Good News For Stale Bread – lip smackin’ bread puddin’ with hard sauce

I had my first taste of bread pudding circa 1975 at New Orleans’ famous Commander’s Palace.  In the then bordello atmosphere of heavy red drapery and flocked wallpaper, the waiter bought out the meringue topped CP soufflé version.  It was unstoppably luscious, but the drawback is, even if you know what you’re doing, it takes about 2 1/2 hours to create.   Even then, you need near perfect technique and temperature.   But, if you want to give that one a try, use your friendly Google to grab the recipe.  Or, you can fly to N.O., plop down your $8 and they’ll fix it for you.

What is bread pudding anyway?  Depends.  Been around for a long, long time, and the recipes are endless.  Practically every ancient civilization had its versions.  All used stale bread.  But, custard, or pudding didn’t come along until the middle ages, when some kitchen serf decided it would be a grand idea to please his liege with a milk and egg concoction.

We think of bread pudding as sweet, and many versions are.  But, other takes include meats or cheeses.  Hey, you got any stale bread?  I got a medium sweet version that takes about an hour fifteen to prepare and tastes heavenly.

Gotta warn you though, it’s addictive.  But, first, back to basics.  I use stale baguette rounds, but any bread will do, except for the air-bread you find in supermarkets that has more preservatives than a taxidermist’s first pet.  Some of that stuff won’t go stale in a millennium of leap years.  So, to complete this dish before I gave up in disgust and took to strong drink and unsavory ladies, my wife suggested I use baguettes.   Smart woman.  I had a foot out the door when her plaintive cries caught my ear.  I like to leave the crust on, by the way.

Bread Pudding with Hard Sauce

For the bread pudding:

Ten to twelve very stale baguette rounds, generously buttered, and then broken into medium sized pieces

1/2 Cup golden raisins

1 teaspoon grated lemon peel

2 eggs

1 Cup milk

1 Cup whipping cream, divided into two 1/2 cup servings

3 Tablespoons sugar + extra to sprinkle over the top

Pinch salt

1 teaspoon vanilla

Nutmeg

Plump the raisins by heating them in a small portion of water.  Drain.  Arrange the buttered, broken bread pieces in a four-cup baking dish. Sprinkle the raisins and grated lemon peel over the top.

Meanwhile, heat the oven to 350ºF (180ºC).

Beat eggs with the milk, 1/2 cup cream, salt, sugar, and vanilla. Pour the mixture over the bread.  Pour the remainder of the cream over the top, but do not stir.  Let the mixture stand for 30 minutes. Sprinkle a couple of level tablespoons of sugar and the nutmeg on top and slide it in the middle of a preheated oven.

Bake the pudding for 40 minutes, or until it is golden brown.  Cool for ten minutes before serving. 

For the hard sauce:

1 stick butter

1 1/2 Cups powdered sugar

3-4 Tablespoons brandy or run

Cream the butter.  Add the sugar and blend.  Add the brandy or rum and blend until mixed.

I tend to go easy on the brandy or rum.  I want the hint of flavor, not a shot of whiskey.

Simple.  Delicious.  Don’t invite anyone you don’t want to invite again.  They’ll follow you around like stray dogs, waiting for another invitation.  Be forceful.  Make them bring the dinner wine and tell them you don’t drink cheap stuff.

Apple Pie - the way Mom never made it

Apples and spices and light brown sugar

Crust painted with egg white

The Result

Ready for a fork and a cup of coffee

Do I dare blog a recipe for apple pie? Have I lost my mind?  Yes to the first.  Long ago to the second.

Mom’s apple pie had a syrupy feel to it.  You lifted your fork and some of it slid onto the starched tablecloth.  Heavy in sugar.  Ever so slight taste of apples.  Of course, memory fades, so there may not have been any taste of apples.  Matter of fact, I seem to remember a pie called mock apple pie made with Ritz crackers.

I’m here to change all that.  I have a recipe that is environmentally friendly, meaning no fossil fuel was harmed and no slicing and dicing of the atmosphere, other than your heavy breathing, which of course wheezes out carbon dioxide like bad science project.  We need to do something about that and today I’m promoting a “Day Without Breathing.”  If the over 3 billion humans would just go one day without drawing a breath, we could all race our Ferraris around the countryside and still shorten our carbon footprint from 10 1/2 wide to 6 narrow.  Now, I know some of you are incredibly shortsighted and selfish and will cheat and take a breath.  Others will poo-poo the idea simply because plants need CO2 to breathe, hence the expression GREENHOUSE GASES!  I say, a plague on both your greenhouses.  You either want to do something about the environment, or you want all life as we know it to cease, or both.

What’s all that got to do with apples and apple pie?  Did you not pick up the part I previously mentioned about this apple pie being ENIRONMENTALLY FRIENDLY?

I don’t plan to explain that, anymore than the EPA explains the word ‘organic.’

“Hank, you want some organic apples?”

“No, Fred, I’ll stick with these inorganic ones made from hand carved marble.”

“I noticed your teeth were shiny…and thin.”

What I'm trying to explain is that we eat too much sugar.  How do I know this?  I am told by very knowledgeable people, whose names I cannot divulge, but whose hair is stiffened by the same shellac I use to finish furniture and whose faces appear regularly on TV.

Also, I like the taste of apples more than I like the taste of sugar.

Deep Dish, Environmentally Friendly Apple Pie

The Crust:

1 1/4 Cups whole-wheat flour

1 1/4 Cups all-purpose flour

1/2 tsp salt

4 Tbsp unsalted butter

1/4 Cup vanilla yogurt

3 Tbsp vegetable oil (I use extra virgin olive oil, although I have never actually met an extra virgin anything)

4-8 Tbsp ice water

I use a food processor, but the crust may also be mixed by hand.  Mix the dry ingredients.  Add the butter and rub it in or lightly mix it in your processor.  Combine the yogurt and oil and mix it in.  Add the first 4 tablespoons of ice water to form a crumbly dough.  If it’s too crumbly, add more tablespoons of ice water until the dough clings together, but isn’t wet.  Divide the dough in half, form into two large hamburger sized patties, cover each with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator for an hour and a half or more.

The Filling:

6 Granny Smith or 8 Macintosh apples, peeled, cored, and thinly sliced

2/3 Cup packed light brown sugar

2 Tbsp lime juice (or substitute lemon juice)

1 1/4 tsp cinnamon

1/8 tsp ground nutmeg

Pinch of ground allspice

Pinch of salt

2 Tbsp all-purpose flour

1 egg white, beaten with 1 tsp sugar (for brushing the crust)

Combine apples, brown sugar, lime juice, salt, nutmeg, allspice, and cinnamon in a Dutch oven.  Mix well and cook over medium heat until the apples are soft and some of their juice has evaporated.  About 10 minutes.  Remove from heat, stir in the 2 tbsp of flour and allow to cool at least 30 minutes.

Puttin’ it all together:

Pre-heat the oven to 425ºF (220ºC)

Take the dough out of the refrigerator and allow it to come to near room temperature.  Roll out the two crusts, either in rounds or rectangles, depending on which shape pan you’re using.  Line your pan with the first crust, leaving an excess around the sides.

Add the filling and place the second crust over it. Roll or mash the edges of the top and bottom crust together and flute it attractively. 

Paint the crust with the egg white-sugar mixture.  The crust should be glistening, but not pooled with egg white.

Cut steam holes in the crust in a decorative pattern.

Bake in the lowest rack of your oven for 20 minutes.  Reduce the heat to 375ºF (190ºCº) and continue to bake another 25 minutes.

After removing it from the oven, allow the pie to rest for an hour and a half.

The result is going to be a crispy crust apple pie that has a strong apple flavor and only a slight sweetness.  Want it sweeter?  You can always serve it with a dollop of ice cream.

Now, to save the earth, let’s all take a deep breath and hold it all day…well, except for when you’re downing your second piece of environmentally friendly apple pie.

Sunday Morning Jazz - Frank Sinatra - Serenade In Blue

Although Frank Sinatra died almost 15 years ago,  he's still a household name among those who love smooth jazz.  Few remember however, the ups and downs of Sinatra's career.  High school dropout. Started out in small clubs.  Got picked up by two of the most famous big band leaders of the 1930s, Harry James and then Tommy Dorsey.  Branched out own his on and did spectacularly well during the war years. But, by the early 50's, Sinatra was passé.  He lost his recording contract.

He got back to music in the strangest way, via a non-musical film role in one of the greatest films of all time, From Here to Eternity.   His recordings began to soar on the charts once again, only to fade at the end of the 50s.  Capitol Records dropped him, so he started his own record company, Reprise.

Funny how we think that stars are always starts.  We sense luck and forget the energy, resilience, and persistence it takes to rise to the top, or what it takes to stand back up after you've fallen.

Anyway, here is Frank Sinatra singing a beautiful melody,  written by Harry Warren, a prolific song writer of over 800 songs, including "I Only Have Eyes for You", "You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby", "That's Amore", "The More I See You", and the first gold record in history, "Chattanooga Choo Choo", made famous by Glen Miller and his Orchestra.

Music and Flea Market – Another Sunny Day in Homburg

As sunny day and friendly crowds

Trash and treasures!

 I get frustrated when I hear people complain about nothing to do, right here in Germany, in the living, breathing heart of central Europe.  Right.  After you’ve been to all the weinfests, bierfests, historic cities and towns, sampled the huge varieties of foods, including special seasons for strawberries, asparagus, and pumpkins…  Well, I guess there really is nothing to do.  Wait a sec!  I left out flea markets and music festivals that spring up when the weather turns warm.

Homburg, just up A-6 toward Saarbrücken, has both. Every first Saturday, there’s a huge flea market.  It’s located a few blocks from the old market square. All you have to do is ask and people will point you in the right direction.  Vendors from all over Germany and France, as well as locals, bring their trash and treasures and display them in the open air. Very extensive.  It’ll take you over an hour to wind in and out and around the new Rathaus area.  Of course there is wurst and bier, along with crepes, sweet waffles, and soft ice cream.  It’s a bargain hunter’s paradise. Great selection of middle eastern carpets.

Another thing you don’t have to worry about is a shortage of cash.  In Homburg, from April to late October, there are free rock concerts every Friday night at 1900 and jazz concerts every Saturday, from 1100 to 1430.  What kind of rock and what kind of jazz?  Oh, you beggars are soooooo choosy.  Varies.  The bands change every week and in the case of jazz, it goes from modern to Dixieland to traditional big bands.  These are accomplished musicians.  Seldom do you see sheet music or music stands.

These folks change instruments as easily as you and I change hats!

A plethora of styles mix seamlessly.

Nobody can resist a good book.

Karl Marx and Truman Capote dropped by.

Hemingway was asked what he did for inspiration.  He said he went to the Prado and gazed at a few canvases.  You could say the same for music, or dance, pottery, or goldsmithing.  Art has a direct connect to the soul.

Homburg is a magical place on Saturdays!


Music, as with most art, soothes, relaxes, and takes you to a floating island of sentiment, high above your cares.  Think I’m wrong?  Hear a few bars of rock from your high school days and you sing along.  Can’t help it. As you sing, faces and places float past, a panorama of triumphs and failures, loves and loses.  You gain glimmers of acceptance, thin slices of understanding.  In the same way, jazz washes you in moonlight and the scent of roses.

While you’re making that connection, sit back and order a bier, or a wurst, or a full meal (all at normal prices) and enjoy the show.  Don’t feel like eating or drinking?  Enjoy the music for free, in one of the most quaint old market areas around.  The cobble-stoned market square has a beautiful stone fountain, surrounded by buildings that date back to forever, with their gabled and tiled roofs. Bars, restaurants and shops are all around you, as well as vendors selling fresh produce, cheeses, honey, and sausage.  The old Rathaus (city hall) is also on the square, complete with a crest of arms that indicates this city was once a part of Bavaria.

Nothing to do?  Well, go back to your warm milk and cookies and TV reruns.  Meanwhile, for the rest of us, rich man, poor man, or beggar, there’s a rainbow of activities going on in Homburg every weekend.

"Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life."
--  Berthold Auerbach (German novelist, 1811-1882)

Down Tha Local – a tasty British institution

The Salisbury - a Victorian Pub

The Nut Tree - smallest pub in England  

fish and chips

Pubs are still the great equalizer in Britain.  Working blokes and financiers, who fancy a pint, rub shoulders in what has always been a sharpened axe to the English barriers of class, the Pub.

The first time I drank Brit beer, in decades past, I’d been warned with the standard poppycock.  “They drink their beer flat and warm.  Terrible stuff!”

Yeah, it’s terrible to sit your bottom down in an historic and infinitely comfortable place, warm yourself at a fire while sipping a bit of liquid history and chatting with the locals.

Expecting something akin to warm spit?  Got news for ye.  First, let’s get some things straight.  Brit beer is not served warm. They keep their kegs in the cellar, with a temperature of around 50ºF (10ºC).   That’s not going to get frost on your fingernails, but it’s not exactly bikini warm.  Secondly, Brit beer is brewed with top acting yeast, rather than American and European bottom feeding yeast.  What’s up with that?  Less natural carbonation remains in the beer.  I’m not going to go into malts and hops and how many monks can dance on the head of a barrel.  You can read about it yourself, well into the night.

When I say historic, what do I mean? I’ll give you a quick glimpse. The Mayflower Pub sits next to the dock where tradition has it that ‘the’ Mayflower sailed for Southampton and on to the new world.

Then there’s The Grenadier, a club for the Duke of Wellington (of Waterloo fame) and his regiment. 

Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese has direct ties to Dr. Samuel Johnson, Dickens, Wilde, and Yeats, among others.

Blackfriar Pub, dating to 1905 and built on the site of a Dominican friary.  This architecture is simply outstanding.  All marble, inside and out.

Back to beer.  But, let’s stop calling Brit beer, ‘beer’, and call it what it is, ale.  Playing with linguists?  I don’t think so.  Ale has a different, heavier flavor and generally a darker color.  Even Bass Pale Ale has a deep amber glow.  In fact, to my well-trained taste buds, ale is a different beverage all together.  Comparing Brit ale and American beer is like comparing coffee and tea.  Both are warm beverages served in cups, but after that…

Time to cut the idle chatter and race into a pub.  Pub is short for Public House, meaning anyone 18 or older, with British Pounds and pennies, can walk in and order up.  I do urge one word of caution, order only traditional ales.  The rest are fizzy crap. Traditional ales are the ones the cute bar maid pumps when she pulls on one of the array of long wooden handles.  Check the bottom of the pull and you’ll see the name of the ale and the percentage of alcohol.  For my money, the lower the alcohol content, the smoother the brew.

When I first caught on that English pubs were God’s way of rewarding lechery and sloth, way back in the 1970s, I purchased a thin book called CAMRA’s Guide to Real Ale.  It had a sparse list of pubs around England that offered traditional ales.  CAMRA, the Campaign for Real Ale, arose in the 1970s as a response to so many big brewers doing things the easy way and adding large squirts of carbon dioxide, to weaker and weaker cousins of what used to be.  A hue and cry (both of them at once, apparently) rose up from the throats of those in every Middlesex village and farm.  “Save our ale!”

The happy result is that traditional ale is now available in nearly every pub and the CAMRA Guide to Real Ale has expanded to the thickness of the London Telephone Directory.  But, alas, every sunny day has a lingering black cloud.  British pubs are disappearing at the rate of some 50 per day.  Why might that be?  Prices.  The cost of a pint has doubled in the past decade, mostly due to rising taxes on alcohol.  Without being political, there does seem to be a direct relationship between people having less money to spend and people spending less money.  It’s not just the tax on beer, but also the taxes on the pub businesses.  The ban on smoking has also taken its toll.

Still, there are some 57,000 pubs left, serving 2500 varieties of brew from about 500 brewers.  Here are some general styles you can find, all of them richly flavored:

Bitter – lighter amber colored.  Light head.  Usual alcohol content is about 4.6%.

Mild – definitely darker.  Creamy head.  Alcohol closer to 4.0% or a tad below.

Stout – Guinness is the most popular brand.  Darker body, with a thick, creamy head.  It’s said you can write your name in the foam and it’ll be on the bottom of the glass when you finish your stout.

Those are very general terms and brews vary widely.  Do what I do.  Forget all those tales of what other people think Brit ale is.  The detractors are flat wrong and not even warm.  Experiment.  Try a half pint of this or that.  You won’t be sorry.  If you’re lucky you may even find a pub that brews it’s own.  Now, that’ a place worth spending some time.

"If you took a guy from the 10th Century and brought him forward in time, the only things he would recognize in the world today are churches and pubs," said Peter Brown, the author of "Man Walks Into a Pub," a history of pubs and beer.

 

Inside Blackfriar Pub 

Entry to the Bunch of Grapes

Jazz For A Lazy Sunday - Teddy Wilson

Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye, music and lyrics by Cole Porter. This rendition from circa 1945 has my favorite jazz pianist, Teddy Wilson, Red Norvo on vibes, and vocals by Maxine Sullivan, whose voice is every bit as smooth and lyrical as Ella Fitzgerald's.

Wilson, whom I've frequently mentioned, played and recorded with all the famous jazz musicians of the era, as well as leading his own band.  Once you hear Wilson's effortless elegance, you never forget it and you always hunger for more.

Grab that second cup of coffee, or settle down for lunch and set the mood with this wonderful song by Cole Porter.

Every time we say goodbye
I die a little
Every time we say goodbye
I wonder why a little
Why the Gods above me
Who must be in the know
Think so little of me
They allow you to go

When you're near
There's such an air
Of Spring about it
I can hear a lark somewhere
Begin to sing about it
There's no love song finer
But how strange the change
From major to minor
Every time we say goodbye

Shrimp Spaghetti - hold the marinara, bring on the cherry tomatoes

Cherry tomatoes, garlic, mushrooms, and crushed red pepper.

When the shrimp turn pink, they're done.

Spaghetti is spaghetti is spaghetti, or so the unimaginative twits mutter.  Let ‘em! They see noodles as a glob, soaked in tasteless tomato sauce, instead of a canvas waiting for a culinary palate of color and taste.

Time to flip to a new page.  Banish those failed chemistry projects labeled spaghetti sauce, and let your spaghetti soar!  Unleash that magic simplicity that delights the eye and brings a smile to your face.  Think of the almost limitless possibilities of flavor and panache!  Now, race to the kitchen, sip some wine, and prepare to share some of that magic.

Shrimp Spaghetti

3 cups of cherry tomatoes, quartered

1/3 cup olive oil + 2 tbsp to pour over the cooked spaghetti

4 large cloves of garlic, thinly sliced

1 tsp crushed red pepper

1 1/2 cups thinly sliced mushrooms
3 tbsp chopped Spanish chorizo, casing removed

1 1/2 cups white wine

1 lb (or more) medium shrimp, cleaned and peeled

1/3 cup chopped cilantro

1 package spaghetti (gluten free works just as well for this dish)

Heat 1/3 cup olive oil over medium heat.  Add the cherry tomatoes, mushrooms, garlic, crushed red pepper and chorizo.  Cook until tomatoes are softened, about 6 minutes.  Add the white wine and cook until reduced by half.

While the sauce is reducing, boil the spaghetti noodles in salted water until al dente, 7 minutes.

Add the shrimp to the tomato mixture and stir to cook.  When the shrimp are pink, they’re done.

Drain the spaghetti, reserving 1/4 cup of the cooking water.

Add the cooked spaghetti to the tomato mixture; pour the reserved water and the 2 tbsp olive oil over the noodles, and mix the spaghetti with the sauce.

Serve with warm, crusty bread and white wine. Gewürztraminer stands up well to this mildly spicy, flavorful dish.

If you hear even a hint of complaint from your ungrateful guests, banish them forever, and spread the rumor they’re copious droolers who laugh uncontrollably at odd times.