Brought to the table in perfectly rounded mounds with an order of black beans, served in heavy chafing dishes on buffet tables, or ladled out of giant cookers from the kitchen counter, white rice hides in plain sight. Though a staple throughout Latin America and the Caribbean, white rice specifically anchors every Cuban meal. Its primacy partly due to large waves of Chinese immigration, I can’t imagine a better blank slate for beans, shredded beef stews, picadillos and plantains. I probably end almost every post with the words “serve over fluffy white rice” but had yet to include a recipe. When my sister texted me to find out how to make it. Rushed and reluctant to text back, I wondered why she didn’t just look it up here, then I checked and realized it wasn’t on my site. Oops.

Deceptively simple, it took me awhile to get my rice right. The directions on the package never quite worked and by cutting down traditional Cuban recipes to a reasonable amount (they’re built for extended families), I’d end up with either undercooked grains or pots of mush. I considered getting a rice cooker or “Hatachi” – so ubiquitous in Cuban homes that it’s in the brand name pantheon with Band-aids, Kleenex, and Xerox. My mother, who doesn’t cook, made brilliant rice using just a pot, a slatted metal cover and a paper towel (which routinely caught fire but the rice turned out well). I knew there was a trick to it and I couldn’t lose the counter space to a cooker until I found out.

Finally, I ended up where I should have started with Nitza Villapol. Rather than combine the water, rice and oil at the start, a few cloves of mashed garlic are sauteed in oil to infuse it with flavor. Once you’ve added the rice and water and brought it to a simmer, it’s set over a low flame and left undisturbed while it finishes cooking so it can’t burn, overcook, or generally get away from you. I usually made rice haphazardly so I decided to pay attention for once and question everything to get it all down. I’ve included those notes below. Unfortunately, while I was thinking about it, I wasn’t responding to the initial text and my sister went riceless. I’ve added the desperate email she sent me in the comments section but please keep in mind she’s prone to rich mischaracterization so serve over fluffly white rice.

Arroz Blanco/White Rice
Adapted from Nitza Villapol’s Cocina Criolla. The first question that came up was whether or not to rinse. I always did but wasn’t sure why. It turns out, a rinse washes away excess starch that makes the rice clump together (good) as well as the nutrients added to replace what was stripped during processing (not so good). I could see the benefits of both – clumpy rice that’s healthy versus fluffy rice that’s nutritionally deficient. I decided to treat myself to a rinse. I typically use brown rice or other hearty grain when I’m looking for a nutrient-rich option so I can keep white rice simple depending on the texture I’m looking for. Plus, to be honest, the rinsing felt ritual so I hated to skip it.

The other thought I had was whether or not to cover it completely or loosely while it’s cooking. I tried both methods and by leaving the lid slightly off, the rice came out firmer but still cooked through, so it’s really a matter of preference. The water also evaporates more quickly so it’s important to check it so sooner. When I’d like the rice to be a little creamier, I keep it covered. After it’s cooked however, it’s best to leave the cover firmly on and let it sit off heat for 5-10 minutes before fluffing it with a fork to separate the grains.

The final problem was adding the water. Once you’ve heated the oil, it has to be completely off heat before pouring in the water. It will send up a billow of hissing steam. If I’m feeling skittish, I set a frying screen over the pan and pour the water directly through the screen.

1 tablespoon olive oil
1 clove of garlic, peeled and mashed
1 teaspoon salt
1 ½ cups water, hot
1 cup long grain white rice, well rinsed with cold water until it runs clear

In a heavy saucepan, heat oil over medium heat. Add mashed garlic and cook on both sides until golden. Remove garlic from oil and discard.

Off heat, carefully add hot water and salt (See Notes). Bring to a high simmer over medium heat. Immediately stir in rice and return to a simmer. Cover and cook undisturbed over low heat until the water is absorbed and the rice tender, about 20-30 minutes. Remove from and heat and let stand covered about 5 minutes. Fluff with a fork and serve.

When I read in Fany Gerson’s My Sweet Mexico that well-rendered lard actually has less saturated fat than butter, I decided to finally try it. Making a special trip to the farmer’s market, I picked up a tub of Flying Pigs farm leaf lard – the best grade for baking. A little bit of lard goes a long way to making pie crusts flaky, so I thought it would work well for mantecados. I didn’t want to lose the barely there flavor of butter so I didn’t go whole hog, using equal parts lard and butter. Instead of cinnamon and cloves, I opted for crushed anise seeds and lemon. As promised, they were all crumble and sand – a new favorite that couldn’t be older. Feliz Nochebuena!

Mantecados de Ánis/Anise Shortbread Cookies
4 ounces unsalted butter, at room temperature
4 ounces leaf lard, at room temperature
1 cup superfine sugar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Zest from one large lemon
2 1/2 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon anise seeds, crushed
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter and lard at medium speed for about 1 minute. Gradually add the sugar and increase the speed to medium-high. Occasionally stopping to scrape down the sides with a rubber spatula, continue to beat until it is pale and fluffy, an additional 4 to 5 minutes. Stir in the vanilla extract and lemon zest.

Blend together the flour, spices and salt. Add this to the creamed butter all at once then stir with a wooden spoon or spatula for a couple of turns. Return the bowl to the stand and mix on the lowest speed until the flour is just incorporated, do not over mix. Turn out the dough onto a large piece of plastic wrap, push together to form a large flat disc, and wrap well. Refrigerate until very firm, at least 2 hours or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper or nonstick liner.

Scoop out the dough in tablespoons, roll into a ball and place on the cookie sheets, about 2 inches apart. Using a small spoon dipped in flour, press down on each ball so it form a round disc about 1/2-inch thick. The dough will be fragile but if it cracks or the dough falls apart it can be gently pressed together or reshaped. Repeat with remaining dough.

Bake the cookies until the edges are lightly golden, though the tops will still be pale, 12-14 minutes. Remove from the oven and while still warm, sprinkle generously with confectioners’ sugar. Using a spatula, carefully remove the cookies and lay out on a cooling rack.

Yield: 2 1/2 dozen.

A few months ago, when my friend Achy (whose fantastic blog you can find here) was visiting, I invited her over for a Cuban breakfast then thought better of it. For the most part, Cuban breakfast is cafe con leche and pan tostado. The coffee I could make but I have yet to find good Cuban bread north of Tampa and a latte doesn’t really justify a trek to Brooklyn. Making it an early lunch instead, I made a tortilla Española and tomato and avocado salad but wanted to offer something more.

The week before, I’d planned to make croquetas for a surprise party but they were the first item dropped when time ran short. Quickly blended with béchamel sauce, they’re supposed to be an fast solution for leftover ham, chicken or seafood but I rarely take it easy on myself. Always looking for a twist or complication, I’ve made them with chicken, peppers, and hard boiled eggs, gorgonzola and Jamón Serrano, and am thinking of a mushroom and shallots combination soon (or leeks I can’t decide). For this lunch, I wanted the same, simple ham croquetas I might have have picked up at any Cuban bakery in Miami when you’re lucky enough to find them freshly fried.

With ham filling leftover from the cangrejito pastry puffs that did make it to the party and a simple béchamel sauce, I threw them together at the last minute. With the first bite, I knew they were the best ham croquetas I’d ever made and, with the second, realized I hadn’t written anything down and couldn’t remember exactly how I’d done it. This weekend, with a pound of cooking ham once again left behind from a kitchen fail (don’t ask), I decided to retrace the steps of the earlier batch but get it all down this time. Coming this close to home, I couldn’t resist adding the short stack of saltines and lime wedges croquetas typically come with. Except for the missing mi vidas and cariños the waitresses bring with every order, it could have been a morning at Versailles. 
Croquetas de Jamón
This a very simple rendition of a fritter that can be embellished and seasoned in a million different ways. Perfect for tapas, I’m sure I’ll get more practice going into the holidays. Before frying, I heated the oil to 375 degrees, the standard temperature in most traditional recipes. Though they came out well, I think I may have had fewer eruptions if I’d lowered the heat slightly (closer to 365 degrees) which I’ll try the next time.

8 ounces cooking ham, cubed
1 tablespoon dijon mustard

3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup unbleached, all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 1/2 cups whole milk
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
Pinch of freshly ground nutmeg

2 large eggs, well beaten at room temperature
1 cup dried bread crumbs
Canola oil, for deep frying

Line a baking sheet with plastic wrap and set aside.

Combine ham and mustard in a food processor and pulse until it forms a smooth paste.

Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the flour and cook, stirring constantly until well blended but not browned, about 2 minutes.  In the meantime, gently heat the milk to a gentle simmer but do not let it boil.  Gradually stir in the milk, whisking constantly until the sauce has thickened and is pulling away from the sides of the pan. Remove from heat. Add the pureed ham and mix until well combined.  Season with salt, pepper and nutmeg.

Pour the mixture onto the lined baking sheet using a rubber spatula to spread evenly.  Bring to room temperature then cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until set, at least one hour.

Lay out 1/2 cup of flour, beaten eggs, and bread crumbs in separate mixing bowls.  Dust hands with flour and spoon the béchamel mixture into walnut sized pieces and roll into desired shape, about one tablespoon per croqueta.  One by one, roll the croquetas in flour, drop into the egg mixture with a fork or slotted spoon, then transfer to bread crumbs.  They should be completely coated in bread crumbs so they don’t leak when cooked.

Add about 3″ of oil to a large heavy skillet.  Heat over medium-high heat to 375°F (see header).  Working in batches, carefully add the croquetas.  Gently turn until brown on all sides, about 2 minutes.  Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels or re-purposed grocery paper bags. Serve immediately.

Makes 20-24 croquetas.

But Is It Cuban?
Looking back at my summer posts, I noticed a lot of limes on the side or off in the corner – standing by to restore the balance to anything too heavy, too rich, or just too fried.  With Labor Day coming up, it’s was only right to bring them front and center in a key lime pie.  I thought it would be a departure from my Latin American desserts when I came across a few references to the Cuban pastel de limón.  Made with juice from limones criollos – also known as key limes – and condensed milk, the custard is topped with meringue, and poured into a cookie crust made from galleticas Maria.  Could the key lime pie be Cuban?  According to Maria Josefa Lluria de O’Higgins, a version of the pie was brought to the Florida Keys in the late 1860′s with Cuban settlers during our war for independence.  Other alleged sources include self-made Florida millionaires, their cooks and local fisherman.  While I can’t pretend to be impartial, I will say this – creole limes, condensed milk, meringue – it certainly sound like us.

The origin of the galleticas Maria used for the crust is less ambiguous but far more grand.  I always thought Maria was the little girl in pig tails on the bright gold package of vanilla biscuits my grandmother would give us for an afternoon merienda.  Not so.  They were actually created by English confectioners Peek Freans in 1874 to commemorate the wedding of Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia and H.R.H Alfred Ernest Albert Saxe-Coburn-Gotha, the Duke of Edinburgh, Queen Victoria’s second son, in the Winter Palace of St. Petersburg.  Even now, her name, Maria or Marie (depending on where they’re made) is at the center of every one, surrounded by an intricate border, a period reference to Russian architectural design.  It’s possible that they could have made their way into the Cuban version of the Florida pie around this time though it’s hard to tell.  Popular throughout Europe and Latin America dipped in milk, coffee or tea, they were partly credited with Spain’s post-civil war recovery when a wheat surplus led to a Maria mass production.

More complicated than I’d imagined for a five ingredient pie, it made me wistful for a simpler time.  My grandparents had a key lime tree in their backyard and my grandmother would have us gather them when they rained down, hiding in the  grass and tripping us up.  Small, hard, and thorny, they weren’t pretty like lemons or juicy green like limes so I didn’t associate them with the creamy yellow pie I loved.  A hurricane in the 1926 wiped out most commercial key lime harvests in the U.S. making these scattered back yard trees that much more precious.  Though I keep a bottle of key lime juice in the refrigerator, I always buy a bag of the fresh ones, mostly imported from Mexico, when they make a rare New York appearance.  As happy as I am to find them, I kick myself a little for not appreciating them more when they were literally falling from the sky.

Pastel de Limoncitos Criollos/Key Lime Pie
Inspired by A Taste of Old Cuba by Maria Josefa Lluria de O’Higgins.  Floridians are very protective of their pie and there are disagreements about whether it should be a crumb or pastry crust, baked or not.  One thing everyone agrees on is that the pie should be yellow. Key limes turn yellow as they ripen so a toxic green custard is the sign of a bad dye job.  They can be hard to find and regular limes can be substituted, but I suggest using bottled key lime juice rather than fresh regular limes in this case.  Galletas Maria can be found in most Latin American and some large chain grocery stores and graham crackers can also be substituted.

For the crust:
30 galletas Maria (about 2 cups), well ground but not powdery*
6 tablespoons of unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
1 14-ounce can of condensed milk
4 egg yolks
1/2 cup of fresh key lime juice*
1 tablespoon lime zest

For the meringue:
4 egg whites, at room temperature
1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
Pinch of salt
1 cup of sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Grease a 9-10″ pie pan with non-stick cooking spray.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the cracker crumbs and melted butter until the mixture holds together.  Fill the prepared pan with the crumb mixture and press into the bottom and sides of the pan to form the crust.  If necessary, use a measuring cup to level the bottom and sides.  Bake 10-12 minutes until lightly browned.  Remove from oven and set aside to cool completely.  Freeze until ready to use.

Increase oven temperature to 375 degrees.

In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the egg yolks on medium until pale and fluffy.  Reduce the mixer speed and slowly add the condensed milk then the Key lime juice until well incorporated.  Pour the mixture into the pie crust (see note).

In a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg whites on low speed until foamy, about a minute.  Add a pinch of salt and cream of tartar and increase speed to medium until they hold soft peaks.  Gradually add the sugar and remaining lime zest and beat on high speed until it forms stiff peaks.

Cover the pie with the meringue and bake until lightly browned, about 12-15 minutes.  Allow to cool and completely and chill until ready to serve.

Note:  Instead of meringue, the pie can also be topped with freshly whipped cream.  At this point, bake the pie as directed then top with whipped cream before serving.

The passion fruit on its own was a little sour but combined with mango it came alive. The guava though was disappointing. Thicky and creamy with a slightly grainy texture, I added too much water then overcompensated with lime juice and zest only to get a freezing lime slushy with a pink finish. Needless to say, I went with the mango-passion fruit combo instead.

My post completed, I still had some guava pulp left so I decided to try again, using less lime and just the simple syrup to sweeten. I thought the graininess of the guava would work better as a paleta and was about commit it all to the molds when I split it up at the last moment – half went into the popscicles and the other half into a shallow baking pan to chill and shave off for a granizado. In either variation, both flavors were present, neither watered down or sweetened beyond recognition, just guayaba and limón, ice cold with tropical warmth.

Granizado de Guayaba y Limón/Paletas de Guayaba y Limón

2 cups guava pulp, fresh or frozen*
¾ cups sugar
¾ cups water
1-2 tablespoons fresh lime juice to taste
Zest of one lime

9x13x2 inch metal or glass baking pan or 6 popscicle molds

Combine the sugar and water in a small saucepan over medium heat. Stir until the sugar is completely dissolved, about 5 minutes. Set aside and cool to room temperature. Using a blender, pulse guava pulp until smooth. Add cooled syrup, a little at time, until sweetened to taste. Please note that it will lose some of its sweetness when it’s completely frozen. Blend in the lime zest and lime juice, also to taste.

To make granizados: Pour into a shallow metal or glass baking pan. Cover with aluminum foil and allow to set in the coldest part of your freezer for about one hour . Using a fork, scrape the ice crystals that have formed into the center of the pan, mashing and blending them in as you go.  Cover and return to the freezer.  Repeat every 30 minutes or so until uniformly frozen about 2-3 hours depending on your freezer.  Serve immediately or cover tightly and freeze overnight. When ready to serve, use a fork to shave off ice crystals and scoop into dessert glasses. Makes 6 servings.

To make paletas: Pour into the molds. The mixture will expand in the freezer so leave about a 1/4″ of room at the top if lidded. Freeze for at least two hours before serving.  If you have any difficulty un-molding, run the mold briefly under warm water. Makes 6 popsicles.

Feeling nostalgic for the sounds of the pressure cooker working, oil popping, and meringue whipping that once dominated my weekend soundtrack, I planned a Sunday lunch instead. I consulted an old spiral bound menu cookbook Secrets of Cuban Entertaining by Rocio LaMadriz, Piedad Robertson & Olga de Zaldo that my aunt gave me a couple of months ago. Unusually organized by the number of people you’re hosting, in categories like “unusual but elegant” and “expensive but special”, I decided on the “simple” menu of pollo frito a la Criolla with espinacas a la Catalana.

A la criolla can mean a lot of things but in this case it’s mashed garlic with oregano, cumin, salt and pepper mixed with orange and lime juice and poured over chicken thighs then covered with onions and left to marinate over night. Quickly browned (mine went almost black), the chicken’s cooked slowly with the reserved marinade. Together with steamed spinach sautéed with garlic and tossed with pine nuts and raisins and white rice, I had my lunch. Friends become family in New York where everyone is from somewhere else so it made sense to linger together through the kind of hours long, family meals we all miss on Sunday afternoons.

Pollo Frito A La Criolla/Creole Fried Chicken
Heavily adapted from Secrets of Cuban Entertaining by Rocio LaMadriz, Piedad Robertson & Olga de Zaldo. The name can be misleading because it’s fried but not breaded. After the initial browning, most other recipes called for braising the chicken over low heat and I wanted to avoid deep frying so I added those steps.

Once it’s cooked, the chicken can be removed from the pot and set under a preheated broiler for a couple of minutes to crisp the skin but should be watched closely.

2-2 1/2 pounds chicken, thighs and legs
3 large garlic cloves
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoons coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 cup fresh sour orange juice (or half fresh orange juice and half lime juice)
1 large onion, thinly sliced
1/4-1/2 cup canola oil

Place chicken in a large mixing bowl. Using a mortar and pestle or food processor, mash or grind 3 garlic cloves with spices, salt and pepper into a paste. Combine with sour orange juice.  Pour marinade over chicken pieces, top with sliced onions, cover and refrigerate for at least 3 hours or overnight.

Let excessive marinade drip off chicken and blot with a paper towel.  Reserve marinade. Heat about a 1/2 inch of oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat until hot but not smoking. Add the chicken to the skillet, skin side down until well browned, turning once, about 6 minutes on each side. Do not crowd the pan and work in batches if needed. Set browned chicken aside.

Pour out all but 2 tablespoons of the oil and sautée the onions in the skillet until soft, about 5 minutes. Add the reserved marinade and bring to a simmer. Return the browned chicken pieces to the pan and lower heat. Cover and cook until the chicken is cooked through, about 20-25 minutes.

Espinacas a la Catalana

2 bunches of spinach, well rinsed
2 tablespoons olive oil
4 cloves of garlic, finely minced
1 shallot, chopped
2 tablespoons raisins
1/4 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted
Salt and pepper to taste
Freshly grated nutmeg to taste

Heat olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium heat.  Sauté the garlic and shallots until soft, do not allow to brown, about 5 minutes. Add the spinach and cook until wilted. Season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Toss with raisins and pine nuts.

There are so many stories around the mojito but the one I hope is true is that its name comes from the African word for “mojo” or casting spells. This makes perfect sense because, as a friend pointed out, mojitos make everyone happy. Assuming all other conditions are equal and in moderation, a strong mixed drink can make someone pensive or low key, exhilerated or stupefied, wild or reckless, but a mojito – happy. It’s even hard to think of a mojito without smiling, it’s a charming little cocktail.

I was planning my sister’s surprise birthday party and was determined to have mojitos on hand but there was no time for conjuring. To make it more interesting, I had to complete a long begged for kitchen renovation just days before the party which left my sink in the hallway, my appliances in the closet, and my pots and pans behind the couch. I wish I could say I was Mary Poppins, serenely willing everything back into place with a spoonful of sugar but I was a more Miss Hannigan, whipping the orphans into shape and swearing my apartment was going to shine like the top of the Empire State Building or else. After a couple of late cleaning nights, the refrigerator was out of the living room and back in the kitchen, the shelves were restocked, and the light covering of grout dust sprinkled over everything I own was (mostly) gone.

Down to the wire with little time to prepare, I still had to decorate a cake with white chocolate butterflies, fry up a fresh batch of croquetas, and stir up the mojitos before guests got there. The croquetas never made it though the butterflies did and my pitcher of mojitos became a mix-on-demand set-up manned by my friend Lang. With everyone crowding my apartment, my sister being held up with threadbare excuses while we got our act together for the surprise, and my mother skyping in, time seemed to disappear and if it wasn’t for everyone’s helping, I would have never pulled it off. Though the party went off as well as I could have hoped and my sister was thrilled- I couldn’t get over my mojito disappointment.

My mojito in La Bodeguita, My daiquiri in El Floridita. – Ernest Hemingway

When the dust had literally settled, I decided to try my hand at the mojito again. If I could cast a spell, it would be to walk into this black and white picture of my grandparents at La Bodeguita del Medio and find out exactly what inspired Hemingway to write such a definitive, albeit back-handed compliment to the drink that made the restaurant. Instead, I asked people who I knew mixed a great one for their secrets but the responses were confusing – it could be granulated sugar (white, brown or powdered) or simple syrup, limes squeezed or muddled, club soda or ginger ale, yerba buena crushed or bruised. With so much advice, I wasn’t sure how I was going to put it all together, but I had everything I needed to make it happen and hoped that the magic would come later.

Mojito

I still can’t say that I came up with a definitive recipe but testing out a few variations, I came closer to figuring it out. I like a lot of mint, stems and all, and prefer bruising to crushing, the simple syrup mojito was smoother but I liked the taste of the one made with granulated sugar, and a mix of lemon and lime was nice but could be overpowering. Here’s a start.

12 spearmint (yerba buena) leaves with stems
1-2 teaspoons sugar or 1 ounce simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water)
1 ounce lime juice
2-3 ounces mineral water
1 1 /2 – 2 oz white rum

Muddle mint, sugar, and lime juice in a glass until the mint is just bruised. Stir in the rum and add ice. Top off with mineral water. Garnish with a sprig of mint.
Makes 1.

On a completely seperate note, there was some unsettling news in the New York Times about the future of Colombian Arabica crops due to climate change and the effects of quinoa’s growing popularity (which I’d included in my own round-up) on Bolivian communities where it’s cultivated.  Also in the Times, there was a great profile on Mexican chef Javier Plasencia in Josh Kun’s Master of a New Tijuana.  Closer to home, Eater reported Gonzalez y Gonzalez is still holding it’s own.  Initially, edged out of their Broadway/Houston corner by Chipotle, their landlord has divided the restaurant space in two so that both restaurants can co-exist side by side.  I haven’t been there in years, but I used to go often when I first moved to NYC and the sign always made me nostalgic, especially since Bayamo, the Chinese-Cuban place with the giant dragon that faced it, is long gone.  Still, some change is good and I was excited to read that Peruvian chef Gastón Acurio is bringing his chain La Mar Cebicheria to the flatiron district. On the art front, I caught the lastest installation of Cuban artists Los Carpinteros on its last day at the Sean Kelly Gallery in Chelsea which you can still see here.  If you’re in Miami this weekend, you still might catch Pablo Cano’s cake box tribute to Havana’s Ladies in White at the Kelley Roy Gallery. 

While it seems like I’ve been away for a few days, I was actually in Mexico so this blog was never far from my thoughts. Tired of waitng for spring to come, I decided to fly to it instead and was rewarded to jacaranda trees in full bloom. Back in New York where it’s still snowing in what I can only hope is an elaborate April Fool’s joke, I’ve been trying to desperately to hold on to the colors ever since. I have a lot to unpack so I’ll be posting more in the next few days.

Tarte Tentación/Ripe Plantain Tart

3-4 ripe plantains, completely yellow and black
¼ cup sugar
¼ cup dark brown sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
3 tablespoons, unsalted butter, melted plus more for greasing
2 tablespoons dark rum

For the crust:
1 1/4 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 ¼ sticks or 5 oz. unsalted butter, cubed and held cold until needed
2-3 tablespoons of ice water

To make the crust, sift together all dry ingredients and pulse in the food processor, 1-2 pulses to distribute evenly.  Add the butter and pulse together until the butter flakes into pea-size pieces.  Add ice water gradually until it begins to just hold together.

Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured surface.  For the fraisage or final blending, smear the dough a few spoonfuls at a time across the board with the heel of your hand.  Gather the dough with a scrapper and form into a mound.  Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 1 hour or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.  Grease a 9” pie plate or rectangular baking pan with butter.

Combine the sugars, cinnamon and salt in a small bowl.  Peel and slice the plantains in half horizontally.  Sprinkle the bottom of the greased pan evenly with half of the sugar mixture.  Lay the plantains cut side up in the pan so that they’re packed in side by side.  Drizzle the plantains with the rum and top with the remaining sugar.  Finally, pour the melted butter over the plantains.

On a lightly floured board, roll out dough to about 1/8″ thick.  Prick the dough with a fork in several places to allow the steam to escape.  Lay the dough over the plantains, lightly pressing down so that they are entirely covered, folding the corners back on itself.  Place in the lower third of the oven and bake until the crust is lightly browned and the sugar has caramelized, 45-60 minutes.

Remove from oven and unmold while still warm.  Set a serving dish over baking pan and carefully flip.   Serve warm with whipped cream or ice cream.

Serves 4-6.

If I was going to give in and create a Valentine’s Day post, I wanted reflect my own ambivalence and said it with playing cards.  This cake would have hearts of course but clubs, spades and diamonds too.  After all, is love a question of fate, written in the stars, a direct hit from a bratty cherub or just the luck of the draw?  I considered using fresh guavas but they can be hard to find in New York.  Worried that guava paste would be too heavy, I used it for decoration instead.  Fortunately, I had a couple of cans of poached guava shells left that were just right, sweet but not cloying.  Rich, decadent, and French-sky pink, it helped me believe there are worse things than having a day set apart to celebrate obscure Roman saints, love and friendship.

Of course, in many Latin American countries Saint Valentine’s Day goes by el día de los enamorados.  “Los enamorados” referring to couples in love – happy, content, and ready to celebrate Hallmark holidays on any given weekday – or just the people who love – the enamored.  I may be biased but I prefer the latter interpretation.  Everyone warns against being the one who loves too much so I’d rather think that the holiday celebrates them instead since more often than not the deck is stacked against them.  Feliz día de los enamorados.
Tarta de Queso y Guayaba/Guava Cheesecake

For the crust:
30 galletas Maria (about 2 cups), well ground but not powdery
6 tablespoons of unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
1 ½ pounds cream cheese, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 14.5 ounce can poached guava shells, well drained
2 tablespoons orange juice
Freshly grated zest from one large orange
1 tablespoon dark rum
¼ cup flour
½ teaspoon salt
4 eggs
1 egg yolk

Optional glaze and decoration:
¼ cup guava jelly
4 oz. guava paste

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the cracker crumbs and melted butter until the mixture holds together.  Fill the prepared pan with the crumb mixture and press into the bottom of the pan to form the crust.  If necessary, use a measuring cup to level the bottom.  Bake 9-10 minutes until lightly browned.  Remove from oven and set aside to cool completely.  Tightly wrap the bottom of the pan in aluminum foil and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.

Combine the guava shells, orange juice, zest and room in a food processor or blender and puree until smooth.  Set aside.

In an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the cream cheese on medium speed till smooth about one minute.  Slowly add the sugar and continue to beat on medium high until light and fluffy, about 5 additional minutes.  Reduce speed and blend in guava-orange mixture and flour.  Add the eggs one at a time, blending well after each additional and periodically scraping down the sides of the bowl until combined.  Pour the filling into the prepared pan.

To prepare the baño de María, place the pan in a larger baking pan.  Pour enough hot water into the pan so that it comes about halfway up the sides of the mold.  Carefully place both pans in the oven and bake for one hour and 15 minutes.  Turn off the oven and cool in the oven for an additional hour.  Remove from oven and chill for at least four hours or overnight.

Cut guava paste in 1/4″ thick slices.  Using small aspic cutter, punch out small forms in desired shapes from guava paste as additional decoration.  Press into the surface of the cheesecake.

Heat guava jelly over medium heat until melted, about 3-5 minutes.  Lightly brush top of the cake with glaze.

Slice and serve.