Lemon Poppy Seed Loaf Cake

On a particular baking frenzy during my university days, I was also indulging in my inner fat girl. As I whisked the batter for banana bread and dumped a heaping cup of white, flaky coconut into the pale yellow goop, I couldn’t help but scoop a finger into the thick mixture and bring the cloyingly sweet lump to my lips. It was shamelessly delicious. I did it again, this time with a little more greed, catching twice as much batter. I looked around, like a cat on the prowl and licked the spatula (I'd like to take this moment and thank my five roommates for not showing up at this time, one look at me diving into the goopy mixture was sure to make them regret sharing a roof with this crazy-cake-batter-over-eater).

I’m unsure if the banana bread even baked to a full loaf. I like to believe it did, but I don’t remember, either that, or the excess sugar inhibited my neurons from storing any memory. The glutton in me conquered that day and I haven’t been able to face any banana bread & coconut combination the same way, it makes my stomach churn just thinking about it.

Since then, I have honed my self-control skills and refrain from unleashing my greedy fat lady. Like a civilized baker, I only allow myself to taste test the batter once (maybe twice if there’s chocolate involved). If this lemon poppy seed loaf cake could talk, it would testify that I was very good and stopped myself from licking the whisk clean.

 
If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you probably know I’m a sucker for citrusy desserts. There was a surplus of lemons hanging out in the fridge, leftovers from last week’s tart and it’s just common knowledge that lemons make yummy treats. Lemon poppy seed is one of my favourite combinations, the freshness of zesty lemon plus the nibbly crunch of poppy seeds gets me excited (but not as excited as cake batter).

This ain’t no ordinary cake, it’s a loaf cake, hinging somewhere between a sweet sturdy bread and a delicate cake. Like goldilocks’ third porridge, it has just the right amount of sweetness. The texture is soft and springy with a tight crumb, making it easy to slice and serve if you are kind enough to share. It’s fine the way it is, I wouldn’t change a thing except perhaps sprinkle coarse sugar over the top before baking, because any cake can do with some edible jewelry. I don’t think I need to persuade you anymore, just the words loaf cake are sure to deliver a tasty promise.

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Recipe here!

Alice Medrich's Lemon Tart

As a child, I was a pro when it came to buffet dining. I knew the drill: arm yourself with a large plate, still hot from the plate warmer, scan all buffet tables, taking mental notes of the most enticing items to prioritize your time (Ooh! Beet salad! My favourite! Ooooh! Potato salad with canned corn! MMM roast chicken thighs in barbeque sauce! Halibut with lemon! and DILL!) Buffets are a child’s paradise, a picky eater's dream, no need to be forced to eat whatever laid on your plate and you could control exactly how much to eat.

Naturally, what makes or breaks a buffet is based solely on the dessert table. Some places have only a handful of items to choose from: store-bought cookies, cheap blocks of chocolate and vanilla cake slathered with pink saccharine frosting, and sad pieces of wobbly green jello under ghastly flourescent lighting. Shameful, I know.
 

 
The secret to the best dessert table is offering too many items, so many in fact, you can’t decide. For example, there must be at least five cakes, a layer cake, a fruit-based mousse cake, a flourless chocolate cake, a marble cake, even this cake are all acceptable selections, and keeping them intact is essential, none of that pre-sliced business please. A self-serve ice cream bar always wins my heart, not only because you get to mix and match flavours, but it gives you the culinary freedom to make it even unhealthier by sprinkling in chocolate chips or colored sprinkles, ladling over fudge and caramel sauce, drowning your ice cream in cookie crumbs, honeyed nut clusters, or if you must, maschino cherries.

On the other side of the table, there ought to be a spread of bite-sized sweets: homemade cookies and bars (mmm Nanaimo bars), macarons (if that trend isn’t over yet), madeleines, éclairs and chocolate truffles are all welcome here. When I was younger, one thing I was never able to resist were the mini fruit tarts.

I loved the precariously arranged fruit over a buttery crust and the pastry cream that oozed with each greedy bite. I was careful though, I'd strip each tart naked, picking off each blueberry, raspberry, peach and kiwi slice one by one, licking off the glazed sugar, then scooping out the rich cream with my fingers, leaving me with the best part of all: the crumbly cookie crust. Sometimes eat this slowly, as I liked how delicate they were, but most times I’d swallow them whole before moving on to my next dessert. I told you I was pro.

It ain’t easy making a tart I tell you. I’m an impatient person, I rap my fingers on the table when I’m waiting for my dinner, just the other day, I nearly threw a tandrum waiting for my prescription to be filled, I curse at stupid drivers sometimes (It's not road rage, I just think there are a lot of stupid people driving stupidly). However, preparing the tart crust is a true testament to how patient I am when it comes to desserts. I don’t mind bending over the table, meticulously smoothing out the dough till it looks immaculate. Looks are everything. 

This was already my third attempt at tart-crust-making. When I pulled this tart out of the oven, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. It retained its structure, supported the lemon curd (which I’ll get to in a minute), and it smelled heavenly. 

Years ago, I made a lemon tart quite unlike this one for my roommates. It wasn’t the prettiest looking crust, it resembled the Rocky Mountains, jagged and unpredictable, but the filling, oh! It was beautiful. Yellow and plain, it puckered your lips like a sour candy, the texture was like lemon soda. I couldn’t believe how awesome it was. All six wedges of the tart had disappeared in minutes, my guy roommate, happy and full, murmured a marriage proposal, the best compliment any home baker could receive.
 

I can’t promise if this lemon tart can have that same effect on your friends, but I’m certain everyone who digs into this will be pleased. This beauty is from Alice Medrich's book Sinfully Easy and Delicious Desserts and features a rich, sandy butter crust with a thick filling of lemon curd. The curd is a fine balance between sour and sweet, it's fragrant, smooth and contrasts against the crumbly bottom, the kind of thing suitable for any buffet.

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Linzer Blitz Torte

I moved to Shanghai when I was eight, it took me a while to adjust to the cultural shock of crazy fast taxis, the thick smog that hung stubbornly above the city’s skyline, and people who stared at me with big, curious eyes like I was a foreign creature that dropped out of the sky. 

My dad had been living in China for a few years and didn’t want to be apart from his family anymore, so my mom and I packed up and left Toronto to settle in Shanghai. On my first night, I cried so hard my eyes swelled up, my nose ran like a waterfall, my lungs hurt from trying to stifle my bawling lest my parents heard their distraught daughter. But I couldn’t help it. I was upset, lonely, terrified, and so confused.

Soon enough however, I grew comfortable living in the busiest, noisiest, and one of the most exciting cities in China. I loved my school, my friends, even the mad taxi drivers became an important characteristic of the city. Since graduating high school in 2005, I’ve kept in touch with a small group of friends, including one friend who lives in here in Toronto and who I like to introduce with: “I’ve known her since grade six!” That’s 16 years, just two years shy of the legal drinking age in Quebec. That’s more than half my life. That’s big.

But what’s even bigger, is her recent good news, news that prompted me to scream in my seat when I received her text message followed by an immediate phone call to wish her and her now fiancé congratulations on their engagement (she was so happy I could hear the smile in her voice). Last year, seven of my friends got engaged, though this time, because of how long I’ve known her, because of our history, because she’s seen me through my worst and my best, it makes it all the more special. She’s loyal, compassionate, a good listener and always knows what to say after you find out that your ex has a new girlfriend. I’m thrilled for her and its news definitely worth smiling about.

Here's something just as exciting, a treat that will make you weak in the knees and dizzy with joy: Linzer Blitz Torte. Ain't that the coolest name? A blend of ground nuts, warm spices, topped with jam and baked till dark brown is sure to make you the most popular girl/boy in the room (pinky swear). The crust is at first crispy, then it becomes chewy from the delicious combination of nuts, flour and butter. The jam on top is an inevitable sticky, gooey mess on your fingers, but it heightens the playfulness of these linzertorte squares and there’s plenty of cinnamon in here, plus ground cloves which adds to the warm charm of these sweets. 

The first time I made these, I moaned--outloud. Then, went on to have a second piece. I usually have good self-control, but these torte squares have an irresistible quality that makes me reaching over for more, and that's saying a lot. I gave away the first batch and had to make these again to devour for myself share with you.

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Recipe here!

Olive Oil Pound Cake

 
There’s always a mix of anticipation, excitement, and hunger that stirs inside me when I slide cake out of the oven. A puff of hot air hits my face (I always forget to dodge), followed by the magical moment where the cake practically sings “TADA!!” when it’s brought to daylight.

A few times, I’ve baked desserts that I was too disgusted to share. There was an almond citrus cake that looked good on paper, but tasted awful in real life, so awful in fact, it was left untouched on the kitchen counter for a few days till my dad pity-ate a slice everyday for his afternoon tea. I made Earl Grey tea cookies once, carefully selecting a promising recipe, but they ended up looking like cement dog biscuits, a result of my over eagerness in doubling the amount of ground tea leaves to the batter. It was a sad day.

Then there are also happy times when cakes turns out too damn perfect, they looked so good they deserved to be on the front cover of a magazine. Still, watching my friends devour the cakes was the best part of all, how they greedily bit into a piece, leaving a trail of crumbs on the floor, or how they tried to identify all the ingredients in the cake while throwing compliments at me--their mouths still full.

Pound cake definitely falls under the Happy Times category, it has that oomph, that promise to deliver exactly what its name implies: 110% pure richness. This cake is a serious matter, the crumb is undeniably light and airy, yet still carries enough heft to be eaten double-fisted. The golden crust that forms around the cake is my favourite bit, it’s crispy against the teeth, but yields to a dense and moist cake. To sum up: insanely good. 

 

Although I’m a butter purist, olive oil makes for good desserts, its floral flavour is a nice change. This cake is good any time of the day: for breakfast, after lunch when you’re still hungry despite finishing all the contents of your lunchbox, for that time in the afternoon when you’re itching for sugar and even though that chocolate bar sounds really good, nothing else but this cake will curb your sweet tooth. It’s especially satisfying smuggled into a movie theatre because sometimes homemade pound cake is way better than buttered popcorn.

This cake is from Alice Medrich’s latest cookbook, which is sure to be my go-to dessert resource for a while. I made her one-bowl chocolate cake and cocoa brownies with walnuts and brown butter, both were divine and were rewarded rave reviews. I’ve bookmarked other blog-worthy recipes and cannot wait to share them, knowing that they will all be insanely good.

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Recipe here!

Lemon Rosemary Muffins

I have a theory about muffin eaters. I believe that the world is divided into two types of people: Muffin Split Top/Bottom Eaters and Just Give Me My Muffin Damnit Eaters. The latter of which of course, are people who don’t care much for muffin-eating artistry and mindlessly hack their way through whatever muffin they have in their hand (the horror!) while sipping plain coffee in the other. They don’t give much thought into its texture, flavours, nor the harmony of ingredients, instead, they leave a trail of precious muffin crumbs behind them while rushing to wherever they have to be.

The former category, the Muffin Split Top/Bottom Eaters are people who are much more refined, they study the craft of not just muffin-eating, but muffin-making, muffin-mixing and let’s not forget, muffin-paper-liner-situations. You know what I’m talking about, those paper liners that cling desperately to muffin bottoms, a clear sign it’s over, you’re doomed, the muffin will taste rubbery and heavy with fat, leaving a thick film of grease on your tongue. Oh woe is me! Sometimes I lie awake at night tossing and turning, mulling over this catastrophic problem. Am I the only one who feels so strongly about muffin-paper-liner-situations?

But back to the Muffin Split Top/Bottom Eaters. as you may have deduced by my fine category name, these people split the muffin into two, one side being the muffin bottom, the other is the muffin top, and if you are well versed in muffin craft, it is the best part of muffins. The crackly top is almost crumble-like, rough and crispy along the golden edges, because really, it’s the only reason why muffins are made. I’d share with you a recipe for Lemon and Rosemary Muffin Tops, but I’ll save that for a later time, like when the world is coming to an end and we’ve hit a muffin top crisis. 

Which brings me to these muffins. Ever since this beauty, I’ve been toying with the idea of using rosemary in a baked good again, I devoted hours of serious research on Google, but failed to find something that held my attention for more than two seconds. Then I looked to my trusty friend Epicurious and stumbled on a recipe for lemon muffins. It originally tops the muffins with raspberries, which I left out and replaced it with lemon sugar, which is essentially a simple mash of lemon zest and sugar and my new favorite thing.

The last few desserts featured here haven’t been aromatically strong, so I’ve missed the smell of butter and sugar doing its magic, but within minutes in the oven, my home smelled like a candy factory. The lemonyness is undeniably good in the muffins, the crumb is delicate and soft (which I suspect comes from the oat flour), and the muffin top is glorious, sprinkled with the lemon sugar, it’s a beautiful glistening crown.

The rosemary isn’t obvious here, it’s so subtle you have to squint your eyes and tell your taste buds to search really hard for it. I was hoping for the same gentle herbyness that knocked my socks off like this rosemary olive oil cake (swoon!) though I think the generous amount of olive oil helped bring out the rosemary, because this time, the sugar seemed to overpower the herb. Either way, these lemon muffins are superb and deserve a permanent spot in your recipe arsenal, and don’t worry, we can all sleep well tonight, muffin-paper-liner-situations have no place here.

*Psst! I've been mentioned by Acquired Taste Magazine! It was the highlight of my week and there's more good news coming soon--stay tuned!

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Recipe here!

Berry Berry Yogurt Pops

I once threw a fit (that's an understatement, it was equivalent to a tornado) because I couldn’t buy a blender. Really. True story. For months, I had been saving money to buy my first kitchen appliance. I went to bed thinking of creamy milkshakes, fruit juices, and icy cold smoothies, anything to beat the sticky summers in Shanghai.

My parents and I made plans to buy a Philips standing blender after our lunch on a weekend. I had safely tucked away my cash in my wallet, too excited to eat, I was bouncing off the walls, chirping, “Is it time yet? Can we go now?” Much to my chagrin, when we arrived at the house ware floor of the department store, the price for the blender had shot up. I didn't have enough money to buy it anymore. I was devastated. I went home sulking, banged the door shut, screamed into my pillow, yanked my blanket to the floor and cried in a corner (I don't think I even cried that hard about a Barbie. I mean, it was this just a blender). I suppose I'm a wee bit spoiled.


Weeks later, I had finally saved enough and bought the blender. I hugged it all the way home, admiring its mint green tint and the stand with a cantaloupe-colored dial for three speeds. There was also a small button for quick clean and an inner tube to stick in the middle of the blender for separating seeds. It was beautiful.

Immediately, I plugged the white cord into a socket, dolloped big scoops of vanilla ice cream into the blender, followed by chunks of banana and a dash of milk to make a milkshake. I concocted tall glasses of strawberry smoothies with ice and lounged on the couch with a book. Another time, I attempted to make kiwi juice, but it was grotesque, the blender contents turned a murky green color and I didn't separate the seeds, so the texture became grainy. The idea of making something from just the press of a button, how I could change and adjust the flavors and textures with just a few ingredients was incredibly fun for me. This blender became my best friend.

For Christmas last year, my parents bought me a small blender, knowing that I loved kitchen appliances (thankfully there were only cries of joy this time). It's similar to the magic bullet, but it goes by a different name, The Rocket. I didn't touch it much over the winter, I'd rather sip on tea and coffee to keep me warm. But recently, I've been blending smoothies every weekend to change up my breakfast routine.

So...I was going to tell you about a berry banana smoothie. Then I made these and thought who wants smoothies when you got popsicles?


Here are some berry berry yogurt pops, the perfect remedy to a heat wave. I didn’t follow a recipe, but went by instinct. I impatiently waited for them to freeze. I twiddled my thumbs. I oogled at food blogs from around the world. I ate some chocolate. Finally, hours later, I sunk my teeth into the frozen berry puree, but then the tartness of yogurt hit me--I forgot to add sugar to the yogurt. I adjusted the recipe and included sugar to even out the flavors and phew! it makes a huge difference.

I love the rosy pink color of blended raspberries. It's subtly sweet and you can play with other fruit too (melon or mangoes would be yummy). I’m looking forward to experimenting with other flavour combinations, like strawberry basil, or peach and ginger. Or even better, why not do as Matt Bittman suggests: cocktails on a stick?


There's really nothing better than cooling down in the sweltering heat with a few icy popsicles. Share this with your friends and I can promise you there won't be any tandrums.

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Recipe here!

Lemon Pull-Apart Bread

Summer has arrived rather late this year. Last month, Toronto has gotten a lot of rain, random thunderstorms, cloudy days, even hail fell from the sky (golf ball sized ice cubes!). I've been performing several rituals to make summer arrive faster, including gulping down papaya lassis, sipping on strawberry milkshakes, and feasting on watermelon slices...apparently these are not scientifically proven methods.


Only after midsommar, the official start of summer, has the sun decided to come out and play. Let's hear it for bikini weather, for shirtless jogging men, for big scoops of ice cream, and for backyard barbeques!

Some folks may retreat from the kitchen at this time of the year, but I switch on the oven and bake.



I revel in having my arms elbow deep in flour, kneading and shaping dough, stirring batter, zesting fruit, yanking open a hot oven to bake a gratin, or whatever suits my fancy. I don't mind the heat. Then again, I spent almost a decade in Shanghai, where the summers can climb up to 39°F and I still play tennis outside. Heat and humidity doesn't bother me, lightning and thunder does.



There's been a little hype of this lemon pull-apart bread in the blog world. The recipe is originally from Leite's Culinaria and then experimented by Hungry Girl por Vida and Joy the Baker who tried a cinnamon sugar version, I stuck with the lemon version because I can never say no to citrus flavored anything.


The bread is fun to make. The only sad thing was the absence of an orchestra, tap dancing or fireworks when I took it out from the oven, because it really deserved a grand welcome.

It's a beautiful bread, caramelized layers emerge from the loaf pan, liquid sugar drips onto the parchment paper, and lemony smells waft the apartment. I skipped cooling the bread (why would anyone bother waiting?), peeled off a slice and popped it into my mouth. Sugar crystals dissolved on my tongue like candy, yielding soft bread with a big punch of citrus. It even makes Monday mornings bearable.

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Recipe here!