Friday, July 24, 2009
I tend not to cook the same recipe twice. It's not a hard and fast rule I have, or something that I do intentionally, but there are so many recipes out there, so many things I have yet to try my hand at, that it seems almost a waste to retrace steps I've already taken. Sure there are things I cook for myself all the time, such as the less-than-stellarly-healthful french toast with caramelized bananas that I've developed a penchant for as a late dinner, but that's not really what I'm talking about. I'm talking about meals that you don't just make, but plan ahead to compose.
Pastas, eggs, sandwiches; these aren't things for which I need to rely on recipes to make.
But cakes, for instance, require a recipe. I just don't know off hand the precise measurements required in order to make something rise. And, unlike cooking, baking requires more precise measurements, since there's science and shit working inside that oven. Chemical reactions are required to make cakes rise, to make cookies puff, and if the proportions aren't right, then you wind up with cakes that sink and cookies that spread far too much. But with so many recipes out there, why eat the same thing twice? Sure there are classics, and I am sure that there will be some that I remake over and over again, but likely not until I've done enough experimenting to be sure that the particular incarnation really is the best of the best.
Sometimes, though, there are recipes that I come back to time and time again.
Some of my staple meals have spillover effects. For instance, to afford myself the ability to make my fall-back dinner of french toast and bananas whenever the craving hits, I tend to keep both challah an bananas around my kitchen at most times. While the french toast tends to get better as the challah gets stale (provided I don't get home from the bar a little, uh, hungry, and house half a loaf, and actually give it a chance to get to the stale stage, that is), the bananas are another matter. I'll only buy a couple of them at a time, but it's still rare that I actually go through all of them before they're overripe and past the point where they're acceptable for use with french toast. You'd think I'd learn and just buy one at a time from the fruit guy on the corner, but no, that would actually be wise. So I'll usually throw a couple in the fridge - the skins will turn brown, but the fruit itself is none the worse for wear.
While overripe bananas aren't the greatest in their unadulterated form, it's a well-known fact that the riper the banana, the better it is for baking. The browner they are, the spottier they are, the sweeter they are, and this sweetness really comes through in the baking process. The texture, which is what I think most of us find unappealing about the brown-speckled banana, is not an issue in baking, since the banana is mercilessly smashed, is form sacrificed for its better attributes: its moisture and the sweet, delicate, subtle flavor that is so basic to all of us.
This constant excess of bananas means that I need to find ways to use them, lest they meet the sacrilegious end of the trash can, which is just far too much for me to bear. Typically, this leads to banana bread.
Banana bread is without equal in the world of baked goods. It's so familiar that just the smell of it baking away in the oven is enough to instill warmth within your being. The fact that it's termed a "bread" despite having all the same ingredients (usually) as a cake, and the presence of the word "banana" - a real, honest-to-goodness fruit - in its name even allows you to convince yourself into thinking you're being virtuous for having a slice.
While, as I mentioned, I tend not to make the same recipe twice, banana bread, and this banana bread in particular, is one of those exceptions. When you want banana bread, there's just nothing else that comes close - there are simply no substitutes. And when extra bananas are lying around, there are few things to do with them as enjoyable as turning them into banana bread - sure cookies are cool, and I suppose muffins have their place, but there are just no substitutes when banana bread beckons. In fact, there may actually be no higher honor to an extra banana than playing a leading role in the making of banana bread.
I have tried a lot of banana bread recipes over the last few years, but this one has become my go-to. It's a veritable breeze to put together, the batter takes all of three minutes - max- to put together, and the fact that there's no fat in it makes me feel a little bit better about constantly having some around. Oh, it's also delicious, by the way, and it takes to freezing exceptionally well, so leftovers are not an issue.
It also happens to be an amazing companion to the salted caramel custard from a little place I may have mentioned here before. The last time I had the custard in my freezer I made the mistake (or had the ingenious idea) of throwing together a batch of banana bread. And when I was left in my apartment, working, all Memorial Day weekend, while all of my friends were traipsing around tri-state-area beaches, with nothing but my laptop, some banana bread and a pint of salted caramel custard, I may have developed an unhealthy affinity for banana bread and salted caramel custard sandwiches. What do you want from me? If I was going to be sitting home, drafting documents all weekend, I was going to gorge on banana bread and salted caramel custard sandwiches to my little heart's content - and don't judge me - I do not regret a second of it. I did, however, learn the danger of having both items in my general vicinity at once.
But I digress. This recipe is a keeper, an honest-to-goodness go-to. And while I will undoubtedly stray from it in the future, and I will try other banana breads, I don't doubt that I will continue to fall back on this recipe. It's simplicity and relative healthfulness, and it's wonderful results, have solidified its status as a standby in the kitchen of Shelbs & Cheese.
Banana Bread with Cinnamon Sugar Topping
Adapted from Everybody Likes Sandwiches
Banana bread, and this recipe in particular, is infinitely adaptable. It has no fat or oil of which to speak, so if you're feeling something more healthful, just cut back on the sugar and leave out the chocolate - it's still delicious. And you can enjoy it knowing that it won't leave you feeling all weighed down, or, worse, guilty. And if you're feeling some spice, go ahead -throw in some cloves, some cinnamon, hell, go nuts - add some ginger. Or if you just want to call a spade a spade (or a cake a cake), just whip together some cream cheese frosting and go to town.
Since this recipe has no oil or butter, really, really ripe bananas are necessary for it to achieve its great moistness. So let those bananas get really spotty, and then let them go a couple more days. You won't regret it.
The original recipe calls for an 8x8 square pan. I do not have such a pan, but have a 9x9 square pan. I have tried it in the larger square pan, in two loaf pans, and in a 9 inch circular cake pan. The circular pan has yielded my favorite results thus far, I think because the extra height keeps the cake nice and moist, but play around with it. You really can't go wrong.
3 really ripe bananas, mashed (I've made the recipe with two large bananas with good results, though 3 is certainly preferable)
2 large eggs
1 1/2 c flour
1 1/4 c sugar
1 t baking soda
1 t vanilla
1 T cinnamon
3/4 c chocolate chips
3/4 c chopped walnuts (optional - though I can't do without them)
2 T sugar mixed with 1/2 t cinnamon, for topping
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Mix mashed bananas with eggs and stir well to combine. Add the flour, sugar, baking soda, vanilla, and cinnamon and mix well with a wooden spoon or rubber/silicone spatula. Add the walnuts, if using, and all but about 2-3 tablespoons of the chocolate chips into the batter.
Pour batter into a buttered square (or circular, if you so desire) cake pan. Sprinkle the entire surface with the cinnamon-sugar mix and dot the surface with the remaining chocolate chips.
Bake at 375 for 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into cake comes out clean.
Friday, July 10, 2009
As luck (and two quite fortuitously-timed closings) would have it, the July 4th weekend found me in the loving (and misguidingly infuilential) care of a few of my very dear friends from law school on the sunny shores of San Diego (where, let me tell you, it is shockingly cold - why your friend proudly responds to your inquiry about needing a jacket with a resounding - read: borderline mocking - "no, but they're cute so you can bring one" - don't listen to her. Pack a sweater). (How many parentheticals can I use in one sentence (apparently many).)
It was an amazing weekend full of nostalgia, reminiscing about old memories, and of course, of creating new ones.
As my friend Jess and I stood on a corner in downtown San Diego near the end of a very long night, trying to scrounge together plans for a Sunday brunch, my friend Mackenna (she of "jackets are unnecessary but cute" fame), in all of her shoeless genius, requested that we go somewhere where she'd be served pancakes the size of manhole covers. Jess, not one to disappoint, knew of just the place. We were to brunch at the Hash House in the Hillcrest nightborhood of San Diego on Sunday.
And was brunch ever in order. We had celebrated America's founding precisely the way our forefathers had envisioned - playing drinking games around a jacuzzi on the beach during the day, throwing back countless shots of cheap whiskey - like the true pat-riots we are - throughout the night. And so, like any and all good Americans, we awoke on July 5th in desperate need of butter-laden biscuits, cured pork products, and - of course- manhole-sized pancakes.
We had been told tales of the Hash House, and the portions with which we were to be met, by Scott and Julia, our ever-gracious hosts, and proceeded to vastly over-order nonetheless. On July 4th weekend, what better way to celebrate America than with excessive overconsumption and mindless waste? It is, after all, the American way. We were only fulfilling our pat-riotic duties.
The Hash House does the American way in an unquestionably unapologetic manner - it's the American way done the American way.
The brunch menu, while large, was not overwhelmingly so, though when each menu option sounds as appetizing as these all did, the decision of what to eat is far from an easy one. We had agreed before our arrival that a pancake for the table was a must, since we are all of the mindset that no one ever really wants more than a couple of bites of a pancake, and actually ordering them as your meal always seems like a great idea, but will, without fail, leave you disappointed, bored and hungry for something savory about a seventh of the way through.
[When looking at these pictures, please keep in mind that these are not normally-sized plates. They are, in fact, the largest things you have ever seen in your life. I believe it was Scott who, more accurately than I could ever have known at the time, described them as "troughs." The pancake below may not look that large atop that plate, but it should be noted that the plate was, no joke, at least 20 inches in diameter. The plate alone must have weighed 13 pounds, as I struggled to lift it to hand it back to the waitress after dumping my leftovers into a to-go box. Now, I try to avoid hyperbole, and while I often succeed, there are no doubt times where I over-exaggerate. Believe me, this is NOT one of those times.]
The pancake options were varied, but we ultimately settled on the strawberry frosted flake and banana brown sugar. The pancakes, despite being manhole-sized (the picture above really does not do these pancakes justice, the thing was, seriously, the size of a hubcap) were actually incredibly soft, fluffy and remarkably light. I tend to fund that fluffiness and size are inversely correlated when it comes to pancakes, as they get bigger, they tend to get tough and gummy and unevenly cooked (I call it the Pancake Paradox). These, however, were perfect. The frosted flakes provided a great textural contrast amidst the fluff. I could have used a few more strawberries, as they were only sparsely dotting the surface, and the pancake would have benefitted from the added fresh sweetness.
I found the banana brown sugar pancake to be the better of the two. The bananas were strategically placed throughout the pancake in large, lengthwise slices, and the brown sugar did wonderful things in the batter - caramelized to the point of crunchiness in some places, gooey and syrupy in others. It was a truly excellent pancake.
The rest of the dishes were pretty good as well. I ordered one of the specials, a blue crab crab cake, which came with with two eggs, mashed potatoes (which find their way onto nearly every dish; seriously - you order eggs benedict, be prepared for eggs atop a split biscuit atop a pile of mashed potatoes, which have been ingeniously placed on the griddle, given them a wonderful golden brown hue and areas of awesome potato crispiness) and chili mayo. After seeing numerous plates pass by our table, each with legitimate puddles of sauce, I requested the chili mayo on the side. Thank the lord I did - while I may have turned a corner with mayo, this was beyond egregious - do you see that souffle-sized ramekin full of chili mayo?!? If my crab cake had come drenched in that entire 3/4 of a cup of chili mayo, it might have gotten ugly. Mayo, i love you, i really do, but even you have to admit that is just a silly amount of mayonnaise. Thankfully, I was able to dip my crab cakes in the mayo, applying a more modest amount and allowing the flavor of the crab to come through, instead of being totally lost beneath a blanket of spicy goop. The eggs, which I requested poached, were unfortunately overcooked, and did not provide me the opportunity to coat the crabcakes with an additional layer of unctuous cholesterol-laden deliciousness. Regardless, it was a highly enjoyable meal.
The biscuit that accompanied the dish (with the rosemary "tree" in it) was a light, fluffy, buttery number. On each table at the Hash House is a jar of homemade jam, with huge pieces of strawberries and peaches floating throughout. The jam is perfectly sweet - not overly so - and the fruit still mercifully intact, having macerated ever-so-slightly, such that you're actually biting into a piece of fruit, allowing you to feel (ever-so-slightly) virtuous for eating something that is (or was, at one point) moderately healthy. Of course, butter was a great option as well, as it always is.
The other dishes that found their way to our table were universally well-received. Emily's cobb salad was a towering behemoth of a dish that was full of huge strips of bacon (no bits here), amazing amounts of avocado, blue cheese, and all the other things that make cobb salads so wonderful. It was topped with barbecue sauce and a dressing that Emily was still raving about hours, nay, days later, trying to figure out what was in the mystical concoction that made it so magical.
Julia ordered the sage fried chicken benedict, which came with spinach, bacon, tomato, griddled mozzarella, chipotle cream and scrambled eggs, all, of course, placed gloriously atop a heap of mashed potatoes. I didn't have a chance to taste this, but I didn't need to in order to know that it was delicious. And enough to feed the entire nation of Rhodesia.
The orders were rounded out with a couple of hashes, one of which was the day's special and featured hunks of buffalo, another with roasted chicken. All looked delicious, but I was too stuffed to stick my fork in anyone's plate but my own.
While the Hash House was not outright cheap for breakfast, it's hard to complain when you're given enough to feed yourself for three meals. And when the food is actually good, too, it's a good deal indeed.
Hash House a go go
3628 Fifth Ave
San Diego, CA 92103
Apparently there is also a location in Las Vegas (who knew?):
6800 West Sahara Ave
Las Vegas NV 89146