Purple Plum Torte

In the spirit of a sweet Jewish New Year, I set out to make something sugary and delicious with my excess of farmers market stone fruits, ending up with this absolutely perfect Purple Plum Torte. For the Jewish Holidays, the stakes are always high—not only am I cooking for a crowd, but everyone’s brought their best tried-and-trued Jewish dishes to the table, so my dessert needs to be on par with its foodstuff competition. Which got me thinking a lot about Jewish Tradition.

The beguiling fondness of Jewish food is a simple recipe: equal parts tasty and association. Rather than just eating that brisket here and now, the ritualized dish extends beyond the present, touching on all the years past that its been enjoyed in this time of rebirth, religion, family, and friends. In a sense, horology is truly altered: time stops, remembers, anticipates. We look forward to the food with such pleasure, because the memories of the past are so rich. This is what was on my mind when I set out to create my Rosh Hashanah dessert.  I didn’t want to just make something palatable—I wanted something timeless, the stuff of tradition. That dish that people grow to expect year after year, a muddling of gustation and memory.

Alas, the discovery of this recipe was met with extreme pleasure (or shall I say, much cavort over torte!) as it fulfilled both of my objectives: to create a recipe as timeless as it is tasty. Marian Burro’s Plum Torte was published by the New York Times every single September from 1982 to 1989, after its last print the newspaper received a torrent of nostalgic complaints. The torte had come to be known as the marker of the changing of seasons and new beginnings; as predictable as the transition from August to September. The torte is nothing fancy— it has only 8 ingredients and is laughably easy to make. Yet the recipe is revered with an air of filial piety, a solemn respect to its longevity and endurance by all who make it— and a double underlined mandate to not change. Variations are discouraged here, because the torte has already been perfected. You make the torte, you enjoy immensely, you contribute to the legacy.

At this point, curiosity may have already caused you to glance at the ingredient list, and you’re thinking, this looks pretty basic—why all the hype? I've got a few reasons. It’s because nothing bad ever came of creaming together massive amounts of butter and sugar. It’s because when purple, bubbly plum juice seeps down into the depths of the cake, it creates a texture so moist it literally melts in your mouth. It’s because it eats even better the next day—and the third. Lastly, it’s because it tastes like tradition, like something your family will lick their lips over until the next round of Jewish holidays, associating the tremendous torte with these precious, beloved gatherings as we gear up to start the fresh new year. Which, I’d have to say, is the best taste of all.

Purple Plum Torte (by Marian Burros, originally published in New York Times)

Makes 1 torte

Ingredients:

¾ cup sugar

½ cup (8 tbsp) unsalted butter

1 cup unbleached flour, sifted

1 tsp baking powder

Pinch of salt

2 eggs

12 pitted purple Italian plums, halved lengthwise (also called prune plums, the little guys)

Sugar (~2 tsp), lemon juice (~2 tsp), and cinnamon (~1 tsp), for topping—adjust to personal preference

Directions:

1.     Heat oven to 350 degrees.

2.     Cream the sugar and butter in a large bowl. Add the flour, baking powder, salt and eggs and beat well.

3.     Spoon the batter into a spring form pan (a regular pan is fine, just don't expect to serve outside the pan) of 8, 9 or 10 inches. You can grease pan with butter first if preferred, but its not required. Place the plum halves, skin side up, on top of the batter concentrically, until entire surface is covered. Sprinkle lightly with sugar, lemon juice, and cinnamon.

4.     Bake for 40-50 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean. (Under bake if you plan on reheating the cake in the oven later.) Allow torte to cook for 10 minutes before serving.

Jerk Chicken and Tofu Kebabs

According to the New York Times, it’s not ice cream and watermelon that accompany the Labor Day cookout, but rather wistfulness and melancholy—as if igniting the grill on this early September Monday simultaneously blows out the eternal flame of easy summer living.  This is ridiculous, notes Sam Sifton, as you can ignite a grill any day of the year. But, I get it. Everyone wants to wallow in self-pity because summer is ending, playtime is over, back to the grind, yada yada. Throw on that grill cover (appropriately dressed in black) with a quiet, choking “see you next June” and you’re slowly walking away from sunshine, pools, beaches, shorts, happiness. Well, let me tell you what will help you get over grieving this so-called propane-fueled funeral. A brand new, super exciting, Labor Day kebab marinade! Yes, these Jerk Chicken and Tofu Kebabs are guaranteed to lift your spirits—after all, they did originate in the Caribbean, home of summer year round! (Which, you can always visit, you know. And like, not to make this about me, but some of us aren’t even allowed to have a grill.) So let’s abandon the grill noir, fire up that propane-powered bad boy (or oven—works just as well here!) and make some kick-ass kebabs.

In addition to being super tasty, a new grill marinade also has to harness the unique, because nobody wants to read another “1000 marinades that will make your summer” list. (Spoiler: over half will be some type of teriyaki.) Enter the jerk.  In the same way that Jamaican jerk seasoning has been molded and modified over hundreds of years as different cultures add influence, this marinade pulls from a bunch of recipes you’ve seen before—but transforms them into a totally novel rub. Yes, there is the soy sauce, brown sugar and ginger from ever-present teriyaki. But there’s also scotch bonnet peppers and Jamaican allspice—distinctive to the jerk—and orange and lime juice and zest, which rings almost Southwestern. Plus a whole bunch of other ingredients that will leave you breathless once you’ve rattled off the entire list, yet be met with pleasant surprise when you realize that all ingredients, save the peppers, are pantry items—you likely already have them in your kitchen.

Snaps to this recipe for eliminating the chopping board by calling to be made in the blender; the biggest effort you’ll make (before kebab-assembling) is pressing “blend” with your finger. I’m not going to lie, when the liquefying was finished, the marinade boasted the exact color of a mud puddle. But a quick lick established it was going to taste phenomenal, and in the oven it yielded a beautiful, caramelized bronze—on the grill, that perfect, signature blackened char.

Since we are celebrating (not mourning) summer; take this opportunity to stuff your skewers with as many late-summer seasonal vegetables as possible. From the farmers market, I loaded up with yellow squash, multi colored peppers, and onions.  The tangy, peppery bursting-with-flavor jerk marinade coats the vegetables beautifully: a piquant pop to the earthy produce.

The author of this recipe recommends serving the kebabs with coconut rice; I concocted a turmeric-laced yellow. Whichever flare you go with, choose rice for your accompanying grain—it soaks up the jerk drippings from the kebabs beautifully.    

One small note: if you use bamboo rather than metal skewers, make sure to soak in water for a few hours before cooking. This prevents the wood from burning when it meets the heat.

Jerk Chicken and Tofu Kebabs (adapted slightly from Food52)

Serves 6

Ingredients:

For the jerk seasoning and sauce:

1 scotch bonnet pepper, chopped (remove seeds for less intense heat)

2 jalapeño, chopped (remove the seeds for less intense heat)

1 tbsp fresh thyme

4 cloves garlic

2 tsp whole Jamaican allspice (can substitute regular ground allspice)

2 ½ tbsp brown sugar, packed

1 tsp kosher salt

½ tsp nutmeg

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 tsp ground black pepper

1 tsp powdered ginger

¼ cup olive oil

¼ cup soy sauce

Zest of 1 lime

¼ cup lime juice

¼ cup orange juice

½ cup apple cider vinegar

For the kebabs:

2 lbs chicken and/or extra firm tofu*, cut into chunks

2 lbs assorted vegetables such as yellow squash, zucchini, peppers, and onions

20-25 skewers

*To prepare tofu, remove entire block from package and wrap in two layers of paper towel. Microwave for 2 minutes to remove excess moisture. Cut into ~1 x 2 inch rectangles.

Directions:

1.     Make the jerk sauce and seasoning. Chop scotch bonnet and jalapeño peppers, removing seeds if desired. If using Jamaican allspice, smash in a mortar. Add peppers, allspice, and remaining seasoning/sauce ingredients to a blender and blend until smooth.

2.     Add chicken and/or tofu to a large zip lock with enough jerk sauce to completely cover them. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours (overnight preferred.)

3.     When the chicken and/or tofu has fully marinated, assemble the kebabs. Chop desired vegetables into uniform pieces (~1 x 2 inch). Alternate stringing 2 vegetables for every 1 piece of chicken/tofu on the kebab, keeping ½ inch of space in between each ingredient to ensure even cooking. Baste generously with reserve jerk sauce.

4.     Prepare to cook. For the grill: when grill is hot, brush with oil and cook kebabs for 3 minutes on each side. For the oven: preheat to 450 degrees. Line a  baking sheet with tin foil and spray with olive oil or cooking spray. Cook for 20-25 minutes, rotating kebabs 10 minutes in.

Kitchen Sink Summer Panzanella

"Entirely green salads are boring!" declared Sarah Jampel in her article, 10 Fruity Summer Salads That Aren't Fruit Salad, a few weeks back on Food 52. At first, I raised a defensive eyebrow—being quite the leafy-green aficionado myself— but was quickly persuaded by Jampel’s critique of the wildly incommensurate amount of leafy-greens plaguing the lunchtime staple. It’s a proportion thing, she argues. "Slogging through a leaf-heavy salad” is tiresome! Here, I have to agree—how many times have I grabbed a salad at my office’s corner bodega or Just Salad (which is now sounding quite ironic) only to embark on a seemingly endless quest of picking through layers of spinach or arugula to mine for that final nugget of bean, chopped nut, or grilled chicken? Too many times, my friend. So, how does one take leave of the leafy-green? Drum roll for Jampel's grand solution…. "Add more stuff." And if you add enough stuff, you don't need leafy greens at all.

Which brings me to this recipe for Kitchen Sink Summer Panzanella.  Farmers markets and backyard gardens are boasting summer produce at its most bountiful, a vibrant rainbow of corn, zucchini, eggplant, and peppers. At first glance, these luscious summer staples might seemed geared only for the grill. But as a NYC apartment dweller who’s thrown one too many temper tantrums over the balcony-banning propane laws of Manhattan, I challenge you to err on the side of creativity and instead, try a panzanella—a superb medium for these very vegetables that utilizes them in a new, interesting way. Yes, it’s a salad, but gone are the greens. And you wont find any slogging here—rather, be prepared to consume with unbounded zeal and excitement, because you’ve found the answer to late summer lazy dinners: a dish that delivers consistent excellence yet emphatically encourages ingredient versatility. And is really easy.

Panzanella is a traditional Tuscan salad that tosses cubes of old bread with tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, basil, and other seasonal vegetables in a classic mix of olive oil and vinegar. It is refreshing, different, and divine.  Here, a solid base dressing, enhanced with Dijon mustard and garlic, ensures a fresh, tangy coat to any ensuing ingredient. Briny capers add depth to the raw vegetables and dressing, and toasted, cubed bread doused in olive oil and salt is obviously just impossible to dislike. It all comes together in this crunchy, vinegary, croutony melody of summer’s finest.

In terms of vegetables, the market/garden is your oyster! Anything that can be crunched is fair game, though I would always recommend some tomato and basil action. The first time I made this, in went everything I had in the fridge: tomatoes, peaches, string beans, cucumber, yellow squash, and a can of cannellini beans. The next week, I swapped the squash with bell peppers and omitted the beans. Both times, I used whole-grain bread to increase richness and flavor.

I strongly encourage you to consider throwing in a diced peach, plum or nectarine to your panzanella—the sweet notes of a stone fruit are a wonderful contrast to the savory salad, yet blend easily with the acidity from the vinegar.  To elevate from a side to main, add white beans, diced chicken breast, or tofu cubes for protein.

This recipe hails from Smitten Kitchen, so you know it's going to be really good. In addition to giving more options for add-ons, I also drastically reduced the amount of olive oil and in some places omitted salt. (Capers are quite salty, and for me, got the job done.)

 

Kitchen Sink Summer Panzanella (adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

Ingredients:

2 tablespoons good olive oil

About half a whole-grain bread loaf or baguette; cut into 1-inch cubes (6 cups)

½ teaspoon kosher salt

4 cups heirloom cherry tomatoes, cut in half

1 hothouse cucumber, unpeeled, seeded, and sliced 1/2 inch thick

2 colorful bell peppers, seeded and cut into 1-inch cubes

½ lb string beans

½ red onion, cut in half and thinly sliced

20 large basil leaves, coarsely chopped

3 tablespoons capers, drained

Optional vegetable additions/ substitutions: yellow squash or zucchini, coarsely chopped

Optional fruit additions: 1 plum, nectarine, or peaches, diced

For the vinaigrette:

1 teaspoon finely minced garlic

½ teaspoon Dijon mustard

3 tablespoons champagne vinegar (or 1 ½ red wine vinegar, 1 ½ white wine vinegar)

1 tablespoon good olive oil

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

Directions:

1. Heat the oil in a large saute pan. Add the bread and salt; cook over low to medium heat, tossing frequently, for 10 minutes, or until nicely browned. Add more oil as needed.

2. Prepare the string beans while the bread cooks. Trim ends of string beans and cover with water in a medium sized pot. Bring to boil. Cook for 3 minutes, then drain and rinse with cold water. Chop into approximately 1½ inch pieces.

3. Whisk together vinaigrette ingredients.

4. In a large bowl, mix the tomatoes, cucumber, pepper, string beans, red onion, basil, and capers (plus any additional fruits, veggies or proteins.) Add the bread cubes and toss with the vinaigrette. Season liberally with salt and pepper.

5. Serve immediately, or allow the salad to sit for about half an hour for the flavors to blend.

Cold Cucumber Soup with Yogurt and Dill

I've always found it funny that the ubiquitous enthusiasm people have for warm soup on a cold day doesn't translate at all for cold soup on a hot day. For cold soup, the word "cool" can only be applied to its temperature; in terms of trendiness, it sits alone in the cafeteria during lunch—save its super fashionista form gazpacho, which everyone just loooves.  But seriously, why must we solely, and selectively, accept the monotony of the tomato base? Is it because vichyssoise is hard to pronounce, and borsht sounds like the Yiddish antonym of mensch? Well, I—unrelenting advocate of all under-appreciated vegetables, and now, chilled soups as well—will not stand for this temperature discrimination.  I happen to love all cold soups (hello, green juice in a bowl, people!) And today I will share this recipe for Cold Cucumber Soup with Yogurt and Dill to prove my point.

"Summer afternoon, summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language," Henry James once said. Let me tell you, this is the soup to serve on that summer afternoon. It is the epitome of refreshing, easygoing, insouciant. Cucumbers, summer's most cooling vegetable, veg out on a pool float in a sea of creamy Greek yogurt, peppered with a plethora of verdant, flavorful herbs. Lemon juice lends an easy acidity; olive oil, a grassy twang. The whole thing can be assembled in less time than it takes for your sunscreen to soak in. Prior to serving, top with a quick sprig of dill, handful of minced purple onion, and drizzle of golden olive oil and you've added a complementary rainbow of bright summer hues to the minty green speckled broth.

Here, a big batch works best—you'll be surprised how quickly your bowlfull will empty, once, twice, even three times.  Stick extras in the fridge and work on it for the week: a big, giant bowl of cool whenever you feel so inclined. If you are like me, this guy will make it into the steady rotation of gazpacho substitutes, earning some well-deserved popularity as we glide languidly into the depths of summer. 

Cold Cucumber Soup with Yogurt and Dill (by Andrew Zimmern)

Ingredients:

2 large European (Persian) cucumbers, or 2 ¼ pounds, halved and seeded —½ cup finely diced, the rest coarsely chopped

1 ½ cups plain Greek yogurt

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1 small shallot, chopped

1 garlic clove

⅓ cup loosely packed dill

¼ cup loosely packed flat ­leaf parsley leaves

2 tablespoons loosely packed tarragon leaves

¼ cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling (can use less)

Salt

Fresh ground white pepper

½ red onion, finely chopped
Dill spring, for garnish

Directions:

1. In a blender, combine the chopped cucumber with the yogurt, lemon juice, shallot, garlic, dill, parsley, tarragon and the ¼ cup of olive oil. Blend until smooth. Season with salt and white pepper, cover and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or overnight.

2. Season the soup again just before serving. Pour into bowls. Garnish with the finely diced cucumber, red onion, dill sprig, and a drizzle of olive oil to serve.