The Global Recipe Project Cookbook
Contest Ends May 30th
The Global Recipe Project Cookbook
Contest Ends May 30th
A cross between a pancake and an omelette, Pannekoeken (to the Dutch) or Pfannkuchen (to the Germans) makes a lovely breakfast no matter how you choose to pronounce it! Today we’re making this simple dish with cherries, for a sweet and cheerful twist. Continue reading
If there is any such thing as a perfect day, I may very well have stumbled upon it the day I first baked this cake. Last summer in northeast Germany, I enjoyed an early morning slice of warm Frühstückskuchen with a mug of strong, black coffee while watching my children play outside in the land of their great, great grandparents. For an American intent on reconnecting with her German ancestry, it was an amazing moment.
It’s time to bake another Frühstückskuchen and reminisce!
Ingredients (makes 1 9″ x 13″ cake)
2 cups grated carrot
1 cup peeled, chopped apple
3/4 cup real applesauce (no corn syrup)
1/4 cup canola oil
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups white flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
Step 1) Grease and flour a 9″ x 13″ cake pan.
Step 2) Combine carrots, apple, applesauce, oil, eggs, and sugar in a large bowl.
Step 3) Combine spices, baking powder, baking soda, and flours in a second large bowl.
Step 4) Add dry ingredients to wet ingredients and stir until just combined.
Step 5) Spread batter into the pan and bake in a preheated 350 degree oven for 40 minutes, or until a toothpick
inserted into the center comes out clean. Check after 35 minutes; do not overbake.
Step 6) Let cool slightly before cutting. Serve with fresh fruit and a sprinkle of confectioner’s sugar, if desired.
Thus far on our European Food Tour, we’ve managed to avoid (most of) the touristy kitsch. Indulge me just this once. We were in Munich, we were hungry, and we did it… we followed the camera wielding masses into that most epic of bier halls, Hofbräuhaus. Simply put, it’s too old and too big NOT to visit! The history of Hofbräuhaus dates back to the 16th century, and is a long, fascinating story. The current building – “only” 117 years old – can seat a whopping 1,300 hungry and thirsty guests.
For me, the most fascinating thing about Hofbräuhaus is how, despite the hordes of tourists, the old bier hall is clearly beloved by locals. If you don’t believe me, check out the bier hall’s website. An impressive number of tables are reserved for regular guests, many of whom own their own bier steins and store them in one of the 454 lockers available on site! Possession of one of these lockers is considered a status symbol among regular guests.
Whether drinking from a fancy schmancy bier stein or a plain old glass mug, everyone can enjoy a hearty and delicious meal. I’ll leave you with a few photos while I pack my bags. Next stop: Austria!
I anticipated a few of our travel adventures before we stumbled upon them. For example, I imagined that decoding foreign train schedules would take a bit of practice (I was right). I imagined reading key words on restaurant menus and placing an order correctly would take a bit of luck (I was right). But cooking in the kitchens of our rented guest apartments? That, I imagined, would be a snap (I was very, very wrong).
I realized I was in for a bit of a challenge before I even set foot in a kitchen – I was still at the grocery store! For better or worse, I grew up with the wack-a-doodle American system of measurements. You know what I’m talking about… 16 ounces to a pound, 2 cups to a pint, 2 pints to a quart, 4 quarts to a gallon, etc.. It’s a ridiculous system, but it’s the system with which I am most familiar. I understand the metric system and use it in other contexts, but it’s akin to a non-native language, and takes me an extra second to sort out in my head.
Here’s a scenario: an item costs 6 Euro 49 per kilogram, and the shop keeper is asking if I would like to make a selection. Hmm. Would I? Well, there are roughly 2.2 pounds per kilogram and $1.37 per Euro. Reasoning out that 6 Euro 49 per kilogram is about $4 per pound isn’t rocket science, but after thinking through the mental math for about 50 items, I was ready to just start chucking random items in my cart. Then I learn that the price shown is “per 100 grams.” I have no idea how much 100 grams of sausage (or cheese or whatever) looks like. Sure, I’ll take 100 grams. Oh. I guess I’ll take another 100 grams.
Previously kitchen confident, I found myself fumbling through scenario after scenario:
After navigating the market, my adventures continued in the kitchen. Oven gauges are set in Celsius rather than Fahrenheit. Local recipes use units of mass rather than volume (a much more accurate, common sense approach, but unfamiliar nonetheless). Ovens are generally smaller, which is more energy efficient, but also alters familiar baking times. Stovetops are often electric and ceramic, requiring a gentler approach and a bit more patience than open gas flame. Navigating these differences, I managed to serve slices of “rare” cake and saw through a roast that was, er, “well” done.
I also made a few dishes – heck, more than a few dishes – that were pretty darn good. I will leave Germany with a few new cooking skills, a lot of great recipe ideas, and a healthy respect for the similarities AND the differences between German and American cooking cultures.
Next time on Crowded Earth Kitchen, I’ll share photos and stories from an iconic German dining establishment. Then, we’re off to Austria!
I woke up to a rainy day in the hills of Bavaria, and decided to fill the day cooking a few of the comfort foods I associate with Germany. Dumplings immediately came to mind. Of all the varieties of German dumplings, and there are many, I particularly adore spaetzle. These tiny, irregularly shaped dumplings are often served with a light gravy, or just butter with a dash of salt and pepper. Today’s recipe includes mushrooms and bacon, and is pretty delicious if I may say so myself! Before we get started, let’s do a few upper body warm-up stretches.
At home, I have a little gadget for making spaetzel. To use it, I simply scoop some dumpling dough into the white bowl on top, and slide the bowl back and forth over the hole-punched tray underneath. Tiny drops of dough fall effortlessly into a pot of boiling water, and in just a few minutes, I have a delightful bowl of dumplings. So easy!
Lacking my spaetzle maker, I used a strainer and the back of a soup ladle to accomplish the same task. It worked just fine, but the dough being quite elastic, it took quite a bit more effort than I anticipated! Don’t let that scare you off, just think of this recipe as the happy end of The Amazing Spaetzle Dumpling Workout!
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
8 slices bacon
8 ounces mushrooms, sliced bite size
1) Fill a large pot halfway full of water. Add a dash of salt and bring to a gentle boil.
2) Fry bacon in a separate pan. Remove bacon when crisp and set aside to drain on a paper towel. Add mushrooms to pan with bacon fat and allow to cook over low heat, stirring occasionally.
3) While bacon and mushrooms cook, mix together eggs, flour, milk, salt and pepper. Allow to rest for about 2 minutes.
4) Add half the dumpling dough to a strainer with holes about the size of a pencil eraser (a bit larger is OK, but NOT smaller!). Hold the strainer over the pot of boiling water with one hand, and use the other hand to rub the back of a soup ladle over the dough. Keep doing this until all the dough drops through the holes in the strainer. Your arms won’t fall off – it only feels that way!
5) When the dough drops into the pot, it will sink first and eventually float to the top. Dumplings are cooked through when they have floated on the top of the water for about 3 minutes. Scoop them out with a slotted spoon, set them in your serving bowl, and repeat the process with the other half of your dough.
6) By the time your dumplings are cooked, your mushrooms will be ready. Gently fold mushrooms and all pan drippings into the dumplings. Serve a scoop of spaetzle and mushrooms over a few leaves of romaine lettuce. Top with crumbled bacon, or serve bacon slices whole on the side. Enjoy!
Before arriving in Europe, my travel companions and I were aware of at least a few of the more common European perceptions of American dining habits. In mealtime settings, we have been careful to keep our voices a bit more quiet than we might at home, and we have been careful to not occupy too much table space. We have even been graced with a compliment or two about the good behavior of our pint size travel companions (offsetting that time one pint size darling threw a credit card clear across a restaurant into the dinner of a very surprised lady, but I digress…). Although we try to abide by the old “When in Rome” adage, our American accents can be detected from outer space, and have led to a few interesting exchanges.
We’ve noticed, for example, that ketchup is offered with absolutely everything, and often with a knowing grin. Often, the only ketchup bottle in sight is the one placed on our table. I find it thoughtful, but curious. Our most curious dining experience was on the heels of a much more somber visit to the Holocaust Memorial in Berlin. Visiting the Holocaust Memorial and adjoining museum was a bit overwhelming.
After spending a few hours reading and reflecting on these sights we went for a walk through the neighboring district, home to the US Embassy. The high concentration of Americans working in this area has led, predictably, to a large number of restaurants with English menus and other American-friendly touches. We stopped by a promising looking café for lunch… and stepped right into a parody.
The booth in which we were seated was huge – I mean, it was enormous! The menu looked fabulous – on the first page, and the third page, and the tenth page. Beverage cups were large, and filled to the top with ice. Our waiter was very friendly and informal, stopped by our booth often, and delivered a giant bottle of (you guessed it) ketchup with our lightening fast meals. The most terrible – er, I mean most popular – of American pop music played in the background. We felt genuinely welcome, even as we found the microcosm of American dining quirks a bit unnerving. We left an American-size gratuity at the end of our intriguing meal.
I didn’t give differences in dining preferences across cultures much thought after that meal, at least not until I browsed through a grocery store. One of my pint size travel companions was the one who spotted the unfamiliar item. Holding the item up in the air, he asked…
“What in the World is American Sauce?”