Coffee, Tea ... or Both?

It's rarely a difficult choice: people are either coffee or tea drinkers. There may be a cup of the other enjoyed now and then, but your heart belongs to just one.

But you can actually have them both, and be able to look at yourself in the mirror the next morning.


The secret is cascara, a tea made from steeping the dried skins of coffee cherries, which today are normally discarded during processing. This tea is actually an ancient drink known as qishr, and the original way coffee was prepared beginning around the 9th century in Abyssinia (modern-day Ethopia).

Do you understand what this means? Before extra-foam triple half-caf grande soyaccinos, coffee was tea. I'm not being all teaist, either. It's just a fact.


Cascara is simple to make, but a lack of available information or research invited experimentation. Playing around with the dose, water temperature and steeping time, I found 5 grams per 1 cup of just-boiling water, brewed for 8 minutes, to be ideal.


The few other guidelines I turned up recommend a 7-minute maximum brew, but as you can see (photo, below), this produced a much fainter- in color and flavor- cup of tea. It didn't seem that an additional minute would make much of a difference, but it brought out the deep, cherrylike sweetness in way that made the botanical connection suddenly hit on your tongue: Coffee comes from a fruit.


I'm not advocating it as a traditional tea substitute, but for any espresso addicts in search of a transition drink, this could get you off the junk. It's much closer to a fruit or berry tisane than a true (Camellia sinensis) tea, but it's a start.


Plus, it's made from what is usually considered trash. How eco is that?

If you still don't believe me, here's a little video of the whole process from the Square Mile Coffee Roasters, in London, which is where this batch is from.

Along Came a Cider

I went apple picking recently. And it's already vaulted into my List of Favorite Things: the light but palpable fragrance of ripe fruit in the cool air, the sharp crack of the apple stem as you twist it from the tree's jealous grip, and of course, the succulent crunch of that first bite.


Ending up with a peck of apples for $8 wasn't bad, either. I've eaten one a day, devoured apple crisp and applesauce oat bran muffins and still, somehow, crave more.

I wanted to incorporate tea into an apple dish, however, instead of just serving it alongside. Why not brew the tea directly in apple cider? a little nagging voice whispered. It usually offers me far worse advice, so I didn't see any harm in trying a novel method- and let me tell you, not much tastes better in the slanted autumn afternoon light than a cup of this cider tea.

It takes mere minutes to prepare, and it makes your kitchen smell like a spice merchant being seduced by Aphrodite. (You'll know what I mean when you make it.)


You can use any strong black tea, but I chose a fragrant, spicy apple-flavored tea (pictured below) from David's Tea that I'd been wanting to try for awhile.


It's a blend of black and green leaves with chunks of dried apple and bits of cinnamon and almond. Brewed alone, I found it a bit too sweet (one of the reasons I usually avoid flavored teas), but when combined with the natural tartness of apple cider, it worked beautifully.

Spiced Apple Cider Tea

In medium saucepan, bring 2 cups apple cider to a boil. Turn off heat and add 1 tablespoon tea; let steep three minutes, then strain into large measuring cup. Pour cider back into saucepan and stir in 1 cinnamon stick, several cloves and a few slices of crystallized or fresh ginger. Bring just to a boil and simmer 10-15 minutes. Serve hot.

Garnish with a few slivered almonds or cloves, and make sure each serving has a piece of crystallized ginger- a sweet and spicy reward for finishing the cup, although little incentive will be necessary.

Apple iCrisp

As I was getting the ingredients together for this apple crisp, I was talking on the phone to my mother, who had just happened to be pulling one out of the oven. I wondered at the coincidence, but reminded myself that she was the one who introduced me to baking- and to tea, in fact- so it shouldn't have been much of a surprise.



But when I told her I was trying new recipe, from Alice Medrich's luscious cookbook Pure Dessert, and it had apricots along with the expected apples and oat topping, I could hear her recoil. A barely audible "ew" made its way over the line, and I tried to reassure her that it would be even better than a traditional apple crisp.

I was right. But I don't blame her for her reaction; she spent decades attempting to feed me and the rest of my incredibly picky family, and the battle scars that make her shy from foods like apricots, almonds, roasted garlic, cabbage and cream cheese are deep. Still, she managed to nourish us all and make it seem effortless- and pass on to me an inveterate respect the food I eat and drink. I can't express in words my gratitude to her; a ramekin of this apple-apricot crisp, and a cup of smooth, soothing Darjeeling, is all I can offer.


I know she'd love it. You have to be inhuman not to.

Apple-Apricot Crisp

Topping:
1/2 cup all-purpose or white whole-wheat flour
1/2 cup rolled oats
Scant 1 cup coarsely chopped walnuts
1/2 cup sugar
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/8 teaspoon salt
Filling:
Grated zest and juice of 1 orange
1/2 cup dried apricots, coarsely chopped
About 1/4 sugar, depending on the tartness of the apples
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 crisp, flavorful apples (I used Macintosh and Cortland)

1. Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and heat to 350°F. Liberally butter a 2-quart baking dish.

2. In medium bowl, stir together all topping ingredients until well blended. Set aside. For filling, in a medium saucepan, combine orange zest, orange juice and chopped apricots. Bring to a simmer and cook a few minutes, until apricots are soft. Set aside.

3. In large bowl, stir together sugar and cinnamon. Halve and core the apples, then cut into equal-sized chunks. Add apples to bowl and toss with sugar and cinnamon. Stir in apricots and juice from the saucepan. Scrape mixture into buttered baking dish and spread evenly. Crumble topping evenly over apples.

4. Bake until crisp is browned on top and the juices are bubbling and thickened, 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 hours. Serve warm or cold.

Apple crisp is a messy dessert, but an appealing one- and when you leave the skins on the apples, not only can it get in the oven faster, the fruit also takes on a beautiful rosy blush. This recipe also showed me that the natural sweetness of apples requires little additional sugar, especially in combination with fresh orange juice and bright bursts of chopped apricot.



One of the other important culinary lessons my mother imparted is that the ideal breakfast is very open to interpretation. Having just finished off the dish of this crisp with a few cups of tea, I can assure you I've learned it well.

She's No Lady Mendl

Sometimes you just need high tea. Yes, it's fussy, affected, disturbingly anglophiliac and drags having a cup of tea out to a two-hour affair, but there's still something delightful about it.


And so a languid Sunday afternoon was spent at Lady Mendl's (56 Irving Place), where a lovely five-course tea ($35) slowly unfolded in a plush, cozy space.


The restaurant is named for Lady Mendl (née Elsie de Wolfe), a prominent, turn-of-the-century interior decorator whose motto was, "Never complain, never explain." Far from just another high-society aesthete, however, Lady Mendl practiced yoga, dyed her graying hair blue, and lived in an openly gay relationship- not quite who you'd picture sitting docilely, pinkie extended, through afternoon tea.


The menu here is very traditional: an appetizer of a mushroom-goat cheese tart was followed by delicate finger sandwiches of smoked salmon with dill cream cheese, and cucumber with mint creme fraiche; tiny, moist scones, served with clotted cream and a rich raspberry jam, were next.

By the time the crepe cake- oozing with layer after layer of vanilla pastry cream- and then tender shortbread cookies and strawberries dipped in chocolate arrived, I was feeling a bit overindulgent.


But that's what the tea is for. The selection is decent, although a bit too skewed toward black and herbal teas for a sencha addict's tastes. With the brazen spirit of Lady Mendl in mind, I chose a pot of Russian caravan, and the smoky, deep Chinese tea was a welcome counterpoint to such rich food.

It was brewed perfectly, and served with grace. I'm curious as to whether they treat green and white tea as well- I suppose I'll just have to go back next week.

It's Chai Time

It's 41° outside, and the constant, tiny daggers of rain for the past two days have made the thought of going anywhere absolutely preposterous.


Conditions like this spawn countless fair-weather (or rather, inclement-weather) tea-drinkers. That's fine with me; if you're not man enough to chug three steaming bowls of matcha when it's 95° and you're already pouring sweat at 8 a.m., that's your issue. I believe tea should be a part of every day regardless of the temperature, but then again, I've been accused of being stubborn or opinionated by almost everyone I know. Good thing I balance it out with such humor and charm.

And I don't think I'm above improvement. I made a big pot of chai earlier this week, and after a few unbiased, independent tastings, it became clear a recipe edit was needed. Playing off the classic chai that initiated TeaSpot, my new version is bolder and richer- thanks to a more concentrated spice infusion and smaller-leaf assam tea, as well as a bit of heavy cream- and shockingly (for me), less sweet.


Replacing the granulated sugar with honey conjures a subtler but more intriguing sweetness, and if you can find lavender honey, a warming vision of Provençal summer that gently spreads across your tongue and throughout your body. (Especially welcome as I sit here with two wool sweaters and a cashmere hat keeping me company.)

New Chai Tea

In a medium saucepan, combine 1/2 cup milk and 1/2 cup heavy cream with 3 cups water. Lightly crush 1-2 cinnamon sticks, 6-8 cardamon pods, 6-8 cloves, a small pinch of black peppercorns and a hunk of fresh ginger, peeled, and add to milk mixture. Heat over medium-high until simmering, then cover and remove from heat. Let steep 15 minutes, then gently reheat to simmering and add 4-5 tablespoons assam tea. Cover and remove from heat; steep 4 minutes. Strain and stir in 1-2 tablespoons honey.

The very concept of a "new" recipe, especially for a drink as ancient and open to interpretation as chai, is a bit silly. But there's never anything wrong with working on your improvisation skills.

Gourmet, R.I.P.

I was on my third cup of tea this morning when this arrived in my inbox: insanity.


I know nothing is safe, or even really sacred, in today's world. But the shuttering of such a culinary bible makes the stinging slap of this recession feel fresh. I'm stunned, hand to cheek, as I look through the September issue, which is one of the most gorgeous publications I've ever seen- and I read a lot of food magazines.

The only fitting tribute is to make something from its lush pages, photograph it, and then eat it. And I will, as soon as I sort through the 20 recipes I marked.

Are digital media- like this very blog- in part to blame for the demise of print? I'd certainly like to think not. The immediacy of the web is appealing, but how can anything compare to holding an affordable piece of art, like Gourmet, in hand, and gently paging through spread after luscious spread? Seeing it on screen just isn't the same.

This is such a blow to the entire food world, and right now, the only constructive spin is that there's going to be a gaping void needing to be filled. But to follow the loss of such a reigning authority, it's going to have to be something superlative.

A Study in Lemon and Poppy Seed

I know things have gotten a little preachy here recently, but anyone who loves food needs to read all eight pages of this Michael Pollan article. (And I do believe he himself falls a bit into the food-celebrity trap- maybe not for being flashy, but for the rabid dedication he inspires in his devotees. Is it possible I can continue to distrust people just because they're popular?)

It's a keen portrayal of the sad state of cooking in America today, how we're spending less time preparing food and more passively watching others do so. There is one quote that really struck me, from Sartre-charmer Simone de Beauvoir, talking about elevating the art of baking as a “revelation and creation; and a woman can find special satisfaction in a successful cake or a flaky pastry, for not everyone can do it: one must have the gift.”

Beauvoir wrote this in The Second Sex in 1949, but 60 years later, I'm still attempting it, almost every day, in my little dishwasherless city kitchen. Most recently, creativity was inspired by these lemon-poppy seed shortbread cookies from the lovely Lottie + Doof blog.


As I've said before, shortbread is an ideal vehicle for showcasing flavors, and these simple little cookies do so like champs. I used white whole-wheat flour to add a deeper, nutty flavor, and to pretend that they're actually good for you.

Lemon-Poppy Seed Shortbread
adapted from Claudia Fleming's The Last Course

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup confectioners’ sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons lemon juice
1 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon zest
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 cups white whole-wheat flour, sifted
1 1/2 tablespoons poppy seeds
1/2 teaspoon salt

1. Using an electric mixer, beat the butter and sugar until creamy and smooth, about two minutes. Add the lemon juice, zest and vanilla and beat well.

2. In a bowl, whisk together flour, poppy seeds and salt. Add dry mixture to butter mixture and beat until combined. Form the dough into a disk, wrap and chill for at least 3 hours or up to 3 days.

3. Heat oven to 300°. Roll the dough between two sheets of wax paper to a 1/4-inch-thick rectangle. Return dough to refrigerator for 30 minutes. Cut shortbread into squares or use desired shape cookie cutter, and place 1 inch apart on parchment-lined baking sheets. (Do not reroll scraps, if using cookie cutter.) Prick shortbread with a fork and bake until pale golden all over, 23 to 25 minutes. Cool on wire rack.

Well, they're good for your spirit, at least. And if you have them with a quiet green bowl of matcha, they're practically healthy.