Apple Cake with Rum Glaze

I love Fall.  More than any other season, it has always been my favorite.  I’ve never been one for really hot temperatures, so this first breath of relief from our scorching summers here is always met with unabashed delight on my part.  Much like my friends in the animal kingdom, this is where my body really starts to get into the hibernation groove, too.  I sleep longer and better at night, and my cooking gene REALLY gets to me.  With a nearly neurotic intensity, I scour my cookbooks for my favorite recipes, set out to fill my freezer with casseroles, and the baking reaches a terrifying frenzy.  My body knows there is a long winter ahead and it’s time to get moving on that body fat.

I could perhaps wish for a little less of that.

It’s also apple season.  When I was a child, this was the time of year we would visit my family’s ranch in Humboldt County and return loaded down with boxes of apples from the orchard.  Yes; we had a ranch in Humboldt County.  No, we did not grow anything other than cattle, sheep, and fruit.

Upon our return, my mom would get out the apple corer/peeler and we would get to work.  My sister and I would spend the morning working on that peeler while my mother spent the rest of the day making apple butter, apple pies, and canned apple pie filling.  Maybe this is where that baking gene comes from, as I always seem to have a similar day in the Fall where I overload on the apples and end up foisting baked apple goods onto anyone who crosses my path.

  My daughter, illustrating her genetic prowess

 with the apple corer/peeler.

These days, however, my apples are usually garnered from a trip to Apple Hill.  I always remind myself when I leave that I just need a few apples, but somehow when I get there, I get into the spirit of the whole thing, and those big boxes of apples are just so beautiful and CHEAP, that I figure I’ll get the whole thing and can my own apple pie filling with it.  All the way home, I have visions of Martha Stewart-esque jars of homemade apple pie filling, artfully decorated with bits of fabric and other flotsam.  I have grand plans to give these away as Christmas presents.

Then I get home and remember how much work canning apple pie filling is.  And that I am neither creative or artsy, and Martha Stewart is a convicted felon.  So, what to do with all these apples?

There are the usual apple pies, apple brown betties, apple dumplings, and caramel apples.  My problem with most baked apple treats is that I’m not actually a big fan of cinnamon and have yet to really find a good pie or betty recipe that doesn’t involve much cinnamon.  This year, I decided to explore apple cake.  After thumbing through endless recipes for apple cake, I congratulate the Junior League of Atlanta for having dug through their own bottomless supply of recipes to hoist this particular gem aloft for the rest of us.  

Apple Cake with Rum Glaze.   Normally, I can go either way on rum flavored baked goods. I need them to have just a subtle tease of rum, rather than being overly alcohol soaked, and this recipe doesn’t disappoint.  The glaze is a melted dream of homemade caramel with just a suggestion of the dark rum the recipe calls for.   The downside of this cake was that it quickly became a craving.  The first night I made it, I had a big slice, along with the rest of my family, many of which returned immediately for seconds.  My seconds came around midnight.  I was literally laying in bed unable to sleep for the siren call of this cake and had to get up to satisfy the craving.  I NEVER do that, so consider yourself warned.

A few final notes on substitutions – basically don’t.  I’ve made this recipe a couple of times since, and none of my substitutions worked out.  I tried going with light rum rather than dark, to see what happened.  It made the glaze so sweet my teeth ached and it lost all hint of the rum flavoring.  Walnuts, rather than pecans, gave a bitter edge to the cake itself, and substituting margarine for butter was just silly.  Southern women know all about cooking with butter, so leave it alone.

As long as you’re at it – serve this with whipped cream or ice cream.  Because really, that ship already sailed.

Apple Cake with Rum Glaze

(from the True Grits cookbook, written by the Atlanta Junior League)

Rum Glaze

½ cup butter or margarine

1 cup packed brown sugar

3 TBSP (or more) dark rum

Apple Cake

2 cups sugar

1 cup vegetable oil

4 eggs

3 cups flour

1 tsp baking powder

1 tsp baking soda

1 tsp nutmeg

1 tsp allspice

1 tsp cinnamon

1 tsp salt

1 TBSP vanilla extract

2 cups chopped peeled Golden Delicious apples

1 cup chopped pecans

To Prepare the Glaze

Melt the butter in a saucepan.  Add the brown sugar and rum.  Cook until the sugar has dissolved and the mixture is headed through – do not boil.

To Prepare the Cake

Combine the sugar and oil in a bowl.  Mix well.  Beat in the eggs one at a time.

In a separate bowl, mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda, nutmeg, allspice, cinnamon, and salt together.  Add to the egg mixture gradually, mixing well after each addition.

Add the vanilla.  Fold in the apples and pecans.  Spoon into a greased tube pan.

Bake at 350 degrees for 1 hour, or until a cake tester comes out clean.  Remove immediately to a plate.  Pierce with a fork.  Brush with the warm glaze.

Finished product -- Apple Cake with Rum Glaze

Welcome Community In The Garden!

In the very early spring of 2011, my dear friend, Angela Henning, and I volunteered to attend a grant writing workshop on behalf of our church, Emmaus Church Community, in Lincoln, California.  At the time, we were unaware that our attendance at this workshop would ultimately lead to our receiving a Wellness Grant from the Placer County Department of Mental Health to build a community garden.  As one would expect, receiving the grant meant we had to actually go build a garden. Thus, Community In The Garden was born.

Understand, I have always loved the idea of gardening a little more than the actual act of gardening.  It seems like it usually starts in February.  We’ll get an unseasonably warm day, my thoughts will immediately turn to spring, and I’ll get the gardening bug.  Off to the nursery I go to gather everything I need to start my seedlings and plant a bevy of colorful flowers around my domicile.  The flowers will be planted that same day, before I run out of steam, and the seeds will be tucked into their peat pots to be guarded anxiously by my now three year old daughter, Mia.  Because it’s February, I have inevitably started too early, and while the peat pots hold up their end of the bargain and quickly produce the desired seedlings, the weather has capriciously returned to its “winter” setting and putting them outside would be nothing short of planticide.  In my impatience, I will usually try anyway, then frown sadly as they are beaten down by the rain and freezing temperatures.

Undaunted, I will set out again in April.  This time, I return from the nursery with the seedlings someone else wisely cultivated in a greenhouse.  It’s safe to say, I have overpurchased.  Always.  My husband cocks an eyebrow at me as I plant tomatoes, corn, cucumbers, watermelon, and in a particularly ambitious year, sweet peas and green beans.  Wisely, he says nothing and good-naturedly proceeds to help me move dirt to make the necessary mounds and furrows to plant the bounty that will surely bring harmony and health to my kitchen.  All the while I have dreamy visions of wonderful summer salads, and imagine all the healthy, organic meals we will eat that have been grown by my own two hands.  I mentally congratulate myself for my environmental prowess in both reducing my carbon footprint as well as avoiding those nasty pesticides that contaminate our planet.  It all goes pretty well while the spring rains last, since the plants generally require little attention from me during this time.  Sadly, I have likely moved on to whatever sparkly thing has since crossed my path and captured my fancy.  I tend to check back in around mid-June when I notice the plants seem to be struggling.  Right; they’d probably like some water.  And what on earth caused those bean leaves to skeletonize?  *Sigh* - I guess I don’t really like green beans that much, anyway.

Somehow, my garden struggles along into July with my limited attention span.  It’s at this point that I notice I am drowning in far more cucumbers and tomatoes than I’ll ever eat, and really, who needs a whole watermelon plant for a family of three?  Unfortunately, my friends and family have usually also been a little over-ambitious with their gardening, so giving away the surplus is a difficult endeavor.  By August, I’ve given up entirely.  A family vacation has likely wiped out the plants for lack of water, and anything ambitious enough to continue exerting its will to live out there is completely on its own.

By now I’m sure you’re wondering how such an ambivalent gardener ever ended up with a Community Garden project.  Rest assured, you are not alone in this concern.

Fortunately for Community In the Garden, Angela has a green thumb and a tremendous passion for organic gardening.  I leave in her tender and competent care our seedlings and the knowledge of what to do with them. I, always the pro at learning from my mistakes, have simply planned for both a greenhouse and a state of the art dripline system in our budget.

My appreciation for gardening enters the equation when it’s time to eat.  There is nothing I love more than eating fresh fruits and veggies, and knowing that they are “clean”.  I am a professed acolyte of the farmer’s market, and can usually be found in front of the booths labeled “Certified Organic”.  Early this past summer, admitting that my gardening prowess was subject to question, I signed up for a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) delivery service.  Every other Thursday, a box of whatever is ripe and fresh in the local farms and gardens arrives at my door.  It’s a good day.  One of my favorite things about the CSA box is that my service comes with recipes.  In some cases, I’m getting fruits and veggies that I haven’t seen or heard of and I have no idea what to do with them.  Thankfully, these good people have thought ahead and told me how to prepare them before they simply rot in my refrigerator.  Additionally, that tomato plant in the backyard refuses to give up the ghost, and I’m running out of ideas for what to do with all of them.  One can only eat so much salad.

It is in that same spirit that I am starting this blog.  While I will leave the production of our crops to Angela and those far more suited than me, I am here to help you figure out what to do with that bumper crop of tomatoes, or the winter stash of parsnips.  Each week (or so) I will offer you my unsolicited observations on life in general, an update on what is happening with our burgeoning Community In The Garden project, and a recipe or two using whatever I’ve noticed is fresh in the garden or at my local farmer’s market.

With that, I bring you to the refreshment portion of our program.  Our first recipe – Creamy Heirloom Tomato Soup.  At the first hint of Fall, I head for my stash of soup recipes.  As I browsed the farmer’s market this morning, I noticed that the heirloom tomatoes were out in abundance.  This last taste of summer is always one I long for when I reach the midwinter of root vegetables and need a break.  I suggest this recipe, as it is one that freezes beautifully for future use, reheats easily, and goes great with a grilled cheese sandwich on those cold, rainy school nights when you’re just trying to get everyone through homework and off to soccer or basketball practice. 

Really fresh, good tasting heirloom tomatoes are essential here, so go with your favorite variety. If you want my recommendation, I favor Brandywines, German Pinks, Early Cascades, and Tiger Stripes.  Feel free to mix and match for a little variety.  I don’t suggest Romas, or any other canning tomato that isn't just really super. The soup will last for a week in the fridge, it's good hot, warm or cool, and as I mentioned, freezes well.

Peel the tomatoes only if you don't want bits of skin. If the tomato is good, the skin won’t be bitter, and I like the texture it brings to the soup.  The secret to this soup is the cream; don’t cook it in.  Add it at the table. 

Welcome, Fall!

Creamy Heirloom Tomato Soup

Ingredients

Extra virgin olive oil

3 medium onions, chopped

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

4 large cloves garlic, minced

Pinch hot red pepper flakes

1 generous tablespoon tomato paste

2-1/2 to 3 cups chicken broth (homemade preferred, but low sodium canned works, too)

A big handful fresh basil leaves, torn

15 medium or 10 large, ripe tomatoes, cored and coarsely chopped (do capture their juices for the soup)

1 cup heavy cream (for serving)

Grated Parmesan cheese (optional)

Bacon crumbles (optional)

Instructions

1. Generously film the bottom of a 12-quart pot with olive oil. Set over medium high heat. When warm, add onions and about 1/4 teaspoon each salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until onions start to color.

2. Stir in the garlic, red pepper, and tomato paste. Cook 1 minute. Add broth, basil, and tomatoes. Bring to a lively simmer, cover the pot, and cook 15 to 20 minutes, or until tomatoes are softened and soup tastes fresh, but mellow. Adjust seasonings to taste.

3. Once soup has cooled, puree two-thirds in a blender, food processor, or use an immersion blender. Rewarm or serve close to room temperature, per your preference.  Just before serving, stir a generous tablespoon of cream into each bowl, then garnish with a couple tablespoons of parmesan cheese, or some crumbled bacon.