Last night before the new and later dusk, I ran around outside like a fussy old Mum, doing a few last chores to try as I might to tidy up and protect whatever I could before the big snow.
Year in and year out, we begin to sense the transition into each of the new seasons, well before they may actually arrive. Little signs and feelings heighten the senses for the attuned, and we can feel what is coming as the earth, air and elements vacillate back and forth in their own little dance for dominance. It is almost as if nature is not quite sure it wants to transcend, and yet it always does. Sometimes though, some of our favorite creatures and plantings can suffer through these transitional days and weeks.
As I was sitting here this morning ruminating – watching the birds fight for position on the feeders and spying out the window and watching my peony shoots slowly eclipsed in snow, it occurred to me that compared to all others, how terribly vulnerable a new season of Spring is. I know technically we are still a week away from the equinox and yet we do tend to become preoccupied with the season that is emerging over the one that is receding. The earliest weeks of the emerging Spring, Le Printemps or La Primavera, are the most delicate of transitions in the year, aren’t they? Every single tender and courageous push comes forth with great degrees of potential havoc – as we can plainly see this morning. Each and every little attempt at emergence is bravery at its most instinctive – and yet as we see, instinct can not always be trusted. No other season carries with it the faith and hope or the worry over the most tender of creatures, seedlings and buds. In some years, everything will unfold without peril, as conditions evolve smoothy in tandem with the tiny emerging buds, shoots and the array of new pollinators and other young – into a merrymaking crescendo of colors, fragrances and sounds. In others like this one, much is at risk, as a storm like today’s barrels in to remind us that in this part of the country, we are not safe at all by looking at the calendar, nor even at the signs that may have emerged too well ahead of their skis, as they say.
As I went to bed, I fully intended to wake, grab a steaming cup of strong coffee and return to under the covers to continue slowly relishing the pages of my new favorite book, Le Manor Aux Quat’Saisons by Raymond Blanc. When I was in Montecito what seems like ages ago at the Telocote Book Shop, this cover caught my eye and it was love at first sight.
I can hardly believe now that less that 2 weeks ago I was out in Santa Monica and Santa Barbara, running around in shorts and inhaling the seasons of life that live on the “other” coast. I flittered around in glee on two early afternoons at the extraordinarily beautiful San Ysidro Ranch, when I’d stayed many years ago, but returned to for two exquisite lunches under the guise of photoing hummingbirds after a tip off from a lovely woman downtown.
We had a chance meeting in the garden downtown and she must have sensed my distress and asked me if I was alright. I said I was just waiting for hummingbirds and she quickly and generously told me exactly where I could find them and right away. I am never as humbled as when I, by chance and serendipitously, run into someone who can, in an instant, connect with the same instincts and, in parting just as quickly as we met, infer the most valuable morsel of information. It was quite in an instant that we were on our way.
That I, a couple of days later, returned to a 16F greeting at the airport, a pending appointment at jury duty, and a subsequent crash into a lingering and debilitating sinus infection left me spinning in my let down if not completely deflated. Only the prospect of running out for a full flat of ranunculus and some gorgeous anemones kept my spirits up. As the weather report projected the week ahead of doom, I tried to dismiss it as some folly-hood of desperate meteorological prognosticators. Ha! My ranunculus took the death knell on Saturday and, while I cut them all back and have been nursing them indoors, all are dead but the anemones. Ugh.
Well, I wasn’t back in bed that long when I had a yearning for baking. Today’s clear vision was a tender and fragrant crumb cake, one sending wafting aromas of freshly grated nutmeg and orange up the stairs and studded with some of the quite acceptable strawberries I had waiting in the wings. All has worked out well and the fragrance, although I can barely smell it, has worked its magic. I am going to make a cup of tea now and return to my book for the rest of the day.
THE ORANGE AND NUTMEG-SCENTED STRAWBERRY CRUMBCAKE –
streusel:
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour
2/3 cup light brown sugar
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 tsp salt
1 tsp orange zest
6 tbsp unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
for the cake:
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 cup unsalted butter, room temp
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla extract
1 tbsp orange zest
1 cup plain greek yogurt
1 1/2 cups fresh strawberries cut in half crosswise and quartered.
Preheat oven to 350F. Butter a 9″ springform pan, place a parchment round in the center and butter the parchment. Set aside.
Make the streusel: In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, light brown sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, orange zest and salt. Pour in the melted butter. Use a fork to gently toss the ingredients to combine thoroughly. Set aside.
To make the cake:
In the bowl of your stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter on low for a minute. Add the sugar and beat for 3 minutes or until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, and beat in. Scrape down sides and paddle. Add the vanilla and beat in.
Turn the mixer to low and add the flour mixture in three additions alternating with two additions of the yogurt. Do not over mix. Remove the bowl from the mixer and scrape the bottom and sides with a rubber spatula to make sure flour is blended in. Scoop half of the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing with an offset spatula. Sprinkle with half of the streusel mixture followed by the strawberries, sprinkled all around. Add the second half of the batter and smooth. Top with the remaining streusel.
Bake for 40-45 minutes or until the cake is puffed, nicely browned and a cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean. Remove from the oven and cool on a rack for 30 minutes. Run a sharp knife around the edge and remove the collar of the pan. Cool the cake on a cooling rack. Serve alone or with a dollop of creme fraiche or whipped cream. You will note that I was in pursuit of a tender crumb here – actually, this cake probably could use more structure – yet, it is highly palatable as it is. Next time, though I will probably add a bit more flour.
Perfect for now, perfect for later.
