Citrus Memories

CITRUS MEMORIES

This weekend found me in observance of both Passover and Easter—of sorts. I’m technically a celebrant of Easter and only a Seder enthusiast; I’m not Jewish, but I’ll use any excuse for holiday food. We chose Saturday as a nice middle place and feasted on bitter herbs (endive, later used as vehicles for caramelized onion dip) and a peach-and-bourbon-glazed brisket that was slap-yo-mama delicious, and ended the meal with a nod to Easter: sweet-savory focaccia bread with kumquats. Traditionally, eggs and other round foods represent the empty tomb, so I took the liberty of swapping in kumquats.

I ate my first kumquat with my Grandpa Green, who would have turned 100 last week. His birthday (which he shared with his first granddaughter) is April Fools’ Day, allowing for endless family high jinks, including those candles that remain lit in the face of great huffing and puffing. His house in Florida was set on a few acres with a pecan tree, a stocked lake for fishing, and a few mongrel citrus trees, including a kumquat. Kumquats aren’t the darling of Florida citrus: for one, the uninitiated are mystified to discover, you snarf the whole thing, peel and all. They are not as sweet as oranges, nor as versatile as lemons. The seeds are enough to make one seriously reconsider any kind of preserving or jamming, since they can be tee-winy. But for my purposes, a cursory once-over for the big obvious seeds was plenty.

I grated on some Asiago cheese halfway through baking and then more on the finished bread (it was a holiday, after all), and drizzled on a honey–simple syrup finish. We ate, remembering our loved ones and Easters past. It’s just as good toasted on Sunday morning.

Kumquat Focaccia Bread

Liberally adapted from Whole Grain Breads by Machine or By Hand, by Beatrice Ojakangas

1 1/3 cups warm water

1 teaspoon chopped lavender leaves, plus more whole leaves for finishing

2 teaspoons salt

2 tablespoons granulated sugar, plus more as needed

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cups whole wheat flour

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons active dry yeast

Flavorful honey

1 pint kumquats

Asiago cheese

Combine warm water, yeast, lavender, salt, and sugar. Let stand until foamy, 5 minutes. Add the oil and whole wheat flour and beat with a stand mixer until smooth. Let rest 15 minutes. Add in all-purpose flour slowly to form a dough and knead with bread hook, adding flour as needed, until it is smooth and pulls away from the side of the bowl. It should not be too sticky to touch. Let rise, covered (tip: on a heating pad, medium setting), until doubled, about an hour.

Meanwhile, trim stems and slice kumquats in half lengthwise. Combine with a small splash of water, a few spoonfuls of sugar, and a glob of honey in a saucepan and bring to a simmer. There should be enough liquid so that nothing sticks, but not so much that the kumquats are swimming. Cook for 5 to 8 minutes, until they are mostly soft. Remove from heat and let cool.

Grease a baking sheet with olive oil. Punch the dough down and turn it out onto the sheet. Press firmly with your fingertips into the shape of the pan: it will nearly fill a half-sheet pan. Smear a few drizzles of olive oil evenly over the dough. Dot the surface with kumquat halves, cut-sides down. Let rise (on heating pad!) until puffy, about 45 minutes. Preheat oven to 375°F.

Lightly drizzle the dough with remaining syrup from kumquats (or stir together a simple syrup and honey), but don’t overdo it. Bake 20 to 25 minutes.  Halfway through, remove the pan from the oven and vigorously grate Asiago over the top, and return it to the oven. When the bread is golden, drizzle with more honey or kumquat liquid, sprinkle lavender over top, and grate on some more cheese if you like. Eat warm.

-Kristen

Boozy Milk Punch, and Other Foods in Jars

Friends and readers: hello! On Mondays I’ll recap edible adventures from the weekend. That’s when I have time to while away the hours trying authors’ recipes that have been bouncing around in my head.

To distract myself from packing for Thanksgiving, I dreamed up Christmas food gifts and got to work. First it was chocolate-covered pretzels (for neighbors and dog walkers) rolled in coconut, pulverized gingersnaps, grey sea salt, and or vanilla sugar: a meditative process if there ever were one. I considered what I would wear in our Christmas card pictures. And how will I dress the dog?

Next was a spicy cinnamon-vanilla simple syrup to be canned and gifted—but we’ll come back to this. After the syrup was cranberry ketchup from the Food in Jars cookbook: tart, plummy, and thick, canned into about 5 half-pints. You’ll have to wait for the book for this recipe, but I tweaked it with a little orange juice and an extra cinnamon stick. A fun/macabre aside: the splattery cranberry skins and seeds you’ll scrape into the bin will look like someone bled out in your house. What will the sanitation workers think?

Back to the syrup: I simmered, oh, 1 1/2 cups of granulated sugar for every cup of water, and threw in cinnamon sticks, cardamom pods (but briefly—they can overpower), some heavenly vanilla beans, and whole cloves. I did my math wrong and instead of 6 half-pints, I got 7 halvsies and 1 whole pint. No matter! Here is the real reason for this post: a boozy milk punch that will fortify and sustain, no matter where you’re feasting come Thursday.

For a boozy punch base: stir together approximately 4 ounces of a flavored simple syrup (for a moderately sweet drink), 4 ounces brandy, scant 6 ounces bourbon, and 3 splashes of apple schnapps or liqueur. Throw some ice in a glass with 4 ounces of milk and 2 to 4 ounces of the punch. This will practically conjure holiday cheer out of thin air for you and a couple of friends. Refrigerate any leftover boozy punch and drink as needed with milk. (And the cinnamon syrup isn’t just a cocktail supplement: it’s delish in coffee, in sparkling water, on pancakes, or in a mug of tea.)

Safe travels and good food,

Kristen