Berliner Kransers

Berliner Kranser
Prep: 45 minutes
Chill: 1 hour
Bake: 18 minutes per batch
Makes: 36 cookies
Oven: 325

1 cup butter
1/2 cup sifted powdered sugar
1 hard-cooked egg yolk, sieved
1 raw egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 and 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 slightly beaten egg white
2-3 tablespoons pearl sugar or coarse sugar (regular sugar works fine as well)

1. In a large mixing bowl beat butter with an electric mixer on medium to high speed for 30 seconds. Add powdered sugar; beat until fluffy. Beat in hard-cooked and raw egg yolks and vanilla. Beat in flour until combined. Cover and chill about 1 hour or until firm enough to handle. (Chilling longer may make dough too firm to roll.)
2. Using about 1 tablespoon dough for each cookie, roll into 6-inch long ropes. On an ungreased cookie sheet shape into a ring, overlapping about 1 inch from ends. Brush with egg white; sprinkle with sugar.
3. Bake in a 325 degree oven for 18-20 minutes or until edges are lightly browned. Transfer cookies to a wire rack and let cool completely.

Note: These cookies are great because they use such common (and so few) ingredients and are deliciously buttery! They are stupendous, and not just because they are Scandinavian holiday cookies.

This recipe, like them all, is from Better Homes and Gardens: New Baking Book.

Berliner Kranser Cookie: A Scandinavian Delight

This is a photograph of a Berliner Kranser cookie. Its pretty cute. Its the kind of cookie that would come out of the oven and move its cute lil feet over to you. And then it would look up at you with those eyes that are somewhat sad, and give a little sigh, which would push some of the sugar off it. It would inch over to you and rest its head on your leg (because it can't reach your shoulder; its so small) and want to hold your hand. These cookies seem like they would be the ones people, and other cookies, make fun of but berliner kransers are very sensitive to bullying, hence the melancholy eyes. If one of these petite cookies comes over to you, I suggest you show it tenderness and perhaps make it a little comfortable bed to nap in. It might want to share its delicate troubles with you, in which case, you should listen and offer sympathetic counsel. When it finally comes that you must eat the cookie, do so with respect. I find that that is the best way to make friends.

Cheesecake Cave

This is cheesecake cave. It is the home of Squire Clement, a monster made out of cream cheese. One day, Squire Clement ripped open his metalliccy packaging and flung himself out of the Philadelphia Cream Cheese box where he had once lived so contentedly. He used to like it there, when it sat in the coldness of the refrigerater like a docile cube of dairy superiority. But his box had been brought out to the counter and now he was softening. And Squire Clement did not like to soften. So his escaped his prison and, hiding from the humans who so often inhabited the kitchen, he dived into the nearest spot of safety: a bowl. Tumbling in, his landing was cushioned by the blended cottage cheese. Normally, dairy products are sociable creatures and they like to establish communities with each other. But Squire Clement did not have time for a friendly relationship! He jumped to the side of the bowl, narrowly escaping the other block of cream cheese that was so not nicely tossed in. He was pelted with sugar, which coated his sticky back and totally enraged him. He was further angered when flour and vanilla extract were thrown in. And then, a terrible whirring noise, the electric mixer! Squire Clement ran around the inside of the bowl, determined not to fall prey to the machine. It was gaining on him though, and he ran faster and faster in circles, the mixer right on his tail. Then it stopped. On the alert, Squire Clement noticed nothing more was happening in the bowl and decided to take advantage of the peaceful moments. He listened to his instincts which screamed to him: SHELTER! Glancing around Squire Clement saw that his fellow cream cheese cube was ripped half open, making a hollowed out niche, and, as a bonus, it had fang-like decorations in the front, which were just to Squire Clement's sophisticated tastes. He dived into the cave like a cannibal and, when he realized how comfortable it was, he gave in to his exhaustion and fell asleep. Then the electric mixer started again and Squire Clement died.

Ribbon-of-Cranberry Cheesecake

Ribbon-of-Cranberry Cheesecake
Prep: 40 minutes
Bake: 45 minutes
Cool: 1 and 3/4 hours
Chill: 4 hours
Makes: 16 servings
Oven: 375

INGREDIENTS:
1 and 1/2 cups finely crushed vanilla wafers
6 tablespoons butter, melted
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
2 cups cranberries
1 cup orange juice
1 cup cottage cheese
2 8-ounce packages cream cheese, softened
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons vanilla
3 eggs
2 teaspoons finely shredded orange peel

1. For crust, combine vanilla wafers and butter. Press mixture onto bottom and 1 inch up sides of an ungreased 9-inch springform pan. Set aside.
2. For sauce, in a medium saucepan stir together 1 cup sugar and the cornstarch. Stir in cranberries and orange juice. Cook and stir over medium heat until thickened and bubbly. Cook and stir for 2 minutes more. Remove 3/4 cup of the sauce; cool slightly. Meanwhile, cover and chill remaining sauce in the refrigerator until serving time.
3. Place the 3/4 cup sauce in a blender container or food processor bowl. Cover and blend or process until smooth. Set the pureed sauce aside. Wash the blender or container or food processor bowl.
4. For filling, place cottage cheese in the blender container or food processor bowl. Cover and blend or process until smooth. Transfer cottage cheese to a large mixing bowl. Add cream cheese, 1 cup sugar, flour, and vanilla. Beat with an electric mixer until smooth. Add eggs all at once. Beat on low speed just until combined. Stir in orange peel.
5. Pour half of the filling (about 2 cups) into the crust-lined pan. Drizzle pureed sauce over the filling in the pan. Carefully spoon on the remaining filling, covering sauce as much as possible. Place in a shallow baking pan in oven. Bake in a 375 degree oven for 45-50 minutes until center appears nearly set (or firm) when gently shaken.
6. Cool in springform pan on a wire rack for 15 minutes. Loosen crust from sides of the pan and cool for 30 minutes more. Remove sides of pan; cool 1 hour. Cover and chill at least 4 hours (up to 3 or 4 days).
7. To serve, top cheesecake with some of the chilled cranberry sauce. Pass remaining sauce.

Notes: We pureed extra of the cranberry sauce and poured that over the cheesecake instead of the un-pureed stuff. The un-pureed stuff didn't look very decorative. Also, be very sure to put the springform pan atop a shallow baking pan. There was a lot of melted butter on the baking pan when we pulled our cheesecake out of the oven.
Altogether, this cheesecake is fabulous.

He's a Reptilian Beast of a Spoon, He is

This is no ordinary spoon. The mocking, jovial face warns the spectator of that. I was walking along past the oven range that night and saw his beady eyes. What ho! The unique markings on his face, especially the diamond figure above his eyes, entranced and hypnotized me. He began to speak in pulsing slick tones. He was not like the other spoons. No, he was not, he assured me. Other spoons had the simple purpose in life to hold liquids, retain watery substances. But he was different. He took steamed vegetables in his grasp and drained them of their vital juices. He carried vegetables to dinner plate to dinner plate, carrying them to their deaths. He began to tell me (though I pleaded with him not to) of all the different vegetable he had encountered in his lifetime. He left not one single kernel of corn, nor one single lima bean untouched. They would all suffer the same fate. Then, squirming a little in his ceramic container, my attention was drawn to the pool of water he so comfortable laid in. Gasp, it was not water, nor an innocuous drink. It was the juices of steamed peas! I could see the pieces of green skin, floating like detritus. It was a testament to the horrors he so mockingly flaunted. I was appalled. This utensil had the power to drain savory juices from the best of culinary masterpieces. He made his home at the end of the silverware drawer, where he would lie atop or between other large spoons, spoons with wholesome faces. How dare he associate with such pure utensils? They were spoons with a decent purpose. A purpose one would not be ashamed to discuss at the dinner table. But him… It was awful. How could I have not been exposed to his dark side? I had been using him almost every week my entire life. How can we continue to use kitchen utensils, how can we ignore their evil depths? We are blinded when it comes to usefulness. I thereby resolved never to use him again, a promise that was swiftly and easily broken when I thought of watery corn on my plate. I was brought back from my reflections when he snarled, judging, by the look on my face, I’m sure, that no good would come of our conversation. He boasted that he was the best of all utensils, the most useful of all silverware. (Which, I must add, is a boast no utensil should make.) He claimed that no dinner table would ever be complete without him, that he was even more important than the dinner guests. Even the peculiar markings on the exterior of his nose seemed to taunt me. I was ashamed that I had stayed in his slotted presence for such a long time. I turned my eyes away from the intricate and beautiful detailing on his handle, which still held a suspicious captivating power. The spoon was not very happy with the sudden lack of attention, but I left him alone, to face the rest of his evil, yet none the less useful, existence. Utensils, whether slotted or not, are not to be trusted.

Vanilla-Fudge Marble Cake

Vanilla-Fudge Marble Cake

Makes 12 servings

Prep: 30 minures

Bake: 50 minutes

Cool: 2 hours

Oven: 350

2 3/4 cups sifted flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup butter

1 1/2 cups sugar

2 teaspoons vanilla

2 eggs

1 1/4 cups buttermilk or sour milk (the baking book here says "for each cup of sour milk needed, place 1 tablespoon lemon juice or vinegar in a glass measuring cup, then add enough milk to make 1 cup total liquid. (Increase or decrease measures proportionately to get the amount called for in the recipe.) Let the mixture stand for 5 minutes before using it in your recipe")

2/3 cup chocolate-flavored syrup

1 recipe Semisweet icing (see below)

1. Grease and lightly flour a 10-inch fluted tube pan; set aside. Combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Set aside.

2. Beat butter on low to medium speed with an electric mixer about 30 seconds. Add sugar and vanilla; beat until fluffy. Add eggs, 1 at a time, beating on low to medium speed 1 minute after each addition and scraping bowl frequently. Alternately add flour mixture and buttermilk, beating on low speed after each addition just until combined. Reserve 2 cups batter. Spread remaining batter in the prepared pan.

3. In a mixing bowl combine chocolate-flavored syrup and reserved batter. Beat on low speed until well combined. Pour chocolate batter over vanilla batter in pan. Do not mix.

4. Bake in a 350 degree oven about 50 minutes or until wooden toothpick inserted near center comes out clean. Cool in pan on wire rack for 15 minutes. Remove from pan; cool thoroughly on wire rack. Drizzle cake with Semisweet Icing.

Semisweet Icing: In small saucepan heat 1/2 cup semisweet chocolate pieces, 2 tablespoons butter, and 1 tablespoon light-colored corn syrup over low heat, stirring until chocolate melts and mixture is smooth. Stir in 1/4 teaspoon vanilla. Use immediately.

This recipe is from Better Homes and Gardens: New Baking Book.

An Obituary for a Loved Baked Good

We sadly mourn the loss of the last piece of Vanilla-Fudge Marble Cake. Though he appears somewhat oddly positioned in this photo to the left, he was not an upside-down sort of cake. He was a brave delicacy; he survived the insert of the wooden toothpick several times until it "came out clean." It took him ten extra minutes to bake, as he was somewhat underdone at 50 minutes, but he took his stint in the oven like a man. And what a stint it was. He entered the dry heat with his fudge batter on top and exited with the chocolate side having sunk to the bottom. This cake took 2 and a half hours to recover from the heat, situated on a wire rack, during which time he was scorned by his neighbors: the jealous pies. Pumpkin Pie and Cherry Pie had to wait a whole entire day before they were eaten. They believed that, having been baked earlier in the week, they should be eaten sooner than this newly baked good. And yet there he was, stealing all their glory. They wondered why he even would have been baked while there were still desserts to be eaten. Who needed an new treat when there were so many already made? Poor Vanilla-Fudge suffered under their resentful glares. I'm sure they told him he was unwanted and that he would have been better off unmade. But Vanilla-Fudge Marble Cake was not unwanted. He had a purpose in his short life. A purpose which he was able to fulfull that night. After being drizzled with semisweet icing, he again underwent the painful process of being stabbed with something, but this time it was birthday candles. Vanilla-Fudge soaked up the adoring stares of those around the table and hardly noticed when he was cut open. Those first 5 pieces that were eaten under his supervision made him so proud. And then. A harsh blow, the next 4 slices of Vanilla-Fudge were wrapped up and sent away. Disgraced, Vanilla-Fudge renounced those pieces of himself and swore that no other piece would leave the house. He happily offered the next 2 slices up to see them devoured but sadly realized that he was at his end. He managed to hold on for 32 more hours but he was far gone. Around 9:15 this night, the last remaining piece of himself was ingested. His container, which he had resided in for 2 days, was torn down and washed. Now all that remains of Vanilla-Fudge Marble Cake is a memory, a memory that stirs up thoughts of dense chocolate vanilla goodness in the hearts of those that ate him.