Doughnut Ask, Doughnut Tell

Some teas are gentle; others feel like a punch in the mouth. And, like people, sometimes they masquerade as the other.

Such is the case with megami sencha, a Japanese green which has a clear, bright jade appearance and lighter mouthfeel than other senchas- but a bold, almost astringent taste. I love the contrast, but it does need something alongside to balance it out. What better than something hot, sweet and fried?

I'll justify making these Japanese hiking doughnuts any way I can.


I got the recipe years ago, from my absolute favorite cooking magazine Saveur. Unfortunately I didn't save the accompanying story, in which the author related how she and her husband had been hiking at Mt. Fuji, and while stopping to rest along the trail, met an old Japanese couple who offered these doughnuts. One bite, and the author knew she had to have the recipe, so despite the language barrier, gestured that she would love to know how to make them and gave the old woman her email address. On the way down, her husband scoffed she would never, ever see that recipe.

But over a year later, an email from one Mrs. Nishiwaki turned up, with the recipe for the elusive treat.

(Oh ye of little faith. I would have made and eaten the entire first batch myself, telling that doubting Thomas he was welcome to fish out any blackened remnants from the oil.)

I can see why the author was so enchanted with these doughnuts: They're crispy and moist on the outside, sweet and lightly lemony inside, and if you eat them fresh, the oil warms your fingers and turns the powdered sugar coating into a heavenly paste that you have no choice but to lick off.

For junk food, they seem almost good for you, with a dense crumb but an interior lightness- well, until you eat more than five. After that, you may have to reconsider any hiking plans.

Japanese Hiking Doughnuts
Makes: about 15.

3/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup plain yogurt
2 eggs
Juice of 1 lemon
1 heaping tablespoon honey
1 tablespoon vegetable oil plus more for frying
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
Pinch salt
1/4 cup confectioners' sugar

1. Put granulated sugar, yogurt, eggs, lemon juice, honey and 1 tablespoon of the oil in medium bowl and stir until smooth. Gradually sift flour, baking powder and salt over yogurt mixture, beating with a wooden spoon until batter is smooth. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate until batter is chilled, 30 to 60 minutes.

2. Pour oil into a wide medium heavy-bottomed pot to a depth of 2 inches and heat over medium heat until temperature reaches 300° on a candy thermometer. Working in batches to avoid crowding with the pot, carefully spoon a scant 1/4 cup of the batter into hot oil and fry, turning occasionally, until doughnuts are deep golden brown all over and cooked through, 5 to 7 minutes per batch. Transfer doughnuts with a slotted spoon to paper towels to drain. Dust with confectioners' sugar.

If you can manage to save any, you really can pack these for an outdoor excursion. Just let them cool completely before wrapping them up, to avoid sogginess.

And do keep in mind that you will burn the first batch; it's a well documented phenomenon, from crepes to blinis, that the first one has to be discarded because it never turns out quite right. Just take a deep breath, a sip of sencha, and then throw the burned ones out the window.

Someone always benefits from your mistakes.

Brioche, Meet Babka

You know that climactic scene in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle when the protagonists finally sit down to their table full of burgers, start jamming them into their drooling maws, and Kumar almost immediately stops, mid-bite, and starts to sob with joy?


(Wait a second. What do you mean, you haven't seen Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle? It's a film classic, way better than Casablanca, Chinatown and all those other pretentious movies everyone pretends to have seen a million times. Go order it on Amazon, then rent it so you don't have to wait to watch it. NOW.)

That's exactly how the first bite of this cinnamon-swirl babka made me feel.


It's based on the outstanding brioche recipe from Alice Medrich's Pure Dessert, and I've been wanting to make it ever since I got the cookbook. But you know how things can sidetrack you (unfortunately, nothing involving a hitchhiking Neil Patrick Harris). It took just a bit of cajolement from a sugar-fiend sister and the next morning, we were sinking our teeth into bite after pillowy bite.

Brioche and Cinnamon-Swirl Babka
Makes: 10 small loaves or one large babka

3 cups bread flour
20 tablespoons (2 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, cold
1 envelope active dry yeast
1/3 cup plus 1 teaspoon sugar
1/4 cup warm water (105° to 115° F)
5 large eggs, cold
1 tablespoon sour cream or yogurt
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
For babka:
3/4 cup packed muscavado sugar
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened

1. Place the flour into a mixing bowl, cover, and freeze for 30 minutes. Place cold butter in mixing bowl and beat with the paddle attachment only until creamy and smooth; there should be no hard lumps when you pinch it between your fingers. Scrape the butter onto a small plate and refrigerate (proceed with the dough right away; a long delay will reharden the butter).

2. In the clean mixing bowl, dissolve yeast and 1 teaspoon of sugar in the warm water. Attach dough hook and add remaining 1/3 cup sugar, eggs, sour cream, salt and flour. Mix on low speed until all ingredients are blended, scraping down the side of the bowl as needed. Knead the dough on medium speed for 5 minutes; it will be very soft, moist and sticky and very elastic, and should be wrapped around the dough hook.

3. Add the cold butter in small pieces, letting each incorporate into the dough before adding more. Scrape the dough into an oiled bowl and cover. Refrigerate overnight or up to 24 hours. (Brioche can be prepared plain, at this point: place small balls of dough in buttered brioche pans; let rise for two hours, until doubled. Heat oven to 350° and bake until tops are deeply browned, about 20 to 25 minutes.)

4. For babka: In a small bowl, mix together muscavado sugar, cinnamon, salt and butter.

5. Scrape the cold dough out onto a floured surface. Roll out to an 18 x 12-inch rectangle, about 1/2-inch thick. Spread the sugar-cinnamon mixture evenly over the dough, leaving a 1-inch margin on one long side. Moisten the margin with a little water. Beginning at the long side opposite the margin, roll up the dough, pressing firmly at the end to seal the seam.

6. Turn roll seam-side down and cut into 18 slices, each about 1 inch wide. Toss slices gently into an oiled Bundt pan, without arranging them; just ensure they all come to about the same height. Cover pan with a damp cloth and let dough rise in a warm place until doubled, about 2 hours.

7. Heat the oven to 350° F. Place Bundt pan on a baking sheet and bake until top of babka is deeply browned, about 50 to 60 minutes. Let cool in pan on wire rack for 20 minutes. Invert pan to turn babka out, then let cool another 10 minutes before slicing.

It's hard to improve on brioche- that rich, soft slice that holds more butter than you'd think scientifically possible- but with veins of spicy muscavado sugar and fragrant cinnamon running through it, it's elevated to divine territory.

And having your babka with a simple cup of Darjeeling- or any not-overpowering black tea- makes for a breakfast of the gods, even in such an imperfect world.

Little Miss Flaky

Finding the perfect croissant is a lifelong pursuit. They may be everywhere, but unfortunately, most just aren't that good.


When you do discover one, you treasure it. And you eat it as often as possible, even if it's from a bakery that's a 20-minute walk from your apartment. No matter how long it takes you to get there, the buttery, toothsome croissants at Almondine (85 Water St., Brooklyn) will make it worth it.


On my most recent morning visit, I decided to try a new one- the almond-raspberry croissant ($2.65)- with a cup of Mighty Leaf English Breakfast tea ($2). The pastry was sublime; the rich but not-too-sweet almond frangipane topped with a layer of raspberry jam brought to my uncultured American mind a PB and J fit for Louis XIV.

And the tea, for a bag, wasn't bad either. But if you're going to be turning out croissants like this, why can't you pay as much attention to the accompanying drink? When I go to Almondine in the summer, I just bring a thermos of my own looseleaf brew and take the pastry to eat in the nearby Empire Fulton Ferry Park, nestled between the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges.


Still, the tea they served did the trick this day. And with all those creamy, glazy traditional French pastries, chocolate-chip cookies as big as your face and warm, freshly baked multigrain loaves ($4.75), Almondine won't disappoint.

Slappy New Year

I've needed to restock my tea supply for over a month now. My freezer may be full of sugary treats, but I was running low on what to wash them down with. It's just been so very cold, and with that pesky economic collapse it's hard to justify dropping $50 on dried leaves.

But even so, on a recent day that could only be described as feeling Jack Frost's wintry slap (I'll admit I lifted that from weather.com, circa 2005), it was still worth walking 20 blocks to Ito En (822 Madison Ave.) for the tea I discovered.


Stalling so I could thaw out, I asked if there was anything new in stock, and was introduced to obukucha ($10 per ounce).

This Kyoto tea consists of a shincha, or first sencha harvest of the spring, which is aged in clay pots- unusual for Japanese greens, because the whole point is to have them as fresh as possible- until a few weeks before New Year's. It's served to celebrate the upcoming year with a taste from the old, and to usher in good fortune (something we all could use at the moment).

Even though it was almost a year old, the scent of the aged leaves, when I stuck my nose deep into the bag, was intensely sweet and grassy. I could hardly wait to get home to make a cup.


It brews up a pale florescent green, like the stems of those first brave snowdrops that unfurl through the thawing spring ground. And the smell is almost more nuanced than the taste, which is the roundest, least-brassy Japanese green I've had: Close your eyes and imagine the pale sun hitting bales of hay in a barn on a March morning. (Trust me on this one, even though the closest barn is probably 200 miles away.)

I had to keep making more to attempt to describe the flavor- every time I looked down, the cup was empty. It's that smooth.


The only thing this tea possibly needs is a stack of these simple, crispy almond brown-sugar cookies (adapted from the December 2008 Gourmet) beside it.

Almond Cookies
Makes: about 100 cookies.

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick unsalted butter, softened
1 cup packed light-brown sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon almond extract
1/2 cup slivered or whole blanched almonds (2 1/2 ounces)

1. Whisk together flour, baking soda and salt. Beat together butter and brown sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer until pale and fluffy, then beat in egg and vanilla. At low speed, mix in flour mixture until a dough just forms. Stir in almonds.

2. Divide dough in half. Using a sheet of plastic wrap, form each piece of dough into a log about 9 inches long (about 1 1/4 inches in diameter). Refrigerate, wrapped in plastic wrap, until very firm, at least 4 hours. Freeze 30 minutes to facilitate slicing.

3. Heat oven to 350°F with racks in upper and lower thirds. Line 2 large baking sheets with parchment paper. Cut 1 log of dough crosswise into slices less than 1/8 inch thick with a thin sharp knife, rotating log after each slice to help keep round shape. (If dough gets too soft to slice through nuts easily, freeze briefly.) Arrange cookies about 1/2 inch apart on baking sheets.

4. Bake cookies, switching position of sheets halfway through, until golden brown all over, 12 to 15 minutes. Transfer cookies on parchment to racks to cool. Repeat with remaining dough.

There's still a bit of the obukucha left at Ito En, so if you want to enjoy 2009, I'd suggest getting yourself some as soon as possible.

The Loudest Ones Are Having the Best Time

It can be obnoxious to everyone else, but when you're the ones laughing out loud for a few hours straight, it translates into a good time- for you, at least, as it did on a recent snowy afternoon at Naidre's (502 Henry St., Brooklyn). The Carroll Gardens branch of this cafe is an unassuming but welcoming space, even for a misanthrope like me.

The tea selection wasn't enormous- I could have found more in my refrigerator at home, a few blocks away- but it strayed pleasantly beyond the basic English Breakfast. I had the triple green tea with jasmine ($1.25), which was a blend of what looked like sencha, Dragonwell and jasmine pearls. The water was too hot (repeat after me: water boiling for black; just steaming for green), but the tea was still made with care- the loose leaves were bagged and tied to order, and if I had asked, I'm sure I could have had the bag separate. But I was being annoying enough.


The tea was good, though, and finding any cup of loose leaf for under $2 in this city is notable. The extensive food options were intriguing as well, even though I was still coming down from a crescent-cookie coma and didn't want anything. I did see a disgustingly delicious-looking mac and cheese float by, and the vegetarian reuben sandwich that my friend ordered wasn't too shabby, either. I could only force down a bite, but anything that contains a slab of fried tofu topped with fake bacon is going to ensure another visit.


Remember that part at the end of The Wizard of Oz where Dorothy has her big epiphany about not needing to look further than her very own backyard for her heart's desire? That wasn't just the Seconal talking. Sometimes it really is right there.

An Earl Grey Remix

I hate to throw food away, so when faced with the leftover orange-peel syrup from those delightful little pistachio crescents, I knew what had to happen: flavored tea.


I usually don't sweeten tea- if you buy decent loose leaf and brew it correctly, you shouldn't need to either, because it won't be oversteeped or bitter. Unless, of course, you're addicted to sugar and have to have several batches of cookies, brownies and cupcakes stockpiled in your freezer at all times. Ha ha ha. We'll leave those freaks aside for the moment, though.

The bright, strong flavor of an orange syrup needs an equally bold tea, so I went for a black variety. After trying a few different brews, it was Earl Grey that stood out.

But Earl Grey already is flavored, blockhead, you're no doubt shouting at your screen. Yes, but the flavoring is bergamot oil, which is derived from the highly aromatic bergamot orange. According to Alan Davidson's comprehensive Oxford Companion to Food, Earl Grey is actually one of the oldest blended teas, coming onto the scene in the 18th century. Perfect time for an update, then. The tea's citrus overtones are pleasantly intensified by adding the orange syrup; together they create a warm, welcome fragrance.

And if you throw in a few fresh orange slices into the hot cup, you'll have a wakeup that can get you through any bleak winter morning.


If you don't have leftovers from the crescent cookie filling, then can you at least get your lazy duff off the couch long enough to cut the peel off an orange, chop it finely, and simmer it for 30 minutes in a mixture of equal parts water and granulated sugar (try 1/2 cup of each)? Yes, you can.

Ancient Orange

The December 2008 Gourmet had a holiday cookie spread almost too gorgeous to eat. Even though those days are blissfully behind us, I've slowly been working my way through them, somehow ignoring the little voice that came up with the brilliant idea of going a whole week without eating sugar. I'll get to that. Next week.

These rich crescent cookies are the magazine's take on ghotab, an almond-filled, deep-fried classic Persian pastry. I've never had one of those, but after tasting this, I don't think I need to: the flaky, buttery dough is faintly sweet, and somehow tender yet firm enough to cradle the fragrant, chewy, citrus-nutty filling (just like I like my Persians).

The powdered sugar that gets all over your fingers as you eat them might be the best part. And when you think that they're not deep-fried, it's like you're having something healthy in comparison. Whatever. Just serve the cookies with steaming little cups of mint tea and no one will be complaining. They're practically designed to go together.


I know the recipe looks long, but I actually streamlined it a bit, and you can do much of it in advance. Plus, making the candied orange peel will make the entire house smell like the citrus grove empire you've always dreamed of owning. Oh wait, maybe that's just me.

Orange Pistachio Crescents
Makes: about 2 1/2 dozen.

Dough:
2 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
2 large egg yolks
3 to 4 tablespoons ice water
Filling:
1 large navel orange
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup granulated sugar
3/4 cup water
1/2 cup coarsely chopped pistachios (2 1/4 ounces)
About 1 cup confectioners' sugar, for coating

1.Dough: Whisk together flour, sugar and salt in a large bowl (or pulse in a food processor). Blend in butter with your fingertips or a pastry blender (or pulse) until mixture resembles coarse meal with some roughly pea-size butter lumps. Beat together yolks and 3 tablespoon water with a fork and stir into flour (or pulse) until incorporated.

2. Gently squeeze a small handful of dough: If it doesn’t hold together, stir (or pulse) in 1 tablespoon more water. Do not overwork dough or pastry will be tough.

3. Turn out dough onto a lightly floured surface and gently gather together. Divide in half, forming each into a 4-inch square. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill until firm, at least 1 hour or up to two days.

4. Filling: Cut off peel, including white pith, from orange with a sharp knife and finely chop. (Reserve fruit for another use.) Put peel in a 2-quart heavy saucepan, then fill with water. Add salt and bring to a boil; boil, uncovered, 10 minutes. Drain.

5. Bring granulated sugar and 3/4 cup water to a boil in saucepan over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar has dissolved; cover for one minute to wash down any sugar crystals from side of pan. Add peel to syrup and gently simmer, uncovered, until peel begins to turn translucent and syrup is reduced to about 2/3 cup, 20 to 30 minutes.

6. Drain peel in sieve set over a bowl, reserving 3 tablespoon syrup. Stir together peel, reserved syrup and pistachios. Let cool (can be refrigerated for two days).

7. To make cookies, heat oven to 375°F. Roll out 1 piece of dough on a floured surface with a floured rolling pin into a 15 x 12-inch rectangle. Cut out 16 to 20 rounds with a 3-inch round cookie cutter. Put a scant teaspoon filling on each round, then brush edge lightly with water and fold pastry over filling to form a half-moon. Press edges to seal. Shape each into a crescent by pushing a finger against middle of flat side.

8. Bake 1 inch apart on an ungreased baking sheet until golden, 15 to 20 minutes. Let cool 2 minutes on the sheet, then gently toss warm cookies in confectioners' sugar to coat generously. Transfer cookies to a rack to cool completely. Repeat with remaining dough, rerolling scraps once.

Why do all the things that are such a pain to make have to taste so, so delicious?