Chocolate Walnut Banana Bread

 

I spent the better part of last night pouty and all around grumpy. Grumpy because another snow storm was raging outside but no matter how many inches or feet we got, I’d still have to work in the morning. I know, I know. Life could be worse, but I was having a moment. I wanted a real snow day: the exciting and fancy-free kind where school is canceled, obligations are cast aside and you’re left with an entire day to bide your time at home (Making snow angels, baking bread, sipping cocoa and curling up with a book were exactly what I had in mind, and in that order). Well, it wasn’t going to happen no matter how much I frowned and stamped my feet.  

I decided that banana bread spiked with chocolate and walnuts was the best bet for redeeming the situation. I cued up the mixer and got the butter, sugar and eggs swirling while I whisked together the dry ingredients. The recipe calls for all-purpose flour; I used unbleached and subbed in a bit of whole wheat. Cheating just a bit, I zapped our very yellow and perfect bananas in the microwave until they were soft and mashable before adding them to the batter. Once everything had been incorporated, I poured the mixture into a loaf pan while pausing briefly to add layers of mini chocolate chips and walnuts. After baking for an hour, the bread emerged triumphant. With a dense texture perfectly punctuated by chocolate bits and nuts, I speak with authority when I tell you that it can stand its own against the worst cases of grumpiness. 

By morning the storm had passed and with it my grumpiness. Its amazing what sweets and sleep can do for your outlook. As expected, I did end up working, but it wasn’t so bad. I got to work from home and ignore our snow-covered car for most of the day. Besides, since the snow had stopped falling, it didn’t feel like snow day anyway. I set up shop on the couch with Kitty beside me and tapped productively on my laptop til closing-time, fueled by toasted banana bread and bottomless cups of coffee.

Go-To Feta Dish

We spent the weekend with Konrad's family in New Jersey. Visiting the in-laws is always a tasty and cultural experience. Being Romanian/Hungarian, they are introducing me to all sorts of new customs. Still fumbling like the European impostor that I am, I greet everyone with kisses on each cheek, remember that “da” means yes (tragically, about the extent of my Romanian speaking skillz), and look for meals to be served in courses.

The first is a homemade “supa,” which is usually soured with borș and consumed with a dollop of sour cream mixed in. This is followed by a larger, more substantial, second course, such as the Goulash his father prepares over an open fire in the backyard or the sausage which he smokes himself. Being the lone vegetarian, I am given papanash, which are tender ricotta dumplings. Before all this begins though, we are greeted with a spread of crusty bread, butter, and feta cheese to nibble on. Purchased from their local Greek store, the feta is some of the best I’ve had since a college backpacking trek landed us in Santorini, and could be a meal in itself for me. 

Inevitably, there is a bit of a battle when we leave. Konrad’s mom graciously sends us off with seemingly infinite bags brimming with treats. This never fails to overwhelm Konrad who, flexing his engineering degree, is doing his best to meticulously pack the trunk as if he were putting together a jigsaw puzzle. He can get rather cranky, but is more appreciative when we get back and unload everything. Her provisions often last us for at least a week and almost always include a fresh block of feta cheese. Thanks to his mom, we are rarely without a ready supply of it. 

At home, our go-to feta dish is Orzo with Roasted Vegetables, a creation by none other than the lovely Barefoot Contessa herself. To prepare, chop up a selection of peppers, onions and eggplant, toss with olive oil, and roast for a little under an hour. Just before the vegetables finish, prepare the orzo. As it cooks, whisk the juice from two lemons with olive oil, salt and pepper. Drain the orzo and in a large bowl mix the vegetables and pasta together. Allow to cool before stirring in the lemon dressing and topping with scallions, basil and a good bit of crumbled feta. "Foarte bun!"

Rosemary Enthusiasm

I read once that that flowers and greens had special meanings in Victorian times. Roses suggested love, ferns implied fascination, ivy signified friendship, bay leafs stood for faithfulness and basil meant hatred.  

The list goes on, but rosemary was said to represent remembrance. It also happens to be one of Konrad’s favorite things. So, when his birthday rolled around earlier this week, this recipe for Rosemary Olive Oil Cake seemed particularly fitting. After all, birthdays are a time for reflection as well as for celebration and indulgence, right?  I think so, anyway. Besides, the recipe didn’t seem overly sweet, which I was sure would be a win. I’m not sure how anyone can not enjoy sugar or how I managed to marry such a person, but such is Konrad.  

The cake itself was pretty easy to make; the only special ingredient being spelt, which I never did find. I substituted some whole wheat flour and let the cake cook a little while longer. There was some nervous nail biting on my end, wondering if I'd botched my husband's birthday cake, but everything came out fine. The olive oil and eggs made for a moist consistency and the uneven chocolate bits provided a fun, rich texture. The best part, by far, though was the crackly sugar top. I used regular brown sugar for the cake but added turbinado on the top and it worked perfectly.

As for the signature ingredient, I have to tell you that I am not the biggest fan of rosemary. I like it, I just don’t love it.  At first I thought the flavor was too much, but it’s actually grown on me. I keep going back for more and more tastes, which usually means something good. Konrad was happy though, and that’s what I was hoping for. Perhaps you need to be a rosemary enthusiast to enjoy a cake like this or maybe the cake will turn you into one. I haven't decided yet!

Milk Punch

We lost our cute tree last night and our apartment is feeling rather empty this morning. The poor fellow had gotten hopelessly dry and it was time to let him go, or else I might have had him up until March. Apparently, other people have come to similar conclusions. Lately, our neighborhood has resembled a wasteland of abandoned Christmas trees: Trees line the streets like guests who have overstayed their welcome and been unceremoniously tossed out on their backsides. I like to think we're better than that. So, we did things a bit differently; we sent ours out with a drink.

Ever since I saw this recipe for Milk Punch on SmittenKitchen, I’d been itching to make it. In truth, I wasn’t ready to let go of the holidays just yet. I needed one more night. So, I mixed up a batch and cued the holiday tunes. After dinner, we carefully removed the glass bulbs, garlands and lights from the branches in between sips of punch and tucked them away downstairs. Made with bourbon, milk punch is a lot like eggnog but without the eggs and served slightly frozen. I still think I prefer the latter with its insanely rich texture and long history in my family, but the former was certainly a pleasant treat (especially on an otherwise bland, post-holiday, Wednesday night!).

It was just what I needed to close out the season and the perfect send-off for our friend. At the end of the night, we escorted him downstairs and left him to catch his ride (sadly, to the recycling heap with the DPW truck this morning). The last I saw of him, he was tipsily leaning against a phone pole and swaying a bit to keep warm. Is it too early to start counting the days until next Christmas? (Apparently not, its 352 to be exact. Thanks, internet!)

 

Red Cabbage

I do my best to channel my mom's cooking skills in all that I do. Well, my mom's and my brother's, that is. I usually do pretty decently: The results aren't spectacular but, in most cases, respectable. This I am okay with. I like that there is room for growth, it gives me something to work towards. It just might be that I have met my match in red cabbage, though. It's an old family recipe that someone somewhere said would bring good luck if consumed on New Year's Day. My mom used to make it every year and, when I was a kid, my grandmother would serve it at the stroke of midnight on New Year Eve.

I'd been looking forward to making it for our first year as marrieds. Alas, things didn't quite go my way. To begin with, I started the process about 24 hours too late. My mom always slow cooked her's for hours, if not days. Fail 1. The four hours I simmered mine didn't quite measure up. It also helps when you have the right ingredients. Remembering that the stores were closing early for the holiday, I ran to Shaw's (Russo's was already closed, sigh...) on my way home. I did my best to mentally rundown the recipe, but ended up with apple cider instead of apple cider vinegar. Fail 2. By the time I realized the mistake, everything was already closed. I used a combination of white vinegar and apple cider and then tossed in the requisite "handfuls" of brown sugar and cloves (I love the way my mom wrote recipes!). The substitution seemed to work fairly well and a familiar aroma began to waft through our cozy apartment.

I set the timer for half-hour increments to remind me to stir the cabbage as it simmered on LOW and curled up on the couch with my work. Apparently cabbage requires more attention than I thought. It made sure I knew about it and fast. By the time I noticed the smell overpowering the air, the entire bottom layer of cabbage was charred black. Fail 3. If this were baseball, I'd be out. Honestly, I'm surprised that our fire alarms didn't go off. The pot is still soaking in our sink and I'm not entirely sure it will ever look the same.  Luckily, I was able to salvage most of it and try again in a separate pot, stirring it faithfully every five minutes. Eventually it cooked down to something resembling my family's dish, but it just wasn't the same.  Nonetheless, we served it for dinner along with my mom's mashed potatoes (hello, condensed milk!), brussels sprouts, filet mignon for Konrad, and some prosecco to toast.

It was a nice start to a new family tradition, even with all the blunders. My mom used to laugh when I putzed around the kitchen, like the year I baked her a mother's day cake that didn't rise. It 'tickled' her, she said. I'm sure where ever she is, she was laughing last night and that makes me smile too. And who knows? Maybe there's hope for me and the red cabbage next year. 

Mum’s Red Cabbage 

1 medium red cabbage, cored and thinly sliced
1 medium onion, diced
1 cup apple vinegar
4 cloves
2 “handfuls” of brown sugar, which I equate to a 1/4 cup
2 tablespoons butter 

Heat butter in base of tall pan over medium heat. Sauté onion. Add vinegar, cloves and sugar. Slowly add cabbage.  Reduce heat to low. Cook for several hours. Stir often (my addition!)