I have something special for you today.
Two somethings special, actually.
This gorgeous creature is Luisa Weiss's Pflaumenkuchen. Next to it is her book.
We've got lots to discuss on this early Sunday morning, friends. So pull up a chair and maybe a pillow - pajamas welcome - and help yourselves to a slice. It's the perfect breakfast sweet, really, light on the sugar, heavy on the fruit, with a yeasted crust that's more pastry than cake and reminds me of cinnamon rolls.
Pflaumen means "plums" in German and Kuchen means "cake," and this Pflaumenkuchen features the Italian prune plums you see here. You've probably spotted them at the markets lately with their cloudy purple skins. September is their time. They're more oval than round, egg-like, only smaller; when you hold one in the palm of your hand and close your fingers around it, it all but disappears. Prune plums are nothing to write home about straight from the tree, but put them in the oven and what comes out is worth volumes. (Don't worry, I'll settle for a few sentences today.) I'd never thought of plum as a particularly strong or heady flavor - it's no ripe peach or concord grape - until I'd tasted a prune plum, cooked. I was living in Israel and my Swiss roommate made a cake not unlike this one, and I remember thinking for the first time,
I know what a plum tastes like, now. Since then, even when I haven't eaten one in a long time, I can imagine the flavor on my tongue, the same way I do no-brainers like green apples and bananas.
A cooked prune plum is sweet-tart, floral, rich, and grapey. It holds its form beautifully in the oven and emerges plump with juices. I'm sure I've described cakes with fruit baked in as "jammy," but today I say it with extra feeling. The way the sugar turns to syrup and the plums melt and pucker, the way their insides dissolve as you chew, "jammy" really is the word. Pflaumenkuchen is one of those cakes with hardly any ingredients that tastes like a million bucks (I have a thing for those; in fact, you might say they're my specialty) and in my next life, I want to come back as a September baby so that I can have this as my birthday cake each year.
I'd like to say a few words now about Luisa's book, My Berlin Kitchen, because it's so good, and in some very specific ways. Luisa writes a lovely story, yes, and with courage. She has you rooting for love, thrilling in the power each of us has to create the life we want to live, and believing in happily-ever-afters that come true because we make them so. She writes about finding her way home in the deepest sense. I love all of that. But what gripped me most of all is her food writing. It's some of the best I've seen. You won't find any dew-spangled, glistening-in-the-morning-sun "foodie" talk here. Luisa's too smart for that, and too sincere. Her writing about food is darker, more complicated and more precise. Because the people and places that nourish us are not always who and what we expect them to be. It's personal. Luisa's been writing in this vein on her blog for years. In her book, she does it better and more. That took me by surprise and blew me away.
My Berlin Kitchen comes out tomorrow. You did it, Luisa. Happy book day.
::
The Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, begins tonight. Apples are the fruit traditionally associated with this holiday, but I can't help myself; Luisa's Pflaumenkuchen will be on my table tonight. If you're looking to go the apple route, here are a few favorite desserts from the archives:
Dutch Appeltaart with Honey Ice Cream
Tarte aux pommes
Teddie's Apple Cake (dairy-free)
Jess's Teddie's (dairy-free)
Starting tonight, I'll be unplugging for a couple of days to spend time with family and friends. I'll be available today to answer any recipe questions, but then please excuse my silence in the comments. Will be thinking of you in the kitchen, as always, and sending you my best. This year feels quite happy and new on our end. Wishing the same for you. xo.
::
p.s. Safari users: I understand that you've been unable to post comments for some time now. Thanks for bringing this problem to my attention. I'm working on a fix, and apologize for the inconvenience. For now, if you'd like to leave a comment, please visit this site from an alternate browser like Firefox, Internet Explorer, or Chrome.
Pflaumenkuchen (Yeasted Plum Cake)
Adapted from My Berlin Kitchen, by Luisa Weiss
Don't let the yeast here fool you into thinking that this is a complicated recipe. It's not. Since you're using instant yeast, you can mix it right in with the dry ingredients. You can't go wrong.
A note about the yeast: The recipe in Luisa's book calls for fresh yeast, the kind that comes in foil-wrapped cakes in the refrigerated aisle at the market. Luisa told me that she could find it, no problem, at the Key Foods just a few blocks from her apartment in Queens, but - despite calling every grocery in the Boston area, from the large chains down to the small specialty shops - I came up dry. (The closest I got was one place that carries it only seasonally, starting around Thanksgiving.) So, I did some math, substituted instant yeast, and adapted the method accordingly. It worked beautifully. If you'd like to try a version of this recipe with dry (not instant) yeast, click over to Olga's Pflaumenkuchen on her site, Sassy Radish.
For the dough:
1½ cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
2¼ teaspoons instant yeast
Grated zest of half a lemon (I made it once without; still great.)
Pinch of salt
½ cup whole milk
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 egg yolk
For the fruit and topping:
1¼ pounds Italian prune plums
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
Butter the bottom and sides of a 9-inch springform pan.
Make the dough:
Put the milk and the 3 tablespoons butter into a small saucepan and heat over the lowest possible flame, swirling occasionally, until the butter has just melted. Set aside to cool until lukewarm. Meanwhile, blend the dry ingredients - the flour, 3 tablespoons sugar, yeast, lemon zest, and salt - in a large bowl.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the egg yolk with the lukewarm milk and butter. Pour the mixture into the dry ingredients, and stir with a wooden spoon until you have a loose dough. Dump the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth. It won't take more than a few folds and turns. If your dough is sticky, add a tablespoon or two of flour, only as much as you need to keep it manageable. Form the dough into a ball, place it in the buttered pan, cover with a towel, and let it rise until it's doubled in bulk, anywhere from one to two and a half hours, depending on the temperature of your kitchen. (Watch the dough, not the clock.)
Prepare the fruit and topping:
While the dough rises, heat the oven to 350 degrees, and pit and quarter the prune plums. Stir together the remaining 3 tablespoons of sugar and the cinnamon in a small bowl and set aside. Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter and leave to cool.
When the dough is ready, deflate it with your fingertips. Push it down evenly along the bottom of the pan and about 1-inch up the sides. Gently press the quartered plums into the dough at a 45-degree angle, making concentric circles. (Start at the edge and work your way toward the middle.) If you have extra plums on your cutting board once you've arranged your circles, squeeze them in somewhere. The more plums, the better. Sprinkle with the cinnamon-sugar mixture, spoon the melted butter over top, and set aside, uncovered, for 20 minutes.
Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the crust is brown and the plums are bubbling. Cool until the fruit is no longer hot.
Luisa suggests serving with unsweetened whipped cream, but I like it plain.