Plain Jane Sweet Chocolate Rolls with Diced Apricots and Raisins
Although I haven’t posted in about a month, believe it or not my days have been filled with foodie thoughts. I’ve been leafing through old issues of Saveur, bookmarking recipes in Everyday Food, and spending far more time than is healthy ogling things in my newest cookbooks: Savory Baking and Rustic Fruit Desserts. But when it came time to take these inspirations and make them manifest in my kitchen? That’s when I ended up in the nursery sorting baby clothes, or searching the internet for the perfect nightlight, or freaking myself out by reading books about caring for a newborn – all of which include a chapter on the dreaded colic. I pray our son does not visit this scourge upon us. Please. God.
Yesterday I decided to remedy my infrequent-baking situation by spending time in my toasty kitchen with a rich dough destined to become the sweet chocolate rolls you see here. Just look at them, all speckled with diced apricots, chocolate chips and raisins – don’t they look yummy? Looks do not deceive in this case. Next to eating these gems, the best part about making them is shaping the dough while it was rainy and cold outside. Rain is my favorite soundtrack to bake to.
The recipe comes from Max Brenner’s new book Chocolate: A Love Story, which is a delightful collection of chocolate-y goodness. The dough is very rich and sticky, partially because you use an entire stick of butter when making it. (Decadent!) Be sure to use plenty of flour when kneading – Max isn’t kidding when he says you’ll need an additional one to two cups of flour while doing this. Also, because the dough is weighed down by chocolate, apricots and raisins, don’t expect it to rise as much as a dough without all these goodies. Keep these tips in mind and in the end you shall be rewarded with a fluffy, sugar-crusted bun that has just the right amount of sweetness and the power to delight you with each bite – who knows whether you’ll get a taste of chocolate, or apricot or raisins, or all three put together in the next mouthful? I used vanilla turbinado sugar on the top, just because.
(Btw, I know this is late – sorry!! – but Caitlin, Laura and MC, you each won the November giveaway. I’ve emailed you so please send me your addys! I shall blame my tardiness on pregnancy brain because I have to use that excuse while I still can.)
I hope you all had a delightful Chanukkah or Christmas. 
Gingerbread Pear Cake (And the History of Gingerbread)
Gingerbread is one of those holiday treats that shouldn’t be restricted to the months of November and December. Don’t you agree? And yet, it does have a special appeal during the cooler months. There’s nothing quite like beginning a crisp November morning with a confectioners’ sugar dusted piece of gingerbread, perhaps served with a dollop of whipped cream and a hot cup of coffee. Mmm mmm.
I sometimes wonder how foods became associated with particular seasons. Gingerbread, for instance, originated in the kitchens of ancient Greeks and Egyptians for ceremonial purposes and was brought back to Europe by 11th-century crusaders returning from the Middle East. How did it go from exotic foreign food that only the rich could afford to a scrumptious staple on the Thanksgiving – and especially Christmas – table?
Your guess is as good as mine, though I think gingerbread’s eventual popularity had to do with its incredible flexibility. The earliest recipes were made from a thick paste of ground almonds, stale breadcrumbs, honey and ginger that was pressed into wooden molds. Each mold had a shape carved into it, so when the gingerbread was unmolded after baking it could be displayed as an edible work of art with the likeness of a ruler or a religious scene carved into it. These molded confections bore little resemblance to bread and were originally called “gingerbras,” an Old French name that meant “preserved ginger.” But over time gingerbras became gingerbread, and the name stuck.
In the 16th century breadcrumbs were replaced with flour and eggs were added to the mix, creating a lighter, fluffier product. It was Queen Elizabeth I who is credited with the first gingerbread man though. Her cook took the tradition of molding gingerbread a step further by presenting visiting dignitaries with gingerbread men shaped in their own likeness. Neat! Still doesn’t explain the Christmas connection though. In fact, once gingerbread men were introduced to the masses they became tokens of love presented to sweethearts at fairs, tied up with pretty ribbons. But given the ease with which gingerbread can be shaped – not to mention the invention of gingerbread houses – I guess its association with one of the most festive holidays around was inevitable.
Modern gingerbread is most often made with flour, spices, ginger and molasses. The addition of molasses came about in the late 17th-century, when cooks began using it as a substitute for honey when making a German honey cake known as lebuckhen. Gingerbread cookies were a popular Christmas creation during the American colonial period because the ingredients were relatively cheap, they were easy to make and the dough was resilient enough to withstand both brick-oven and cook-stove baking.
Learn more about molasses and its fascinating history in this Baking and Books post from the past: Anita’s Molasses Spice Cookies.
Last week I succumbed to my craving for gingerbread by making the Gingerbread Pear Cake you see here. With its fluffy texture, soft pear slices and pronounced flavors of ginger and raw sugar, it took an extra bit of will power not to eat the whole thing myself. (A task made extra tough by the fact that my husband doesn’t like gingerbread so it was mine, all mine!) If I didn’t have my heart set on making a Pumpkin Cheesecake with Gingersnap Crust and a Blackberry Pie for Thanksgiving, I might add this cake to the menu.
This will probably be my last post for November so don’t forget to enter the book giveaway for this month! Also, to those of you celebrating Thanksgiving tomorrow, I hope you have a beautiful holiday filled with warm company, good food and great conversation. Happy Thanksgiving!
