All Hallow's Eve

The witching hour is drawing nigh, and there is so much to do! Halloween cake baking, caramel apple making, jack-o’-lantern carving, and house decorating—it’s all so exciting!

But I have a confession to make. I hate being scared, which means that for the longest time, Halloween terrified me. In fact, it still does…just a bit. I hate horror movies, I don’t like haunted houses, and it takes a team to get me to ride the Haunted Mansion and Tower of Terror at Disneyland (and I’m only an embarrassment when I do).

I do, however, believe that I know the source of my fears. I am superstitious.

I grew up with a mother who told me all about her otherworldly encounters, and as I’ve grown up, I have experienced a few of my own as well. In fact, over the past couple of days, there has been a spectral visitor in my house. But I have been told not to worry—our spirit is friendly. We think it is my aunt, which makes sense because in my Catholic family, Halloween is just the beginning. Fright Night is followed by All Saints Day and All Souls Day. So how can celebrating three days of the dead not bring a spirit into the house?

But I am proud of myself. A few years ago, I took control of my Halloween experience and turned what I feel is a rather frightening night into an evening of gypsy revelry and magic. So, while my neighbors set up faux cemeteries and skeletons in their front yards (which I think is just asking for bad energy to enter your home), I light dozens of candles and hang lanterns at my door. And of course, I bake delicious treats. This year I’m creating a browned butter pumpkin cake with caramel cream cheese frosting.

“Pumpkin is certainly an American food,” said Cal State Fullerton humanities professor Dr. April Bullock. “Recipes for it do show up in early American cookbooks…it would have been served roasted or steamed along with eggs, rather like a custard, probably only slightly sweet.”

In fact, James McWilliams’ A Revolution in Eating cites Amelia Simmons’ American Cookery as the first introduction to “pompkin pie.” Simmons’ book, published in 1796, was the first American cookbook.

Hannah Glasse’s The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy (1805) listed a recipe for pumpkin pie as such:

"Take pumpkin and peel the rind off, then stew it till quite soft, and put thereto one pint of pumpkin, one pint of milk, one glass of Malaga wine, one glass of rose-water, if you like it, seven eggs, half a pound of fresh butter, one small nutmeg, and sugar and salt to your taste." (McWilliams, p. 312)

Although I won’t be pulling from such sources to make my pumpkin cake, I did alter recipes from both Martha Stewart and Ina Garten. And oh my goodness, this frosting! It is like a caramel cloud that melts into sweet sunshine in your mouth. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Browned Butter Pumpkin Cake with Fluffy Caramel Cream Cheese Frosting

Salted Caramel Sauce (Yield: 2 cups – You’ll have extra to use for drizzling apple dipping!)

1-1/2 c. granulated sugar

1/3 c. water

1-1/4 c. heavy whipping cream

1 tsp. vanilla extract

1 tsp. fleur de sel

1. Combine the water and sugar in a large saucepan (emphasis on “large”—some scary/exciting bubbling action will occur later) and cook over low heat until the sugar dissolves (5-10 minutes). Stir the mixture with a heatproof rubber spatula every once in a while.
2. Turn the heat to medium and boil the sugar and water until it turns a warm coppery color, gently swirling the pan every so often. This should take another five to seven minutes. You don’t want the sugar to burn, but the darker the sugar is, the richer the flavor of the caramel.
3. Take the pot off the heat. And here comes the partly-terrifying-but-extremely-awesome part: stand back and gently pour in the cream.  It will immediately bubble and expand…A LOT.
4. Put the pot back on the burner over low heat and let the caramel simmer for a couple minutes, stirring constantly, until the caramel is smooth.
5. Pour the sauce into a glass bowl and stir in the vanilla and fleur de sel. Let your caramel sit at room temperature for at least four hours to cool and thicken. 

Cake

2 c. all-purpose flour

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. ground ginger

1 tsp. cardamom

1 c. brown sugar

1 c. granulated sugar

2 sticks butter

4 eggs

1 15-oz. can of pumpkin puree (1 ¾ c. pumpkin puree)

1. Preheat the oven to 350°, then butter and flour two 8” round cake pans.
2. Melt the two sticks of butter in a saucepan over medium heat, swirling the pan every so often. Once melted, continue to let it cook until the butter starts to brown. You will see little sandy granules start to settle at the bottom and the butter will smell nutty and amazingly delicious. Once it is golden, take it off the heat. Pour the butter into a large glass bowl (making sure to get all the browned bits) and set aside to cool.
3. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, ginger, and cardamom.
4. In the butter bowl, mix in the two sugars and the eggs. Then pour in the dry ingredients and whisk until it just blends into the wet ingredients.
5. Fold in the pumpkin puree with a rubber spatula until the batter is uniform. Be careful not to over-mix the batter.
6. Divide the batter evenly between the two cake pans. Swirl the pans and tap them against your counter a couple of times to evenly spread the batter and release any air bubbles.
7. Bake 30-32 minutes, or until a toothpick comes out clean.
8. Allow the cake to cool completely in the pans and then invert them onto a wire rack. 

Fluffy Caramel Cream Cheese Frosting

1 8-oz. package of cream cheese, at room temperature

1 c. salted caramel sauce

2 c. whipping cream

1. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, beat together the cream cheese on medium speed until smooth.
2. Turn off the mixer and pour in the caramel sauce. Continue mixing until combined.
3. Pour the whipping cream in the bowl and mix on low speed until incorporated into the mixture. Once combined, turn the mixer on high and continue beating until the icing becomes light and fluffy and it holds a peak.

Assemble the cake and drizzle with more caramel sauce!

Bellies and Baklava

            Two weekends ago, I had the opportunity to belly dance at a carnival. I channeled my inner gypsy and danced to the spellbinding rhythms of a live drumming band. I can now check off one item from my list of life goals.

Despite the unfortunate fact that I was nauseous with nervousness the entire day, my time on stage was like a dream. I could smell the sun on the grass as the wind wound its fingers through my hair. The drummers played a beat that echoed the pulse of my heart. When my hips shimmied, the coins strung around me rang out across the stage and glimmered in the sunshine. And when I threw my head back and raised my arms to the heavens, the sky above me was deliciously blue.

There is something very elemental and eternal about belly dancing. I feel like it gives me a deep connection with myself as well as with the generations of women before me who have danced the same way. The hours of choreographing and rehearsal only served to make that connection even more profound—it was such a labor of love. But as I practiced and imagined the feeling of a hot desert wind across my skin (visualization is very important to me), I began to have a rather intense craving—a craving for BAKLAVA.

I love baklava. It is nutty, sticky, crunchy paradise.

            According to cookbook author and anthropologist Claudia Roden, baklava—the most well known of Middle Eastern desserts—first came to the region some time during the Ottoman Empire. In her cookbook The New Book of Middle Eastern Food, she writes that this ubiquitous treat is served during special occasions and is considered “a token of love to the departed” when devoured during festivities commemorating the dead. (If I am lucky, my baklava will please the little ghosties floating around this Halloween.)

            The first time I tasted baklava was when my neighbors—an elderly Egyptian couple—brought my family a plate. My parents weren’t crazy about it, which left more for me. How serendipitous.

After that, I began to order baklava at every Greek and Persian restaurant I went to. I was, more often than not, disappointed. I couldn’t help it! I was already spoiled. There simply is no substitute for homemade baklava—especially when it comes from a woman who has been baking it for years. In fact, I would not be surprised if she learned how to make baklava from her mother, who learned from her mother. So who knows how old her recipe is? I’ll have to find out some day. But in the meantime, I decided to make baklava myself.

To create this recipe, I consulted a variety of sources, including Giada De Laurentiis, Alton Brown, Michael Symon, and Claudia Roden. Then I tweaked the resulting recipe until it suited my own preferences. I would say this baklava is mostly Greek, with a very slight hint of Iran and Iraq (due to the almonds and cardamom) as well as a touch of Israel (because of the orange and lemon in the syrup).

Thankfully, my parents love this baklava recipe! As I am an only child, I usually cut this recipe in half. It gets demolished within a couple of days, but I do it for our own good. This time, however, I am sharing with more than just two other people and my belly dance-induced craving. I will be gifting this baklava to the sweet, sweet people who have helped me get this baking blog out of the tortuously windy and frenzied corners of my mind and into my own little space of the Internet. So a full pan of baklava, it is!

I only wish I had made this baklava sooner. My pre-performance hours should have been spent eating baklava. It is so delicious that it probably would have made me less nervous.

Baklava (Yield: about 38 pieces)

Ingredients

1/2 c. walnuts

1/2 c. almonds

1/4 c. chopped dried apricots

2 tbsp. light brown sugar

1/4 c. plain dry bread crumbs

1-1/2 tsp. cinnamon

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

1/4 tsp. ground cardamom

1/2 tsp. salt

33 sheets of phyllo dough, thawed*

1/2 c. vegetable oil

Syrup

1-1/4 c. honey

1-1/4 c. water

1-1/4 c. sugar

1 2-inch piece of fresh lemon peel, pith removed*

1 2-inch piece of fresh orange peel, pith removed*

*Note: Thaw the phyllo dough by leaving it in the refrigerator over night. When assembling the baklava, keep the phyllo dough covered with a slightly damp tea towel, as it dries out quickly. It is also very, very delicate and rips easily. In regards to the citrus peels used in the syrup, make sure the pith is entirely removed. The pith is the white spongy part beneath the peel. It is very bitter! You don’t want that in your baklava syrup. After cutting the peel away from the lemon and orange flesh, take a paring knife and run it across the back of the peel, until only the outer skin remains.

1.  Combine the nuts, apricots, sugar, breadcrumbs, spices, and salt in a food processor. Process until you have a relatively fine and uniform meal-like consistency. Be careful that it doesn’t become a paste! Set aside.
2. Preheat the oven to 350° F. Using a pastry brush, brush the bottom of a 9×13” pan with a little bit of vegetable oil.
3. Layer 10 sheets of phyllo dough in the pan, one at a time, brushing each with oil and letting the edges of the phyllo come up the sides of the baking pan.
4. Sprinkle one-fourth (about 1/2 c.) of the nut mixture evenly over the top.
5. Layer four more sheets of phyllo over the nuts—again, brush each individual sheet with oil. Repeat this process until you use the last quarter of the nut mixture.
6. After using the last of the nuts and spices, top the baklava with 11 sheets of phyllo, brushing each with oil. Brush the last sheet with extra oil.
7. Using a sharp knife, cut 1-1/2” wide strips, slicing through all the layers. Then make 1-1/2” diagonal slices. This will give you beautiful diamond-shaped pieces of baklava.
8. Bake for 45 minutes, flipping the pan around halfway through so that it doesn’t get too browned on one side. Meanwhile, make the syrup.
9. Combine the honey, sugar, water, and lemon and orange peels in a saucepan. (*Hint!* When measuring the honey, use the same measuring cup you used to measure the vegetable oil—it will allow the honey to slide right out, without too much stickage.) Set over high heat and bring to a boil, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Let boil for 10 minutes, stirring and watching it closely, as it tends to bubble over. Take off the heat and discard the lemon and orange peels.
10. Once the baklava comes out of the oven, pour the syrup over the top. And, trust me, this is the hardest part—let the baklava soak in the syrup, uncovered, for six hours. I usually can’t wait that long, but if you have more self-restrain than I do, wait those six hours. In fact, baklava is always better the next day.
11. Before serving, go back over the lines you cut into the baklava before baking.