010. a love story (with recipes)/pear cornmeal cake with rosemary syrup

The view through the window of my
grandmother's kitchen in Grottammare.

This is about two things. Two lovely things that have studded my past month with sweetness and stability. The first is a book I began reading over a month ago. The book is My Berlin Kitchen: A Love Story (With Recipes) by Luisa Weiss, creator of the blog The Wednesday Chef. I found it while perusing books similar to Molly Wizenberg's A Homemade Life: Stories and Recipes from My Kitchen Table which has been one of my favorites for years. There's something I love about memoirs with recipes. Maybe it's the fact that I can run out and recreate the recipes for our dinner that brings me closer to the author and the words on the page or the fact that reading and being able to taste green figs and prosciutto in my mind gives me another method of absorbing the words. I started reading it in October, stealing away for snips of afternoon sunshine in the park or on the sofa. I had to take it slow. I had to take it slow because I saw too much of my own life in Luisa's book. She was born in Berlin to an American father and Italian mother. I was born in Milan to an Italian father and German mother. She grew up splitting her time between Berlin, Boston, summers in Italy and later living in New York City before moving back to Berlin for love and a cure for the homesick blues. I grew up splitting my years in Milan, Sindelfingen, Fort Collins and then Milan and Fort Collins again, still struggling fiercely from the homesick blues. It's not the same but it's close enough to feel a tug deep in my chest. Luisa's grandparent's home, and where she got married, in Italy is in Torre, less than 60 miles from where my grandmother lives in Grottammare, where I spent my summers growing up. It wasn't just the geographical similarities between us that struck a chord with me, but also the relentless homesickness for so many different places (felt even when you are right at home.) I haven't been home to Europe to see family in years. I visited friends and family around Germany three years ago and haven't been to Italy in at least four. It hurts! It hurts to have so many people and places you love so very far away. "A thousand dollar plane ticket and two weeks off work" far away, to be exact. J and I have plans to visit next year. I want to show him all of it. I want him to know the walk from my grandmother's house to the beach, the taste of focaccia from the bakery below my uncle's apartment, the sound of the ducks babbling around the lake by the house I grew up in in Sindelfingen, my aunt's lush backyard. I want him to smile with me at the way my grandmother snorts when she laughs. I want him to challenge my cousin to a game of Angry Birds (his favorite.) I can't wait for all of it. Hopefully we'll be back early next fall. We're shooting for September or October, band allowing. I am thankful for Luisa's book in reawakening this thirst for home in me. 
The other thing that struck a chord was her relationship with Max, a man she fell in love with early on, moved away from, and found again, years later. Their love is strong and steady and the words she writes about him and their relationship are powerful, yet simple and entirely relatable. I dog-eared a page (gasp!) containing a particularly helpful part. In it, she talks about how she and Max keep fighting about the smallest things and they can't figure out how to stop. "We've never spent this much time together before, without the threat of one of us leaving. I think we probably just need to get used to each other." Max says. I can relate. J and I don't fight much but when we do it's about the littlest things. Why can't you hang up your coat? Why can't you unload the clean dishes? Why can't you remember to check your pockets for tissues before throwing your clothes in the hamper? It's all the little things, the stuff that doesn't really matter. And it was starting to bug me-- why couldn't we just stop? But then I read this:

I guess, dear reader, I want to tell you that even when you have found your person in this world, the person who you know, deep down in your mitochondrial DNA, is meant to be by your side in this life, it is no guarantee that this person will not also drive you batshit insane at some moments along the way. It is unfair to expect your sweetheart to be a perfect person or to consider yourself above reproach just because you love each other. Even if you have found your one true love, you will still have exact ideas about how to clean a floor, whether your family is nuts or simply lovable, and just what, exactly are the requirements for being a good driver. But I knew we were on the right path when we managed to agree about potato salad.

In conclusion, it's totally okay. And I am grateful to My Berlin Kitchen for showing me just that. Read this book. Honestly. I promise you will love it! Especially if, like me, you love food, another person, and multiple places far away from each other.

The other thing I wanted to tell you about was this cake. It's a Pear Cornmeal Cake with Rosemary Syrup and is so easy and so delicious it will make everything better no matter what. I made this on Monday. My sister was coming up from Denver and wanted to stop by so I tore this recipe out of the November issue of Real Simple and got to work. It was so easy. And it smelled heavenly. And tasted even better. I had somehow managed to not kill my rosemary plant after bringing it inside when the days grew short and I feel so lucky I did, as the rosemary syrup really makes the cake. I had another little slice for dinner that night, with a scoop of Boulder Ice Cream's Famous Sweet Cream ice cream and served it again the next night, following roasted salmon with baby asparagus and sweet potatoes served over black rice, to our friends who'd come over for dinner and games and they loved it. I was just as good a day later. So I wanted to share the recipe with you. And document it for myself, as I am notoriously bad at holding on to recipes I love.

Pear Cornmeal Cake with Rosemary Syrup

adapted from the November issue of Real Simple

(Total time: 1 hour, 15 mins. Serves 8)

8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for the pan
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon fine salt
1 1/4 cups sugar
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 large eggs, whisked
2 ripe pears, cut into bite-sized pieces (I used Bosc pears but any ripe pears will do!)
6 large sprigs of rosemary
1 pint Boulder Ice Cream Famous Sweet Cream ice cream , for serving (optional)

Directions

1. Heat oven to 350° F. Butter a 9-inch springform pan.
2. Whisk together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and 1 cup of the sugar in a large bowl. Whisk together the buttermilk, eggs, and melted butter in a medium bowl. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and mix with spatula to combine. Fold in the pears.
3. Transfer the batter to the prepared pan. Bake 45-55 minutes. Cool in the pan for 15 minutes; transfer to a wire rack.
4. Meanwhile, heat the rosemary, the remaining ¼ cup of sugar, and ¼ cup water in a small pot over medium heat. Cook, stirring, until the sugar is melted. Remove from heat, cover, and let sit, stirring occasionally, for 30 minutes and up to 4 hours. Discard the rosemary sprigs, reserve one for decorating the cake, if desired.
5. While the cake is still warm, brush the top and side with the rosemary syrup.
6. Serve warm or at room temperature with Sweet Cream ice cream, if desired.

So, dear reader, take from this two things. One, pick up a copy of My Berlin Kitchen from your local library and read it while you're waiting for a Pear Cornmeal cake to come out of the oven. I promise, a lovelier day can't be had.

I hope you are well. ♥



(Pssst! I wanted to add this video of Luisa Weiss reading part of her book at NYU's Deutsches Haus. It is my absolute favorite part of the book, but typing it all out for you to read would've been a doozy.)