Ginger Lime Meringue Tartlets

For me as a kid, religion and spirituality were bundled up into one shiny package of bribery that was exchanged for Saturday-night sleepovers and friendship. Don’t want to get left out of Melissa’s slumber party? Go to church with her friends and family on Sunday, then. Haley’s family is going to steal her away early Sunday and leave you without a buddy at your own secular family’s waffle breakfast? Well, then agree to Sunday service with her—y’all have permission to attend the afternoon sacrament. I tried out Catholicism, regular ol’ Christianity, Wesleyan services, Judaism, and was invited to an at-home Muslim observance as well—with the latter two being more about inclusion and not about Sunday circumstances, obviously. Very little of it stuck.

A friend once commanded me to walk around her lawn for an hour chanting about my love for Jesus, and afterward declared me saved; an unwitting backyard baptism ensued when she let me skim down the waterslide into the pool. I dropped in on a half-pipe to impress one boy and got my first memorable PG kiss from another at a 24-hour youth group lock-in. And during the worst birthday party I ever had, the prettiest Christian girls staged a mutiny when a few of us other kids decided to play Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board; I emerged from the room to be confronted by a bunch of cross-armed 12-year-olds who had already called their parents to pick them up because we were “raising devil spirits.” All that to say that religion was a prime bartering chip in the social economy of my youth, and spirituality never even entered into it.

As an adult, I’m firmly, contentedly god-free, but I realized recently that I totally lack any sort of spirituality, which for me would equate to an intentional practice of acknowledging developments and contexts both within and beyond myself. I’ve mentioned before that the end of my 2013 really launched itself into the shitter, and the start to this year was slow and sticky, but sometime two weeks ago I was overwhelmed by a need to recognize the positive things happening around me too: job, projects, confidence, family, friends with whom to share these tarts. Life is squaring up a little, and it’ll be a lot easier to get into the habit of appreciation now as opposed to during the next downward cycle. So until I figure out a different way to do it, the kitchen is my meditation space, I bake with the intent to share, and if you're ever raising hell at a slumber party, please give me a call.

As for these tarts, gingery shortbread crust holds this dang-luscious ginger lime cream, adapted heavily from Tartine’s lemon cream, and atop is a cute li’l marshmallowy meringue mohawk. If you go the Swiss meringue route, there’s no need to torch or bake the meringue, which is excellent since exposing the cream filling to heat would be a real textural bummer. You could make one larger tart—seven or eight inches would be fine—but the fun part about the tartlets is doling them out to friends, especially the ones who let you stay home on Sunday. 

Ginger Lime Meringue Tartlets

Yield: four six-inch tartlets, or one shallow eight-inch tart

For the crust

1 cup AP flour

¼ cup granulated sugar

½ teaspoon salt

8 tablespoons (one stick) unsalted butter, melted

2 teaspoons vanilla

2 teaspoons freshly grated ginger

1.  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Mix all the dries in one bowl, add the butter, vanilla, and ginger, and mix with a fork until dough is evenly combined.

2. Divide evenly among your tartlet pans, press in and even crust, then bake for 20 to 25 minute until crust is golden brown. You can use pie weights held in foil if you’re worried about the crust shrinking, but I’ve never had that problem with this recipe.

For the ginger lime filling

½ cup lime juice

2 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons freshly grated ginger

1 egg yolk

3 whole eggs, large

½ cup sugar

Pinch salt

1 cup (2 sticks!) butter, unsalted, cut into tablespoons

2 teaspoons lime zest

1.  Pour water to a depth of about two inches into a saucepan, place over medium heat, and bring to a simmer. Combine the juice, whole eggs, yolk, ginger, sugar, and salt in a heatproof bowl that will rest securely in the rim of a saucepan over, not touching, the water. (Never let the egg yolks and sugar sit together for more than a moment without stirring; the sugar will cook the yolks and turn them granular.)

2.  Place the bowl over the saucepan and continue to whisk until the mixture becomes very thick and registers 180 degrees F on a thermometer—ten to 12 minutes. Remove the bowl from saucepan, mix in zest, and let base cool to 140 degrees F—about eight minutes—stirring from time to time to release the heat.

3.  When the base is cool, pour it into a countertop blender. With the blender running, add the butter one tablespoon at a time, blending after each addition until incorporated before adding the next piece. The cream will be pale yellow and thick. Taste, and add more zest or ginger if you want to. Pour into tartlet shells and proceed with meringue.

For the Swiss meringue

2 eggs whites

1/3 cup granulated sugar

Pinch salt

1.  Bring a small saucepan of water to a simmer (I used the same pan from  the lime cream process), and over it, in the bowl of your KitchenAid mixer, whisk eggs whites, sugar, salt until mixture is very warm to the touch, about five minutes.

2.  Remove from heat, and whip to stiff peaks using the whisk attachment. Dollop tarts with meringue in whatever shape you like—I’m working on my quenelles—and refrigerate until filling is set, about two hours. Carefully unmold, and serve! Tartlets will keep for about three days in the fridge.

Cinnamon and Sugar Brioche Doughnuts + Rhubarb Ginger Jam

On the subject of the Down East breakfast, Maine poet and professor Robert P. T. Coffin wrote in 1949 that “weather, mother of good poetry, is also mother of good breakfasts.” The bitter cold necessitated the bulletproof morning meals that helped farmers and fishermen sustain themselves through the day so that they never “blew away.” It was a six- or seven-part spread, overwhelmed by chunks of salt pork and sandwiched by red-hot, scalding tea—“the whisky of the north”—that put “whiskers on the soles of your feet.” A proper breakfast must, he repeated, “stay put and generate heat. It must have rich, fattened, and oiled doughnuts to it, heavy pies, and pancakes, to keep the stomach busy, to keep the blood away from a man’s brain, where it can only do mischief, to keep his blood in his arms and thighs where a good woodchopper’s or smelt-fisherman’s blood belongs...The Maine breakfast is a hefty meal for hefty he-men.”*

Pronoun troubles aside, Coffin was right: big, rib-sticking breakfasts are a staple up here. Even at dawn, everything tastes better with links of maple sausage on the side, and a hunk of toast with butter-fried eggs is never far behind. We don't wrap our breakfasts in seven flapjacks, eat sinewy, jellied hog’s-head cheese, or chase the meal with five quarters of sweet pie, as Coffin contends that strong Maine farmers do, but we do cook up great big pans of hash browns, drink steins of bitter black coffee, and fry handfuls of “fattened” doughnuts rather often. The weather is responsible? Then so be it. Whether you're Down East or not, don’t miss out on either this jam or these doughnuts. The jam, now one of my favorites ever made or eaten—what genius first put ginger with rhubarb anyway!?—is a cheery complement to these ludicrously buttery but barely sweetened brioche doughnuts. I shook them in cinnamon and sugar to add an extra element of warmth, but plain old-fashioned or a dusting of cardamom wouldn’t be at all out of place. We ended up having them with sausage, granola, and yogurt, so not quite Coffin’s lumberjack and lobsterman prescription, but certainly a mighty-fine and rightly affirming way to start the day. And a quick note to thank everyone for the kind feedback on last week’s baby goat midwife post! I've sneaked in a few photos of them enjoying their own Down East breakfast below. Brioche Doughnuts Adapted from Karen DeMasco, The Craft of Baking Makes about 12 doughnuts and 20 holes Doughnuts, previously: Another Karen DeMasco classic. This is the most buttery doughnut dough I've ever used, and it has a super excellent flavor. To make the frying process as smooth as can be, have your cooking station set up before you fry: timer, paper towels, cinnamon-sugar bowl, and serving tray. 2 1/2 cups high-gluten bread flour 1/4 cup granulated sugar 1 tablespoon Kosher salt (I used Diamond; use less if using Morton) 2 1/4 teaspoons (1/4 ounce or 1 packet) active dry yeast 6 large eggs 3 sticks (12 ounces) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into one-inch pieces Peanut oil for frying 1/2 cup granulated sugar + 1 teaspoon cinnamon + pinch salt for tossing, optional 1. Sift flour, sugar, and salt into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook attachment. Mix a few times to blend. 2. Set a saucepan of water to boil on the stove. In a heat-proof bowl, whisk the six eggs with the yeast, and place over the boiling water, whisking continuously for about a minute, or until the eggs are just warm to the touch. Add the egg-yeast mixture to the flour bowl, and mix on medium for about four minutes, until the mixture starts to resemble more of a dough. 3. With the mixer still running, add the pieces of butter quickly, but one at a time, then allow machine to run until no visible pieces of butter remain. (This took our old-ish mixer about eight minutes.) Turn dough out onto a lightly floured counter, and knead for about five minutes, until dough is tighter. A word of caution that the dough will be very sticky and loose. Try to resist the temptation to add more flour. 4. Place dough in a clean, well-oiled bowl, cover with plastic or a damp dishtowel and allow to rise for two hours. Fold the dough over itself, cover again, and allow to rise in the fridge at least six hours or overnight. 5. The next morning, toss dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and roll into a rectangle about three-fourths of an inch thick. Using a three-inch round and one-inch center, cut doughnuts out of the dough; cut holes out of remaining dough, and do not reroll scraps. Place cut doughnuts on cookie sheet or cutting board lined with parchment, cover, and allow to puff up over the next 30 minutes. 6. In a wide, shallow pan, heat peanut oil to 350 degrees F; do your best to maintain this oil temperature throughout. Cook one test doughnut about 1.5 minutes per side, then drain on paper towels. Cut it open to ensure the center is cooked, and adjust your fry time accordingly; it works well to fry three at a time. Doughnut holes take about a minute to cook through; it worked fine to fry five or six at a time. Blot the doughnuts and toss in the cinnamon-sugar mixture while they're still warm. Serve with a few spoonfuls of rhubarb-ginger jam. Doughnuts are best the morning they’re made! Rhubarb + Ginger Jam Makes about a pint Good on toast, great in yogurt, mighty-fine served alongside a doughnut. What's not to love?! 1 pound rhubarb stalks (pink if you got ‘em) 1 to 1 1/4 cups granulated sugar 2-inch knob of ginger, peeled and grated (about two heaping tablespoons) Zest and juice of half a lemon 1. Trim the rhubarb and chop it into one-inch pieces. In a medium bowl, toss rhubarb with the lesser amount of sugar, grated ginger, and lemon juice and zest. Let sit for at least two hours, stirring two or three times, until rhubarb has let off its juices; you can also cover and let the rhubarb do its thing in the fridge overnight. Ultimately, the mixture should get really juicy. 2. Pour the rhubarb mixture and juices into a medium saucepan. Bring to boil to and stir to dissolve the sugar, then allow to rapid-boil for about 15 minutes; the stalks will completely break down and the mixture will thicken up quite a bit. Keep an eye on it though so as not to burn. Taste, and if you prefer a slightly sweeter jam, add the remaining quarter-cup sugar and stir to dissolve. Remove jam from heat and allow to cool—it will thicken as it does—or fill sterilized jars and process accordingly. We just filled one big ol’ jar and are keeping it in the fridge instead of storing. *Robert P. Coffin, "Down East Breakfast," in Endless Feasts, ed. Ruth Reichl (New York: Condé Nast Publications Inc., 2002), 123–129.

Salted Ginger Caramel Goat Cheese Tart

Just a few short months ago, I was flipping goat cheese wrappers inside out and scraping out the corners with a tiny spoon to release all the smears for this cheese-heavy tart. Not wanting to spend one cent more to ensure enough usable quarter-ounces of cheese, I worked those wrappers for all that they were worth. Now I find myself in the complete opposite set of circumstances, those being that fresh, neverending goat cheese is the most readily available ingredient around; I still scrape out the bowls with a tiny spoon, but now with much less desperation and a lot more pride.

The inspiration for this tart came just in time too. My stint at the goat cheese farm is just two weeks old, but my role  is feeling more settled, routines are natural, and free time more predictable. Based on how the farm sells at market and how much milk we're getting from the girls, certain afternoons and evenings are now far less burdensome than they were just ten days previous, which means I have time to bake! A few days ago, on one of the most sweltering afternoons thus far, Arlene, Dave, and I riproared early through our chores and cheeses. The dough for this tart was already assembled and the chevre already made (by me!) and set aside, so I threw together and baked the filling before we high-tailed it for nearby Schoodic Lake, with beers, sandwiches, and pooch in tow. For a few blissful hours, we dove off tall rocks, exhausted ourselves swimming out as far as we could and back, and swapped stories about weird dates and weird parents. Only one slimy lake creature was spotted, and no one came home with a brain amoeba: success!

And when we got home sun-soaked and somewhat buzzed to finish evening chores, I managed to sneak away to finish the salted ginger caramel and top this tart before dinner. Supper perpetuated our lovely, easy day, as farm-fresh organic everything--all-beef hotdogs, burgers, cherry tomato cobbler baked with cheese that we made, kale chips, and potato salad--was amassed upon the table and gobbled up without hesitation. There might not be too many opportunities for me to make the cheese that makes a tart and then eat it surrounded by new friends and folks with hilarious stories, so I plan to take advantage of it as many times as I can over the next five months. On that note, do you have any must-make goat cheese baked goods recipes, sweet or savory? I'd love to know and make them!

Ginger Caramel Goat Cheese Tart

Inspired by Nothing in the House's Blackberry Lemon Goat Cheese Tart

Makes enough for one nine-inch tart

Crust and Filling

One-half recipe all-butter flaky pie crust or other pie or tart dough of your choosing

16 ounces soft chevre

4 extra-large eggs

2/3 cup + 2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice

Zest from one small lemon, about two teaspoons worth

Salted Ginger Caramel

1 cup granulated sugar

6 tablespoons salted butter (or unsalted + 1/4 teaspoon fine-grain sea salt), cut into one-inch pieces

1/4 cup heavy cream

2-inch peeled knob of ginger, grated and pressed to yield one tablespoon juice

1.  Parbake pie crust:  preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Roll out pie crust to an 11- or 12-inch circle and fit it into nine-inch tart pan. Fold under edges, pleat, and prick all over with a fork. Fit a sheet of foil against the dough and fill with pie weights or dried beans then bake for ten minutes. Carefully remove the foil, press down any crust bubbles, and bake for five to eight minutes more, until crust is lightly golden. Reduce temperature to 350 once crust is parbaked.

2.  Make the filling:  meanwhile, add chevre, eggs, and sugar to a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium-low until filling is uniformly blended, about three minutes. Add the extract, juice, and zest, scrape down the sides, and mix until filling is smooth. 

3.  Bake:  set parbaked tart shell on a foil-lined cookie sheet. Pour filling into hot tart shell and bake at 350 degrees F for 50 minutes, until filling is set on the edges and slightly soft in the middle; be sure to rotate pan halfway through. Allow to cool on wire rack completely, about two hours. Can store undressed tart in fridge at this point, if not finishing tart the same day.

4.  Make caramel* and assemble:  add sugar for caramel to a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan. Melt sugar over medium-high heat, whisking gently as needed to ensure even melting. Once sugar is melted, swirl pan every 30 seconds or so until sugar turns a deep copper color. With heat still on, add butter and whisk like mad to melt; mixture will sputter, so be careful. Then, add cream and ginger juice, stirring until caramel is smooth. Remove from heat and let cool in fridge for about one hour. When cool, pour caramel over goat cheese tart, spreading to edges of crust. Cool in fridge to set caramel, one to two hours, or cut it into it straight away like we did and end up with a really delicious mess. If you want, sprinkle a few flecks of flaky sea salt over the top too.

*Do ahead: Caramel can be made days or even a week ahead and stored in the fridge. Just rewarm ever so slightly in the microwave for 15 to 20 seconds before spreading over the tart.

Grapefruit-Ginger Meringue Tart

As a Californian, I am compelled by my upbringing to love citrus (and avocados and Mexican food). Growing up in San Diego, I was lucky enough to be able to walk out the side door and into the orchard where the juiciest oranges, lemons, tangerines, and, randomly, grapefruits were ripe for the picking. Avocados too. The grapefruits hung from the neighbor’s tree, but as a kid I had no boundaries, and as an adult, those habits were hard to break (as if I even tried). I didn’t quite appreciate the extent of our bounty until I moved away, but even then my parents would pack up boxes of orchard oranges and flat-rate ship them to me, not because I didn’t have access to citrus, but mostly because their trees were actually bending under the weight of too much fruit and oranges were rotting on the ground. How totally unfortunate for them.

And then my parents moved away too. Now they live in a house with a smaller yard in central San Diego, with a little Charlie Brown orange tree out back that my sister gifted, and it’s been about a year since I’ve been up to my ears in backyard citrus. The dearth had been pretty much fine with me until Lottie + Doof retweeted a photo of an incredible-looking blood orange pie from Nightwood in Chicago, and BAM, love of citrus reignited. After several failed orangey desserts and a lot of grapefruit brulee, I read 101Cookbooks’s account of her many citrus curds (ugh, time to move home) and of course thought of lemon meringue.

I made this tart first for Pi(e) Day two weeks ago and then remade it more carefully last week when my pal Tory lent me her KitchenAid mixer in exchange for her ice cream maker, which I am also long-term borrowing. Then, my friend and Floridian counterpart Juanita left a huge basketful of grapefruits on the counter, which Emily promptly put to use in a grapefruit-ginger marmalade and a grapefruit white chocolate pie. There are even still a few left, and I’m thinking about making grapefruit tartlets with goat cheese because seriously, it sounds weird, but the combination is uh-mazing. Try this tart, with or without the meringue, and then send me your leftover citrus. I need it. Truly. But an avocado would suffice too.

Grapefruit-Ginger Meringue Tart

Inspired by 101Cookbooks's amazin' curd

I made this first with ginger juice and second by simmering coins of it -- which I liked better -- but either way it’s a light flavor, not too pronounced. If you want it to be gingery as all heck, then start with two tablespoons of ginger juice and increase from there, tasting as you go. And if you’re not a fan of meringue, try this tart with a stripe of powdered sugar on top. Let the tart cool in the fridge for about two hours, then just sift a stripe over the top and serve (instructions below).

For the Crust

9 ounces gingersnap cookies (about 35 li'l cookies), coarsely broken

6 tablespoons butter, melted

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Pulverize cookies in food processor. With motor running, pour in melted butter, and pulse until mixture is evenly moistened. Pour crumbs out into 8-inch tart part with removable bottom, and press firmly, evenly to the bottom and up the sides to form your crust. Bake for eight to ten minutes until crust has darkened ever so slightly. If crust falls at all, use the back of a spoon to push it back up the sides. Allow to cool while you work on curd.

For the Curd

1 ½ cups fresh-pressed grapefruit juice (I used CA pink grapefruits, of course)
2 inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled, cut into coins
2 large egg yolks (save whites for meringue)
2 large whole eggs
1 ½ cups water
⅓ cup cornstarch
¾ cup granulated sugar
⅛ teaspoon fine-grain sea salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, room temp.
1 teaspoon grapefruit zest

1.  In a medium saucepan, simmer grapefruit juice and ginger coins until juice is reduced to a half-cup. This will take about 30 minutes and helps strengthen the flavor of the grapefruit. Strain out ginger and set juice aside to cool. Crack your egg yolks and eggs into a separate medium bowl, blend gently, and set aside.

2.  Wipe out the medium saucepan you used earlier, and add cornstarch, sugar, and salt.  Gradually blend in the water. Bring to a boil over medium heat, whisking constantly. Continue mixing for two to three minutes until mixture has thickened.

3.  Get your bowl with the yolks and slowly add in the cooled grapefruit juice, whisking all the while. Then slowly add the thickened cornstarch mixture, continuing to whisk. Put this mixture back into the saucepan, reduce heat to low, add your five tablespoons of butter, and whisk gently while cooking for eight more minutes, until mixture is very thick. Remove from heat and stir in zest.

4.  Pour curd into gingersnap crust, press plastic wrap directly to the curd, and get to work on meringue. If skipping meringue, then don’t press plastic to the curd; allow curd to cool to room temperature then refrigerate tart, covered lightly with plastic, for about two hours.  Sift powdered sugar over the top and enjoy!

For the Meringue
5 egg whites, room temperature
1 ¼ cups granulated sugar

1.  Place oven rack in upper third of oven Place egg whites and sugar in the heatproof bowl of an electric mixer set over, but not touching, simmering water. Cook, whisking continuously, until mixture is warm to the touch, about three to five minutes. Transfer mixture to an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, and mix on high until very stiff peaks form.

2.  Place tart on baking sheet. Remove plastic wrap and spoon meringue over top of hot curd, anchoring to crust where possible, and embellishing peaks with a knife or rubber spatula. Broil until meringue is golden brown, about two minutes or so, depending on your oven. Keep your eye on the tart though as you don’t want the meringue to burn! Remove from oven, allow to cool to room temperature, and refrigerate for an hour or two, lightly covered in plastic. Tart will keep covered in the fridge for up to four days.

Gingersnap Icebox Cake with Lemon Whipped Cream

Oh hey, hi, happy 2012.  Hope you weren’t visiting this blog to reaffirm any sort of recent personal declarations to observe weeks upon abstemious weeks of self-restraint and moderation. Well, because cake. This cake. It’s a no-brainer way out of your resolutions and an ascetic January. I’ve had high mind to make a gingersnap icebox cake for awhile now, but the opportunity was never quite golden enough to warrant sculpting 80 cookies into a creamy, tremendous tower until New Year’s came ‘round the corner. Our house – a lovely balance between comfortable chillage and devilry – elected to have an end-of-year Paper Moon bash coupled with a birthday party for our beautiful and inspiring talent of a friend, Pierrette.

The evening kicked off with a square dance in the dining room and live fiddling – led by my tarty partner in crime and friends from Kentucky and North Carolina – and was followed by relatively mellow mingling before evolving into a DJ-powered night of swilling and smooching. There was a photo booth and a kissing booth, demureness and debauchery, and generally all registers of revelry were met with a birthday backdrop.

Which brings us back to this cake! If you've had icebox cake before then you need not be persuaded, but if you're new to the dessert, it's a giant layer cake of cookies that softens in the fridge for some hours before it's cut into slices and served. The cream turns buttery, the cookies cakey, and it really is the pinnacle of celebration desserts. Happy 2012, y'all. May your year be full of health (likely found elsewhere) and oodles of new, delicious recipes (come back for more!).

Gingersnap Icebox Cake!

Makes about 85 cookies, or enough for one 77-cookie, 11-layer cake, with a handful of leftover snaps

The cookie recipe is very, very similar to the one that is all over this here blog. The spice and sugar profiles are somewhat different, as is the amount of baking soda, though only barely. The major difference is one of technique: this cookie dough is refrigerated first and baked from firm rounds instead of scoops; I think that this might play a role in the cookie's snappy-ness. Feel free to experiment with the Tanglewood classic too!

For the cookies

Adapted and doubled from Smitten Kitchen

4 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

4 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon table salt
2 heaping tablespoons ground ginger
2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper
4 sticks (16 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup light brown sugar
2 large egg

2/3 cup unsulphured molasses

1.  In a large bowl, mix flour, baking soda, salt, ginger, cinnamon, allspice, and ground white pepper. In a separate large bowl, beat soft butter and sugars with an electric mixer on medium until light and fluffy, about three minutes. Add egg and molasses and beat until just combined. Give it a stir or several with a rubber spatula to make sure everything is incorporated, then heap dough upon some plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour, until firm.

2.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Using a small cookie scoop or other device, roll roughly two teaspoons of dough into a round ball. Place on parchment-lined cookie sheet, and continue for rest of dough, spacing dough balls two inches apart. Bake for 13 to 15 minutes. I opted for 13, and 15 should make them pretty snappy. Allow cookies to cook on sheets for a few minutes before transferring them to a cooling rack where they'll continue to harden. Let cook completely before assembling cake. Leftover cookies will keep for a week covered in an airtight container, though they will soften a bit each day. 

For the whipped cream
3 cups heavy whipping cream
5 tablespoons granulated sugar, or more to taste
3 teaspoons lemon zest


1.  When cookies have cooled, prepare whipped cream. In a clean glass or metal bowl, beat whipping cream, sugar, and zest with an electric mixer on medium until soft peaks form. Taste for sweetness. If you're satisfied, beat just a bit more until peaks and "medium" and just hold their shape. Do not make ahead.


For the assembly
1.  On a plate or serving platter, make a circle of six cookies with one in the middle. Spread a half-cup of cream on top, leaving about a quarter-inch or so of un-creamed cookie border. Top with your next circle of cookies, then one-half cup of whipped cream; repeat for whole cake, ending with a final layer of cream for a total of 11 cookie layers.


2.  Cover with plastic wrap and place cake in the fridge for eight to 12 hours or overnight; this one hung out in the icebox for ten hours and was plenty soft. One way to keep the wrap from mussing the cream is to place a few toothpicks around the perimeter and drape the plastic over those instead of putting it directly on the cream. Top with a lemon twist or a pile of slivered candied ginger and cut into slices to serve.

Pumpkin Bourbon Ice Cream with Ginger Sandwich Cookies

Sometimes you just need a distraction. Or a new job. Or a pickleback and a bunch of bar snacks. Or maybe you’re feeling kitchen-freaky, like you didn’t expend enough energy on Thanksgiving and you desperately need to make something totally easy yet time-consuming in order to reset your maniacal, holiday-plotting ways. Got it; I can help with that last one. These li’l ice cream sandwiches were on my desserts shortlist for last week, but the burden of transporting a frozen ice cream canister in a packed car to Pittsburgh was such that I opted for a full pie arsenal instead. No matter. These sandwiches still have their place. They're a killer way to put pumpkin in its best and proper light—that is, with booze and lightly spiced.

This is the first Thanksgiving that I can think of where there was no pumpkin pie, which was definitely fine with me. The stuff has never been my favorite, playing umpteenth fiddle to whatever else is on the table, which this year was a veritable smorgasbord of delicious weirdo pies, but I do like pumpkin all the same. And I can’t resist how nice it feels to be baking and making with pumpkin in the fall—it’s ceremonial in a way. So give it a shot if you’ve got the means to make this ice cream. It’s subtle and creamy and a lovely way to pay homage to the last licks of autumn.

Pumpkin-Bourbon Ice Cream

Adapted from Karen DeMasco with logistical help from David Lebovitz

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1 cup heavy cream

1/3 cup + 2 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 cinnamon stick

1/2 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

5 large egg yolks

1/4 cup packed dark brown sugar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

2 to 3 tablespoons bourbon, or to taste

3/4 cup canned pumpkin puree (not pie filling)

1.  Make an ice bath by putting some ice and a little water in a large bowl and nesting a smaller bowl with capacity for two liters inside it. Set a mesh strainer over the top.

2.  In a medium saucepan, mix the milk, cream, sugar, ginger, cinnamon, cinnamon stick, nutmeg, and salt. Warm the mixture on low heat until the edges begin to foam.

3.  Whisk the egg yolks in a separate medium bowl. Whisking continuously, slowly pour about half of the milk mixture in a slow, steady stream into the egg yolks. Pour the yolks mixture back into the saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring the whole time and scraping the bottom of the pan with a rubber spatula to ensure nothing sticks. Continue cooking until mixture thickens enough to coat the spatula, between 160 and 170 degrees F if you're using a thermometer (but looks alone are good enough to judge!).

4.  Quickly pour the mixture through the strainer into the bowl that's settled in the ice bath. Discard the cinnamon stick. Mix in the brown sugar, stir for a bit to cool, cover with plastic, and refrigerate until well chilled, preferably overnight.

5.  When chilled, whisk in the vanilla, bourbon, and pumpkin puree. Taste, add more bourbon if you like, then strain the whole thing in a fine mesh strainer one more time to ensure that grainy pumpkin doesn't make it into the ice cream. Freeze in your ice cream maker according to manufacturer's instructions. If storing in the freezer, place plastic wrap directly on top to prevent the formation of ice crystals. The liquor helps this ice cream stay creamier than most would, so ours has stuck around for three weeks and still tastes as smooth as it did on day one.

Ginger Sandwich Cookies

Follow this recipe, which has had a starring role in this kitchen since 2009.

I actually omitted the crystallized ginger this time around and increased the freshly grated ginger to a full three teaspoons to compensate. It was delicious!! 

1.  Once the cookies are cool, scoop 1/4 cup of pumpkin ice cream onto the back of one, sandwich it with another, and allow to firm up in the freezer for about 20 minutes. If storing longer than that, wrap in plastic wrap.

Molasses-Gingerbread Cupcakes with Coffee Icing

Forgive me for the unseasonably and unfairly long list of ingredients, but I promise these are totally worth it. You know the drill—punchy, no-bullshit flavors that I can't effectively persuade you into trying, partly because February is the longest month of all time and I'm completely exhausted, but mostly because: Molasses. Ginger. Coffee. Chocolate. There's not much else to say! So much love though, from my sometimes churlish kitchen to yours.

Gingerbread Cupcakes
Adapted from The Craft of Baking by Karen Demasco

3/4 cup stout beer, such as Guinness
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons freshly brewed coffee
3/4 cup dark molasses, such as Grandma's
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup dark brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup plus 3 tablespoons grapeseed or other neutral oil
3 tablespoons Demerara sugar
2 1/2 tablespoons finely grated fresh ginger
1 large egg
1 3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
2 1/4 teaspoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 1/4 teaspoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon ground white pepper
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
Candied ginger, cut into thin strips, for topping

1.  Preheat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Using two cupcake tins, line 18 cups with silicone or paper liners.

2.  In a large saucepan, bring the beer, coffee, and molasses to a gentle boil.  Whisk together to combine. Remove from the heat and whisk in the baking soda (it will bubble quite a bit); let the mixture sit for five minutes to cool.

3.  In a large bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, oil, Demerara, and grated fresh ginger.  Whisk in the egg.  In another large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, cocoa powder, ground ginger, cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, white pepper, and salt.  In three additions of each, alternately whisk the flour mixture and the beer mixture into the brown sugar mixture to combine.

4.  Divide the batter evenly among the muffin cups, filling them about three-quarters of the way each.  Bake for 20 minutes without opening the oven.  Then, rotate the tins and bake until the cakes spring back to the touch or until a cake tester inserted into the centers comes out clean, about five minutes more. Invert the cupcakes onto a rack, turn them top up, and let cool completely.  Proceed to icing!

Coffee Icing
1 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar (I used 3/4 cups, see below)
4 tablespoons coffee (I used two of coffee and also two of heavy cream)
1 tablespoon dark molasses
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1.  I'm not too into the taste of confectioners' sugar, so I used half of what KD recommended and made mine more of a glaze than a thick icing. I accidentally brewed my coffee too strong too, so I used cream for half the liquid to temper the taste.  Add your sugar to a mixing bowl and whisk in the coffee (cream), molasses, and vanilla.  Add more sugar if you want to thicken it up, or more coffee or cream if you'd rather thin it out.

2.  Dip tops of cupcakes in the icing, top with strips of candied ginger, and let icing set for 30 minutes.  Cupcakes will keep, covered, for up to three days.

P.S. I don't always redo my banner to match my most recent posting, just this once!

Old-Fashioned Gingerbread

I'll just say it:  Chocolate has been surpassed by ginger as my unequivocal favorite ingredient to bake with. Maybe it's the winter doldrums, but dudes, these days it's all about flavors that punch you in the mouth. This recipe is for those of you fellow ginger fiends who love rib-sticking molasses baked goods and unabated intense flavors. The combination of molasses and stout beer seriously smacks, and while the cake is pictured here with a dusting of powdered sugar, I found it was even better when I swathed a slice in butter and sprinkled it with sea salt, serious as a heart attack.

Old-Fashioned Gingerbread

Adapted from Claudia Fleming of Gramercy Tavern

1 cup oatmeal or standard stout beer (I used Guinness, but I'd like to try Bell's Kalamazoo or something with a stronger flavor)

1 cup dark molasses (not blackstrap)

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

2 cups all-purpose flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

2 tablespoons ground ginger (I added an extra 1/2 teaspoon)

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

Pinch of ground cardamom

3 large eggs

1 cup dark brown sugar

1 cup granulated white sugar

3/4 cup vegetable oil

1.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.  Generously butter bundt pan and dust with flour, knocking out excess.

2.  Bring stout and molasses to a boil in a medium to large saucepan.  Remove from heat and whisk in baking soda (mixture will bubble up some).  Let cool to room temperature.

3.  Sift flour, baking powder, and spices in a large bowl.  In a separate large bowl, whisk together eggs and sugars.  Whisk in oil, then molasses mixture.  Add liquids to flour mixture and whisk until just combined.

4.  Pour batter into bundt pan, and rap pan sharply on the counter a few times to eliminate air bubbles.  Bake in the center of the oven until a cake tester stuck into the cake comes out with just a few moist crumbs adhering, about 50 minutes.  Let cake cool for five to eight minutes, and then turn out onto cooling rack and let cool completely.  Serve dusted with powdered sugar and unsweetened whipped cream, or with unsalted butter and a smattering of salt on top.

*Some have said that this cake is best when made a day in advance.  I made mine the night before, and found it was ever-so-slightly more bitter the next day, which I was way into.

Flashback: Triple Ginger Cookies

A smattering of ginger sugar on top

Remember these crackle-topped, chewy cookies with three kinds of ginger? I made them again last night, this time with three twists of cracked black pepper, which you could round up to one-quarter teaspoon. Verdict: Still delicious, still awesome.

Triple Ginger Cookies

Baking isn’t exactly my personal recourse for existential destitution, and neither should blogging be, but, well, if ever there was a platform for public self-expression, then maybe this would be it. That said, my friend Jason is coming to visit me in March, and he asked me the other day what my favorite things to do in DC are and how many days do I think are good for getting a feel for the city. I totally drew a blank. Partial words and blurry things flickered through my head, but I, after living here for more than a year, was completely dumbfounded. “Quick, quick! Better find something I love about this place! Joey, what the hell do I love about DC?”

And now, in a really artistic and seamless segue, I will link in to my recipe for the best ginger cookies ever — it uses three different kinds of ginger — and at the end of it all, I’ll affirm how much I like DC and I’ll figure out how to make Jason like DC too. See? Seamless and artistic. Abby says that maybe part of why we’re still here is because DC is so alienating and weird, and she’s probably right that in a lot of ways, the sense of belonging is part of what propelled us from California in the first place. So maybe these moments of panic are just DC’s way of reminding me to eke out my happiness in a way that is challenging and satisfying — like through cookies.  Recipe after the jump!