Breakfasts of Christmas Past

My parents recently sent out an email asking ten specific questions about what my siblings and I remembered about our childhood Christmases. "How tall was our tallest tree?" "Who was first to get up Christmas morning?" "What's the most number of branches we tied to a tree to fill it out?" (Our trees were always natural trees that had the misfortune to grow on their own on our farm — cosmetic branch-adjustments to improve their shape was SOP — "donor-limb" trees were also misfortunate.)

As we chimed in, our memories reflected each of our different takes on Christmas and our positions in the hierarchy of childhood. The only detail we all agreed on was we'd gather in my parents' bedroom at 5:00 AM (it was strictly against the rules to arrive earlier so we all gathered in my room beginning about 4:00 until it was time). Then we'd rush to my parents' room and sit on the bed with my mother while Dad went into the living room, "To make sure Santa had been there" — and if I remember correctly start the coffee for Mom and him.

Our memories reflected each of our different takes on Christmas and our positions the hierarchy of childhood.

Note, this business of gathering in my parents bedroom first continued long after we'd all ceased believing in Santa. Even after my youngest brother (10 years behind me) had given up on the Santa myth because he continued to wake up at 4:00 for several years and gathering on Christmas morning meant we all had to enter together. We were all happy when Kerry learned to sleep in on Christmas morning.

"Santa" never wrapped presents when he visited us and so those unwrapped gifts would distract us while the coffee finished perking. Then, once we'd completely explored Santa's gifts it was time for the real gift-giving. My father would hand out the wrapped gifts, one-by-one, calling out the name of the giver and recipient one at a time to each of us. No other gift was given until the current one was unwrapped and properly appreciated by everyone as something extraordinary, something deserving of special note — with appropriate sounds of appreciation for each gift given by everyone.

Each gift meant some shuffling around on hands and knees and even getting up off the floor to give the giver a sincere "thank you" and a hug. Christmas morning was a long, drawn-out affair of appreciation and to this day we open gifts the same way, one-by-one, person-by-person, with heartfelt thanks whenever any of us can manage to get together for Christmas.

And then all the gifts were opened. All the oohs and ahhhs done. And it was coming up on 7:00 AM and time for Christmas breakfast — and likely another pot of coffee for my folks. This was the best breakfast of the year as a rule (although my parents also had a fondness for Shit on a Shingle — creamed, chipped beef on toast — on Christmas morning). Planned in advance and often involving treats like coffee cake or waffles with homemade strawberry jam or even Welsh Rabbit. Hot cocoa wasn't unusual and neither was hot cider with butter and a cinnamon stick.

Those Christmases are mostly a blur more than 30 years later. But I still make a point of planning breakfast on Christmas morning. Even when it's only me. And I still open each gift Christmas morning, one at a time, with love and appreciation.

I hope the gifts are good, but breakfast is more dependable. Merry Christmas everyone.

Here are a few breakfast ideas...
Apple/Ricotta Coffee Cake
Welsh Rabbit
Basic Cheese Souffle

Technorati: Food | essay | kevin d weeks | seriously good | christmas

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Christmas Menu 2009

A Different Take on Christmas



I got an email a week or so a go from someone telling me they decided to have fondue for Christmas dinner. They were tired of the over-the-top production that goes along with most Christmas feasts and just wanted to have a simple but exceptional meal and had settled on fondue.

Fondue is indeed a simple meal — you melt cheese in wine and then dunk bread in it. Which is not to say in any way that it is simple in flavor and satisfaction. But for me it's not an exceptional meal as I can't imagine getting through the winter without making at least one and usually two batches of it. For me an exceptional meal is one I've never made before or it I have it was some years ago.

Fondue isn't an exceptional meal as I can't imagine getting through the winter without making at least one and usually two batches of it.

But I like the man's attitude and agree with him completely, fondue is an excellent Christmas dinner — especially if there are only four people to serve. So I got to thinking — how might I make this dish that I consider essentially comfort food exceptional? I'm not sure if this menu is quite there yet, but it's damned close. The flavors and tastes all work together, it makes a festive looking plate, and it's only 30 minutes work for a dish that most people find exotic.

Note, this a feast of nibbles. The fondue is in the center, but is greatly enriched by the other little munchies around it.

Fondue: This is a traditional cheese fondue. A blend of Gruyere and Emmentaler give it a definite edge, tossing the cheese in flour and shaking off the excess provides exactly the right thickening/binding at exactly the right moment, and sauvignon blanc comes close to the acidity of the Swiss wines typically used. Stay away from corn starch - it ruins the texture. And the kirschwasser is served separately - for dunking

Beet Salad: These luscious beets are equally good served cold (as I would do in this meal) but use olive oil instead of butter. I'd go for red beets (if I can't find the peppermint-striped beets) but golden beets would also be pretty on the plate - cook the beets a day early. As a cold beet salad, toss some mesclun with chilled beets before serving. Red and green — hey it's Christmas!

Prosciutto-wrapped Clementines: Yep. That's all there is to it. Peel a half dozen clementines, wrap them in a shred of proscuiutto, and serve. The sweet-tartness of the clementines is a perfect foil for the savory-saltiness of the ham. On the plate you've got more red and some orange. Jeez this is getting festive. Hmmm, what next?

Deviled Eggs: I wanted to bring something slightly bitter in at this point and casting about in my mind I found dill, which is mildly bitter. I also adore deviled eggs andI'm quite capable of eating half a dozen at once — so I don't make them very often. But I usually at a good bit of fresh dill to my deviled eggs and I thought they would be delicious with fondue.

Poached Pears: Finish the night with a dessert as simple as the rest of the meal. Pears Poached in red wine. Pears are almost out of season, but a little searching can still turn up some good ones. One of my favorite recipes is this one. Use Madeira for a red color and I like serving it with mascarpone on the side.

Technorati: Food | recipe collection | kevin d weeks | seriously good | menu | Christmas

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Party Hors d'Oeuvres

It's party season and most of us will be invited to at least one party where we have to take something and my favorite things to take - whether it's to a cocktail-style party or a dinner party is hors d'oeuvres. Hors d'Oeuvre literally means "out of hours" — a reference to the fact these flavorful tidbits are not eaten at a meal. Traditionally the French don't snack or eat at all outside of mealtimes at which time they sit down and have a proper meal (although a proper meal may simply be a croissant and cup of coffee), so these little treats are eaten outside of meals — outside of proper eating times.

Some of these recipes can be completely prepared in advance while others only need a few minutes in an oven. These are all finger foods, suitable for eating with no fancier implement than a cocktail napkin.

Enticing Empanadas: Empanadas, at least the finger-sized version, are primarily a Latin American dish. I only found one Spanish recipe in my searching — which surprised me. They certainly make nice two-bite morsels suitable for munching with a glass of sherry or wine and, because I was catering a tapas party, I though it would be easy enough to create a recipe that tasted more of Spain than Honduras or Cuba so that's what I did.

Duck Rillettes: Rillettes are made from confit, which is some kind of meat (rabbit, pork, goose, or in this case, duck) slowly cooked — eseentially poached — in fat and then pounded into a paste. Confit is an old method of preserving meat, very much a peasant dish in origin and rillettes, spread on bread or crackers, is a great and simple way to enjoy it.

Sausage Balls: I was nine or 10 when I got the assignment: make sausage balls. I suspect I brought it on myself. My memory from so long ago is fuzzy but I seem to recall lobbying my mother to make them one Christmas (she must have made them the previous year) and, as she was wont to do, her response was, "If you want them, you make them." I've made them every year since then — making them the only dish I've ever made so long and so consistently.

Humus bi Tahini: Every time I make humus I'm reminded of an elegant (there's that word again) Lebanese lady who once told me I made the best humus she'd eaten in the US. She said, "It's tart, but not sour. It has good garlic, but not too much. I like the 'pepperness.'" Here is a dish that couldn't be more humble or more common. But it also has an elegance of flavor. Serve with crudities and triangles of pita bread.

Stuffed Mushrooms:
I developed this recipe for a client who has both celiac disease and an allergy to shell fish. I didn't have to make stuffed mushrooms, but I'd fixated on the idea of mushrooms being part of the overall mixture of finger foods I was making — and important pasrt of the complete picture of flavor, texture, and temperature. So I skipped the bread crumbs and subbed pancetta and sun-dried tomato for the shrimp or crab. Delicious.

Southern Pâté: I can't abide most liver (I do like foie gras) so I usually avoid pâtés. But I came across a liver-free recipe a few years ago and decided to tweak it into a recipe for a Southerm pât&eactue;. It turned out beautifully. I've served it with rye cocktail bread and with toast points, but I like it best with little bite-sized biscuits.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | party | tapas meze

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Eggnog

According to the Custom



One of my earliest memories is of standing beside my father in the kitchen on the day after Thanksgiving as he made eggnog. I must have been 6 or 7 at the time, because I remember the silvery bowl was almost as big as I was. The bowl shrank over the years, but in the beginning it was huge.

I recall standing on a stool beside him as he added whiskey to the bowl in a slow stream as delicate as a chef making mayonnaise, the electric mixer going full speed beating a whining, rattling tattoo on the sides of the bowl. He was, and is, a gentle man, but he was also big and expansive and that was the most delicate and patient operation I ever saw him perform.

The whiskey entered the maelstrom almost drop by drop.

The whiskey entered the maelstrom almost drop by drop. He'd learned from past years that working too quickly, too brashly, produced scrambled eggs instead of the smooth and unctuous base he'd need a month from that day when he added the cream and served the nog to guests. And there were inevitable splatters that over the years graced the open pages of the cookbook containing the recipe.

For more than 50 years, my father made eggnog almost every Thanksgiving and then aged it until Christmas. It is a family tradition, a footnote in the long history of eggnog. During the aging process a number of chemical processes occur producing new flavor compounds (as does the exposure to air). By the time he adds the cream a month later you would have no idea there was any alcohol in it at all.

The Raw Egg Issue

Read my father's recipe, or any other traditional recipe for nog, and you'll find it includes raw eggs. In the case of my father's version not only are the eggs raw to begin with, but they're then allowed to sit, unrefrigerated, for a month. Sounds like a recipe for something far worse than salmonella. But it's not.

The FDA advises against ever eating raw eggs, but then the FDA asserts that everything on earth should be heated to at least 160 before eating — which would give plain old scrambled eggs the texture of shoe leather. In liquids, alcohol concentrations as low as 8 percent are enough to kill most bacteria. In the case of Dad's recipe, I calculated the alcohol content at 21 percent of the total — nearly 1/4 pure alcohol. And that's not counting the sugar, which is also a preservative (it disrupts the cell membranes ("skin") of microorganisms).

I'm not advising you to ignore the FDA and if you're concerned about pathogens you can make the base just before using it and use pasteurized eggs. Pasteurized eggs, like pasteurized milk, have been heated to a temperature sufficient to kill any pathogens. But personally, I plan to have several nogs of my father's Christmas cheer this December, made exactly the way he's always made it.

One caveat, if you see the mixture bubbling or any sort of film or mold appears on it, then something has gone wrong. Discard it. I've never seen this happen but I suppose a super eggnog-resistant organism is possible.

The origin of eggnog, as with any recipe more than 100 years old, is more theory than fact. However, early recipes were often made with ale, which was often served in a "noggin" (a small cup) and likely was the source of the "nog" or "nogg" portion of the name (the "egg" part is self-evident). We also know that, made with brandy or wine, it was an expensive drink popular with the English aristocracy. Jerry Thomas' Bartenders Guide or How to Mix Drinks (first published in 1862) included this recipe:

Egg Nogg

(Use large bar-glass.)
Take 1 large teaspoonful of powdered white sugar.
1 fresh egg.
½ wine-glass of brandy.
½ wine-glass of Santa Cruz rum.
A little shaved ice.

Fill the glass with rich milk and shake up the ingredients until they are thoroughly mixed. Pour the mixture into a goblet excluding the ice, and grate a little nutmeg on top. This may be made by using a wineglass of either of the above liquors, instead of both combined.

Every well ordered bar should have a tin egg-nogg "shaker," which is a great aid in mixing this beverage.

A larger version in the same book calls for 20 eggs and 2 1/2 quarts of "fine old brandy."

Eggnog likely came to this country from England with aristocratic immigrants. Isaac Weld, an 18th-century Irish traveler who wrote about his travels in America, noted: "The American travelers, before they pursued their journey, took a draught each, according to custom, of egg-nog, a mixture composed of new milk, eggs, rum, and sugar, beat up together." Brandy was indeed a precious commodity in the New World, so rum became the most common alcohol in the North while bourbon became typical in the South.

My father's original recipe came from the Wise Encyclopedia of Cooking, his favorite cookbook. The book was reprinted about 30 years ago, and I bought a copy that I gave to my father for Christmas. I asked for his old, battered, green, clothbound edition for my library. I did want the old book, as a connection with my father; but more, I wanted the pencil notations on the eggnog recipe that detailed his changes to the ingredients.

On the many Christmases that I've since spent away from my parents, I've often turned to that old volume, now bound in duct tape, to make a batch of nog myself. As I hoped back when I swapped a new book for his old one, I feel his presence beside me when I make it, and again when I raise a noggin to him.

Make up a batch this Thanksgiving weekend, stick it in the back of a closet, and come Christmas pull it out, add the cream, and raise a toast to my old man and a long tradition.

Dad's Eggnog
Makes about 4 cups, 8 servings.

Base Mixture:
6 large eggs
3/4 cup bourbon
1/3 cup rum (dark is best)
1/2 cup granualted sugar

With an electric mixer, beat eggs until well mixed.
Combine bourbon and rum and add very gradually to the egg mixture; this should take about 15 minutes. If the booze is added too quickly, it will curdle the eggs by causing the proteins to denature, so take it slow.

Beat in the sugar — about 5 minutes — and store in a glass or ceramic jar or jug in a cool, dark place, but not a refrigerator. The container should be covered loosely, but you want some air to get in.

Finished Mixture:
1 cup whipping cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup sugar

Whip the cream until almost stiff. Whip in vanilla and sugar.

Stir the base mixture and thoroughly mix into cream.

This nog will be very thick and you may wish to thin it somewhat with milk.

Serve in punch cups with a sprinkling of finely grated nutmeg.

Note: Dad says he often increases the bourbon to 1 cup and the rum to 1/2 cup in the base mixture producing a more potent (and less thick) end result. He warns that if you do this, the time spent adding the booze to the eggs will be proportionately longer.

Update: This experiment was just published (12/17/09) on NPR's Science Friday. The most interesting thing is that freshly made nog (with unpasteurized eggs) is more dangerous than nog made at least three weeks in advance.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | eggnog | christmas

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SG Archive: Bourbon Cake

Christmas TK



In the copy-editing business there are lots of funky spellings and abbreviations. These are all intended to set off the editors' internal alarms so they won't be mistaken for anything except attention grabbers to other editors. For instance "header" is spelled "HEDR," "side bar" SIDBAR," and "to come" "TK." I've even seen "title" labeled as "TIT." The use of all-caps helps when shouting out in print and also reinforces the idea these are terms are not meant for inclusion in the finished piece. And hopefully someone who's name is "Hedr" won't get replaced with "Obscure Nazi Found," unless Hedr really is an obscure Nazi. And hopefully no one hoping for press coverage is using TK as an initialism.

Christmas 2009 is TK and as all Christmases are, it's worth preparing for. So I'm preparing for this coming Christmas this coming Thanksgiving weekend by making my grandmother's Bourbon Cake as I have almost every year since my mother quit making it.

I haven't been reposting this recipe quite that long, but each year a few new folks discover it and add it to their Christmas repertoire. Featuring raisins, pecans, and spices, in a pound cake style batter it has all the benefits of fruit cake with none of the drawbacks. Oh, and it's loaded with bourbon.

Recipe here...

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | christmas | dessert | cake

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Eggnog

According to the Custom



One of my earliest memories is of standing beside my father in the kitchen as he made eggnog. I must have been six or seven at the time, because I remember the silvery bowl was almost as big as I was. The bowl shrank over the years, as I grew up, but in the beginning it was huge. And I can still hear the tintinnabulation of the metal beaters against the metal bowl as he mixed the eggs, whiskey, and sugar.

I recall standing on a stool beside him as he added whiskey to the bowl in a slow stream as delicate as a chef making mayonnaise, the electric mixer going full speed beating a whining, rattling tattoo on the sides of the bowl. He was, and is, a gentle man, but he was also big and expansive and that was the most delicate and patient operation I have ever seen him perform. The whiskey entered the maelstrom almost drop by drop. He'd learned from past years that working too quickly, too brashly, produced scrambled eggs instead of the smooth and unctuous base he'd need a month from that day when he added the cream and served the nog. And there were inevitable splatters that over the years graced the open pages of the cookbook containing the recipe.

For more than 50 years, my father has made eggnog almost every Thanksgiving and then aged it until Christmas. It is a family tradition grown from the longer history of eggnog.

The Raw Egg Issue

Read my father's recipe, or any other traditional recipe for nog, and you'll find it includes raw eggs. In the case of my father's version not only are the eggs raw to begin with, but they're then allowed to sit, unrefrigerated, for a month. Sounds like a recipe for something far worse than salmonella. But it's not.

The FDA advises against ever eating raw eggs, but then the FDA asserts that everything on Earth should be heated to at least 160 before eating -- which would give plain old scrambled eggs the texture of shoe leather. In liquids, alcohol concentrations as low as eight percent are enough to kill most bacteria. In the case of Dad's recipe I calculated the alcohol content at 21 percent of the total — nearly 1/4 pure alcohol. And that's not counting the sugar, which is also a preservative (it disrupts the cell membranes ("skin") of microorganisms).

I'm not advising you to ignore the FDA and if you're concerned about pathogens you can make the base just before using it and use pasteurized eggs (you may not have noticed, but you can probably find pasteurized eggs at your local supermarket). Pasteurized eggs, like pasteurized milk, have been heated to a temperature sufficient to kill any pathogens. But personally, I plan to have several nogs of my father's Christmas cheer this December, made exactly the way he's always made it.

One caveat, if you see the mixture bubbling or any sort of film or mold appears on it, then something has gone wrong, discard it. I've never seen this happen but I suppose a super eggnog-resistant organism is possible.

The origin of eggnog, as with any recipe more than 100 years old, is more theory than fact. However, early recipes were often made with ale, which was often served in a "noggin" (a small cup) and likely was the source of the "nog" or "nogg" portion of the name (the "egg" part is self-evident). We also know that, made with brandy or wine, it was an expensive drink popular with the English aristocracy. Jerry Thomas' Bartenders Guide or How to Mix Drinks (first published in 1862) included this recipe:

Egg Nogg
(Use large bar-glass.)
Take 1 large teaspoonful of powdered white sugar.
1 fresh egg.
½ wine-glass of brandy.
½ wine-glass of Santa Cruz rum.
A little shaved ice.

Fill the glass with rich milk and shake up the ingredients until they are thoroughly mixed. Pour the mixture into a goblet excluding the ice, and grate a little nutmeg on top. This may be made by using a wineglass of either of the above liquors, instead of both combined.

Every well ordered bar should have a tin egg-nogg "shaker," which is a great aid in mixing this beverage.

A larger version in the same book calls for 20 eggs and 2 1/2 quarts of "fine old brandy."

Eggnog likely came to this country from England via its more aristocratic immigrants, but quickly spread. Isaac Weld, an 18th century Irish traveler who wrote about his travels in America, noted: "The American travelers, before they pursued their journey, took a draught each, according to custom, of egg-nog, a mixture composed of new milk, eggs rum, and sugar, beat up together." Brandy was indeed a precious commodity in the New World and so rum became the most common alcohol in the North while bourbon became typical in the South.

My father's original recipe came from the Wise Encyclopedia of Cooking — his favorite cookbook. Some 30 years ago, the book was reprinted and I bought a copy, which I gave to my father for Christmas, and then asked for his old, battered, green, clothbound edition for my library. I did want the old book, as a connection with my father, but more, I wanted the pencil notations on the eggnog recipe that detailed his changes to the ingredients.

On the many Christmas's that I've since spent some other place than with my parents, I've often turned to that old volume, now bound in duct tape, to make a batch of nog myself. As I hoped back when I swapped a new book for his old one, I feel his presence beside me when I make it, and again when I raise a noggin to him.

Make up a batch this Thanksgiving, stick it in the back of a closet, and come Christmas pull it out, add the cream, and raise a toast to my old man and a long tradition.

Dad's Eggnog
Makes 6 servings.

Eggnog, Base Mixture
6 eggs
1/2 c super-fine sugar
3/4 c bourbon
1/3 c rum (dark is best)

Beat eggs until well-mixed. Combine bourbon and rum and add very gradually to the egg mixture — this should take about fifteen minutes. (Note: If the booze is added too quickly it will curdle the eggs by causing the proteins to denature, so take it slowly.) Beat in the sugar and store in a glass or ceramic jar or jug in a cool, dark place — but not a refrigerator. The container should be covered loosely, but you want some air to get in.

Eggnog, Finished Mixture
1 c whipping cream
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 c sugar

Whip the cream until almost stiff. Whip in vanilla and sugar. Stir the base mixture and thoroughly mix into cream. This nog will be very thick and you may wish to thin it somewhat with milk. Serve in punch cups with a sprinkling of finely grated nutmeg.

My father says he often increases the bourbon to 1 cup and the rum to 1/2 cup in the base mixture producing a more potent (and less thick) end result. He warns that if you do this the time spent adding the booze to the eggs will be proportionally longer.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | egg nog | christmas

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Eggnog: A Potent Family Tradition

One of my earliest memories is of standing beside my father in the kitchen on the day after Thanksgiving as he made eggnog. I must have been 6 or 7 at the time, because I remember the silvery bowl was almost as big as I was. The bowl shrank over the years, but in the beginning it was huge.

I recall standing on a stool beside him as he added whiskey to the bowl in a slow stream as delicate as a chef making mayonnaise, the electric mixer going full speed beating a whining, rattling tattoo on the sides of the bowl. He was, and is, a gentle man, but he was also big and expansive and that was the most delicate and patient operation I have ever saw him perform.

You can read the complete article, with recipes, at NPR's Kitchen Window.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | holiday | egg nog | npr | kitchen window | christmas

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Bourbon Cake

Marvelous Stuff!



This article was originally posted in 2006.

Thanksgiving is America's best holiday. It's unencumbered with gifts and cards and similar commercial holiday paraphernalia. There is no long, drawn-out prelude to the holiday beginning after Labor Day. And although the point is giving thanks to whichever deity one believes in, it doesn't harp on the issue — a shared prayer at the dinner table is generally regarded as sufficient. Following that prayer is the high point and main point of the holiday — an over-the-top feast shared with family and friends. What more could one ask for? And why, if this is the way I feel, am I bringing it up a month early?

Bear with me.

Growing up, everyone in my house contributed something to the feast whether it was making cranberry relish or baking a pie. Lots of focused, shared activity and good smells. Around four in the afternoon, if it wasn't raining, my father would organize a walk. We'd tramp through the sere fields and bare woods of our farm. Often it was cold, but if it wasn't cloudy as well Dad would take pictures of us. (Something I particularly hated.) Then we'd return to a waiting fire and the last minute organization of the meal.

Like many families, the day after Thanksgiving marked the beginning of the Christmas season. Unlike most families this didn't mean shopping. Instead Mom and Dad would begin preparing the Christmas feast. Dad made his eggnog base (which then aged for a month) and a fruit cake. Mom made her mother's (Mummo's) Bourbon Cake.

With an electric mixer, she'd beat the butter and sugar together in a large stainless steel bowl and then mix in the eggs, flour, and bourbon producing an unremarkable cake batter. Then Dad would haul down "the big bowl" for the final step.

The big bowl, cut from a single block of mahogany, was about 20" in diameter and about 7" deep. It needed to be big to accommodate the exertions required to incorporate a pound of nuts and a pound-and-a-half or raisins in a single bowl of batter. I can see Mom, in faded shirt, dark curley hair disarrayed, sweating slightly, wielding a wooden spoon to incorporate the nuts and raisins into the batter. Once mixed, the cake went into a tube pan and then baked for 3-1/2 hours, filling the house with the most wonderful odors. This cake is a serious investment in time and effort. But, oh, how the investment paid off.

When the cake had cooled it was doused with more bourbon, wrapped in aluminum foil, and sealed in a cake tin. Then, once a week until Christmas, the cake would be uncovered and doused with more bourbon. Although potent, even as kids we were permitted a thin slice of it when it was finally served. We loved it. In fact, everyone who tried it loved it. The cake was rich, moist, spicy, chewey, and pungent with bourbon. Marvelous stuff!

I've posted the recipe before, but I wanted to post it again — and do so in time, for those of you interested in a holiday cake recipe dating back to the early 1900s (or earlier), to make it. Note: a good stand mixer obviates the need for "the big bowl."

Mummo's Bourbon Cake

1 c butter — softened
2 c sugar
4 c flour — sifted
4 ea eggs
1 lb pecan pieces
1 1/2 lb white or golden raisins
1 c bourbon
1 tbsp ground cinnamon
1 tbsp ground nutmeg
1 tbsp soda
1/2 tsp salt

Heat oven to 275F. Sift 1 cup flour and mix with nuts and raisins. Sift remaining flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and soda together. Grease a tube pan and line bottom with parchment paper.

Cream sugar and butter until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, making sure each is incorporated before adding the next one. Alternately add bourbon and flour. Add nuts and raisins.

Pour into tube pan and bake 3 1/2 hours. Remove from oven and cool thoroughly.

Sprinkle generously with additional bourbon, wrap it in aluminum foil with a couple of apple wedges to keep it moist, and place in an air-tight container. Each weekend leading up to Christmas, unwrap cake and sprinkle again with additional bourbon.

My mother no longer makes the cake, but I have her tube pan and her recipe and I'm trying to make it every year and share it with my parents and siblings. Fortunately, it's pretty much immune to spoiling so mailing it to Vermont or Virginia isn't a problem. And given that I made it almost a month early this year, it should be particularly well-seasoned.

Technorati: Food | dessert | cake | bourbon cake | holiday

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