The Secret Lives of Baked Goods Page 8
The first Thanksgiving feasts were celebrations of having “made it” in the New World, and the pumpkin pie is a wholesome symbol of freedom and survival.
When it comes to the history of the pumpkin pie, there’s a little fate and a little free will involved. Like all American pies, this one is a descendant of medieval crusts designed merely as vessels for fillings. At that time, the crust wasn’t the best part of the package: after being baked without a pan, in the embers of a fire, it tended to become … well, pretty crusty and inedible. But, it did protect the contents, usually savory, on hunting trips and voyages from here to there. Over the years, pie-making methods improved, and the size of a typical pie increased—they had to be pretty big, after all, to fit four and twenty blackbirds!
Meanwhile, in what would one day be called the United States, pumpkins were a staple food for many Native Americans. The shells were cut into strips, dried, and made into mats, or left whole to be used as bowls; the innards were roasted by the fire and eaten. A useful little gourd indeed.
As the first settlers came to America from Europe, they learned to love some types of local produce out of necessity: it was that, or not eat. Pumpkin was one such food, which quickly entered their cooking repertoire.
In 1796, American Cookery by Amelia Simmons was published. This was the first truly American cookbook—that is to say, written and published in America, and using ingredients native to America—and through this text, it’s clear that pumpkin was by then a staple food. The volume contains several recipes for “pompkin” puddings, which were made by combining stewed pumpkin, cream, eggs, sugar, and what at the time were very exotic spices (cinnamon, nutmeg, etc.). Really, not such a far stretch from today’s pumpkin pie filling. After that, it didn’t take too long for old-world customs to meet up with this new-school vegetable, and the sweet pumpkin mixture was soon being poured into pastry crusts.
The first Thanksgiving feasts were celebrations of having “made it” in the New World, and the pumpkin pie is a wholesome symbol of freedom and survival.
In the 1900s, two separate factors contributed to the continued evolution of the pie: the growing use of evaporated milk, and the rising popularity of back-of-the-box recipes. These two developments came together thanks to Charles Scott Bridges, who may have been the best thing to ever happen to canned pumpkin. He spent the better part of his life in the employment of Libby’s canned food company, eventually becoming the company’s president and chief executive officer. He expanded the company largely through innovation: engaging the customer through promotion of the company’s products as ingredients proved particularly successful, and Libby’s back-of-the-label pumpkin pie became one of the nation’s most popular. Apparently it paid off for Libby’s: sales of canned pumpkin skyrocketed, and the recipe is still one of the most requested and appears on their labels to this day.
EVAPORATED MILK VS. SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK
UNDOUBTEDLY YOU’VE BAKED WITH EITHER sweetened condensed or evaporated milk, if not both. Perhaps one time you even mixed them up, yielding surprisingly delicious or possibly disappointing results. So what’s the difference?
EVAPORATED MILK, which is also called dehydrated milk, is a shelf-stable product made from fresh milk with about 60 percent of the water removed. Evaporated milk has been used as a milk substitute in times of shortage; it was once believed that it was equally healthy for babies as breast milk (a theory since dismissed). Today, it’s primarily used in baking, owing to its unique taste and keeping quality. Thanks to a series of back-of-the-label recipes, it became popular in homemade pumpkin pies; today, it is considered a key ingredient for the Thanksgiving dessert.
SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK is milk from which the water has been removed and to which sugar—lots of it—has been added. It’s a very thick, sweet product that, when sealed in a can, can last for years without refrigeration. It gained popularity after being a prominent item in soldiers’ rations during the Civil War, due to its high amount of protein and calories.
Pumpkin Pie
I DON’T SEE MUCH REASON TO FIX SOMETHING if it ain’t broke, so this recipe reflects a traditional combination of ingredients. This version gets a decadent boost from using sweetened condensed milk. You’ll greatly elevate the quality of this or any pie by making your own piecrust, preferably from a recipe that uses part or all butter (which helps create more flakes and more flavor). And to really put it over the top, use real maple syrup as the sweetener for your whipped cream accompaniment. Mmmm.
Makes one 9-inch pie (8 servings)
Dough for one 9-inch piecrust, homemade or store-bought
1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground ginger
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
One 15-ounce can plain pumpkin purée
One 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
About 1 cup heavy cream, for serving (optional)
Granulated or powdered sugar (optional)
1. Position a rack in the center of the oven; preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.
2. Roll the pie dough into a circle about 12 inches in diameter; place it into the pie pan and crimp the edges (or use a commercial frozen pie shell). Keep the dough refrigerated while you prepare the filling.
3. In a small bowl, stir together the sugar, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and salt. Set aside.
4. In a large bowl, beat the eggs; stir in the pumpkin and the sugar-and-spice mixture. Once well incorporated, stir in the sweetened condensed milk (it may incorporate better if you add the milk in 3 additions, ensuring that each addition is fully mixed in before adding the next).
5. Pour the filling into the prepared pie shell.
6. Bake for 15 minutes, then lower the oven temperature to 350 degrees F. Bake for an additional 40 to 45 minutes, or until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool on a wire rack to room temperature. Serve at room temperature, or refrigerate the pie and let it sit at room temperature for 30 minutes before serving.
7. Using an electric mixer or a large bowl with a balloon whisk, whip the cream until it forms very soft peaks. Add sugar to taste and whip a bit more, stopping before the cream becomes stiff and grainy. Top the pie slices with whipped cream.
LOST & FOUND
SOMETIMES DESSERTS ARE LOST OR FORGOTTEN. Over the years, tastes change, recipes adapt, and ingredients come into (and fall out of) vogue. Here’s a collection of recipes that you don’t often come across, but that have been rather influential and—even more importantly—continue to be delicious.
IT WOULDN’T BE SO CRAZY to assume that this dramatic dessert, characterized by a chilly core of ice cream with a thick coating of snowdrift-like meringue, hails from Alaska. But, alas, you’d be wrong. Baked Alaska may take its name from the Last Frontier, but it was born many miles away and many years prior to the state’s annexation.
The dessert’s popularity caught on during the Victorian era, and these elaborate confections, often called bombes, were made in various fancy shapes.
The idea of cooking a cold dessert encased with pastry is documented as early as the 1700s in China. At that time, the desserts would have borne little resemblance to what we call Baked Alaska today—they would have been more like frozen ices or creams coated in breadcrumbs. However, when Chinese delegates introduced such treats to the French, the concept excited pastry chefs, who adapted it in a most delightful sugar-, cream-, and egg-filled way. America’s first famous Francophile, Thomas Jefferson, may have served something along these lines as early as 1802.
But it’s an eccentric genius named Count Rumford (born Benjamin Thompson) to whom we owe a big, sweet thanks when it comes to further developing this showy dessert—he’s the one credited with introducing the meringue coating in the 1800s. Rumford was an interesting fellow—he was an American physicist living in Europe (and a former spy, to boot). Apparently in his free time he tinkered with food science—and while experimenting
with dessert techniques, he realized that while pastry would conduct a lot of the heat and protect a cold core, a layer of meringue would do so to an even greater degree. He created a dessert that he called “omelette surprise,” which was also dubbed omelette à la norvégienne or “Norwegian omelette,” in reference to its snowy appearance.
The dessert’s popularity caught on during the Victorian era, and these elaborate confections, often called bombes, were made in various fancy shapes. In 1876, the dessert made a stateside splash at Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York City, where Charles Ranhofer prepared it to celebrate the newly acquired Alaska Territory. Originally dubbed the “Alaska-Florida” (inspired by the cold-hot duality of the dessert), the name was eventually shortened to Baked Alaska. It became known as a dessert for the privileged, and was popularized in well-heeled destinations as far away as Monte Carlo.
After the blown-out bluster of the Victorian era and the dull austerity of the Depression and war years, the dessert enjoyed a renaissance in the 1950s, when Alaska was granted statehood. It was quite the popular hostess dessert and piece de resistance throughout the ’60s. One flamboyant variation called Bombe Alaska calls for dark rum to be splashed over the Baked Alaska. Lights are then turned down and the whole dessert is flambéed while being served! Exercise caution if you decide to try this at home.
Baked Alaska
I’M WONDERING WHY TODAY’S RESTAURANT CHEFS haven’t caught on to the cool retro-ness and sheer fun of Baked Alaska. But never mind—you can still make it, and it’s definitely worth it: cold ice cream with toasty meringue makes for a delightful melding of flavors, temperatures, and textures. Thanks to Catherine McCord, founder of Weelicious.com, who shared the brownie base idea with me.
Makes one 9-inch dome (12 servings)
10 cups (5 pint-size containers) ice cream, slightly softened (all one flavor, or several flavors)
Brownie Base (recipe follows)
6 cups Meringue Coating (recipe follows)
1. To make the ice cream dome, place a 3-quart mixing bowl (with a diameter of about 9 inches) in the freezer to chill. Line it with plastic wrap. Fill the bowl with ice cream; smooth and level the top surface. Cover the surface with plastic wrap and freeze until the ice cream is very hard, at least 4 hours, or up to 24 hours. Note: To make miniature Baked Alaskas, you can split the ice cream between multiple small domed bowls (with diameters of about 3 inches).
2. Set the brownie layer out on a large, flat, ovenproof plate. Unmold the ice cream dome on top of the brownie layer, but leave the plastic wrap on top. Trim any bottom edges of the brownie layer to make it flush with the ice cream. Place this big, cold blob into the freezer.
3. Make the meringue cover, then take the ice cream dome from the freezer and remove the plastic wrap. Spread the meringue onto the ice cream dome, covering it completely. Use the back of a spoon to flick and pull little peaks up from the surface (for a nubbly texture when it bakes). Freeze for at least 3 hours, or overnight.
4. Near the time you’d like to serve your Baked Alaska, heat the oven to 500 degrees F, making sure there’s enough clearance to fit the dessert. When the oven is at temperature, remove the assembled bombe from the freezer, set it on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and put it into the oven. Bake for 3 to 5 minutes, rotating the dome once or twice, until the peaks turn a golden brown color. Let the cake stand at room temperature for about 15 minutes before serving (this will ensure that you’ll be able to slice through it without the crust getting all gooey and oozey). Slice and serve; freeze any leftovers for up to 5 days.
BROWNIE BASE
Makes one 9-inch brownie round
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped (about 1 cup)
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
4 large eggs
2 cups sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1. Heat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease and flour the bottom and sides of a 9-inch round cake pan; line the bottom of the pan with parchment paper.
2. Heat the butter and chocolate over low heat, using either a small, heavy-bottomed saucepan or a double boiler. Stir occasionally until melted. Set aside to cool.
3. In a medium bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder, and salt until combined. Set aside.
4. In a large bowl, whisk the eggs, sugar, and vanilla until well combined. Add the slightly warm chocolate mixture to the eggs and whisk to combine. Add the flour mixture and stir with a wooden spoon until just combined. Spoon the batter into the prepared cake pan; use an offset or rubber spatula to smooth and level the batter.
5. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out mostly clean. Set the pan on a wire rack until the brownie layer is completely cool.
MERINGUE COATING
Makes about 6 cups meringue
8 egg whites, at room temperature
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
⅛ teaspoon salt
¾ cup sugar
1. Using a stand mixer with a clean, dry bowl and fitted with the whisk attachment, whip the egg whites, cream of tartar, and salt on medium-high speed until the whites form soft peaks. Increase the speed to high and add the sugar in a slow stream, continuing to whip until stiff, shiny peaks form.
THE LATE 1800S WERE A PRETTY EVENTFUL TIME in the United States. The Statue of Liberty was installed; the Gold Rush began; motion pictures were invented; and the nation continued to grow, officially adding Washington, Montana, and the Dakotas to the Union. But what were our ancestors eating to keep their energy up during this busy time? According to Betty Crocker’s Cooky Book, the cookie of the era was the hermit—a moist, fat, spicy cookie, rich with fruit and nuts. It originated in Cape Cod during the heyday of clipper ships, because it kept well on seafaring journeys.
But where did this morsel get its funny name? There are a few theories. Some say that the cookies look like a hermit’s brown sackcloth robe, but as charming an idea as that is, the argument seems weak: the cookies are sometimes pale, sometimes dark, and served in different shapes. And personally, even if I squint really hard and turn my head sideways, I still can’t quite see the resemblance. A lead that sounds far more likely is that the recipe was derived from a spice cookie called the hernhutter, made by the Moravians, an ethnic group with a large community in Pennsylvania. This might have sounded like “hermits” to an English-speaking cook.
Funny name and hazy origins aside, there’s definitely another reason why hermits have lingered in our cookie jars: they’re rich, cakey, moist, and satisfying. They’re also simple and wholesome, not unlike the initial settlers who likely baked them in New England kitchens. And true to their reputation as a seafaring cookie that kept for long periods of time without spoiling, these treats do store well—in fact, one 1886 recipe notes that the resulting cookies will “keep a century if not eaten.”
Hermits
SOME PEOPLE SAY THAT THEY PREFER these cookies slightly dry or stale, which makes for good dunking with coffee or tea. But the choice is up to you—we don’t often have to take long sea voyages anymore, and since this version includes eggs (the earliest recipes did not), it’s probably best to enjoy them shortly after they come out of the oven. Adding raisins makes them taste vaguely virtuous, if you’re into that—if you’re not, chocolate chips work quite well, too.
Makes 3 dozen small or 2 dozen large cookies
1¾ cups all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon cinnamon
⅛ teaspoon cloves
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
¾ cup light brown sugar
¼ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
¼ cup cold strong coffee
1 cup dark raisins (or substitute chocolate chips)
1 cup coarsely chopped nuts (you
r choice)
1. In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, salt, nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. Set aside.
2. In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, mix the butter, brown sugar, and egg thoroughly. Add the coffee and mix to combine.
3. Add the flour, baking soda, salt, nutmeg, and cinnamon together in a large bowl. Add the mixture in 2 or 3 additions into the butter mixture, scraping the sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula as needed. Add the raisins and nuts and stir just until incorporated.
4. Chill the dough for at least 1 hour; this will ensure that the cookies do not spread as much. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F and line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.
5. If you want small cookies, drop rounded teaspoonfuls of dough onto the baking sheets; if you’re not scared of a big cookie, use an ice cream scoop.
6. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes for small cookies and about 12 minutes for larger ones, or until there is the slightest crispiness on the bottom (as they have a light-brown hue from the coffee, you’ll have to look carefully!). Transfer the cookies to a wire rack to cool. Store them at room temperature in an airtight container for up to 7 days.
JOE FROGGER: WHAT A JAUNTY NAME for a cookie! It conjures the image of a can-do cookie that will energize you with sugary goodness and make you “hop-to” the task at hand. But this chewy, spicy, saucer-sized molasses cookie’s past is not quite as carefree and sweet as its name might imply.
As the story goes, these famous molasses cookies were first made in Marblehead, Massachusetts, and took their name from the plump, dark little frogs that lived in a pond near the cottage of a fellow known as Uncle Joe. The cookies themselves are a balancing act: not too sweet, with a crisp texture, and quite large—the original versions were up to five inches in diameter. Like many cookies popular in that era, they also kept very well, owing to their lack of egg.