Have this Cake. And Eat it, Too.

I would be remiss if I did not take a brief pause from the road trip adventure stories to talk a little bit about the fact that this is Thanksgiving week. Not only is this, like, my favorite holiday of all time (next to Christmas, of course), but for the first time in over a decade, I am back home with my family to share in holiday times together. It's pretty special.

Much has transpired since Fred and I landed in Richmond a little over a month ago. We've settled into our new place – for the most part. Still looking for window treatments for the kitchen, and a few odds and ends. We carved jack-o-lanterns for Halloween and had trick-or-treaters! It snowed. A little. I got a new bike that is super, extra cute. And, at both my dad and Fred's behest, a helmet that is decidedly less cute. We have explored old and new Richmond restaurants and cooking at home with equal frequency. And I have a few other extremely exciting tidbits to share. But not quite yet.

Because, you see, we need to talk turkey. Or, at least, Thanksgiving stuff (ing). Or, at least, fall, food holiday things. You wouldn't know it from checking in here, but I actually have been cooking up a storm since we arrived in Richmond. With the exception of the brief few days it took to replace the electric stove with a new, super awesome gas stove.

There have been pools of soups, piles of cakes, profusion of roasted chickens, pyramids of biscuits, plenty of cookies and a prosperity of granola. As the leaves on the trees have gone from full and green to the bright yellows, reds, oranges and browns, to almost barren, we have sampled almost all of the various, local farmers' markets, settled on our favorite and have become regulars.

I baked two cakes that seem particularly timely for this season, this week: a persimmon upside down cake and an apple-walnut cake. They both showcase peak seasonal produce items and were both remarkably delicious. However, A) the persimmon cake requires several more shots to get it just rightfor you and, B) Fred got way better pictures of the apple-walnut cake. And they do say, we eat first with our eyes, right?

For this particular version, I used a local Virginia apple, the Jonathan, which was a new one for me. I was told that Virginia Jonathan apples are the first red apples available in the Fall and are the ideal all-purpose apple. The farmer told me that they are equally delicious for snacking, cooking and baking – and are perfect for candy apples. I found them to be earthy and at the same time exotic with a unique blend of sweet and tart. To the eye they appear to be a standard red, but upon closer inspection, their skin combines light red stripes over yellow or deep red. If you don't happen to be in Virginia, which you're probably not, find apples that hold up under heat and balance sweet-tart flavor, like Honeycrisp, Mutsu, Pink Lady.

All walnuts ripen in the Fall, so they were the perfect nut choice. However, I used black walnuts as opposed to the standard English walnuts (which are actually Persian). Black walnuts are native to the U.S. - from California, actually - and have a bolder, earthier flavor than the milder and slightly sweeter taste of the English walnut. That's just my jam, is all. Your walnut, your prerogative.

Team effort alert: Fred made the glaze! Fred chose the lemon-vanilla variety to add a brightness to the rounded warmth of the flavors in the cake.

Now, I realize this comes to you the day before Thanksgiving. A day you're probably working on pumpkin and pecan pies rather than an apple cake. But just in case you're looking for that curve ball, that little glimmer of inspirato that deviates slightly from the norm this Thanksgiving, I tell you what - this cake came together beautifully and I can't think of a single thing I would change about the recipe we made. So, whether it's today, tomorrow, next week or next month (as long as it's soon-ish), make this cake. Have a slice after dinner with a glass of rum, or in the morning with a cup of coffee.

But you should definitely have this cake. And eat it, too.

Apple-Walnut Cake with Lemon Vanilla Glaze

(recipe adapted from this Southern classic)

Ingredients

1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup whole wheat flour

3/4 cup granulated sugar

1 cup light brown sugar, packed

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

3/4 cup vegetable oil

1 teaspoon vanilla

3 eggs

2 cups finely chopped peeled apples

1 cup chopped walnuts

Lemon Vanilla Glaze, below

Preparation

In a large mixing bowl, blend all ingredients except chopped apples and walnuts with electric mixer. Stir in chopped apples and nuts. Pour into a generously greased and floured 10-inch Bundt cake pan or tube pan. Bake at 325° for 55 to 65 minutes, until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool in pan for 15 minutes; turn out onto serving plate to cool completely. Drizzle with a vanilla glaze.

For the Lemon Vanilla Glaze

3 tablespoons lemon juice

1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

3/4 cup+ confectioners’ sugar, sifted

Combine lemon juice, 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla, and confectioners’ sugar in a small bowl and whisk until smooth, playing with lemon juice and sugar ratios until desired glaze consistency and flavor has been reached. Drizzle glaze over cake and serve immediately. Store cake in an airtight container at room temperature or in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Chestnut, Apple & Celery Soup with Sage Oil

Two years ago: Classic Cranberry Nut Bread

Three years ago: Sausage over Creamy Lentils

Four years ago: Bouchon Beverly Hills

In Like a Lion...

Today is the first day of Spring. I love Spring. Who doesn't? What's not to love about Spring? But, in all honesty, if you stuck an ice pick at my temple and forced me to pick my favorite season, I'd have to come clean and say that Spring is not my absolute favorite season of all the glorious seasons. But I do love it.

What I love most about Spring, other than the extraordinary, floral scent in the air, the flowers blooming and making the landscape a rainbow of beautiful colors, the longer days, being able to show off a little skin again, the new produce at the market, getting back into the garden, rosé, getting back into the grilling, Fred's ice cream, or even the Lillet, is the promise of New. The promise of change, growth, new life, new chances, do-overs, new opportunities, and, I must confess, Lillet. I kid. Sort of.

Every Spring, I see those little blossoms bursting forth with new life, to become big, bold beautiful flowers, with gusto as though it's never been done before nor will ever be done again. And, realistically, for that flower, it has not and it will not. That naivete, that wholesome, honest, holistic and true naivete is what I love about Spring. The world is my oyster! Again!

And this Spring, I feel, holds extra promise. Some change is afoot. Something is brewing, but I'm not quite ready to spill the beans, yet. Soon... soon.

The onset of Spring also means Easter. Now, as I've mentioned before, Easter for me has never been about religion. Up until two or three years ago, all I knew was that it was when little baby Jesus came back to life. Then a friend illuminated me for the better part of Easter Sunday, over Bloody Marys and peel and eat shrimp, about the whole elaborate, biblical deal. Which I don't really recall. So many details. And, around Easter, I also think of Passover; my favorite Jewish holiday. 

As a small child, I recall Easter meaning waking up that Sunday morning and going through a very minor search of clues to discover my Easter basket. I just got in touch with my mom to find out if that was the case, to which she replied, “The Easter Bunny left the basket out for you. HE used to put the basket in unusual places. Are you implying I had something to do with it?” 

So there's that. 

Try as I may, I can only vividly remember one basket. It was filled with pastel-colored, plastic eggs stuffed with jelly beans, foil-covered, hollow chocolate bunnies, little plastic toys, Cadbury Cream Eggs (my favorite, favorite, favorite), all tucked into giant tufts of that neon green plastic grass inside of a stripey wicker basket with a handle.

If you think about it, the whole Easter basket thing is really cool. I think I want one this Easter. You hear that, Bunny?!

As an adult (with zero religious affiliations), Easter doesn't mean whole lot. It's on a Sunday, and that usually means brunch and a crossword. That's always special. But I was curious about what others, like me, think about in regards to Easter. In the food realm, of course.

I heard a lot about Peeps. A lot of folks were also all about the chocolate. Some jelly beans. One person said rosé (good on ya). And a lot of ham. I say Cadbury Cream Eggs. But then I remembered a radio interview with Nigella Lawson I heard years and years ago. You know what she said? Lamb. I like that. And come to think of it, though, it doesn't seem like it would make mountains of sense since I don't entertain on Easter, or go places where one is entertaining me, I get it. Somehow, I get the whole lamb thing.

So to sum it up, I'd say Easter makes me think of chocolate things and lamb things. It's funny, I have never been a chocoholic. I did not grow up with dessert as an option, and I never order dessert when I dine out. I have never had the sweet tooth. More of a potato chip tooth, I'd say. But for the past six months, I have really been enjoying a small, sweet treat a couple hours after dinner.

Whether it's a chunk of chocolate, a cookie, a couple of bites of pie or cake, a salted caramel (or twelve), I have relished that after dinner sweetness. And unlike the potato chip, I have absolutely no problem in the discretionary portion department.

This means there has been a sudden boost in the baking department of my kitchen. Come to think of it, the very last post was all about chocolatey cupcakes. It was my first chocolate. Dessert. Chocolate. Baking. See?

Maybe this Spring there will be a burst of baking in my kitchen. Maybe I'll finally master Bread. I know I've said that one before, but I can say it again, because it's Spring. And anything is possible. Do-overs, start overs, start agains, go forward, go back; it's all new.

And until I'm ready to let my cat out of its bag of intrigue of all things new brewing in this camp, I will leave you with this impossibly decadent, delicious, rich, sweet and salty, caramel-y, chocolate bomb of a dessert. Make it for yourself. Make it and give it to friends. Make it for Easter. Make it for Spring. After all, this is the time. The world is your oyster. Your salted-caramel-cocoa-brownie oyster.

Salted Caramel Cocoa Brownies with Walnuts
(recipe adapted from Smitten Kitchen)

Makes 16 brownies

Caramel


1/2 cup granulated sugar


4 tablespoons unsalted butter (or salted, but then ease up on the sea salt)


Heaped 1/4 teaspoon flaky sea salt (or 1/8 teaspoon table salt, more to taste)


3 tablespoons heavy cream

Brownies

Nonstick vegetable oil spray

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1 inch pieces

1 1/4 cups sugar

3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 large eggs

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 cup walnut pieces (optional)

Make caramel:

Set a square of parchment paper over a medium-sized plate. Lightly butter or coat the parchment with a spray oil, just as an added security measure.

In a medium, dry saucepan over medium-high heat, melt your sugar; this will take about 5 minutes, stirring if necessary to break up large chunks. By the time it is all melted, if should be a nice copper color; if not, cook until it is.

Remove from heat and stir in butter. It may not incorporate entirely but do your best. Stir in cream and salt and return saucepan to the stove over medium-high heat, bringing it back to a simmer and melted again any sugar that solidified. Cook bubbling caramel for a few minutes more, until it is a shade darker.

Pour out onto parchment-covered plate and transfer plate to your freezer. Freeze until solidified, which can take anywhere from 20 to 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, or when your caramel is almost firm, make your brownies:

Preheat oven to 325°.

Line an 8x8x2 inches glass baking dish with foil, pressing firmly into pan and leaving a 2 inches overhang. Coat foil with nonstick spray; set baking dish aside.

Melt butter in a small sauce-pan over medium heat. Let cool slightly.

Whisk sugar, cocoa, and salt in a medium bowl to combine. Pour butter in a steady stream into dry ingredients, whisking constantly to blend.

Whisk in vanilla. Add eggs one at a time, beating vigorously to blend after each addition. Add flour and stir until just combined (do not overmix). Stir in walnuts. 

Assemble brownies: When caramel is firm, remove it from the freezer and chop it into rough 1-inch squares. Gently fold all but a small amount of caramel bits into batter. Scrape batter into prepared pan, spreading until mostly even. Scatter remaining caramel bits on top. 

Bake until top begins to crack and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out with a few moist crumbs attached; about 30 minutes.

Transfer pan to a wire rack; let cool completely in pan. Using foil overhang, lift brownie out of pan; transfer to a cutting board. Cut into 16 squares.

Printable recipe.


One year ago: Rustic Cremini Mushroom Soup with Chives & Basil Oil
Two years ago: Nutter Butter Cookies
Three years ago: Fresh Mint & Pea Soup

A Picnic in Bed

Last weekend Fred and I camped out at home. We planned our 'getaway' carefully, and made sure we had a plentitude of rations (of every imaginable sort) to ensure there would be absolutely no reason to get into a car at any point between day's end on Friday and first light on Monday. And, I dare say, mission accomplished with flying, colorful colors.

After our camping expedition in the living room the night before, we took Saturday to sleep in. Even the pups stayed in bed with us and snuggled, as opposed to Beso waking up at the crack of dawn to commence his ritual of whimpering and squiggling until I get up to feed him. Eventually, though, the pups had to be fed. So Fred lingered in bed while I took care of them, made coffee and poked around in the kitchen to see what I wanted to rustle up for breakfast. 

Breakfast turned into brunch as I looked up from the stove, where I was making heart-shaped eggs in a basket, and saw that it was almost noon. Then, the breakfast that turned into brunch, turned into brunch in bed; coffee, orange juice, sausages, eggs in a basket, and a crossword. On a tray. In bed. At Noon. 

That's when I got an idea, or as I like to call them, brainflowers.

I was so excited that I zipped right back into the kitchen. I dug up cocoa powder, walnuts and blood oranges and I was going to make cake, or cupcakes, or something. Something cute and sweet. I called Mom, rifled through cookbooks and searched online for ideas on how to incorporate the ingredients. I found little. It seems when that happens, the best go to is cupcakes. So I got to it.

A couple of things: A) I don't bake much, and when I flop in the kitchen, it's usually baking-related. B) I have never made chocolate anything.

I am a big fan of blood oranges. When they appear for a few short weeks in the middle of winter, I jump at the opportunity to make just about everything I possibly can with them. But I had yet to make them into cupcakes. I figured it was about damn time. And because I’ve found that little is quite as satisfying as a chocolate cupcake, the chocolate blood orange cupcake was born. With olive oil and walnuts. And for more fun, Fred made candied blood orange peel to top the cupcakes off!

The cupcakes were kind of amazing. I was very proud. They were so incredibly moist. They were heavy in weight, but tremendously light and fluffy on the palate. The sunset hued buttercream and the chocolate cake spiked with orange zest were a perfect match. Like they were made for each other. Success!

Why did I do all of this? What propelled this chocolatey, baking brainflower? Because, I figured, if the night before we could camp out in the living room and make clam chowder over the open fire, then this afternoon we could have a tea party picnic in bed!

And so we did. But we were going to need those cupcakes...

Chocolate, Olive Oil, Blood Orange Cupcakes with Walnuts
(recipe adapted from Love & Olive Oil)

Makes 12 cupcakes

Ingredients:

1 cup coconut milk
1/3 cup pure olive oil
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon blood orange zest, finely grated
1/2 cup walnut pieces
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon almond meal
1/3 cup cocoa powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

For Frosting:
1/2 cup butter or margarine, room temperature
2-3 cups confectioners' sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons blood orange juice
1 teaspoon blood orange zest, finely grated
1-2 tablespoons soy creamer or heavy cream (as needed)

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin pan with paper liners.

Whisk together the coconut milk, sugar, oil, vanilla extract, and zest until incorporated. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, almond meal, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Make a well in the center of dry ingredients and pour in coconut milk mixture. Add walnuts and stir until just smooth (do not overmix). 

Pour into liners, filling each with 3 tablespoons of batter (cups should be no more than 2/3 full). Bake 18-20 minutes (or 10-12 for minis), or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool completely.

For frosting, cream butter until smooth and fluffy, 2-3 minutes. Add 1 cup powdered sugar and beat until combined. Mix in orange juice, zest, and vanilla. Continue adding sugar, 1/2 cup at a time, mixing well after each addition (depending on the temperature of your butter, you may need more or less sugar or added cream to achieve the proper consistency). Continue beating until light and fluffy, about 3-5 minutes. Spread or pipe onto cooled cupcakes.

Top with a little curl of candied orange peel - basic recipe here.

Printable recipe.

One year ago: Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner

Two years ago: The Gabrielle Hamilton dinner at Lucques

Three years ago: The Willoughby Road food truck

Forty Days, Forty Nights and Forty Cloves.

Good gracious. Where have I been? I promise I haven’t forgotten about you. I only hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I guess the past month has been filled with curve balls. But mostly my Time appears to have changed. Again.

  

I’ve talked about Time a lot on here over the years. How intrigued I am by how it passes away and how it moves forward - the memories we create from our past, the things we look toward in our future, and most of all, how, at different times, it has the uncanny power to expand and/or contract. How does the same twenty-four hours have the ability to feel like more or less than what it actually is?

As a kid I thought a year was like forever. I would make a point to tell people I was six and three quarters years old, because that quarter of a year was a significant chunk of Time. A significant chunk of Time that I earned to be exactly that old. Yet over the past few years I have felt that Time has been whirling past me at dizzying speeds. Where did that day go? Where did that week go? Where did that month go? How did a year just happen?

But very recently it feels that Time has changed yet again. Now it feels like it’s on double duty; it feels like it’s both whipping past and inching along. Last week feels like both a second and a month ago, I can hardly hold onto the now and next month feels like it’s taking for forever to be the now.

The really cool thing is that yesterday, today and tomorrow all feel pretty awesome.

This past weekend we had our monthly Dinner at Eight. To be honest, none of us were up for this one. Said curve balls and whatnot. I had also personally wanted a month off to recoup from The Holidays. But we had committed to doing the dinner for a private group, and committed we were. I had even conceived of the menu back in October when the group’s host and I were in the initial talks of the evening. She picked the theme: Garlic.

In the spirit of the way Time is behaving at present, the period leading up to this dinner party ambled relaxingly along while sneakily creeping right on up on us. We were seemingly unprepared, yet at the same time we were disarmed by how smooth everything was going. Maggie had her cocktail set; a classic gin martini garnished with okra that she pickled in garlic and dill (interestingly, this was the only element of the meal that had even a speck of our Southern theme peppered in). Nastassiaand Esi were to put their sweet minds together to materialize my brain flower of dessert: a honey-garlic mousse with pinenut-garlic brittle. My mom was going to bake the bread. Me, I had the rest covered. And even though each and every one of these dinners has had one *&%%@# ingredient that gives me issues, I even found my elusive green garlic at the Wednesday Santa Monica Farmers’Market. This was for the creamy green garlic soup garnished with black garlic chips and bacon.

Then the day was upon us. Forty-three days since the last dinner and an unknown number of days until the next dinner. Mom sliced her finger open the day before and had to get five stitches. Not only was she unable to bake the bread for the dinner, she was unable to attend at all.

OK.

The girls weren’t going to be able to show up to the house until about four-thirty to help – and to bring their dessert.

No problem.

Maggie was in the (tiny) kitchen pickling onions (always a hit) as take-away gifts for the guests (in her union suit!) until late-morning, until she worked her magic on The Room (see picture below).

That’s totally cool.

But you know what? It was OK, and not a problem and totally cool. It all worked out. It always does.

It seems like forever ago, now. But it has only been forty-eight hours.

The main course of this particular dinner (of which you can see the full menu here) was a riff on a famous recipe I first heard about many years ago when I worked in a video store in Atlanta. It was mentioned in the Les Blank documentary, Garlic Is As Good as Ten Mothers.It’s called Chicken with Forty Cloves of Garlic.

Forty-three days, forty-eight hours, forty cloves. Well, I used a few more…

By the by, all photographs in this post are credited to Fred. The reason for my Time being what it presently is can probably also be credited to Fred.

Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic

Ingredients

• ·      3 whole heads garlic, about 40 cloves
• ·      2 (3 1/2-pound) chickens, cut into eighths
• ·      Kosher salt
• ·      Freshly ground black pepper
• ·      1 tablespoon unsalted butter
• ·      2 tablespoons good olive oil
• ·      1 1/2 tablespoons Madeira, divided
• ·      1 ½ tablespoons Sherry, divided
• ·      1 1/2 cups dry white wine
• ·      1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
• ·      2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
• ·      2 tablespoons heavy cream
• ·      A bunch of Italian parsley, chopped

 

Directions

Separate the cloves of garlic and drop them into a pot of boiling water for 60 seconds. Drain the garlic and peel. Set aside.

Dry the chicken with paper towels. Season liberally with salt and pepper on both sides. Heat the butter and oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. In batches, saute the chicken in the fat, skin side down first, until nicely browned, about 3 to 5 minutes on each side. Turn with tongs or a spatula; you don't want to pierce the skin with a fork. If the fat is burning, turn the heat down to medium. When a batch is done, transfer it to a plate and continue to saute all the chicken in batches. Remove the last chicken to the plate and add all of the garlic to the pot. Lower the heat and saute for 5 to 10 minutes, turning often, until evenly browned. Add 1 tablespoon of the Madeira, 1 tablespoon of the Sherry and the wine, return to a boil, and scrape the brown bits from the bottom of the pan. Return the chicken to the pot with the juices and sprinkle with the thyme leaves. Cover and simmer over the lowest heat for about 30 minutes, until all the chicken is done.

Remove the chicken to a platter and cover with aluminum foil to keep warm. In a small bowl, whisk together 1/2 cup of the sauce and the flour and then whisk it back into the sauce in the pot. Raise the heat, add the remaining tablespoon of both the Madeira and the Sherry and the cream, and boil for 3 minutes. Add salt and pepper, to taste; it should be very flavorful because chicken tends to be bland. Pour the sauce and the garlic over the chicken and serve hot.

Garnish with parsley.

Printable recipe 

One year ago: Mercantile

Two years ago: Swiss Fondue with Truffle Essence

Four years ago: The Hungry Cat, Santa Barbara

Back In the Saddle Again.

I’m happy to report that I am back in my usual form here at F for Food. I finally finished all that was fit to print regarding Yerp and I’m back in my kitchen and back in my fair city’s restaurants. Back to causing trouble on the home front. Back to being lost and found and lost again. Back to trying to find my answers in all things culinary.

Work got extremely busy from May until a few weeks ago but things appear to have hit a calm. I haven’t really been out on the town, so to speak, but I also have not been cooking. There was a week in which Maggie and I did a cleanse together (ugh). But other than that week I cannot tell you why the kitchen has only an onion, three pieces of bread, half a bag of frozen edamame from Trader Joes and a bunch of too-ripe bananas.

I really hate to see food go bad. At some point a ways back I noticed a stray container of ricotta in the fridge approaching its expiration. Rather than toss it I zipped out to the store to buy all things to make a lasagna bolognese so that I could incorporate the ricotta into a recipe. So rather than throw away a couple of dollars worth of food, I created an errand to go spend exponentially more than a couple of dollars on more food to make a recipe that took the better part of a day.

The lasagna turned out beautifully, though.

So the other day that bunch of too-ripe bananas had me bemused. I won’t even consider eating a fruit even a moment past ripe, and these guys were a little beyond that. But I really wanted to avoid tossing out a whole bunch of bananas. I couldn’t figure out a way to integrate them into a savory dish. Well, not one that I could even think about wanting. I bandied about the idea of peeling them, chopping them into chunks and freezing them for future smoothies, but I had done that a few times already and I felt like being more kitchen-y than that.

So I called my mom as I rifled through some of my less modern cookbooks. I was going to have to bake.

I decided on a bread. That seemed less daunting than any other fruit-related baking project as it can fall onto the more savory side of the fence. Mom was giving me advice as I landed on the recipe I was going to base my bread from in my 1969 edition of the eponymous New York Times Cookbook by Craig Claiborne. The recipe was simple and confident as are many in this particular tome.

I think my mom actually gave me this cookbook right before or after college. I tell you what - it has certainly seen its fair share of kitchen action in its forty-two years of cookbookery. It's banged up, falling apart and peppered with - well, probably pepper - and all manner of crusty food stuffs. It's been rode hard.

I poked around the cupboards to see if I could make use of anything else to jazz up the recipe and give it my own flare. I unearthed bourbon-soaked vanilla beans and candied walnuts. Done deal.

The recipe was fairly simple to execute and turned out beautifully. Maggie and Doug thought it was great. Eating a generous slice, warm and slathered with butter, even my mom said she was impressed.

And unlike the lasagna, I didn’t have to leave the house or spend an extra penny. Maybe I’m getting better at this.

Bourbon-Vanilla Bean Banana Bread with Candied Walnuts

1 Loaf

1 ¾ cups sifted flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

¼ teaspoon baking soda

½ teaspoon salt

1/3 cup shortening

2/3 cup sugar

2 eggs, well beaten

1 cup mashed ripe bananas (2-3 bananas)

1 bourbon-vanilla bean, split lengthwise and seeds scraped

1/2 cup coarsely broken candied walnuts

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.

Cream the shortening, add the sugar gradually and continue working until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and beat well. Add the flour mixture alternately with the bananas, a small amount at a time, beating after each addition until smooth.

Fold in vanilla bean scrapings and walnuts.

Turn into a well-greased bread pan (8 ½ X 4 ½ X 3 inches) and bake about one hour and ten minutes.

Printable Recipe