that had soft, mushy soil running around their roots.  But, thankfully the storm went away leaving Ossining merely shaken up and the train station a little worse for wear.

All the public transportation in NYC came back online by Monday, but the Metro North train lines hadn’t fared quite as well.  Between the absence of mass transit out of Ossining and most major highways flooded leading into the city and my parents flight plans being moved to the following day it seemed a good time to take a day off from work and regroup.  We chose to get out of the house once more since the sun was out and about, a cool breeze blowing on a beautiful August day.  The highway heading south was open, having been cleared of all the downed trees, and we were able to make it to Tarrytown for lunch and a nice bit of window-shopping.  The Main Street of Tarrytown is so cute with its antique shops, restaurants and a parlor full of homemade ice cream.  After such a storm as this, I felt it necessary to distress with a loaded hot fudge sundae.

The rest of my parents visit was uneventful, in a good way…I mean how can you have much more going on than a hurricane?  Finishing off with a late afternoon stroll through town and grilling a few hotdogs in the backyard brought our number of outdoor activities to an acceptable level, alleviating my cabin fever and weather disappointment once and for all.  I think we made the best of the situation and Siena got to have four people looking after her full-time instead of two, something I know she loved.  It won’t be until November until she gets to see Grandma and Grandpa again, but Thanksgiving will be here before you know it.  If I’ve learned anything about having a child it’s that time goes even faster than it ever did before.  I’m looking forward to the milestones ahead, but also already miss how teeny-tiny Siena was.  She’s still small, no doubt, but her personality is big.  I wonder how she comes by that?  I think I have a couple of guesses.  It’s just who I am.

Sunnyside Up

I often wonder if I wasn’t an architect in some former life.  Whether I’m wandering around a city or out in the countryside taking photographs, I’m forever drawn to built structures and shapes, particularly that of older homes, but also a modern building from time to time.  In my daily commercial work I spend much of my time doing architectural visualizations of a sort, creating both the interiors and exteriors of homes in 3d space.  Many of these homes have a British, Tudor or Georgian bent, stepping out of an earlier time period into the modern animated commercial.  Even watching the occasional design show on television is another exercise in studying the home.  Maybe it’s a healthy obsession or maybe something deeper but I love to look at architecture, and more often than not the history that comes with it.  The “history” of a space is where the story resides.

With a few extra hours in the day I might consider becoming a history buff along with a lover of design and appreciator of buildings, but for now I have to stick to the latter two.  There is a level of craftsmanship in older homes and estates not often employed in the creation of today’s more cookie cutter neighborhood developments.  Obviously New York has much appeal for me in it’s town-homes and brick row houses, the wear and tear apparent all over their facades, war wounds of a sort, surviving a couple hundred years full of people and pollution.  These buildings are not really comparable to aged European structures, but as far as America goes, some of the finest historical examples reside here.  The same is true for Westchester County where I live.

Many founding families of New York, such as the Rockefellers and Astors, took country homes and properties outside of the city.  With sweeping views of the Hudson River and idyllic, storybook forests spread out as far as the eye could see, it was a nature lover’s dream and perfect city escape.  Several of these homes and grounds have been preserved, turned into tourist and history buff destinations alike.  Throughout the year various indoor/outdoor events are held to gain more and more visitor traffic, a great way to become familiar with the properties, a gateway drug if you will, but I like to return when nothing in particular is going on.  On an average day you can experience the space with as little interruption as possible and start to get a feel for what it might have been like a hundred plus years ago.

We made one such journey back in time a couple of weeks past when we returned to Sunnyside, Washington Irving’s home outside of Irvington, New York.  I’ve often referred to Irving as being one of my favorite authors, owing much of my fervor to his romantic sensibilities and descriptive prose.  He was America’s first commercially successful author and lived and traveled in Europe quite a bit of his life before returning to the States and making a home for himself not too far outside of New York City.  He wanted to create a paradise on the Hudson River but still have relatively quick access to the city and all his publishing needs.

Irving was a wealthy man.  He wrote several popular books in his day dealing with various topics from a farcical history of New York in the 19th century called Knickerbocker's History of New York, as well as a multi-volume biography on George Washington (his namesake who he met as a small boy), but also stories focused on his European travels. No doubt he is best known for the Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Rip Van Winkle, both contained in his wildly popular Sketchbook.  I have quite a penchant for his English Christmas story also related in the Sketchbook, but later released as a single volume called Old Christmas.  My love of his writing style notwithstanding, it’s the topics he covers which speak to me most.  He has a romantic obsession with life, not unlike myself I suppose, and when he turns his writing talents to some of my favorite subjects such as nature, fear, sentimentality, magic and the holidays it’s a combination I can’t pass up.

I can also appreciate his love of the area that became known as Westchester.  Brian and I shared similar reasoning to Irving’s in our move out of the city and up to Ossining.  It’s far enough away to escape the day-to-day hustle and bustle of city life, but close enough for work and visits when needed (daily).  There are very few places I know of that offer rural life and intense city life all in one package, within an hour’s drive and is the reason we continue to live here to this day.  Irving’s notion of a paradise along the river is not lost on me, and one day I hope to achieve something not dissimilar. 

Sunnyside has a very old world, European feel.  Originally a small stone cottage on a 10-acre property, Irving, with the help of painter George Harvey, had it remodeled, “adding Dutch-stepped gables and other romantic architectural features.”…an excerpt from the Sunnyside gift shop pamphlet.  It’s shuttered windows with peeling paint and vine covered stucco are a marvel to me because of their feeling.  The worn down look, though well maintained speaks to the many lives and years that have come and gone in the space since the 1850’s.  The rooms inside are preserved to the best of the historical society’s ability, including some guesswork along the way when material samples were too old and worn to discern.  Irving’s study is full of his books, his writing desk and has all the original architecture and furnishings intact minus the drapes and fabrics.  The dining room and drawing room have wonderful views across the lawn and down to the river.  Trees have been meticulously cut down to open up the vista, but Irving expressly requested several pairs be left here and there offering specifically framed views.  He loved to make a picture even in a time when photography wasn’t what it is today.  Irving’s attention to detail is as prominent in his landscaping and home as in his writing. 

The home is not too far from Sleepy Hollow Cemetery where he is buried in a family plot.  There is something romantic about being buried in a place made so famous by one of his stories.  Every time we take guests for a drive through the burial grounds, we wind our way up the hill to his plot.  I’ve never found it empty.  Someone is always there visiting.  This is a testament to Irving’s power as a writer and the timelessness of his work.  Yes, it certainly refers to a time outside the scope of our modern day framework, but the sentiment he manages to echo holds true.  Irving’s passion for preserving the time he lived in is inspiring and I have a deep respect and love for what he achieved.

Of course much of my inspiration, these days at least, takes the form of a dessert.  In thinking about our visit to Sunnyside, plum pudding kept coming to mind.  This is for two reasons.  The first being that plums are in season at the farmer’s market.  There were many varieties and colors of sugarplums weighing down the vendor’s tables; bursting quarts of the fruit were everywhere.  I thought to pick some up to make into baby food for Siena, but there was no way she could eat the amount I bought.  My second reason for thinking plum pudding was Christmas. 

Irving not only makes me think of Halloween, but as I mentioned earlier Christmas as well.  Plum pudding is more closely associated in my mind with Dickens Mrs. Cratchitt, but there is a crossover in my brain somehow.  I guess they both give me a similar, homey, holiday feeling with Old Christmas and A Christmas Carol respectively.  As I started to look for plum pudding recipes in the middle of an August heat wave the idea suddenly seemed ridiculous.  There was no way I wanted to set up a pot of boiling water over the stove and steam a Christmas pudding for three hours when it was ninety degrees outside.  There is also seasonality to think of, and I couldn’t find any way to work plum pudding into August taste treats.  For me, a steamed pudding is meant for Christmas Day dessert and it was tantamount to sacrilege attempting it at the tail end of summer.  I suffer from momentary lapses of baking sanity.

Not to be so easily beaten, I began a plum recipe search since the sunny shelf in the mudroom was already lined with the burgundy and yellow orbs.  As I looked, the perfect dessert came up in the search (as it always does).  A simple plum cake.  The image of the cake itself reminded me of the pattern found on a sand dollar or that of a sunburst.  What could be more appropriate for a Sunnyside dessert than a sunburst?  Nothing.  The recipe is as follows:

Open-Face Plum Cake (from Martha Stewart Living, September 2007)

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2-teaspoon salt

3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar

1/2-cup whole milk

1/4-cup vegetable oil

1 large egg

9 or 10 large black plums, halved and pitted

1/4-teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces, plus more for pans

Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Butter two 9-inch round cake pans. Whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. In a separate bowl, combine 3/4-cup sugar, the milk, oil, and egg. Fold into flour mixture.

Divide batter evenly between prepared pans, and smooth tops. Arrange plums, cut sides up, over batter.

Combine cinnamon and remaining sugar, and sprinkle over plums. Dot with butter. Bake until tops are dark golden, plums are soft, and a toothpick inserted into center of cakes comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes. Let cool. (Cakes are best the day you make them; leftover cake is great for breakfast the next day.)

This dessert is perfect because it does nothing more than celebrates the simplicity and beauty of fresh, in-season plums.   The one concerning thing I found in making this recipe was the very small amount of batter it produces.  There is enough to barely cover the bottom of two, 9-inch cake pans.  But do not fear!  This is in fact correct and the batter rises nicely, cradling the plums at just the right height.  The result is two, happy looking, simple cakes that can either be had on the piazza of a historic home overlooking the mighty Hudson, or in your own backyard to finish off a good, old-fashioned BBQ.

While at Sunnyside, we meandered through the gift shop, often a highlight during museum or home tours.  There was the requisite Washington Irving tomes for sale, but also many other little odds and ends, trinkets, dishware and cookbooks.  On a small table next to a pink transfer ware set of Sunnyside dessert plates and a teapot were a series of thin volumes covering various topics.  After all my thoughts of steamed pudding, my eye immediately went to a book titled Old-Fashioned Bread Puddings and Other Old Fashioned Desserts.  Obviously bread pudding and steamed pudding are two different things, but something about it felt similar and right, more historic with less Christmas flare, so I purchased it for perusal later in case my pudding desires flared up once more.

The following week was a big one…a really big one!  It was the week we finalized Siena’s adoption, the legal part, in a court of law.  Nearly seven months have gone by since Siena came into our lives and it seems a little crazy to me that the finalization process of the adoption would take this long, but that’s government involvement I suppose.  There are certain procedures to be followed, I can appreciate that, like follow up visits to the home with a social worker and termination of the birth parent’s rights, but for us, this is the end of nearly a three and a half year journey.  Going to court didn’t seem like it should be such a big deal, but it was, it was the time for us to take the stand and answer the judge’s questions and give Siena her full and proper name (instead of legally being called Baby Girl).  It was the name part, which carried so much weight.  A name is a big deal, and to have a judge confirm for you the name you have given a child for the rest of her life was intense and emotional.

I haven’t been to court in many years and certainly never for anything good, but we were excited and thrilled to make a journey back to Pennsylvania to adopt our little girl and be involved in a “happy” courtroom situation.  The county seat of our adoption is in Morristown, a few miles outside of Philadelphia.  Brian and I thought it would be fun to “make a day of it”, so we left the night before to stay in a hotel and be up bright and early for our 9:00am court time.  I swear it was like we were suddenly in an 80’s John Hughes film.  We left late, couldn’t find the courthouse, couldn’t find parking and then finally went into the wrong building altogether before making it into the courtroom twenty minutes late.  Needless to say we were panicked and terrified by that point.  What if after all this they wouldn’t let us adopt her because we were late?!!!

Luckily, our judge seemed incredibly friendly.  Siena threw a few smiles his way so I’m sure it helped.  After mere minutes all the words were said, papers signed and now we don’t have to give anyone more money, fill out any more questionnaires about our personal life or declare for the millionth time why we want to be parents.  Now we get left alone to parent like the rest of the world and we are fine with that, mistakes we will make and all.

We drove into Philadelphia afterward, downtown toward the historic district.  I hadn’t been to Philly in many years, but what I remembered of its brick streets held a charming and pleasant space in my mind.  We made the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall our GPS destination.  They seemed a fitting place to go on such a historic day.  Both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were debated and adopted inside Independence Hall (formerly the Pennsylvania State House). The sky was a brilliant blue with white puffy clouds and it seemed a great day to play tourist.  Apparently everyone else thought the same thing.  There were mobs and mobs of tourists and a line so long to get inside to see the Liberty Bell that we decided to forgo it all together.  There were tours to be taken of some of the historic buildings nearby, but we ultimately decided we were too giddy to be indoors and simply walked around the park and square near Independence Hall, taking a few photos to commemorate the day.

We decided because of Philadelphia’s reasonably small size (for a city) to go for a walk and see as much as we could.  I like nothing better than strolling along (with a stroller, mind you), “people watching” and taking snapshots.  The brick I remembered from my last visit was still there, no doubt.  Everywhere I looked were buildings and sidewalks made of brick:  red, brown, white, grey, if brick comes in a color, it resides in the architecture of Philadelphia.  Again, the city had that historic enchantment I fall for.  Everywhere I turned was another photograph waiting to be taken and it took everything in my power to keep moving along until we reached our destination for lunch. 

Once we got there, though, we decided the place (a little Italian joint) looked a bit small for a stroller to make its way through the tables…one of our new dining considerations.  So we continued on, moving toward the city center and through several different but equally cute neighborhoods.  We found a large and contemporary Mexican restaurant called El Vez that has very wide isles and nice big booths.  Sold!!!  The place ended up being fantastic.  I often find it’s hard to locate really good Latin/Mexican food and this place was fantastic.  Particularly outstanding were the polenta fries, not something I would ever think of finding outside an Italian restaurant.  Everything we ate was delicious and we finalized our meal with a crazy namesake concoction that had chocolate cake, peanut butter, peanut brittle, chocolate sauce and ice cream…basically a diabetic’s worst nightmare.

Walking back to the car and homeward bound, Brian and I were exhausted.  It was as if the weight of over three years came crashing down and we wanted to do nothing more than sit and veg out and be with Siena.  And drink Starbucks to stay awake while we did all of that.  I got home that night, still in a historic, romantic, poetic, hungry state of mind and looked through the bread pudding cookbook I bought at Sunnyside.  I was looking for the most old-fashioned and traditional pudding/dessert contained within, and I found it:  Spicy Rasin Bread Pudding.  I know that if my mother is reading this she is probably nauseous right about now insisting that things like bread and pudding don’t go together, but it is one of my favorite desserts.  I don’t have it very often, maybe once or twice a year, usually in the fall or winter because of it’s hearty-ness, but just like good Mexican food, good bread pudding is also hard to find.

Spicy Raisin Bread Pudding (from Old-Fashioned Bread Puddings & other old-fashioned desserts)

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1/2-cup thick cream

3 tablespoons butter

3 eggs, beaten

1-teaspoon vanilla

1/3-cup sugar

1/4-teaspoon salt

1-teaspoon cinnamon

1/4-teaspoon nutmeg

2 cups day-old raisin bread, cubed (4 slices)

1/2-cup raisins

Cinnamon and nutmeg (final dusting)

In a heavy-bottom saucepan scald milk and cream.  Stir in butter to melt.  Set aside to cool.

In a mixing bowl combine and beat together the eggs, vanilla, sugar, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg.  Gradually stir cooled milk mixture into egg mixture.

Butter a 1 1/2 quart baking dish and spread bread cubes evenly in dish.  Sprinkle raisins over.  Pour custard mixture over bread and raisins, stirring to distribute both evenly.  Dash top with cinnamon and nutmeg.

Set dish in a pan of hot water (water should come halfway up the outside of the bread pudding baking dish).  Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 30-40 minutes, or until custard is firmly set.  (Knife inserted near center comes out clean.)

This recipe calls for day-old cubed slices of raisin bread.  Since it was only Wednesday and I knew I wouldn’t be making the bread pudding before the weekend I decided I had some time to make my own bread.  I turned to my beloved copy of the My Bread cookbook to see if Jim Lahey had a raisin bread recipe, and he did!!  As I’ve said in the past, this book is a time crunched person’s dream because it calls for throwing together ingredients in a bowl, quickly stirring them together and then leaving it for 12 to 18 hours to proof and do it’s thing depending on the particular bread recipe.  Not only did I find a recipe for raisin bread, but it was a souped up version containing candied fennel and fennel seed (licorice flavor).

Licorice is a strange thing to me.  I was never a huge fan as a kid (as far as I recall) other than the store-bought cherry Twizzlers, and that really doesn’t count because they don’t taste of licorice one bit.  As I’ve grown older, traditional licorice flavor becomes more and more appealing to me for reasons unknown.  I’ve enjoyed sautéing fennel in certain vegetable and salad dishes before but had never seen it used in something bordering a sweet application.  Fennel, or more commonly known as Anise comes in bulb form with stalks on top, all are good for eating but the bulb is most commonly consumed.  Jim’s recipe required thinking one extra day ahead to quickly candy some fennel and allow it to dry for 12 hours.  The recipe is as follows:

Fennel-Raisin Bread (from My Bread by Jim Lahey)

Ingredients:

2 medium fennel bulbs with stalks and fronds

1-cup cool water

1-cup sugar

2 cups plus 2 tablespoons bread flour

2 tablespoons whole-wheat flour

3/4-teaspoon table salt

1/4 teaspoon instant or other active dry yeast

1 teaspoon Sambuca, Pernod, or other anise-flavored liqueur (or extract)

3/4 cup golden raisins

1/3 cup roughly chopped almonds

Wheat bran and additional flour for dusting

2 tablespoons fennel seeds

Trim the stalks from 1 fennel bulb (reserve the remaining fennel bulb and stalk) and cut twenty 1/4-inch cubes from the stalks; set aside.

Combine the water and sugar in a small pot and bring to a simmer, stirring until the sugar is dissolved.  Add the fennel stalk pieces and simmer for 3 to 5 minutes, until soft.  Drain the candied fennel and spread on a parchment or wax paper-lined baking sheet.  Let dry in a cool, dry place for at least 12 hours.

When the candied fennel is dry and you’re ready to mix the dough, cut the reserved fennel bulb and stalk into pieces that will fit into the juicer feed tube (or puree in a blender then strain through a mesh sieve).  Juice enough fennel to yield 1 cup plus 2 tablespoons of liquid.

In a medium bowl, stir together the flours, salt, and yeast.  Add the fennel juice and Sambuca (or Anise Extract) and, using a wooden spoon or your hand, mix until you have a wet, sticky dough without any lumps, about 30 seconds.  Stir in the raisins, almonds, and candied fennel until evenly distributed.  Cover the bowl and let sit at room temperature until the surface is dotted with bubbles and the dough is more than doubled in size, about 12 hours.

When the first rise is complete, generously dust a work surface with flour.  Use a bowl scraper or rubber spatula to scrape the dough out of the bowl in one piece.  Using lightly floured hands or a bowl scraper, lift the edges of the dough in toward the center.  Nudge and tuck in the edges of the dough to make it round.

Place a tea towel on your work surface.  Generously dust it with wheat bran and half the fennel seeds.  Gently place the dough on the towel, seam side down.  Sprinkle the surface of the dough with the remaining fennel seeds and a light dusting of flour.  Fold the ends of the towel loosely over the dough to cover it and place it in a warm, draft-free spot to rise for 1 to 2 hours.  The dough is ready when it is almost doubled.  If you gently poke it with your finger, it should hold the impression.  If it springs back, let it rise for another 15 minutes.

Half an hour before the end of the second rise, preheat the oven to 450 degrees, with a rack in the lower third, and place a covered 4 1/2- to 5 1/2-quart heavy pot in the center of the rack.

Using potholders, carefully remove the preheated pot from the oven and uncover it.  Unfold the tea towel and quickly but gently invert the dough into the pot, seam side up. Use caution, the pot will be very hot.  Cover the pot and bake for 45 minutes.

Remove the lid and continue baking until the bread is a medium chestnut color, about 10 minutes. Use a heatproof spatula or potholders to gently lift the bread out of the pot and place it on a rack to cool thoroughly.

This bread, by itself, is completely addictive and I might go so far as to say it’s the best recipe I’ve made out of the book and one of the best breads I’ve ever had.  The sweet, candied fennel, the golden raisins, the crunch of the almonds and crisp outer crust make for such a wonderful taste experience.  Even if you are someone who isn’t particularly “in” to licorice flavor, you will be pleasantly surprised at it’s marriage to the other components in the bread, elevating everything to something special. 

Now that I had my bread, I was able to make the bread pudding!!  Though I must admit I was enjoying the bread by itself and wasn’t sure I could improve upon it a whole lot, but why not try and see if a little bit of milk and cream could liven it up?  You only need two cups of bread.  The recipe makes a fairly small, 1 and a half-quart pudding, enough to serve 4 people nicely.  This leaves the rest of the bread loaf for snacks.  The key to this particular bread pudding, aside from the magic fennel-raisin bread is the spice (as the name implies).  Cinnamon is a longstanding favorite with many bakers and myself, but the fresh nutmeg is really the star of this dessert.  Grated nutmeg goes both into the milk and egg batter along with another healthy grating on top right before baking.  I like the fresh grated better than the pre-bought ground stuff for its potency.  Any time I can add fresh ground ingredients I try to do so.  I have to admit I didn’t get to share the bread or bread pudding with anyone but Brian.  We found them to be so good we couldn’t part with either.  

The bread and cakes are now all gone, the adoption is complete and once the painter’s and construction guys’ leave our house (we are having the exterior of out house repainted) life will be back to business as usual.  It is still a new business to be sure considering Siena is only seven months old and continues to change and grow, making us laugh when life becomes too serious.  Like my pastry snapshots and photographic architectural walkabouts, I continue to try and document her life and milestones so that she can understand her history and the journey that brought her to us.  As we left the courtroom on August 10th, 2011 the judge's words rang proudly in our ears, “From this day forward she will be known as Siena Geren Barnhart”.  I can’t think of a better name than that.  It’s just who I am.