Summer Raspberry Cake

Toward the end of last week's Winter Harbor farmers' market, I remarked to the vegetable and fruit farmers how very beautiful were their quarts of raspberries. It had been a dreary, if also uplifting morning, and the brightness of the raspberries sailed out over the grey. Just as Dave and I hopped into the truck to head back, Rick came by and shoved two quarts of berries into one of our coolers—the first of what is amounting to be many generosities shown us by fellow farmers and food producers. 

When I left DC, it seemed that raspberries were on their way out. Strawberries had long gone, cherries had passed too, and blackberries were racking up a precious five to six dollars per pint. The few weeks before my departure showed some of the best of what DC has to offer in terms of fruit—though most stone fruit was only just getting underway—and it was a shame that I missed nearly all of it due to the stresses of leaving. But Maine has given me a do-over! Rick's raspberries from last week were, he said, one of the first pulls of the season and will continue to get brighter and sweeter through mid-August. We're fast on the heels of blueberry season up here, and blackberry season—the best of all of summer—is just around the corner. 

And after being handed some of the most beautiful berries for free, I of course proceeded to let them languish in the fridge, getting sadder and juicier every day. Plots to make creme fraiche raspberry tarts fell by the wayside, and the berries were nearing jam territory when I realized how utterly surrounded by milk, butter, and eggs I am at this time. So in between placating squealing baby goats and almost scorching a batch of mozzarella milk late one night, I baked this breezy summer cake to save what was left of the raspberries. I overbaked it just a bit as I got distracted by foreign sounds and telephone calls from far-away friends, but the berry craters on top and jam pockets within were so nice that I'll definitely be making another version with our next batch of neglected berries.

Summer Raspberry Cake
Adapted from Martha Stewart and Smitten Kitchen


Try this with any berry! Smitten Kitchen does it with a pound of strawberries, and I'm fixing to do a blackberry buttermilk one in a few weeks. The juicier and heavier the berry the better, so if you're using blueberries, macerate them in a tablespoon of sugar first, and if you're using something like raspberries, push a few down into the batter to ensure you get those jammy pockets.

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature, plus extra for pan
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 ½  teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
1 scant cup plus 2 tablespoons granulated sugar, divided
1 large egg
½  cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract (or almond!)
8 ounces fresh raspberries, or about 1 ½ pints

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter a 9- or 10-inch spring-form cake pan. Whisk flour, baking powder and salt together in a small bowl. In a stand mixer on medium or in a large bowl with a handheld mixer, beat butter and scant one cup sugar until pale and fluffy, about two minutes. Mix in egg, milk, and vanilla or almond extract until just combined. Add dry mixture gradually, mixing until just smooth.

2.  Pour batter into prepared pie plate. Arrange raspberries on top of batter, as closely as possible; try to keep it to a single layer of berries. Poke a few down into the batter so that you end up with a few jam pockets baked in. Sprinkle remaining two tablespoons of sugar evenly over the berries and batter.

3.  Bake cake for ten minutes then reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees F and bake until cake is golden brown and a tester comes out free of wet batter, about 50 60 minutes. Be careful not to overbake. Let cool in pan on a rack for about ten minutes before removing spring-form sides. Serve slices with barely sweetened whipped cream! Cake should keep covered at room temperature for a few days, but it’s also good cold from the fridge with a mug of coffee in the morning!

Jumbleberry Pavlova

One of the greatest families around had an enormous backyard party at our house last week. With the parents celebrating an anniversary, a sister back from the Peace Corps in Panama, and other sisters having graduated various levels of school, the time was nigh for a big ol’ summer party, replete with its own Pinterest planning board (and cute squabbles to the tune of, “Didn’t you consult the Pinterest board?!”). The Doughertys are the first family I met in DC since they’re that of one of my oldest and finest pals around, Bobbie, and we first crossed ways four years ago when the parents lent us their minivan to do yard sale and Craigslist runs to furnish our new and very empty Petworth group house. Many pizza nights, family concerts, dinners, and parties later, and I’m not quite up to the level of being an honorary Dougherty sister, who are the very coolest of them all, but I fancy myself a sort of honorary very distant type of cousin—good enough.

Dessert at the front, veggie kabobs at the back. Reverse food mullet.

So it was over MadLibs and keg beer that all the Doughertys got together last week. The backyard was filled to the brim with beautiful handmade decorations, a giant white and yellow circus tent, and tons of flowers, pitchers of lemonade, puzzles, and of course good pals from all over. Bobbie and Richie manned the DJ booth, Matt made a giant platter of the most delicious homemade Carolina BBQ, family slaw recipes abounded, and we played a totally dizzying and nearly nauseating game of around-the-world micropong on a circular table while someone beat the stuffing out of a pinata. To top it off, Bobbie’s family commandeered Emily and I to bake for the party, and while it wasn’t quite a Tarts by Tarts last hurrah, it was really nice to be in the kitchen together working on recipes again. Emily whipped up a chocolate-peanut butter-pretzel tart (!!!), a bourbon peach pecan pie, lime tarts, and a passion fruit pie with mile-high meringue. I baked some weird but good frozen key lime bars, a five-layer salted caramel pecan cake, and this here jumbleberry pavlova, which was my favorite of the things I made. This time of year, it’s refreshing to have a recipe that doesn’t require baking or freezing the fruit, letting the height of summer berries shine on their own. Plus, all of the elements can be made ahead, which leaves you more time to spend dancing and playing Taboo with some of the best folks around while scheming permanent points of entry into their family.

Jumbleberry Pavlova

Adapted from GourmetLive

Tweaked this to make the curd much tangier, the meringue slightly larger and less sweet, and of course upped the berries. It's summer y'all: get 'em while you can. This is also gluten-free. Yahoo! 

For meringue:
1 cup superfine granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
4 large egg whites at room temperature (3 is fine if you don't want to break a fourth egg)
3 tablespoons cold water
1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar

For filling:
½ cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch
⅛ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
⅓ cup fresh lemon juice
½ stick unsalted butter
3 large egg yolks
1 tablespoon grated lemon
¼ cup whipped cream (recipe below)

For assembly:
1 cup heavy cream
5 cups mixed berries (I used blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries)

1.  Make meringue: Preheat oven to 300 degrees F with rack in middle. Trace an eight-inch circle on a sheet of parchment paper (I traced one of my removable tart pan bottoms). Turn parchment over and put on a baking sheet.

2.  Whisk together superfine sugar and cornstarch in a small bowl. Beat whites with a pinch of salt using a stand mixer at medium speed until they hold soft peaks. Add water and beat until whites again hold soft peaks.

3.  Increase speed to medium-high and beat in sugar mixture one tablespoon at a time. After all sugar has been added, beat one minute more. Add vinegar and beat at high speed until meringue is glossy and holds very stiff peaks, about five minutes.

4.  Gently spread meringue inside circle on parchment, making edge of meringue slightly higher so that lower center can hold the curd and fruit. Bake for 45 minutes, or until meringue has developed a light golden crust all around. Turn oven off and prop door open slightly with a wooden spoon. Cool meringue in oven for one hour.

5. Make lemon curd: While meringue bakes, stir together sugar, cornstarch, and salt in a two-quart heavy saucepan, then add lemon juice and butter. Whisking, bring mixture to a simmer over medium-high heat, then continue to simmer, whisking constantly, for one minute. Turn off heat. Lightly beat yolks in a small bowl and whisk a quarter-cup lemon mixture into the small bowl, then whisk yolk mixture back into saucepan. Turn heat to low and cook, whisking constantly, until curd is thickened, about two minutes (do not let boil). Transfer to a bowl, whisk in zest, press a piece of parchment to surface, and allow to chill in fridge while meringue bakes.

6.  Assemble: Using a spatula, gently remove meringue from cookie sheet and place it on your serving plate--a big one works best as this tends to serve up a bit messy. Beat heavy cream  with a pinch of granulated sugar until it just holds medium peaks, then fold one quarter-cup beaten cream into curd to lighten it. Spoon lemon curd into the dent in the meringue meringue and mound berries on top. Serve remaining whipped cream on the side.

Do ahead: Curd can be made several days ahead of serving, and meringue can be made, wrapped in plastic, and frozen, up to two days ahead. To use, just unwrap meringue layer and leave it on counter for an hour or two to bring it back to room temperature.

Me and Emily, keeping it real summery

Raspberry Rhubarb Crostata

When I was approximately seven, my grandmother's tipsy humor had us in stitches when she took a jab at her sister (not present) during a game of Balderdash. The word in question sounded something like “pompelsnell,” and grandma joked that it was “the sound you make after eating Eloise’s rhubarb cobbler.” She was not wrong! This is both my first memory of snark and my first memory of rhubarb, which I seem to recall being stewed without sugar and slumping under a deflated layer of cooked oatmeal.* I have a friend now who has never had rhubarb because it was verboten at his dinner table as his grandfather had grown up in orphanage eating rhubarb pie every day, and another friend who avoids it because her parents used to boil rhubarb (without sugar!) and serve it alongside rutabagas -- so very World War II. I cannot imagine a more un-Tanglewood way to spend a meal. 

People go on about rhubarb being tart and sassy, but until recently, I really wouldn’t have known because my tendency was to sweeten the shit out of it, add strawberries, and bake it inside of buttery pastry dough. It is so good that way, but then my sister’s main dude made her a rhubarb-only birthday pie a couple of weeks ago -- the first pie he has ever made! -- and it was so tasty and new. Maybe Eloise was on the right track. I’m not quite interested in going bare-bones with the ‘barb yet, but having it on its own helped me divorce it from strawberries -- and right on time because I was growing bored of it that way and thinking I would just forget about rhubarb this season. But this tart is so good, and it will revive your rhubarb pie repertoire for certain. And if you’re looking for a spin on rhubarb that isn’t at all “pompelsnell,” well you should start right here. Now quick, quick! Get some rhubarb before it disappears until next season.

Raspberry Rhubarb Crostata

Spotted on Lottie + Doof, adapted from Karen Demasco in Bon Appetit

The only major change I made to this was swapping out the cornstarch in favor of tapioca starch. I once read that some people detect a gritty mouth feel when eating filling made with cornstarch. This has never been a problem for me, but

Crust

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour 

1/2 cup whole-wheat flour 

1 1/2 tablespoons sugar 

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 

3/4 cup (1 1/2 sticks) chilled unsalted butter, cubed 

1 large egg

1 tablespoon whole milk

Filling

1/4 cup tapioca starch
4 cups 1/2″-thick slices rhubarb (about 1 1/4 lb.)
6 oz. fresh raspberries
2/3 cup sugar
1 large egg, beaten
Raw sugar
Sweetened whipped cream or vanilla ice cream (for serving)

1.  For crust:  Pulse flours, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a food processor to blend. Drop cubed butter over the top, and pulse a few times until butter is the size of peas. In a separate bowl, whisk milk and egg to combine, then pulse into the flour-butter mixture until it creates moist crumbs. Dump mixture into a shallow bowl, and quickly press into a ball with your hands; flatten into a thick disk. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least 1 1/2 hours and up to two days. 

2.  For filling:  Mix tapioca starch and 3 tablespoons water in a small bowl to dissolve; set aside. Combine rhubarb, raspberries, and sugar in a large, heavy saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring often, until sugar is dissolved and fruit starts releasing its juices, about four minutes. Stir in tapioca mixture and bring to a boil; rhubarb slices will still be in tact. Transfer to a bowl and chill filling until cool, about 30 minutes.

3.  For crostata:  Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Roll out dough on floured parchment to a 12-inch diameter; brush with beaten egg. Mound filling in the center, then spread out evenly, leaving a 1 1/2-inch border. Gently fold edges of dough over filling, pleating as needed; brush border with egg and sprinkle with raw sugar. Slide parchment paper onto a large rimmed baking sheet and bake until crust is golden brown, about 45 minutes. You might choose to line pan with aluminum foil as well to catch seeping juices. Transfer crostata to a baking rack, and serve with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream if so desired. Will keep covered for a few days, but truly is best eaten the day of or from the fridge.

* Well, my mom, sister, and I all have a different memory about this night. Sister insists that it was a mincemeat pie and that Eloise made them all the time. My mother is certain that it was pumpkin pie. They both say that it was Thanksgiving, which means that my memory of it being rhubarb is likely wrong, and my memory of it being cobbler even more so, but still! The point is that this crostata will never cause anyone to ridicule you during Balderdash.