Summer special.

Every year I decide I’m going to incorporate more vegetables into my diet. Every year I fail. It’s no wonder that my cholesterol has reached levels that a tire-waisted, booze chugging, take-out-food-every-night, 50+ male would be shocked by.  There was a time when, in addition to and in between constant tastings at America’s Test Kitchen, I would eat on average 2 dozen large eggs and 1 pound of bacon (a modest estimate) per week. Let’s not talk about how much butter I was consuming.

Chronic heartburn and a constant feeling of being smothered by a large pillow did nothing to stop me. I kept eating. I ate more than my husband. I over-ordered at restaurants. I made male dinner companions look like sissies.

I still indulge in many of these fine, ladylike activities, however, I’ve cut back on the bacon, the Texas-sized portions of fatty steak, and the bi-weekly 2:00am slices of Philly cheesesteak-topped pizza, namely because I’ve noticed my youthful metabolism is no longer as vigorous.

I have, at long last, started cooking more vegetables. And I actually like it. Honest to goodness, there are nights when I have no animal protein and I’m not grinding my teeth afterwards, craving a hunk of meat. This is not to say that I’ve stopped being a carnivore—let’s not be hypocrites here—but it is nice to round out my weekly meals.

This salad, many of you will probably point out, doesn’t really count as salad because it’s full of corn and potatoes – both starchy. But c’mon, cut me some slack. I’ve still got my veggie training wheels on.

This is a charred corn and potato salad that is perfectly suited for summer. It changes up the usual over-mayonnaised potato salad and also takes the mess out of eating corn on the cob. The kernels are scraped off the cob and toasted in a skillet until dark and spotty black—no need for a grill here. While the smell of movie theatre popcorn drifts up from the pan, diced waxy potatoes get a jump-start on cooking in a plastic-wrapped bowl in the microwave. A quick sautée with garlic slices and these get a bold boost.

Flavored simply but boldly with freshly-squeezed lime juice, cilantro, and hot sauce (I’m on a Cholula kick at the moment), this turns out to be a healthier version of deli counter potato salad: only 1 tablespoon of the stuff is needed to add velvety richness to this dish.  Fresh tomatoes bring an extra hint of summer to this salad that can be served with a green side salad for a completely vegetarian dinner or, what the hell, pair it with a good steak. Extra rare.

TOASTED CORN AND POTATO SALAD

Equipment: large microwave-safe bowl, plastic wrap, microwave, large skillet
Active time: 30 minutes
Total time: 3 hours
Serves 4 to 6 as a side dish

1 pound waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into ¼-inch dice
4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
3 tablespoons olive oil
4 ears corn, shucked, kernels scraped off
1 tablespoon hot sauce hot sauce
1 tablespoon mayonnaise
4 tomatoes, cored, seeded, and coarsely chopped
3/4 cup cilantro leaves, coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons freshly-squeezed lime juice
Salt and pepper

- Place potatoes and garlic in microwave-safe bowl. Toss with 2 tablespoons olive oil. Cover with plastic wrap and microwave until tender, tossing halfway through without removing the plastic, 4 to 5 minutes.

- Meanwhile, heat additional 1 tablespoon oil in large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add corn kernels and cook, stirring occasionally, until dark golden brown, 7 to 10 minutes. Transfer corn to large bowl.

- Add potatoes and garlic to now empty skillet and cook until golden, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Transfer to bowl with potatoes.

- Stir hot sauce and mayonnaise into potato-corn mixture. Stir in tomatoes and lime juice, and season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve at room temperature.

- Salad can be made 1 day in advance; refrigerate in airtight container and bring to room temperature prior to serving. Re-season if necessary.

De caramelo.

Jerry: So, where do you want to eat tonight?
Patty: How about La Caridad again?
Jerry: Again?! How much flan can a person eat?!
Seinfeld: “The Serenity Now”

I was stumped for a clever introduction for this entry on flan and after an absurdly long 15 minutes of playing peek-a-boo with the cursor I walked out to the living room, turned on the TV, and caught a Seinfeld episode right as the above exchange was happening. Yes, I have strange psychic/telepathic abilities. Paranormal activity aside, the question of how much flan a person—or a whole people—can eat is completely valid. I’ve often wondered myself because among the Spanish-speaking world, there seems to be an insatiable hunger for it.

If Latin America were to become a single Union, à la Europe, the national dessert would most likely be flan. Lately I’ve taken to polling Spanish and Latin American friends—and strangers—about what they most commonly eat for dessert and flan is the answer 90% of the time. You’ll see flan stamped on every Latin American restaurant menu (including La Caridad; 2199 Broadway at 78th Street, NYC, though you’ll find it listed as “pudín de leche”), in many home fridges, and even in the baking aisle in powdered form, like American Jell-O pudding.

I resisted flan for a long time. “How stereotypical!” I thought. After the eye roll followed performance anxiety. There’s an overwhelming amount of bad flan made, served, and somehow eaten every day. Bad flan, riddled with deep dimples, like a bad case of cellulite. Bad flan, undercooked and slippery, like a strange serpentine sea creature swimming down your throat.

Good flan should have slight jiggle, but more along the lines of a trainer-tightened posterior than a waterbed. Good flan is minimalist and sleek, like an expensive silk blouse.

Flan, or more precisely egg-based custard, has been in existence since Roman times, where it was mostly presented as a savory dish. Variations and permutations found their way around the world, but arguably, today when we hear the word flan we think mostly of the Spanish-speaking cream-colored custard with a pool of deep amber, burnt sugar caramel.

The recipe that follows is my mother’s go-to; it can be made in un dos por tres (a snap) and has always turned out silky and perfectly set.  There are thick flans, but this one is on the slimmer side—the caramel-to-custard ratio is just right. Make it and you’ll see what all the fuss is about.

FLAN DE CARAMELO

Notes:
- For easy measuring and easy clean-up, once you’ve poured the sweetened condensed milk into the blender, use the empty can to measure the milk.
- If you don’t have a roasting pan for the bain-marie or water bath, use a baking dish large enough to accommodate the cake pan.

Equipment: Roasting pan or large baking dish, 9-inch round cake pan, medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, pastry brush, blender (optional)
Active time: 20 minutes
Total time: 4 hours
Serves 6 to 8

1 cup sugar
¼ cup water
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
14 ounces milk (See Notes), at room temperature
3 large eggs, at room temperature
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 325°F. Place clean kitchen towel in roasting pan. Set 9-inch round baking pan on top of towel. Set tea kettle or pot of water to boil.

Meanwhile, combine sugar and ¼ cup water in medium heavy-bottomed saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat until the sugar is dissolved. Dampen a clean pastry brush and brush down any sugar crystals from the sides of the pan. Boil, swirling the pan occasionally, until the sugar turns deep amber, 10 to 12 minutes. Immediately pour the caramel into the baking pan and swirl to coat to the bottom. Allow it to set, 5 to 10 minutes.

Place the sweetened condensed milk, milk, eggs, vanilla, and salt in a blender and blend until thoroughly combined, about 1 minute. (Alternatively, you may whisk the ingredients together by hand in a large bowl). Pour the flan mixture over the caramel mixture.

Open the oven door and set the roasting pan and flan in the oven. Carefully pour hot water into the roasting pan—water should reach halfway up the sides of the flan pan. Bake until flan is set, but still a bit wobbly, about 1 hour.

Remove cake pan from roasting pan and cool on rack, about 15 minutes. Chill completely in refrigerator, 2 to 3 hours. Run a knife along the flan edges and invert onto serving plate. Serve.

This recipe originally appeared in Serious Sweets.

A few weeks ago I wrote a recipe for my “Let Them Eat Cake” column on Serious Sweets and the delightful Mimi Crawford took this fabulous photo of it. However, there was some clamoring for shots of the interior of the cake, and alas, I had but this fuzzy phone photo taken towards the end of our dinner party (and accompanying wine bottles). As you can see, there are stripes of blackberry preserves and white chocolate, and by the level of demolition you can also see how irresistible the cake outside as well as inside.

It’s been pointed out to me that I am headstrong, loud, and have a temper that can bubble up as quickly as an Alka-Seltzer tablet plopped in water. It’s also been pointed out that these endearing characteristics are probably innate and completely out of my control because I’m Latin American. I’m not offended. If one day I throw a plate at someone’s head I can blame it on my ethnicity.

I couldn’t help think of the stereotypical fiery Latin temperament when I was making this recipe. Arroz con leche (riz au lait or rice pudding), is such a languid, drowsy, gentle thing, so tender it’s even suitable for those with smooth gums and weak constitutions. And yet, it is among the most well-loved and frequently made desserts in much of Latin America. Maybe we’re all bark and no bite.

The accompanying rice pudding recipe requires some care and attention—it needs to be occasionally stirred over low heat for about an hour. I find watching the pudding steadily thicken is quite soothing, and the reward of a warm bowl of arroz con leche is worth every turn of the spoon.

This arroz con leche is flavored with orange rind, cinnamon, and (optional) dark rum; the scent is deep and sultry. You’ll notice I’ve used dark brown sugar as well as granulated sugar in the recipe: the pudding’s color will be golden rather than white, and the flavor more complex. At home I’d use dulce de rapadura or piloncillo (unrefined whole cane sugar), and do feel free to use either if they’re available to you.

A side note: arroz con leche is part of a children’s song; these are a few lines from one version.

“Arroz con leche me quiro casar / con una señorita de San Nicolás / que sepa coser / que sepa bordar / que sepa abrir la puerta para ir a jugar…. / Con esta sí, con esta no / con esta señorita me caso yo.”

(Rice pudding, I want to marry a young lady from San Nicolás who’ll know how to sew, who’ll know how to embroider, and who’ll know how to open the door to go out and play…With this one: yes, with this one: no, this is the young lady I will marry.)

ARROZ CON LECHE (Nicaraguan Rice Pudding)

Active time: 1 hour
Total time: 1 hour

Notes: Rice pudding is best served warm as soon as it is made.

3 ½ cups water
1 cup medium- or long-grain white rice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 3-inch pieces orange rind from 1 orange
2 cinnamon sticks
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 ½ cups milk
1 cup sugar
¼ cup packed dark brown sugar
½ cup raisins
¼ cup dark rum (optional)
Ground cinnamon (optional)

Bring water to boil over medium-high heat in medium heavy-bottomed saucepan. Stir in rice, 1 tablespoon butter, orange rind pieces, cinnamon sticks, and salt. Reduce heat to medium and simmer, stirring from time to time, until most of the liquid is absorbed, 10 to 12 minutes.

Stir in milk, sugar, dark brown sugar, raisins, and optional rum. Increase heat to medium-high and bring mixture to boil. Immediately reduce heat o medium-low and simmer, stirring from time to time, until rice is thickened and tender, about 35 to 45 minutes.

Remove from heat. Remove and discard orange rind pieces and cinnamon sticks. Stir in remaining 1 tablespoon butter. Serve warm and dust with cinnamon if desired.

I just realized I was sitting on all of these photos from my trip to Nicaragua in early December. Most are iPhone shots, and admittedly not the best quality, but it was go-go-go while there and these were stolen moments, quickly captured.

In this shot I play the role of tourist, camera in hand immediately making vendors think I can be easily swindled. Too bad I know more Nica slang than they do. Tourist or not, the Mercado Popular in Masaya is full of hand-woven hamacas and other artisan products. Hammocks are what I miss the most from home—there’s no more luxurious feeling than falling asleep in its gentle rock, palm trees murmuring with the warm breeze.

There’s a short alley at the market where shoes are made and repaired. Urban legend has it that these cobblers double as dentists. Make sense…tools are similar, a snort of pega will knock you right out.

This trip was all business—my cousin Lucía is getting married in a few weeks and I’m helping with all things food-related. I’m nosy and intrusive, and of course got involved in floral arrangements and other details. Which brings us to this interesting wreath. As we sit at the flower shop, looking at bridal white blossoms and lush greenery, this monster funeral wreath receives its finishing touches. In the glass case behind, colorful teddy bears that will be perched on a less morbid array.

Weary with travel, we look for a pick-me up before heading to dinner. A frosty glass-bottled Coca-Cola, more carbonated than anything you get in the U.S., loaded with cane sugar. The slogan was “la chispa de la vida” and truly, one sip does add spark to your life.

Oh, and while you sip (bottles must be returned to the vendor so they can be collected and refilled), you can buy ice cream, a pastry, and antacid…and try on some shoes. We Nicas are so very practical.

Home at last. We are guided to the palm roofed rancho by the warm glow of a lamp. And a fully stocked bar tended by a waiter.

The next morning, we regret the last seven drinks of rón con Coca. Luckily, the antidote appears, bubbly and brisk: a michelada with iced beer, lime juice, generous dashes of salsa inglesa (Worcestershire), and hot sauce.

More to come…headed back this weekend!

A bit of shameless self-promotion to begin the new year. Clearly my resolution to be more humble has gone out the window along with my promise to wake up at 5:30am and head for the gym (in my defense, I suffered an odd neck spasm that even 12 Advil a day hasn’t completely alleviated).

The proud moment, this lunch lady bit on one of my favorite blogs, Oh Joy!

Click here for the gory details on what this lady lunches on: http://ohjoy.blogs.com/my_weblog/

I’ve unfortunately never gotten around to writing down the recipe for roasted butternut squash and apples seen in the photo, but I think it goes roughly like this:

FALL HARVEST SANDWICH WITH ROASTED BUTTERNUT SQUASH, APPLES, AND STILTON

Equipment: large rimmed baking sheet, foil, serrated knife, vegetable peeler, metal spoon, cooling rack

1 medium butternut squash
2 to 3 firm-fleshed apples, such as Granny Smith or Gala
Olive oil
3 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
2 teaspoons finely grated zest and 1 tablespoon juice from 2 lemons
Salt
Aleppo pepper or red pepper flakes
1 ounces stilton
Crusty bread of your choice
Arugula (optional)

- Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 425°F. Line large rimmed baking sheet with foil.

- With a serrated knife, trim off about 1 inch from top and bottom of squash. Stand the squash up, and peel with a vegetable peeler. Be sure you’ve removed enough to see the bright orange flesh of the squash.

- Cut the squash where it curves, then cut that rounded piece in half. With a metal spoon, scoop out the seeds and discard.

- Slice squash into ¼-inch slices and arrange in single layer on prepared baking sheet.

- Peel, core (a metal 1-teaspoon measure works wonderfully), and cut apples into 8 wedges; add to baking sheet.

- Drizzle squash and apples generously with olive oil, then sprinkle with brown sugar and lemon zest. Season generously with salt and Aleppo pepper to taste. Toss everything together, rubbing with fingers to ensure even seasoning and coating. Arrange in single layer.

- Roast until vegetables are tender and slightly charred, 35 to 45 minutes.

- Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool to room temperature. Adjust seasoning and add lemon juice.

- To assemble sandwich, slice crusty bread, drizzle crumb with olive oil, and toast if desired. Pile bread with squash and apples, crumble Stilton over everything, and tuck in arugula. Enjoy!

Sticky sweet.

Glossy, warm, pull-apart, sticky cinnamon buns are just dreamy. I often long to have an Oompa Loompa at my disposal: I would make it bake sticky buns for breakfast, hot out of the oven and bring them to me on a silver platter, accompanied by a cold glass of milk with a single ice cube. Lacking an extra-small orange butler, however, there is nothing but for me to bake my own sticky buns and personally plop an ice cube into my glass of milk.

We all do it: we wander around the airport waiting for our flight to begin boarding, killing time by stepping in and out of newsstands, perusing the latest paperback crime thrillers, leafing through fashion glossies, wondering whether we should buy one of those vibrating neck pillows.

Our flight gets delayed. We call friends, check Facebook, tweet nasty messages about the airline, decide the vibrating neck pillow was a stupid impulse buy and may lead to permanent brain damage, throw the lame crime thriller to the side (of course it was the creepy sister!). There’s nothing to do but take another lap. And that’s when it happens. The scent of cinnamon hooks your nostrils and pulls you to the cinnamon bun stand. You buy a bun as big as your head and for just a little while you forget how lousy and uncivilized travel has become.

Glossy, warm, pull-apart, sticky cinnamon buns are impossible to resist, whether trapped at the airport or out-and-about. And not that your everyday bun needs much improving on, but when I discovered the Venezuelan version I had to wonder if I’d been missing something all these years. Golfeados are sugar-and-cinnamon-laden, but have the unexpected addition of fragrant anis seeds and salty, shredded white cheese. Partway through baking, the golfeados are glazed with melado, a panela (in this recipe substituted with dark brown sugar) based simple syrup. Once out of the oven, another coat of sticky melado is painted on. The result: buns that are candied on the outside and soft, buttery, cheesy, and spiced inside their coils. Sprinkled with more cheese and served with robust coffee, these are divinos.

GOLFEADOS

Notes: If you are unable to find Latin American cheeses, substitute it with haloumi, a Cypriot cheese made with goat’s and/or sheep’s milk available at certain supermarkets and specialty stores.
Servings: makes 12
Equipment: electric mixer with dough hook attachment, rolling pin, parchment paper, large baking sheet, cooling rack, medium saucepan, pastry brush, plastic wrap

For the Dough
¾ cup warm milk (110° to 115°F)
2 (1/4-once packages) active dry yeast
¼ cup sugar
2 tablespoons packed dark brown sugar
3 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional for dusting counter and rolling pin
1 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs, at room temperature, lightly beaten
1 tablespoon honey
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, softened
1 tablespoon anis seeds
Vegetable oil for greasing bowl

For the Filling
8 ounces Latin American firm white cheese, finely grated (See Notes)
½ cup packed dark brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon anis seeds
4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter, softened

For the Melado (Glaze)
1 ½ cups packed dark brown sugar
1 cup water

For the dough: Combine ¼ cup milk, yeast, and ¼ teaspoon sugar in small bowl. Let stand until mixture foams, 5 to 10 minutes.

Combine remaining sugar, dark brown sugar, flour, and salt in large bowl. Add remaining milk, eggs, honey, vanilla, and yeast mixture and mix on low speed with hook attachment until ingredients are combined, about 2 minutes.

Add butter and anis and mix on medium speed until a smooth, shiny dough forms, 6 to 8 minutes.

Lightly oil a large bowl. Place dough in bowl, cover with clean, damp kitchen towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

For the filling: Meanwhile, combine all but 2 tablespoons cheese, dark brown sugar, cinnamon, and anis in medium bowl. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until needed.

Lightly dust a clean, dry work surface with flour. Coat hands lightly with flour (dough will be sticky) and transfer to work surface. Lightly rub rolling pin with flour. Roll the dough out to into a 16- by 14-inch rectangle.

Brush the dough with butter, leaving a ½-inch border on all sides. Sprinkle the buttered area with cheese mixture.

Beginning with the long side, roll the dough to form a 16-inch-long log. As you roll, brush off excess flour with a clean, dry pastry brush.

Cut the log crosswise into 12 rolls. Arrange rolls on a parchment lined baking sheet, cut-side up. Press down to gently flatten (the rolls will cinch as you cut them).

Cover with oiled plastic wrap and allow to rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Bake 20 minutes until golden.

Make the melado: While the golfeados are baking, combine brown sugar and water in medium saucepan. Bring to boil over medium-high heat, stirring until sugar is completely dissolved. Reduce heat to medium and cook syrup until thickened, syrupy, and reduced to 1 ½ cups, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove from heat.

After golfeados have been baking for 20 minutes, brush them with half of the melado and return to oven for 10 minutes.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and brush golfeados with remaining melado. Cool about 10 minutes and sprinkle with remaining cheese. Serve warm.

¡Felices pascuas!

Pío V—allegedly named for 16th century Pope Pius V, though there are written records or even verbal conjectures to explain the odd handle—is a Nicarguan dessert typically served around Christmastime.

The name is quaint and speaks to the Nicaraguan history of Catholicism, but what I love most is that within the name are hidden another three, given that Pío V is made up of marquesote, sopa borracha, and manjar.

My father is a enamored of the Spanish language, and always urged me to read more in our mother tongue, saying that it is much more sabroso (luscious, tasty, savory). He’s entirely correct; be it poetry or song, idle prattle or malicious gossip, Spanish words are not only heard, they caress and prick the skin, melt or sour in the mouth.

Marquesote, cake in plain English, sounds of royal lineage and history, while sopa borracha, a rum-laced simple syrup the cake steeps in, induces a smirk and a laugh, given its literal translation: drunken soup. Manjar, the custard layer that tops the cake, could be just that, however the word also means delicacy and alludes to what the gods are said to have eaten.

Admittedly, when I was younger, Pío V was not on my list of favorite desserts. The soaked cake usually had an overpowering wallop of rum and if served less than chilled, the custard had a really unpleasant way of slithering and glopping down your throat. This version is a touch more tame, but is still quite cheery and festive.

An interesting note on the cake: it is traditionally made with a blend of flour and pinol, toasted white cornmeal used in a multitude of applications, such as coating whole fish prior to deep-frying. In this recipe, I toast fine white cornmeal to mimic the flavor and add a touch of unsweetened cocoa powder to deepen the flavor.

PIO V

Equipment: medium skillet, whisk,  sifter/strainer, mixing bowls, electric mixer, rubber spatula, 13- by 9-inch baking dish, cooling rack, large, heavy-bottomed saucepan, plastic wrap

For the Marquesote Cake
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, softened
1 cup fine white cornmeal
1 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
4 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons unsweetened cocoa powder
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 large eggs, separated and at room temperature
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup milk
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

For the Sopa Borracha
6 cups water
3 ½ cups sugar
4 cinnamon sticks
1 teaspoon whole cloves
Peel of 1 lemon
3/4 cup gold rum
1/2 cup raisins
12 prunes

For the Manjar
4 cups milk
2 cinnamon sticks
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
4 large egg yolks
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons butter, cut into 4 pieces and chilled
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

For the Cake: Adjust oven rack to middle position and preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 13- by 9-inch baking dish with butter.

In medium skillet over medium-low heat, cook cornmeal, stirring frequently, until light golden and fragrant, about 5 minutes.

Whisk together cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and cocoa powder in medium bowl; set aside.

In large bowl, beat egg whites and salt with whisk attachment on medium-low speed until whites begin to froth, about 1 minute. Increase speed to medium-high and beat whites until soft peaks form, 1 to 2 minutes. Slowly add sugar, then continue beating until stiff, glossy peaks form, 2 to 3 minutes.

Add egg yolks to egg whites and beat just until combined. Decrease speed to low and add flour mixture in three additions, alternating with milk, scraping sides and bottom of bowl as necessary. Add vanilla and beat just until combined.

Scrape batter into prepared baking dish. Bake until tester inserted in center of cake comes out clean, 30 to 35 minutes. Transfer cake to cooling rack and cool in pan completely, 1 to 2 hours.

For the Sopa Borracha: Bring water, sugar, cinnamon sticks, cloves, and lemon peel to boil in large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium-high heat. Reduce heat to medium and simmer until reduced to 4 ½ cups, about 30 minutes. Strain and discard solids.

Stir in rum, raisins, and prunes and cool to room temperature, about 30 minutes. Once cooled, strain once again, reserving prunes and raisins.

For the Custard: Bring milk and cinnamon sticks to boil over medium heat in small saucepan or in (glass) liquid measuring cup in microwave. Remove and reserve cinnamon sticks.

In a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan whisk together sugar, cornstarch, egg yolks, and salt. While vigorously whisking, add ¼ cup of hot milk, then, add remaining milk in a slow steady stream, all the while whisking.

Add reserved cinnamon sticks and bring the mixture to boil over medium heat, whisking constantly. Once mixture thickens to the consistency of yogurt, continue to boil for 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in butter and vanilla.

Press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the custard’s surface and refrigerate until cold, 2 to 3 hours. Otherwise, place the custard bowl over in an ice bath and stir until completely cooled, 10 to 15 minutes.

To Assemble: Poke cake all over with skewer or fork. Pour sopa borracha over cake. Once absorbed, pour custard over cake, smoothing out surface with rubber spatula. Top with raisins and prunes.

Chill cake at least 1 hour prior to serving.

On average, two to four baked goods are produced in my kitchen on a weekly basis. During the Christmas season, that number rises exponentially. Today for instance, had you dropped by for a visit, I could have offered you fruitcake, homemade s’mores with a marshmallow cap torched á la minute, chocolate cake roll with salted caramel buttercream filling, chocolate meringue batons, and pink peppermint meringue kisses to go along with your coffee or tea.

I’ve even ventured into cookie baking territory as evidenced by this weeks “Dreamy Crack Bars” post. Here is the other type of cookie I like to bake during this holly jolly time of year: nubby, crumbly, buttery, sugar-dusted Mexican wedding cakes, festooned and prettied up with Grinch-green pistachios, sunny orange zest, and exotic, floral cardamom.

I took them to the annual Serious Eats cookie swap just last week and will be making a few more batches for people on my “Nice” list.

ORANGE, CARDAMOM, &  PISTACHIO MEXICAN WEDDING CAKES

Equipment: food processor, electric mixer, 2 baking sheets, parchment paper, cooling rack, mixing bowls

Makes about 32 cookies

1 cup roasted, salted, shelled pistachios
1 tablespoons finely grated orange zest
8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2 cups confectioners’ sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
¾ plus 1/8 teaspoon ground cardamom
¼ teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon

Pulse pistachios and orange zest in food processor until almonds are coarsely ground. Set aside.

In large bowl, beat butter on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 1 minute. Pause mixer and add ½ cup confectioners’ sugar. Beat on low speed until fully incorporated, about 30 seconds. Scrape sides and bottom of bowl with rubber spatula; add vanilla. Mix on medium-high speed until incorporated, about 10 seconds.

Pause mixer. Add flour, ¾ teaspoon cardamom, salt, and nut mixture; mix on medium-low speed until dough comes together, 60 to 90 seconds.

With rubber spatula, scrape sides and bottom of bowl, patting dough down to unify it. Cover bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350°F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

Using a 1 tablespoon measure, scoop dough out onto prepared baking sheets, then quickly roll them between palms into balls and space them ½ inch apart. Lightly press cookies down to ½-inch thickness.

Bake cookies until golden brown on bottom (they will remain pale on top) 15 to 20 minutes.

While cookies bake, whisk together remaining 1 ½ cups confectioners’ sugar, remaining 1/8 teaspoon cardamom, and cinnamon in large bowl; set aside.

Transfer baking sheet to cooling rack and cool cookies on sheet for 5 minutes. Gently toss warm cookies in confectioners’ sugar and transfer to cooling rack to cool completely, 30 to 60 minutes.

Cookies will keep in an airtight container for up to 1 week.

There was bad juju in the kitchen today. Three batches of bad caramel (one due to being f¡#*^*! by Martha again). One bowl of buttercream that didn’t set up right, despite multiple attempts to save it via ice bath—I suspect it heard me cursing it under my breath and melted into a soupy mess to spite me. A second bowl of buttercream that would not fully incorporate the salted caramel.

I washed all the pots and decided it best to hang up my apron and call it a day. (I also ran out of eggs).

These meringue buttons and batons were the only saving grace out of the afternoon’s mess. These are pink peppermint, and there’s a batch of chocolate ones cooling in the kitchen, ready to decorate tomorrow’s cake.

Because there will be cake and the buttercream and caramel will behave.