Berlin Reified | Food, design and life in Berlin

Sunday mornings: Rose shortbread

So much to tell you! I'm still reeling from the incredible open day at the art school in Weißensee (I meant to just peep in then stayed all afternoon), still drying off after a damp but happy hour at the Freie Internationale Tankstelle's pop-up Biergarten. But let's start with this morning, shall we?

Sunday morning shortbread seems slated to be a new tradition. When Clare brought me a box of homemade lavender lemon shortbread on a flying visit last month, it set my mental wheels racing. It was the perfect thing to have around the house: fragrant, satisyfing, undemanding, the perfect late afternoon pick-me-up for myself or unexpected friends. The shortbread was incredible, of course, and simplicity itself. She had used Delia Smith's recipe, adding a teaspoon of dried lavender blossoms and a bit of lemon zest. And that made me wonder what else I could add. This morning it was rose petals (I used the ones that Sonnentor sells). What next? Black pepper and orange zest?

Recipe notes: I can't quite understand how Delia bakes her shortbread for over an hour; mine was done after twenty minutes. I also couldn't see the point of rolling out the dough when patting it in worked just fine. And sprinkle your sugar on while the shortbread is still warm, as it adheres better that way.

PS: Clare, her husband, well-behaved dog and small daughter are moving back to Berlin in October. They're looking for a flat with at least three rooms, ideally in Prenzlauer Berg as that's where their daughter will go to nursery. Send me an email (click "Email me" in the sidebar) if you know of anything!

Cherries & berries here and there

Oh, this is the season. If I've been quiet here, it's because I've been outdoors: picnics, playgrounds, coffee on the sidewalk and cherry-picking on museum grounds. Even as the days contract this summer feels eternal. I'm sitting on the balcony as I write; it's been light since 4am.

Kristina and I sat on the pavement drinking coffee when her neighbor walked by with cherries from their Kleingarten and gave us a handful.

At the Haus am Waldsee we were just leaving when David, eagle-eyed, noticed a tree full of fruit. We gorged ourselves on cherries for twenty minutes, S straining at the tips of her toes to reach the fruit herself ("no pick me up!") before we went home.

My gooseberry fool was just what you would want it to be, fragrant and floral with a tang. Top and tail a punnet of gooseberries, then simmer with a splash of elderflower cordial until soft (about 10 minutes). Let cool, then top with a generous pool of cream. No pureeing, no whipping, just the nubbly pulp and the cream sweetening the sour.

Gooseberry fool in the making

A gray morning to be photographing gooseberries, but I'm too eager to begin topping and tailing to wait for better light. Gooseberries still seem more familiar out of children's fiction than everyday life, but browsing in Jane Grigson has inspired me to attempt a fool this morning. Perhaps with a splash of elderflower cordial? If you have tips, tell me now!

The tablecloth, by the way, is one of s-wert's inimitable designs.

Bärlauch this time around

Every spring I thrill to the bunches of wild garlic in the market stalls and shops. I had never tasted Bärlauch before I came to Berlin, though I went on to discover its many English names. In seasons past I've made Bärlauchspätzle and Bärlauch paneer, and any number of attempts at a full-bodied creamy Bärlauch soup (never, sadly, finding a recipe that stuck -- suggestions?). But it's only this spring that I've really hit my stride.

A Bärlauch quinoa salad has become a lunchbox staple for the past month, while a batch of delicate Bärlauch ricotta fritters left a dinner guest unreasonably elated. I promised that guest this recipe, and while I'm writing it down, thought you might like to have it too.

Oh and isn't it pleasing when your bunch of Bärlauch comes with a few starry white blossoms tucked amidst the broad oval leaves? I intended the ones above to be used as a garnish; instead, I popped first one sprig, then another into my mouth as I cooked, and soon they were all gone.

Bärlauch ricotta fritters

1 bunch Bärlauch (ramps), thinly sliced into ribbons
250 g ricotta
2 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt & ground black pepper
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan
1/4 cup semolina

Wilt the Bärlauch in a skillet for a few minutes, then mix with the remaining ingredients. Film a frying pan with butter, then drop in the batter by spoonfuls. Fry til browned on the bottom (about 4 minutes) then flip and repeat. Serve with homemade ketchup if you have some.

A birthday spread

I suppose this lopsided shot will have to serve as summary of yesterday's spread, because after this one test snap to check the batteries had recharged, I didn't pick up the camera again once. How do you manage to capture the party while being in the party? My favorite was the rhubarb trifle, barely visible in the bottom left, but there were also brownies, a Boston cream pie, a berry pavlova, tiny fiery cheese scones larded with onions and black olives, homemade oatcakes with a Bärlauch, scallion, cress and black pepper spread, and, of course, friends brought even more delectable goodies.

 

Rhubarb trifle

This trifle was a happy accident. I was making sponge layers for my Boston cream pie and didn't think to line or flour the pans; the cakes, though beautiful, broke into shards when I went to unmould them. So I transferred those pieces to the bottom of a cut-glass bowl and decided to make trifle. You can use any sponge cake recipe for the bottom layer; mine was the Gold Cake out of the Joy of Cooking.

For the fruit layer, I trimmed a kilogram of rhubarb and chopped it into chunks, then placed it in a gratin dish, sprinkled it with half a cup (100 grams) of sugar, covered the dish tightly with foil and baked it for just under an hour. Lift the rhubarb out with a slotted spoon to keep the cake from getting too soggy.

Custard felt redudant with the Boston cream pie simply groaning with crème patisserie, so I skipped it and just spooned on 200 ml of softly whipped cream. Next time I would boil down the rhubarb juices left in the pan and mix a tablespoon or so into the cream, for what I imagine as a gentle (not lurid!) pink.

This year's rhubarb

This rhubarb from the Zionskirchplatz market became a rhubarb crumble last night. I've tried fiddly recipes with ground almonds and oat flakes, but my mother-in-law's recipe is simplicity itself. Slice a kilogram of rhubarb into the bottom of a gratin pan and mix in a little white sugar. Rub 200 grams of butter into 400 grams of 550 white flour, then toss in 200 grams of white sugar. Spread the crumble over the rhubarb, then sprinkle with a spoonful of demerra brown sugar. Slide into the waiting oven (375 F/190 C) for 40 minutes or so, and serve with a pitcher of milk or cream.

Zionskirchplatz Farmers Market, Thursdays from noon to 6:30pm

The cup that cheers

Just the briefest pause before going back to the suitcases (and that's Sonnentor's Ingwer Sonne in the cup, in case you're curious). If the skies allow, I'll be on a plane to Washington DC early tomorrow morning, with a long weekend in Brooklyn to follow. Tips for both places are as always welcome! & I will try to post while gone, though I make no promises.

Cake mix (Baking on the go)

So gratifying to see your ingredients rowed and know you'll soon fill a friend's kitchen with the warm smells of baking. Buttermilk cake for dinner at Dilek's, buttermilk biscuits for a lunchtime playdate at Caitlin's. What better way to pass these last snowy January days than by the oven? (For a long time I used 550 flour when recipes called for all-purpose, now I'm excited about Bohlenser Mühle's 1050, which worked a treat on these two occasions.)

Plum cobbler

The Zwetschgen at the market are a bit soft these days, and best transformed into cobbler. The layer of fruit goes jamlike with a bit of heat, and the pillowy crispness of the scone topping is just what you want to sink your spoon into, confronted with an early dusk.

Summer polenta gratin

I've called this summer polenta gratin though the light is decidedly autumnal now. Such beautiful peppers in the shops just now!