Not Derby Pie

When it comes to Passover and any other diet-restricting events or circumstances, I’m a firm believer in eating things you’d enjoy any other time. Forget matzah-meal muffins and “Passover rolls.” I’d rather eat undressed lettuce and oranges for a week straight than endure those lame excuses for bread. Gluten-free folks may feel differently, since their restrictions aren’t temporary; for the rest of us, I strongly recommend sticking to recipes for delicious things that happen not to call for flour.

For our eating pleasure, I’ve compiled a small list of flourless baked goods. These are recipes I’ve gathered over the years — one as recently as last week — that help ease the annoyance of going without bread for a week (or more).

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When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait for Saturday to come. I’d like to say I loved the break from homework and the chance to spend time outdoors, but really, it was just the Babka. Green’s Babka, specifically. The chocolate came in the blue wrapper; if you wanted cinnamon, you went for the green. Inside were many countless sheets of paper-thin dough, folded accordion style as densely as could be, and protectively encasing layers of chocolate. A cross-section had the complex structure of brisket, with all those layers to cut through. I ate mine from the outside in, peeling the layers apart slowly and seeing how thin I could rip each piece. It was quite the treat.

The complex structure of the dessert was etched in my mind. So many layers! And so impossibly thin! However did they do it? For years, I (stupidly) assumed that homemade babka was out of reach. But after a brush with the old-school Green’s a couple months back, I was jolted from the romance reminded that Green’s is made with wow, so much margarine. And no butter at all. I was convinced that by using the real stuff, I could make an even better version of the childhood classic.

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I’ve tried making pizza on several occasions. Every time, as I bite into a not-quite-crunchy crust and get a lick of too-thick tomato sauce on my tongue, I wonder why we didn’t just hop on the 96 bus and get off at Two Amys, the best pizza in town. Well, all that’s changed. Armed with not one, but two excellent pizza recipes, I’m here to assure you that homemade pizza really is within reach.

I recently indulged in a couple new cookbook purchases. Peter Reinhart’s Artisan Breads Everyday” and Jim Lahey’s My Bread have joined the party on my cookbookshelf, and I’ve spent the better part of the last several weekend mornings tucking into their recipes, devouring their advice. I’ve been making Lahey’s No Knead Bread for quite some time now, both plain and with all sorts of add-ins. His book offers all that and more: imagine his bread dough, studded with fruit and infused with spices, then baked wrapped in banana leaves. Or the same dough, flavored with coconut and chocolate, baked in that hot oven so that some of the chocolate crusts on the outside of the bread. The pictures in this book animate already-delicious-sounding recipes. I’m thrilled to have it on my shelf, and his pizza recipe is just one more reason. Ditto Reinhart, who offers many solid recipes for sandwich breads, challah, and even a cinnamon chocolate babka, sitting on my counter now and the subject of a future post. But I’m getting carried away: let’s talk about pizza.

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The only thing better than discovering in your fridge the ingredients for a fantastic winter salad is discovering in your freezer the ingredients for a fantastic summer tart in the middle of March. I was looking for the wheat bran I use to make my weekly bread, when I jackpot and happened upon a bag of frozen blueberries in the very back of my freezer. I thought I’d run out of summer berries long ago, but no! I still had some blueberries left (along with a litle bit of sweet corn and a couple precious strawberries — stay tuned.)

When frozen blueberries present themselves, you make something crusty and flaky and oozy with fruit juices: a tart or a pie, either will do. In this case, I’d been eyeing the blueberry tart in cornmeal crust from a new addition to my cookbook shelf: Karen DeMasco and Mindy Fox’s The Craft of Baking, and this seemed like a golden opportunity to try it.

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As you probably already know, I’ve had a pretty big food week. For one thing, I managed to roast a whole fish in a big pile of salt. I also made 2 loaves of bread, and 4 pizzas — pizzas that actually tasted as good as something I could buy, which has never happened before. If that’s not enough, I decided to take advantage of my already gutsy week and try a Thomas Keller recipe. People, the sky is falling.

Thomas Keller is the renowned chef of The French Laundry, Bouchon Bakery, and a handful of other spots. He’s certainly one of the most famous chef in America. He’s known for his particularity, his precision, and his meticulousness. Every recipe of his — even the simplest, most elemental — consist of countless steps, involve several pans, and have you running around the kitchen in a mental state that’s pretty much the opposite of the low-key way I like to cook. See why I was nervous?

If you read Carol Blymire, you probably think TK recipes are no biggie. After all, she made a whole book of them. And now she’s working her way through the only cookbook I can think of that seems more intimidating than Keller’s: Alinea at Home, Grant Achatz’s documenting of the molecular-gastronomy-heavy dishes at his Chicago restaurant Alinea. Not all of us are as adept at guestimating weights in grams, using products like methocel F50, and generally rocking out. But we’ve gotta start somewhere, now don’t we.

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There’s a certain amount of risk involved in cooking. Many times, I spend all day prepping for a recipe that’s a total clunker. I’ve shelled out lots of cash on “novelty” ingredients that end up being nothing special. And I’ve definitely made my share of rookie mistakes that, if I were the type of normal cook that makes something more than once, probably wouldn’t happen nearly as often. Yes, D thinks I’m crazy. She’ll never understand why I’d pass up chocolate chip cookies to try my hand at chocolate-dipped hazelnut shortbread. Or why, instead of making my tried and true recipe for lemon curd, I insist on blowing 2 whole meyer lemons on a whole-lemon tart that was so saccharine, so unpleasantly textured, I nearly threw it out. But such is the life of a blogger: constantly in search of the next internet-worthy recipe, making plenty of duds along the way.

So imagine my delight when my hard work actually paid off. This wasn’t just any old success. On the contrary: it was a complete and total knockout.

I’ve been wanting to roast a whole fish for quite some time now. I’d been told it wasn’t particularly difficult, but pfff — it’s a whole fish! With a tail! And eyeballs! And it’s a whole fish. You get the point. But after a rough week at work, I decided hell! If other people can do it, why can’t I? And thus began the most fearless, the most exciting, and by far the most successful adventure I’ve ever had in my kitchen.

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I rarely make the same thing twice. If something truly blows me out of the water — as this did — I’ll make something like it again. Something like it, mind you; never identical. I like recipes, but I don’t really like following them. I’d rather just take an old idea and riff on it. That’s what I do best. So when I take out my pen, when I actually skip over to the fridge every ten seconds to scribble how much maple syrup I’m pouring into the bowl, you better believe whatever it is I’m making will absolutely knock your socks off.

Such is the case with this cake.

Chalk it up to the weather, but I’ve been on a serious maple kick recently. I guess it all started two Sundays ago, when I was whacked square across the face with the world’s biggest craving for maple syrup. This was no small itch: I’m serious, people. I just wanted to shmear maple syrup all over my face. I could’ve tipped the jug and drunk it straight. It was that kind of craving.

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