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 Spelt Foccacia

One of my favorite places when I lived in Montreal was a bakery called Premiere Moisson. I loved gazing at the perfectly shaped croissants and the chocolatines, flaky beauties with a sliver of dark chocolate that oozed out in each greedy mouthful. There was a huge selection of breads to choose from, including hearty loaves of spelt, whole wheat, sourdough, flaxseed, plus slender multiseed baguettes and walnut loaves (one of my favourites), plenty of bread to put you in a decision-making-frenzy. If I had enough stomach space, I’d buy them all and eat like a queen.

 
The breads that always caught my attention were the foccacias: bacon and cheese, the sundried tomato, and of course, olive foccacia. Dark purple bits of briney fruit studded in the large, oval bread always makes me swoon (I’m easily smitten, can’t you see?). When I’m in the mood to splurge $4.50 on foccacia that I can finish in less than three days, I do, but other days, I’m much more inclined on making my own. Besides, homemade bread is immensely satisfying.

I was hesitant at how this would turn out since I used half all-purpose flour and half spelt flour, but it worked out perfectly, in fact, the best part was mixing the dough in my stand mixer which can be described in one word: easy! (if you don’t have a mixer, using your hands works too, it’s just messier).

There’s plenty of olive oil in the bread, making it moister than other foccacias I’ve made. The dough is prepared a day before baking and allowed to rise in the fridge overnight, it’s not necessary, but it strengthens the olive oil’s floral flavour. I’m also a kalamata olive-kinda girl. I find them sweeter and more tolerable than their green counterpart, though you’re free to choose whatever variety you prefer. The best part is within minutes this goes into the oven, a deep, intoxicating scent of salt, olive oil and wheat takes over, nearly stopping you from doing anything else.

Next time, I’d make this for a big dinner party and split it with friends, there’s something about fresh bread that is very homey and forgiving. Whenever I make bread at home, I always wonder why I don’t do this more often and once you try this focaccia, you will wonder too.

**By the way, I've joined Instagram! You can follow me at @ButteredupJL

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Recipe here!

Brown Sugar Sandwich Cookies

In case you haven’t been following me for long, I’m a registered dietitian. I graduated about two years ago and went through a somewhat tough time doubting if what I chose as a profession was suitable to me. I knew from my internship that I love seeing patients, I love food, and I love that immense sense of reward knowing that I was helping people in need, but sometimes it's hard to control where you can release those feel-good vibes.

I’ve already vented about my unhappiness before, but I recently landed a new job and I’m happy to say I love waking up to it. You know how there are jobs out there that eternally drain you as if someone pulled the plug from a swimming pool? The job slowly and painfully tugs at your insides, exhausting you from head to toe till you don’t have the energy to do anything else when you get home. That’s the kind of job I used to have. It’s kind of a haunting, sickening feeling at the pit of your stomach.

When I graduated, I was chosen by my classmates to speak at our ceremony. At my low point a few months ago, I retrieved the speech I reminded myself: Have passion in what you do. When you love what you do, time flies by, but it also gives you a great sense of satisfaction that makes your life easier and so much better (by the way, though I’m a dietitian, the recipes and food I blog here don’t necessarily reflect my diet nor what I recommend to clients. Buttered Up is a place for me to share, explore and showcase my passion for food and all things sweet).

Anyway, enough of my preachyness. I was browsing through Heidi’s blog for interesting cookies and stumbled upon these lovelies: brown sugar sandwich cookies. The initial game plan was to ditch the chocolate filling (ridiculous, I know) but when I nibbled on a cookie and realized they were better smeared with chocolate, I hopped on the chance to chop up some dark chocolate. 

These cookies, made with spelt flour and all-purpose flour aren’t sweet at all, they carry a hint of sweet butter and graininess and the poppy seeds give it an itty bitty crunch that despite sticking between your teeth, is actually quite fun and make them very special. I imagine these would make perfect gifts for your friends, seeing as how my colleagues swooned when I brought them into work. You can make them in any shape, but it's hard to say no to heart-shaped cookies, especially when Valentine's day coming up...hint hint! 

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Recipe here!

Rosemary and Dark Chocolate Olive Oil Cake

For the longest time I’ve been mixing, beating, creaming and aerating cakes, cookie batters and egg whites with an electronic handheld whisk. It’s been with me since my parents bought it for me and has tagged along in the 13 places I’ve called home over the years. When it’s not busy whisking, its bottom can be detached to function as a food processor or a blender (though I sadly lost that part in Montreal).

 

Though my mixer has served me well, I’ve spent many hours on my laptop yearning for KitchenAid mixers. I’ve also hung out at The Bay for much longer than socially acceptable admiring the rows of mixers that light up the kitchen department as if they were trophies.  I’ve swooned over the limited edition satin copper mixer at Williams-Sonoma, a spotlight directly over it, casting a magical aura over it.

Then, as if Santa missed the deadline, a KitchenAid mixer arrived at my doorstep. I was still asleep but roused awake when my mom, confused, repeated to the deliver boy: we didn’t order it, I didn’t order it! Turns out a good friend of mine generously bought it for me and had it sent to my door. I wish I could tell you I tore open the box like a grizzly bear on Ritalin, but I didn’t. Instead, I waited 11 hours later to rip through the packing tape and cardboard, I swear bells and angels sang as I lifted the mixer from its styrofoam shell and placed it carefully on the corner of my kitchen counter beside the rice cooker. It’s a thing of beauty and a lovely addition to my baking arsenal (move aside handheld mixer!)

I would totally spoon it to sleep, take it everywhere I go like a security blanket, and take it out to parties, but I don’t think its what normal people do. I do however, look forward to many years of mixing, pouring and quicker clean-ups with my brand-spanking new mixer, knowing that there will be plenty of breads and desserts (maybe I’ll successfully master macarons) to whip up in the very sweet future.

Take this cake for example, I don’t know what takes me so long to amble my way through my ridiculously long list of Must Make Now, but I’ve got to thank Heidi for this amazzzing creation. The cake is part herby, part sweet and a riddled with chunks of rich chocolate, in other words, nothing could go wrong.

With the recent plummeting temperatures, nothing beats the woodsy, rustic smell of rosemary and in combination with olive oil, it’s simply sensational. Not to mention that this cake is mostly whole grain (which is even better if you’re into that kinda thing). The best part are the crunchy granules of sugar and itty bitty bits of rosemary that you would think is overpowering, but rather, infuses a smoothing flavour in just the right amount. Trust me when I say you ought to make this. Like now. Stat. 1, 2, 3, GO!

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Recipe here!

Whole Grain Upside Down Cranberry Cake

I’ve spent the past few days giggling a lot, most times with my dad, at my dad and also behind his back. If you met him, you would know right away he’s a funny man, he doesn’t try to be, he just naturally is.

My friend Bonnie loves to tell the story of the time when she called my house looking for me. My dad picked up the phone and for fun, crooned in a high-pitched girly tone, “moshi moshi?” (Japanese for hello on the phone). Bonnie burst into a fitful of giggles and between breaths asked for me, my dad blushed and handed over the phone to me. We proceeded laughing for a good five minutes and ten years later, we still laugh about it.

The photo above was taken in Beijing during my summer vacation when I was visiting my parents, just in time to catch the Olympics. My dad still works in China and visits every year, though it's not easy to living on opposite sides of the world, we Skype everyday, sometimes with webcam (then again my mom and I can't help but poke fun at his baldness so he rarely turns it on). My mom hates it when we go out and people say we look nothing alike, they never guess that we’re mother and daughter. What do you think? I look a lot like my dad, the same eyes, the same round face, I talk like him too sometimes and I like to think I got his DNA for seeking adventurous foods.

Last week was his birthday and of course, I love birthdays because that means food. We shared a 5 lb lobster cooked in soy sauce plus lots of garlic and scallions, and soon enough, our plates were teetering with gnarly lobster shells and legs. There was a look of deep concentration hanging on my mom's face as she wrestled out succlent pieces of lobster meat, because even though we were there for my dad's birthday, my mom had long since planned to go to this restaurant for its lobster, it's definitely her favorite food.

When we got home, there was a cake waiting. I’ve been meaning to make this cake since I cracked open Alice Water’s The Art of Simple Food and nothing says it’s the holidays quite like cranberries. In keeping with my experiment of whole grain flours, I switched out the all-purpose flour with a mixture of oat, spelt and whole wheat flours, dialled down the sugar in the cake just a tad and added orange zest to the topping for a little kick.

 

We invited my parents’ friends over to share some cake and of course, they obligingly said yes. They wolfed down their first slice and asked for seconds, I don't blame them, I had it for breakfast everyday with a dollop of plain yogurt. It’s a nice cake to have when you don’t want something too cloying, when you crave some fruit and something low-key and rustic. The sour fruit is brought to life with orange juice and a caramel topping and then paired with a moist cake batter that is just right, not too sweet and not too dry. The flours give the cake a nutty, grainy texture that crumbles to bite-sized pieces, perfect for your fork to stab at.

It might not be the prettiest cake, but when you make it for someone who you haven’t seen in a while and manages to cheer you up instantly when you had a bad day, it doesn’t matter.

Happy holidays folks!

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Recipe here!

Apple Spelt Cake

I can’t handle alcohol. Not only do I lack the enzyme to break it down (alcohol dehydrogenase, in case you were wondering), the stuff discolours my face to a bright red, not unlike that of a tomato. My neck and legs morph into blotchy map of continents and oceans. I know I know, I exhibit Asian glow at its finest.

On an empty stomach, alcohol gives me a severe bout nausea, impaired hearing, dizziness and several trips to the bathroom. I don’t touch it unless I have food in my belly, so the alcohol has something to soak up. 

I learned the hard way how careful I have to be when alcohol is nearby. A few years ago, I was about to board a 12 hour flight from Toronto to Shanghai and I had not eaten in several hours, because I refused to given in to the tasteless sandwiches and overpriced fast food at the airport. My carry-on bag was heavy with snacks to carry me through the arduous flight. While my neighbours unfurled the foil-wrapped chicken and rice that smelled nothing like chicken and rice, I was digging into my carrot salad, dressed with just a touch of lemon and cumin. As they stabbed rubbery gray pieces of lifeless meat with plastic forks, I was feasting on homemade granola, infused with shredded coconut and roasted almonds. 

I don’t like the stuffiness and foreignness of airports. I don’t like flying since I usually fly alone and it gets dreadfully lonely. I especially despise the unflattering lights of the airplane washrooms (Is that me in the mirror? When did I look so splotchy? Where did that pimple come from?). So to amuse myself 30,000ft above the ground, I bring homemade snacks, it’s the only thing I look forward to when I fly economy.

Don’t go thinking that the free flow of liquor makes flying bearable. It ain’t so fun when you get up to use the bathroom, faint and bang your head smack dab on the door, the impact reverberating the plane’s cabin and you tumble to the carpet for two seconds, wake up, crawl back to your seat in style (on all fours, no less) and pretend nothing happened even though all eyes are on you, staring with the same wonderment, “WTF?!”

It turns out that chugging down that gin and tonic was a baaad idea (I thought it would be nice to sleep through the flight). I had to endure a nagging, sickening feeling of nausea for the remaining 10 friggin’ hours of my trip. Apparently, the high altitude and cabin pressure heightens the effect of alcohol. Liquor: 1 Girl with Pathetically Low Alcohol Tolerance : 0

So, moral of the story, I try to be cautious with alcohol. I don’t touch gin and tonics anymore, the drink is ruined for me. I do however bake with it. In fact, this cake has 3 (!!) tablespoons of rum. Captain Morgan evaporates in the oven and leaves behind a rich and subtlety dark flavour to the cake, something you wouldn’t expect from a name simply called Apple Cake.

It’s not exactly a pretty cake, definitely not a cake you would ask out on a date. It’s kind of rough around the edges, a little imperfect, but the more you coax her, the more charming she is. Apple pieces are wedged into a buttery batter, making the cake extra moist. I switched out the all-purpose flour with spelt and whole wheat flour to add nuttiness to the cake and it worked beautifully, each squidgy biteful a little nibbly and grainy and bursting with crisp apple flavour.

You ought to try this cake too, it makes a good breakfast especially with a dollop of plain yogurt. I promise no fainting, no raucous behaviour, just save the rum for the cake.

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Recipe here!