January 8, 2012
Or, I Did It Chai Way.
There’s a resale shop in Chicago – actually, there are a few of them – whose proceeds benefit the Howard Brown Health Center in Chicago, the premier GLBT health services provider in the Chicago area. It’s called The Brown Elephant. I go there whenever I can, because A) It benefits a good cause, B) there are treasures in their used books section, and C) their kitchen goods section is expansive, awesome, and cheap.
I recently bought a teapot that matches my cup-and-saucer set, and since then I have been making tea like a lunatic. Sure, I made tea before, but in that way that I never particularly liked; I’d fill a teabag with loose tea, plop it in a coffee mug, and pour hot water over it to steep. It’s the single-serve coffee-shop way of selling tea in the U.S., the way I used to dish out tea when I worked in a coffeeshop as a teenager. I don’t like the way the teabag flops out of the mug and hits you in the nose; it’s like being slapped by a tiny sea lion. It seems evident to me that the best way to drink tea is in little cups, out of a teapot. You can control the sweetener on a per-portion basis, you can make rather a lot at once, and you feel a little bit more like a grown-up, rather than an on-the-go-nup drinking lukewarm, second refill tea out of your sustainable but silly to-go sippy cup.
So, I’ve been drinking a lot of Kenilworth Estate Ceylon tea. It’s the business, brother. It’s damned fine, and I can get a pound of it for 16 bucks at the Coffee and Tea Exchange near Carolyn’s apartment (put that in your pipe and smoke it, Teavana, you 8-bucks-an-ounce tea thieves!). I love this city.
Carolyn’s wanted a Chai Spice mix recipe for a while now, so here we go! Chai is just Hindi for tea (Hindi and Russian and Persian and Aramaic and Mandarin and Japanese – cha/chai is an incredibly common pronunciation. Medieval trade was global too, people.), and what we generally think of as the chai stuff in a chai latte is the chai spice-mix, the chai masala, and that’s what I’ll be describing today.
A spice-mix like this has applications beyond tea! We’ll investigate them after I give you the recipe.
Four Friends Chai Spice Mix
A recipe in proportions
You will need:
- 1 part cloves, either ground or whole
- 1 part cardamom, ground or whole (more on that later)
- 2 parts ground cinnamon
- 2 parts ground ginger
- a spice grinder, probably
- a plastic bag and a wooden rolling pin for the cardamom
Chances are, if you don’t have ground cardamom, you’ll have purchased the green seed pods. These things are obnoxious, and until I figured out this option, I used to crack the pods open with my fingernails, and laboriously loosen each of the pod’s small black seeds free from the papery-white pith. Predictably, the seeds would spring out like cannonballs, shooting across the kitchen, into my shirt, behind the refrigerator, onto the stovetop. This would not do.
So, what I do now is take my cardamom pods, place them in a bag, and roll them over with a rolling pin or wooden dowel until they’re completely broken up. Then I put them through the loosest wire-mesh strainer I have to catch the husks, and then I chuckle to myself for my cleverness.
Of course, you could always just buy pre-sorted cardamom seeds, which will keep their flavor longer than ground cardamom but save you the bother as well. I think you’ll have to buy them online or in specialty shops, as whole cardamom is hard enough to find in this country in the first place.
1. Sort out and measure all your spices.
2. Using a spice grinder, a mortar and pestle, or a draft horse-driven mill, grind all the spices into a fine powder.
3. Bottle and label. Store in a cool, dark cupboard.
Making a pot of Masala Chai
1. For every cup of tea you intend to make, use one teaspoon of tea. For every teaspoon of tea that you add, add 1/3 teaspoon of chai spice mix. (Thus, a teaspoon of spice mix for every tablespoon of tea.) And when you’re done calculating that, always add another teaspoon for the pot. And use a black, unflavored tea, something with a strong taste and a good body – Darjeeling is traditional, but Ceylon or Assam will do fine. Earl Grey is a no, because of that bergamot oil.
2. Fill your teabag with the chai spice and tea, place it in the teapot, and pour boiling water into the pot. Cover and steep for five to six minutes.
3. Pour into cups, add milk and sweetener to taste (I don’t think it’s masala chai unless it’s a milk tea), and enjoy.
Making other things with your chai spice mix
Melissa Clark, the food writer I seem to reference the most often in these entries, has an all-purpose shortbread recipe, which Carolyn swears by. After I made this spice mix, she made the Rosemary Shortbread, subbing out the rosemary for a teaspoon of masala. I’ll reprint it here, but buy Melissa’s latest book, Cook This Now! It’s a recipe book organized seasonally; unsure of what to make? Befuddled by the variety of recipes available? Flip open Cook This Now to January. There. She’s just made it easier for you.
Melissa Clark’s Everything Is Shortbread Cookie (Chai Spice Edition)
You will need:
- 2 cups all-purpose flour
- 2/3 cup granulated sugar
- 1 teaspoon chai spice mix
- 1 teaspoon plus 1 pinch kosher salt
- 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted cold butter, cut into 1-inch chunks
- 1 to 2 teaspoons dark, full-flavored honey (optional).
1. Heat oven to 325 degrees. In a food processor, pulse together flour, sugar, chai spice and salt. Add butter, and honey if desired, and pulse to fine crumbs. Pulse a few more times until some crumbs start to come together, but don’t overprocess. Dough should not be smooth.
2. Press dough into an ungreased 8- or 9-inch-square baking pan or 9-inch pie pan. Prick dough all over with a fork. Bake until golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes for 9-inch pan, 45 to 50 minutes for 8-inch. Transfer to a wire rack to cool. Cut into squares, bars or wedges while still warm.
You could also make Heather’s Blackberry Flan with chai spice instead of (or in addition to the vanilla) – take out the blackberries. And my sister Julie likes these Chai Cupcakes, but I think you could get away with using a tablespoon of chai spice (or 2 and a half teaspoons of chai spice and a half-teaspoon of nutmeg), and make your own chai-spiced milk tea for the cupcake batter instead of using bagged chai.
But really, the applications are pretty widespread.
Ah, friends. Where would I be without friends? And tea?
Probably prison, that’s where.
Oh. Oh, that was a rhetorical question. You didn’t need to hear the end of that thought, did you?
Happy cooking, everyone.
August 19, 2011
A Lemon Tea Cake, My Dear Watson.
This week’s entry would not have been possible without the help of the fine folks at Chicago Computerland at 2640 N. Halsted. First, a story of my own stupidity.
A few weeks ago, when I was posting La Macchina, I wanted to put in a few extra photos of Actual Ravioli that I’d made a few days prior, since the pasta shapes pictured in that entry were tortellini. I was chatting up my roommate at the time, and I happened to be looking at him and not at my laptop as I moved to put my camera’s SD card into the laptop’s designated slot. Welp. I inadvertently slid it into the optical drive: the felt-lined slit where CDs and DVDs go. Couldn’t get it out. Cursing, and growing increasingly anxious, I tried to figure out how to remove the optical drive, and discovered that, on my laptop, it was a process so complex that it would have resulted in deconstructing the entire machine. I can handle replacing a keyboard, or reconnecting the trackpad, but I’m not prepared to confidently reconnect every single part of my computer – that’s above my paygrade.
So to Yelp I went, and I found a willing assistance at Chicago Computerland; they performed the delicate computer surgery necessary, and restored my machine to its original glory. It was $60, which was a small price to pay for my own foolishness. Thanks, guys!
Back in March, I went to Seattle to visit my friends Heather and Kyle, and we cooked a ton: we made pizza, and mussels, and I taught Kyle to enjoy the tender mercies of a seared brussels sprout. Heather taught me how to make this cake, which, true to the familial precepts that guide Heather’s absurdly-palatable pie crust recipe, contains oil instead of butter. Some months later, I had a glut of yogurt in the fridge, and I decided I’d make the lemon cake. But it wouldn’t do to simply reproduce the recipe, no indeed – not when you can just read it here.
Well, okay – the only difference here is that I changed the infusing syrup, but that does change the profile of this cake a bit – the tea adds a gentle astringency to balance the sweetness, which is, in turn, equalized by all the lemon.
A final note – always use parchment paper to line the loaf pan – this cake will get sticky, and no amount of pregreasing will ease its passage out of the pan. Keep the cake in the parchment paper, even after removing it from the pan; it’s just easier for everyone.
Let’s get cracking!
Heather’s Lemony Yogurt Cake, Now With A Hint of Tea!
Makes one 9-inch loaf-pan full of tasty cake
- 1 1/2 cups AP flour
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 1 cup plain yogurt
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 3 eggs
- 2 tsp lemon zest
- 1/2 tsp vanilla (or, if you want an even more pronounced lemon flavor, some lemon extract, although I might recommend almond)
- 1/2 cup neutral-tasting vegetable oil (like canola, soybean, or corn)
- 1/3 cup lemon juice
- 1/3 cup granulated sugar
- 1 cup water
- 1 tsp loose black tea, bagged
- Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.
- In a smallish bowl, combine the Dry Team ingredients; in a larger bowl, combine the Wet Team ingredients.
- Fold the Dry Team into the Wet Team with a spatula until everything is incorporated and there are very few lumps. Then pour the 1/2 cup of vegetable oil into the mixture and beat it soundly. Ew, that’s creepy. I’ll have you arrested for battery. (Hiyo-o.)
- Line a 9-inch loaf pan with parchment paper and pour the batter into it. Give it the old tappa-tappaand hurl it into your hotbox for 50 to 70 minutes, depending on A) the way your oven behaves, and B) how gooey you like your tea cake. I like mine hella gooey, thank you much, so I tend to undercook it. In this case, I don’t measure my toothpicks for whether or not they come out clean, but when they come out coated in batter, do they have too much batter on ‘em or just enough?
- As the cake cools in the pan, heat the lemon juice and the sugar in a tiny saucepan, and cook it over medium-high heat until the sugar dissolves. Meanwhile, make the cup of tea and let it steep for about five minutes – you want to oversteep it a little bit, because we want some of that tannic overextraction. Not a lot of it, but since the tea is going to be spread out across the entire cake, you want it to be a little bitter and noticeable.
- Give your nearest friend a high five. Failing that, give yourself one.
- Mix the tea with the lemon syrup to taste – I might start with a quarter cup and add no more than a half; discard the rest of the tea, or drink it, if you like it bitter.
- Pour the lemon-tea syrup over the cake and let it soak – the cake will drink it up (and, in fact, the drier you cook the cake, the more tea you can probably add to the syrup. Your call, though.).
- Once the cake has cooled to room temperature, place it, and the pan, in the refrigerator until cooled through; then you may depan, slice, and serve. Beware – these slices will be sticky.
This whole Infused Cake thing has got me electric with ideas. There’s no reason you couldn’t put any kind of syrup over this cake, really – I mean, why not blueberry syrup? Why not ginger syrup? Why not beer-batter cake with a hop-syrup infusion?
These things may await me in the future. God, especially the hops syrup. Has anyone ever done that? Now I have to know.
Happy cooking, my friends!