Cinnamon Cranberry Shortbread . . . Simplify the Christmas Cookie Marathon!

When your holiday to-do list is longer than the tobaggon hanging on the wall in your garage, how do you  find the time and energy to enjoy non-critical tasks like making cookies without that activity, too, seeming like just another chore? If you're like me, every year you wish you had the time and gusto to make at least a dozen varieties of Christmas cookies, some from brand new recipes and some from old faithfuls. In theory, the cookie-baking marathon sounds so delightful, doesn't it?

Think about it. There you are, bustling around in the kitchen, carols playing in the background, snowflakes twinkling on the window sill. Maybe you're even wearing that cute apron--the one that's been in a drawer for the past ten years because you've never had the guts to expose it to robust molasses or melted dark chocolate? I know, I know. I've been there. Sometimes the Christmas cookie mega-bake experience is just a pipe dream.

But then again, maybe it's not? I figure the answer to this dilemma is two-fold. It requires breaking the work down into chunks--like making the doughs all in one long work session, and then baking the cookies in another. Of course, even that prospect can be daunting. So if you're really stressed, consider making it easier on yourself by using just one base recipe for a simple but fail-proof cookie that can be adapted with any number of different flavorings or add-ins.

Shortbread is a perfect candidate for this approach because:

• it's comprised of very few ingredients and mixes together fairly quickly
• it handles easily compared to stickier roll-out doughs for gingerbread or sugar cookies
• it can be pressed into tart pans by hand, or rolled out and cut with cookie cutters
• it bakes slowly and at a low temperature, which greatly minimizes the chances of burning the cookies
• it's sturdy and not delicate, thus not problematic to store or ship
• it has a long shelf life and can handle reasonable variations in temperature
• it can be customized with the addition of chocolate, with finely chopped nuts or dried fruits, or any variety of extracts--try vanilla, citrus, or almond
• the finished cookies can be dipped in melted chocolate, glazed with a thin icing, or sprinkled with sugar

Just remember, don't fiddle with the the proportions of flour, sugar, and butter. They're kind of sacrosanct in a scenario like this. But everything else is up for grabs. Really. It's a miracle cookie. It's the original Christmas Miracle Cookie! Not kidding. So don't panic if you committed to producing a zillion cookies for this office party and that church event. Stick with one basic recipe, adjust it to suit your whims, and everything will be fine. These cinnamon cranberry shortbread cut-outs are a case-in-point. Made from a recipe I adapted, they won't let you down.

This is adapted from the classic shortbread recipe in Dede Wilson's book, The Baker's Field Guide to Christmas Cookies.

Cinnamon Cranberry Shortbread Cookies
(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Line a couple of cookie sheets with parchment paper.

1 lb. of unsalted butter, softened (4 sticks)
1 cup granulated sugar, plus a little extra for sprinkling
5 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp. salt (a generous 1/4 tsp.; I think a wee bit of salt is vital in a cookie--without it, it's just flat)
3 drops vanilla extract
2 drops almond extract
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon (or less, if you prefer; more, though, can overpower this recipe)
3/4 cup dried cranberries chopped very small (loosely packed into the measuring cup)

In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, and cinnamon. Set aside. 

In the large bowl of your mixer, beat the butter at medium high speed for three minutes, until light and fluffy. Still on medium high speed, slowly pour in the sugar over a period of about 8 minutes (yes, I said 8 minutes), until the mixture is almost white in color and extremely fluffy. Add in the vanilla and almond extracts.

Now on the lowest speed, add in the flour mixture in three portions, mixing just until each portion is  incorporated. Pour in the cranberry pieces and beat only until they seem fairly evenly distributed in the dough, not long at all. The dough should not be so soft that it needs to be chilled before rolling.

Divide the dough into thirds. Working with one third at a time, on a lightly floured work surface, roll the dough out to about 1/4" thickness--no thinner. Using small cookie cutters of your choice, firmly cut the pieces and place them carefully onto a parchment-lined cookie sheet. They can be placed pretty close together as they'll spread very, very little in the oven. Sprinkle each cookie with a couple pinches of granulated sugar.


Bake each tray for approximately 15 minutes or more, checking the cookies regularly; remove them from the oven when they just start to turn slightly golden around the edges. They're not supposed to become golden brown all over. Allow them to cool on the pans for 10 minutes before removing them to cooling racks.

Alternately, you can press the dough evenly into 8" or 9" tart pans with removable bottoms. This is a very quick and easy method if you don't feel like using cookie cutters. Sprinkle sugar on top and place the pans on top of cookie sheets to bake. If you make them this way, slice the baked cookies pie-wedge fashion while they're still somewhat warm from the oven; if you wait to slice them until they're cool, they'll be far more prone to breaking apart.

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Sam the Snowman Cake . . . from Rudolph!

One must have a mind of winter

To regard the frost and the boughs

Of the pine trees crusted with snow . . .

-- from The Snowman, a poem by Wallace Stevens
 
Before we get too much further into the Christmas season, I wanted to be sure and share this with you. It's my attempt at replicating, in cake form, the snowman from that favorite old TV special made in 1964, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. I created it as my final-exam project for my Theme Cakes class, which ended in November. Since making this cake, I've come to the conclusion that just about every American under 75 must be a big fan of Sam the Snowman, the show's chubby narrator.

He's a pretty distinctive fellow, as far as snowmen go. Both wise and witty, he's possessed of a philosophical outlook not common to your typical garden-variety snowman. When he tells us to, "Pull up an iceberg and lend an ear," we're inclined to do just that. And isn't there something especially appealing about a dapper snowman who sounds just like Burl Ives?

I'm not going to confess exactly how long it took me to work on this cake, all in all, nor how much  fretting I did in preparation for assembling it. Needless to say, the process was time consuming for me and fraught with potential pitfalls. That's because this kind of cake--one requiring quite a bit of advance planning, not to mention structural support and anchoring--is still pretty new for me. I was more relieved than I can convey when the finishing touches were completed on the last day of class.

You know how it is when you work on something that requires you to immerse yourself in its every detail? You become acutely aware of the finished product's imperfections and those are what you tend to focus on. That's how I felt, initially at least, when this cake was done and largely why I was stunned when my teacher and fellow students liked it so much.

Chef Lois, my teacher, asked me if she could keep the cake to display it at a couple of upcoming culinary-school sponsored events. I was pretty flattered by this. She suggested that I first take it home to show to my husband and kids (who'd been hearing me fuss about it for at least a couple of weeks) and then bring it back to school. So that's what I did.

Thankfully, it was a very successful project all in all, and Sam turned out to be a pretty fun character to try and depict in cake. For those of you who want to know how this cake was created, click here for the gory details. For those of you who become nauseous or disoriented at the mere thought of making something like this, you have my sympathy. I'll understand completely if you need to stop reading right now. Yes, you may be excused. Go bake some cookies instead . . . or get a start on wrapping those presents!

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Scotch Oat Crunchies . . . Sandwich Cookies with Raspberry-Key Lime Jam

Somewhere along the line in my evolution as a typical female, I veered off the path and began to loathe massive shopping malls. Oh sure, I roamed them like a free-range sheep when I was much younger, often along with a small flock of friends. We'd meander happily, a little cluster of girls window shopping just for fun.

But I rarely venture into them now, preferring instead to hunt for exactly what I need online, or in the sort of free-standing stores that hold the potential for incredible bargains and unique discoveries. I'm talking about places like TJMaxx, HomeGoods, Tueday Morning, Marshalls, and the odd second-hand shop. Of course, many of these establishments are neatness-challenged and a few of them lack every semblance of organization, so it's advisable to be completely okay with that before you ever set foot in the door.

In prowling for treasures, the potential for causing an avalanche is ever present. Gotta keep an eye out for that Kilimanjaro-like pile of cartoon-print pajama pants to your left, the ones that someone slung hastily atop a leaning tower of bone china dinner plates. Successful navigation through the labyrinth of aisles, each one stuffed to the gills with goods, requires nimble maneuvering and a light touch. But, such drawbacks aside, these joints do cater fairly well to the average gal's yen to forage. And when the hunt yields up something worthwhile, there's that little ping of satisfaction, that feeling of Oh, good! This errand was definitely worth my time. Do you know what I mean?

In one such store a few days ago, I unearthed a nicely discounted jar of  Sarabeth's Kitchen raspberry key-lime jam. Tucking it into my floppy shopping pouch, I remembered that this crunchy sandwich cookie recipe, which I planned to try out, recommends using a tart jam to augment the pleasant but humble flavor of the cookie wafers themselves. The recipe suggests using cherry jam, which I like, but given the choice I'm more of a pushover for raspberry. This jam's bright flavor gives it a comfortingly homemade quality, and it's not overly sugary (I realize I keep referring to it as jam, but the label on the jar actually calls it "spreadable fruit").



This cookie recipe, dating back to January 1943, comes to us from the new Gourmet Cookie Book: The Single Best Recipe From Each Year 1941-2009. These cookies are very crunchy indeed, so their title is apt. This is the kind of sweet that goes hand in glove with a good cup of hot tea--the perfect cookie for a frosty December day.

I reworded the recipe, adding in more detail, but not altering the time-tested formula.
 
Scotch Oat Crunchies with Jam Filling

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Preheat oven to 350 shortly before you're ready to bake. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup light brown sugar
2 and 1/2 cups pastry flour (This is hard for home bakers to find in most grocery stores so, alternately, Gourmet suggests the use of White Lily brand flour--that's what I used. Another alternative you might try is to use a 50/50 mix of All Purpose flour and cake flour--that's a typical substitution for pastry flour. Gourmet also suggests using cake flour alone.)
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
2 and 1/2 oats (I used quick oats.)
1/2 cup cold water
3 drops almond extract and 1/4 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 cup jam/preserves of your choice

In a very small container, stir together the water and extracts. Set aside.

In the large bowl of your mixer, cream the butter on medium speed until it's almost white; this may take  several minutes. Add in the brown sugar gradually, and continue creaming until completely blended.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt, then sift this mixture again one more time. Stir in the oats.

With the mixer on its lowest speed, add in the dry ingredients alternately with the water. Mix just until fully combined. Cover the dough and chill it for at least half an hour before attempting to roll it out (or chill it overnight, if you prefer, then let it soften slightly before using).

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

On a well floured work surface, roll a portion of the dough out to a thickness of 1/8" (I rolled my dough a little thicker than this because it was pretty sticky. I didn't skimp on the flour for the work surface.) Use a 2" cookie cutter to cut out rounds or squares, using a thin metal spatula to place them on the parchment lined cookie sheet(s).

Bake the cookies until lightly golden, perhaps 10 to 12 minutes or so. Let them cool before trying to handle them. Fill the cookies with a generous half teaspoon of the jam of your choice, and sandwich two of the wafers together gently. Let the jam set for a while before serving the cookies.

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Cranberry Snowdrift Bars . . .

Along with producing way too many rolls and whipping up about three times the amount of mashed potatoes actually needed for Thanksgiving dinner, did you also happen to make a hefty surplus of cranberry sauce? You did? Me too. We have a mountain of mashed spuds left. What could I possibly have been thinking as I peeled my millionth potato on Thursday morning? That the Waltons might turn up uninvited on our front porch, with John Boy in the lead?

It's All Gravy . . .

The only thing we never seem to make too much of is gravy, a vital substance. Not unlike human plasma in its importance, it ties the whole feast together. Most folks can't live without it on their turkey, though I've heard that a few can. My two sons, along with a couple of their friends, descended on our kitchen this afternoon after they'd all been out  power-shopping (teenage-boy style power shopping, that is). Clearly ravenous, they attacked the leftover provisions with a vengeance, each plate piled higher than the next. I was grateful that the absence of gravy, which I assume they found startling, didn't dampen their enthusiasm.

About this recipe . . .

In light of the cranberry sauce surplus, I was happy to have an opportunity to try out this surprisingly different recipe that hails from Dede Wilson's book, A Baker's Field Guide to Christmas Cookies. I don't know which appeals to me more, the bars themselves or their cute name. Both are delightful.

These bars start out with a tender-crunchy base, kind of like a shortbread crust. That's baked, and then topped with cranberry sauce, then a meringue is spread over the top of that and it all goes back into the oven. The end result is delicately crisp, sweet, and just tart enough.

I stuck pretty closely to the original formula, just reworded it.

Cranberry Snowdrift Bars
(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat an 8" x 8" square pan with vegetable spray. 

Ingredients for Crust:
1 and 1/4 cups All Purpose flour
1 pinch of salt
1/2 cup of unsalted butter, softened
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1/4 tsp. vanilla extract

Ingredients for filling and topping:
1 cup whole berry cranberry sauce (homemade or canned; needs to be thick and not watery)
whites from 2 large eggs (about 2 oz. of egg whites, total; whites at room temperature whip up best)
1/8 tsp. cream of tartar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 tsp. vanilla extract

To make the crust:
Whisk together the flour and salt in a bowl. In the large bowl of your mixer, on medium-high speed, beat the butter for a few minutes, until it's creamy. Gradually add in the sugar, beating now on high speed, until the mixture is light and fluffy; this may take several minutes. Add in the vanilla. In thirds, pour in the dry ingredients gradually, beating just until blended.

Pat the crust firmly and evenly into the bottom of the prepared pan. Chill in the fridge for 30 minutes, or in the freezer for about 15 minutes, before baking.

Bake until dry to the touch and light golden brown, with darker golden areas around the edges--about 30 to 40 minutes. Don't turn off the oven when you take the pan out.

Cool the pan on a rack for five minutes, then spread the cranberry sauce over it.

Make the meringue topping:
In a smaller mixer bowl, using the whip attachment, whip the egg whites on high speed until foamy. Add in the cream of tartar and beat until soft peaks form. Then, gradually add in the sugar, beating on high until stiff--but not dry--peaks form. Add in the vanilla.

Spread the meringue evenly over the cranberry filling, using the back of a spoon to push it out to the edges. Make some cute swirls in the top of the meringue.

Put the pan back into the oven, and bake for about 25 minutes, until the meringue is just very lightly browned.

Cool the bars, in their pan, on a cooling rack.
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The Turkey Day Comfort Zone . . . Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving, aside from being a hopefully-heart-warming family holiday, as well as a dietary cautionary tale, is also a fairly rigorous exercise in domestic decision making, wouldn't you agree? So much to contemplate in preparing for the whole shebang. Almost invariably, it requires a bushy flock of post-it notes sticking out of cookbooks, at least three trips to the market in close succession due to overlooked ingredients, and one protracted search for that huge roasting pan that you know you saw on a shelf in the basement last Easter. Well, anyway, you think you saw it down there. 

Despite the little stresses, we have enduring affection for this holiday all the same. It annually reminds us of how lucky we are, how gratitude uplifts us, and of how much we value everyone we love. It also reminds us of how much satisfaction and joy we get out of baking!

This year, as far as baking went, I opted for tradition. That decision allowed me to linger, one might say, in the wide and expansive Turkey Day comfort zone. Yesterday I bustled around in the kitchen for hours. The end result was a full-flavored pumpkin pie made with heavy cream and enhanced with a tiny bit of dark rum in the filling; a replay of the best apple-cranberry pie recipe I've ever used (and which can be found in loving detail in my blog, right here); and, three-dozen buttery dinner rolls, formed in three 9" cake pans--the kind of rolls that snuggle more closely together as they rise.

Though I don't have a new recipe to share with you today, I just wanted to tell you that I'm so grateful for the friends and acquaintances I've made through my interest in baking--both online and in person. I sincerely hope you have a festive and blessed Thanksgiving!

:)  Warmly,
Jane

Fresh Cranberry & Apple Muffins with Almond Streusel Topping . . .

One weekday morning a few days ago, while in the kitchen assembling my kids' school lunches, my husband sat at the table munching his breakfast of oatmeal with a sprinkling of dried cranberries on top. He tries to be relatively careful about what he eats most of the time, and he picked up the cranberry package to read the nutritional info on the back. After a moment he remarked to me, "Where can we buy dried cranberries that don't include sugar?" To which I replied, "I'm not sure they exist. Plain raw cranberries are incredibly tart and they're pretty much unpalatable. I think they have to add sugar to dried cranberries or nobody would eat them." He muttered something then that sounded like, "Hmmm . . . damn."


Now, having had a little time to ponder, I figure I could be totally wrong about that. Maybe health food stores sell unsweetened dried cranberries? I don't know, but I should investigate further. Dietarily, I understand the hubby's interest in having no-sugar-added cranberries atop his healthy bowl of oatmeal.

As a baker, however, I don't feel the least bit handicapped by a need for fresh versus frozen versus dried cranberries--sweetened or not. Most recipes that call for cranberries are incredibly versatile; have you ever noticed this? Especially when we're talking about something as forgiving as a muffin recipe. You can almost always reliably use fresh, frozen, or dried berries and expect fine results.

These muffins were made with the first bag of fresh cranberries that I happened upon in the grocery store a couple of weeks ago. And, please don't tell this to the Cranberry Police, but I'm planning on hoarding several more bags before the season's through--gonna stick those guys in the freezer for future reference. They're not around for long, you know. But they freeze like champs. Just fling 'em in there, right in the bags they came in. Get 'em while they're around, bakers! Go ahead and hoard those babies. Just do it, and don't look back.

About this recipe . . . 

These muffins are made from a hybrid recipe I concocted after baking about a zillion different muffin recipes in the last few years from who-knows-how-many sources. I hope you like these as much as I do (and I like them a lot). Oh, and feel free to leave the apple out of these altogether if you prefer your cranberry muffins straight-up.

Cranberry & Apple Muffins with Almond Streusel
 (For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Ingredients for the muffin batter:
3/4 unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cups granulated sugar
2/3 cups light brown sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 cup sour cream
1/2 cup buttermilk
1/4 cup orange juice
2 and 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
1/2 tsp. almond extract
3 and 1/2 cups All Purpose flour
1/2 cup almond meal (whole almonds ground finely, but not until they become paste-like!)
1and 1/4 tsp. kosher salt (or 1 tsp. regular salt)
4 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1 pinch each, ground cinnamon and nutmeg
1 and 1/2 cups fresh cranberries, chopped
1/2 cup apple pieces (peeled, cored, chopped small; I used a Jazz apple--sweet and crispy!)

Ingredients for the streusel: 
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/3 granulated sugar
1/3 cup almond meal
1/4 cup sliced almonds
1/2 cup cold butter, cut into small chunks
1 pinch kosher salt (or regular salt)
1 tiny pinch cinnamon
1 tiny pinch nutmeg


To make the streusel (make it before doing the batter): 
In a medium size bowl, mix together all the streusel's dry ingredients. Then, using your fingers or a fork, lightly squish the butter into the dry ingredients; the streusel should be kind of lumpy looking. Set it aside.

Prepare your pan and preheat the oven:

Prepare 24 regular size muffin cups, or 12 - 14 jumbo muffin cups. If using paper liners, lightly spray them with vegetable spray; spray even the top area of the muffin pan between the cups. If not using liners, then spray the metal cups, along with the top of the pan, generously with vegetable spray.

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.


To make the muffin batter:


In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, beat the butter and sugars until fluffy. Blend in the room-temperature eggs, then blend in the sour cream, buttermilk, orange juice, and the extracts.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, almond meal, salt, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Add this into the liquid ingredients, beating on low speed just until combined.

Add in the cranberries and apple pieces (if you're using them), blending on low speed just until combined.

 

Using a portion (ice cream) scoop, equally divide the batter among the muffin cups. Top them evenly with all of the streusel.

Put the muffin pan(s) on top of a baking sheet to help prevent the bottoms from burning (I always do this with muffins--it's a lifesaver!). Bake the muffins until the tops are golden, they spring back when lightly pressed on top, and when a toothpick inserted deeply into the center comes out clean. Anywhere from 20 to 35 minutes depending on the size of your muffin cups. If they seem to be browning long before they're really done, be sure to cover them lightly with a sheet of foil.

Let the muffins cool for a few minutes while in the pan on a rack, then remove them to finish cooling on the rack.

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Once Upon a Time in Michigan, there was Tapawingo . . . (Ginger-Pear Cake with Cognac-Spiked Pear Sauce)

 Once upon a time, there was a charming cottage nestled in the lush woods of northern Michigan. One day, a brilliant and inspired chef named Pete Peterson cast a spell, transforming it into an enchanted restaurant, which he named Tapawingo. It thrived for over 25 years, and the legend of its magical food spread far and wide. By and by things changed in Michigan, and fewer travelers were able to visit and enjoy the culinary treasures that Tapawingo offered. The devoted chef saw no alternative but to close his beloved eatery, though he did so with a heavy heart. All of the people who loved Tapawingo, and all of the people who wished they could have gone there but never had a chance to do so, were sad.     The End.

Fairy tale or true story? It's true, and though I wish I could say I had been one of the lucky diners, I never made it to Tapawingo. Described by the New York Times in 2003 as being of "international stature," the place was a culinary gem unique to the Midwest right up to its closure in 2009. The stuff that used to come out of that kitchen--famous for using the finest and freshest locally-sourced ingredients before doing so was all the rage--sounded so sublime. I am holding out hope, though, that some enlightened literary agent gets on the stick and convinces Peterson to write a cookbook one of these days. It will be such a pity if this never happens. Heck, I'd start a letter writing campaign if only I knew who to write to.

About this recipe . . . 

So if there's no cookbook, how did I come upon this particular recipe, credited to that singular chef, Harlan "Pete" Peterson? It's from a homey compilation called Heartland Baking from the Midwest's Best Cooks, a slim cookbook from the collection of my late mom. Paging through it, when I realized where this particular recipe came from, I knew I had to try it. Thus I offer up this pear and ginger cake in homage to the enchanted Michigan restaurant that is no more.


Very gingery and ultra-moist, with an understated sweetness, this charming little cake is meant to be served with a casual drizzle of warm, cognac-spiked pear sauce. This is one autumn dessert that will help take the chill off.

In adapting this, I made only tiny alterations to the formula, adjusting the proportion of spices a wee bit here and there, as I didn't want to tamper too cavalierly with perfection.

Pear and Ginger Cake  . . . with Cognac-Pear Sauce

(For a printable version of this recipe, click here!)

Ingredients for the cake:
1/2 cup unsalted butter
1/2 cup packed brown sugar (I used light brown sugar)
2 eggs, large
1/4 cup molasses (I used the brand called Grandma's--the Robust variety)
1 Tbsp. fresh grated ginger root (no need to even peel the root before grating)
1 and 1/2 cups All Purpose flour (I used unbleached)
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt (actually, I substituted 3/4 tsp. kosher salt)
1/4 tsp. ground allspice
1/8 tsp. ground cloves
1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg
2/3 cup buttermilk or sour milk (I used the best buttermilk I could find)
1 ripe medium-sized pear, peeled, cored, and sliced thinly (I used an Anjou pear; these tough-skinned pears work really well for baking/stewing, etc.)

Ingredients for the pear-cognac sauce: 
1 lemon
1 cup water
1/4 cup granulated sugar
Four ripe 8 oz. pears (again, I used just Anjou pears)
2 to 4 Tbsp. cognac (I used Courvoisier, but if you're lucky enough to have Poire William liqueur on hand, you can use that. If you prefer, leave the liqueur out entirely; perhaps substitute apple juice if you feel more liquid is required.) 

To make the cake: 

Butter and flour lightly an 8" x 8" baking dish (I used a glass baking dish; it's a very moist cake and somehow I didn't think a metal pan would be the best choice.)


In the large bowl of your mixer, using the paddle attachment, beat the butter just until it's softened, on medium-low speed. Into this add the brown sugar, and beat until fluffy. Add in the eggs one at a time, beating well after each, then add in the molasses and the ginger root.

In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, salt, allspice, cloves, and nutmeg. Add this, alternately with the buttermilk, into the mixing bowl on low speed. Beat just until combined.

Gently fold the thinly-sliced pear into the batter. Spread the batter into the prepared pan and bake at 350 for about 35 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean (well, more or less clean!). Cool the cake in its pan on a cooling rack.

To make the sauce:

With a peeler, remove the zest from half of the lemon (just the thin yellow upper skin, be sure to include none of the bitter white pith). In a medium size heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the zest, 2 Tbsp of juice from the lemon, 1 cup of water, and the 1/4 cup sugar. Heat over a medium-low flame until the sugar dissolves, stirring periodically.

Peel, core, and quarter the four pears. Add them into the sugar mixture. Cook this uncovered until the pears become tender, perhaps 10 minutes or more.

With a slotted spoon, remove the pears from the pan and put them in the bowl of a food processor.

Continue cooking the liquid in the saucepan until it has reduced by half, then remove and throw away the lemon peel. Pour the liquid into the food processor bowl.

Pulse the mixture until it is completely smooth. Put it in a small bowl, and stir in the cognac.

Serve the sauce warm, draped over individual pieces of cake. Sprinkle confectioner's sugar on the pieces first, if you like.

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