Pecan Do It

I'm not a competitive person. I just don't see the point.

If someone wants to let their ego rule the day- and if it's that satisfying to their immaturity- go right ahead, push to the front. I don't need to evaluate my accomplishments in terms of yours.


The only exception comes when faced with a culinary challenge. I've been tricked into making apple pies and brownies, chocolate-chip cookies and scones, all at little more than a few words' suggestion that someone else's- or heaven forbid, a prepackaged version- is better than mine. Even though I know what's happening, I can't help it; the compulsive baker takes over and I find myself up at 1 a.m., measuring out sugar and greasing pans, muttering This'll show them tomorrow as I mix up a batter.

At least it's not a self-destructive habit- the only damage is to my sleep schedule. And since I'm compelled to share the finished goods (out of generosity, not anything as base as gratification), it's less selfish than typical competitive behavior.

Still, the most intense challenges tend to come not from an innocent outside remark, but from within, like when I spotted this pumpkin cheesecake with praline sauce on the last page of the November 2008 Food & Wine. Give me a break, I thought, noting the total time of six hours, plus overnight chilling. Who would be asinine enough to waste that much time making a cheesecake?

A month and a half later, the presumptuousness of such a recipe still had me foaming at the mouth- or was it salivating at the thought of those caramel-covered pecans oozing down the side of a slice? I didn't care if it took over a day. I needed to prove that this recipe wasn't worth it.

You know how this one turns out.


I ended up buying a can of pumpkin and a bag of pecans later that morning and before I knew it, I was waiting the directed two hours for the puree to dry and figuring out which tea would go best with the spicy, brown-sugar flavors. I certainly had the time to think about it.

Pumpkin Cheesecake
Makes: 12 servings.

1 15-ounce can (1 3/4 cups) pumpkin puree
8 whole graham crackers, broken
1/2 cup (2 ounces) pecans
1 tablespoon light-brown sugar
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus more for greasing pan
1 1/2 cups (14 ounces) cream cheese, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
5 large eggs, at room temperature
1 cup heavy cream, at room temperature
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

1. Set a rack over a counter and line the rack with 2 layers of paper towels. Spread pumpkin puree over the paper towels and let drain for 2 hours, until puree is fairly dry.

2. Preheat oven to 350°. Butter the bottom and side of a 9-inch springform pan. In a food processor, pulse graham crackers until finely ground. Add pecans and brown sugar and pulse until finely ground. Add melted butter and pulse just until incorporated. Press crumbs onto the bottom of prepared pan. Bake crust for about 5 minutes, just until fragrant and lightly browned. Let crust cool completely.

3. In the bowl of a standing electric mixer fitted with paddle, beat cream cheese until very smooth. In a small bowl, whisk granulated sugar with salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and allspice. With machine on, add spiced sugar to cream cheese and beat until creamy, scraping the bottom and side of bowl. Carefully add drained pumpkin puree and beat until smooth. Add eggs one at a time, beating well and scraping down bowl between each addition. Beat in heavy cream, lemon juice and vanilla until batter is smooth.

4. Pour cheesecake batter over the cooled crust and bake at 350° for 12 minutes. Lower the oven temperature to 225° and bake the cheesecake for about 1 1/2 hours, until an instant-read thermometer inserted in the center registers 150°; the center will be very jiggly but not liquidy. Let cheesecake cool on a rack, then cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

5. Run a hot knife around cheesecake and loosen springform ring. Carefully remove ring and transfer cake to a plate. Using a warm knife, cut into pieces and serve with the Pecan Praline Sauce (recipe below).

A note on the recipe: I adapted it a bit from F&W's original, which I believe had some serious timing issues. I also halved the praline sauce and found it still ample for the entire cheesecake, but by all means double it and challenge yourself to put it on everything, if you're like that.

Pecan Praline Sauce
Makes: 1 1/2 cups.

3/4 stick (6 tablespoons) unsalted butter
6 tablespoons dark-brown sugar
1/4 cup heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (4 ounces) pecans

1. Preheat oven to 350°. In a large saucepan, combine butter and brown sugar and cook over moderate heat, stirring, until smooth. Stir in heavy cream and salt and bring to a boil. Simmer just until slightly thickened, about 3 minutes. Let the caramel cool.

2. Spread pecans on a rimmed baking sheet and toast for about 6 to 8 minutes, until lightly browned and fragrant. Transfer pecans to cutting board and let them cool. Coarsely chop the nuts, stir into cooled caramel and serve sauce. Leftovers can be refrigerated up to one week (and tastes fabulous on vanilla ice cream); rewarm gently before serving.

As soon as I tasted that rich, creamy, tangy-pumpkin bite along a plain black tea (something not too overpowering, like Darjeeling, works best) the next day, I knew it was worth it. Damn you, you delicious, interminable cheesecake.

But I still think I won.

Plant One on Me

I have to take back everything I've ranted about, at least in terms of takeout chai tea. (Everything else is still fair game.)

I've finally found a chai ($2.25) that is creamy, spicy and sweet- and made with decent loose-leaf tea- at the Lower East Side's Doughnut Plant (379 Grand St.).


Make no mistake, this chai is served up sweet. But after that initial insulin-spiking bite of doughnut, it won't seem so at all, and a faint peppery and citrus-rind afterbite offers further balance in the cup.

The tea was even more remarkable to me because I was all ready to finally write the Doughnut Plant off. It just has such a "my doughnuts are more artisinal than yours" New-Yorky vibe, and that's annoying. And at around $2.50 apiece, they're no bargain.

But the eggless, yeasted, secret-family-recipe batter does yield some outstanding doughtnuts. I didn't want to like them, but I just couldn't help it. And I had to get something to go with my tea. The fresh orange had that sunshiny burst, so welcome in winter, of citrus at its peak; the pistachio was studded with crunchy, plump nuts.


But it was the creme brulee doughnut ($2.75) that stole my heart.

You could actually see a worker in the back torching the tops of rows and rows of them, which were bravely weathering it, like troops of an elysian army, for their big chance out on the counter. I managed to wait until I got home to dig into mine, because I had a feeling about this one.

Words escaped me with the first bite: I just felt the crackly, burnt-sugar top and softly yielding dough exterior give way to an unctous, vanilla-bean-flecked pastry cream filling. I couldn't describe it with anything other than a low moan.

It was gone in seconds, but not before it conjured up a treasured childhood treat that I didn't realize I'd been missing so much all these years: little sugar-glazed doughnuts- I have no memory of the name, but they came frozen in a long, flat black box- that my sister and I would inhale whenever we had a babysitter. Then I suddenly remembered the time we came up with the brilliant scheme of just turning the temperature up to 500° on the toaster oven to make them cook faster. At least we weren't as dumb as the babysitter, who opened up the oven door and tossed an entire pitcher of our waiting accompanying limeade on the flaming pastries.


Such a tragic waste.

That's all behind me, however, and now I know where to get a chai and creme brulee doughnut whenever I want to.

The Best Cookie of My Life

It really was.

And it was so unassuming, almost lost amid an army of neon macaroons, fluffy pastel marshmallows, lime mousse cakes, buche de noels and chocolate-dipped candy canes (festooned with impossibly small gingerbread-men sprinkles, of course) at the Taj Boston's (15 Arlington St.) annual Christmas brunch buffet.


But this almond thumbprint cookie, filled with raspberry jam, is what put the other sweets to shame.

It was everything a dry, crumbly, packaged Pepperidge Farm cookie dreams of being: tender, moist and sweetly flavored from the almond, with a burst of bright berry sunshine in the middle. One bite, and it made me gasp.

(The four plates of savory food beforehand might have had something to do with feeling unable to breathe, but it was just all so good- sushi, seaweed-sesame noodles, aged goat cheese, sauteed salmon, mashed potatoes, roasted carrots and baby beets, pumpkin-cheese tortellini, the best mattar paneer ever to pass my lips- how could I resist?)

I'm a seasoned buffet glutton, but it was actually verging on painful to cram in any dessert at all. I did need something to go with the tea I ordered, however, since I had already made short work of the almond thumbprint cookie.

So I loaded up a few more small plates, brought them back to the table and started food styling for the photos while I waited for the tea to arrive.


"Don't you dare talk trash on your blog about this tea, just because it's bagged," my sister whispered to me as the waiter arrived and started pouring it from a tall silver pitcher.

I assured her I wouldn't. And I really won't, because as I explained, where- and with whom- you have a cup of tea is what makes it pleasurable (or not). The strong, black English breakfast blend that we sipped from the ivory china cups was surprisingly well brewed, but even more important, it was capping off the best meal of the year, enjoyed alongside those I love most dearly.


It was a welcome reminder of what, in the end, is all that matters.

May your 2009 be filled with tea in good company. And cookies.

Cardamom, Take Me Away

I've been reading a few books lately that take place in Kashmir, and descriptions of a local green tea, brewed with spices and nuts, keep enticing me.


I'd never heard of kahva, or Kashmiri tea, before, but I found a simple recipe for it in Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian cookbook, which I've been slowly working my way through for years now.

Even if the closest you've gotten to Kashmir is wearing a soft, warm sweater and lying on a rug listening to Led Zepplin, just the first sniff into a cup of this gently spiced tea will transport you.

Kahva

In a medium-sized pot, combine 4 cups water with 12 cardamom pods, lightly crushed, 4 teaspoons blanched slivered almonds and 4 teaspoons sugar. Bring to a boil, remove from heat and let sit, covered, for 3 minutes. Add 4 teaspoons Kashmiri green or gunpowder tea, stir, and cover again for 2 minutes. Strain into glasses and serve hot.

You can add a pinch of saffron or cinnamon to the tea too, if you like, both of which are regional variations. And though these rosewater-pistachio cookies aren't a traditional accompaniment, I don't think anyone will mind eating them alongside.

Pistachio Rosewater Cookies
Makes: about 2 1/2 dozen cookies.

1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup canola oil
3 tablespoons rice or soy milk
4 teaspoons rosewater
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon finely grated lime zest
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup shelled pistachios, coarsely chopped

1. Heat oven to 350°. In medium-sized bowl, whisk together sugar, oil, rice milk, rosewater, vanilla, lime zest and juice. Add cornstarch and whisk until dissolved.

2. Mix in flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon until well combined. Refrigerate dough for 30 minutes, or overnight.

3. Roll dough into balls about 2 teaspoons in size and dip tops into chopped pistachios. Place on ungreased baking sheets, nut-side up, and flatten slightly with two fingers.

4. Bake for 13-15 minutes; remove from oven and let sit on sheets 5 minutes. Remove to rack to cool completely.

They're even vegan (another recipe from the amusing Veganomicon cookbook), so you can pretend they're healthy. I know I need at least a brief respite from all the delicious butter and salt I've had over the past week.

The 12 Days of Teamus: Day 12

For the last day of this series, I thought a lot about the ultimate tea gift. A year's supply of Uji Gyokuro; a cordless, laser-guided, instant-read thermometer to get that exact water temperature; a handcrafted Japanese birch-veneer tea canister?

Nothing seemed just right.

I realized, then, what my favorite gift is: the first cup of tea I have in the morning. I'm lucky enough to be able to make and enjoy one every day.

So set your alarm five minutes earlier on Christmas morning and make yourself a cup of your favorite tea. Drink it quietly before you do anything else, and just revel in the smell of the leaf brewing and the gentle tickle of the steam on your lips before you close your eyes and sip.

Do it every day, and it will be an endless gift.

The 12 Days of Teamas: Day 11

Who could resist this porcelain Winter Wren Tea Set ($98) from Anthropologie, consisting of an adorable chunky pot and four diminutive, beak-emblazoned cups?

There's something so relaxing and '70s about this design. And it's the kind of gift that will no doubt be appreciated, especially when wrapped up with some loose tea.

I know I would love to open this gift, if only I could scrounge up three friends to have over. Setting up the stuffed animals at the table and pouring tea for them just seems so second grade.

The 12 Days of Teamas: Day 10

Just when you thought a Christmas gift couldn't get any more ridiculous: A single cupcake stand ($64) from the amazing studio of Whitney Smith pottery.

This hand-thrown, pale-pink glazed stand and bell-jar lid- topped with one little, tiny, perfect bird- is almost cute enough to eat. Can you imagine finding this under the tree?

And if you sneak a tea-flavored cupcake inside before you wrap it up, then you probably can get out of gift-giving for the next three years, at least.