The art of popover perfection

BY LINDA BASSETT

I am a cook. Not a baker. Not a pastry chef. I do not bake cakes, cupcakes, pies, breads or pizza from scratch. But from time to time, I am prompted by occasion, necessity, emergency — or ego. Never if the item must be kneaded, rolled or yeast risen.

My pies are prepared with gluten-free pie shells from Crosby’s Market. (This has nothing to do with gluten. These New England-produced pie shells are much superior than any of the national brands.) I soak my cakes, from a mix, drizzled with enough liqueur or topped with enough fresh fruit and whipped cream to thoroughly mask the chemical taste often present in a mix.

Several years ago, when I took my chef’s exam, bread was on the list of the requirements. I chose to make quick bread. No yeast. No proofing. And, it was easy to remember the recipe. I refused to waste time rolling out dough that I might need to defang a monkfish or shell a lobster.

Motherhood is a reason to bake. When my daughter turned five, she wished for a “castle tower” birthday cake, multicolored sparkles on each layer. I borrowed four graduated cake pans from a pastry chef buddy and baked a cupcake for the top. (Actually I had to bake a whole batch of cupcakes to yield just one for the top turret.) When I put the cake together, the slippery frosting eased the layers into a tilt. I grabbed long skewers, the kind used for toasting marshmallows, and stabbed them through all the layers to anchor them from top to bottom. Still the layers refused to stand upright, so the cake turned out to be a rainbow-hued leaning tower of Pisa. I nearly cried. But, my daughter, seeing the confection through her little girl eyes, pronounced it the most beautiful birthday cake ever!

Today, I’ve thoroughly mastered one baked good from scratch: popovers. These large somewhat bready things emit a deliriously delicious puff of steam when opened. It is a smaller version of the English Yorkshire pudding, the recipe that traditionally partners with roast beef. This very simple whisking together of flour, eggs and milk, cooked in a hot oven in a pan of scalding meat drippings. No yeast. Yet they rise!

Most people think that baking popovers is a difficult project, all that fuss over whether or not they will rise. Yet, it isn’t that difficult to turn out a decent batch. In our household, we consider them special occasion brunch food. And in spite of the many mimosas guzzled during preparation, they manage to pop nearly every time. Why do they perk up when other popovers lie listlessly at the bottom of the pan? Basically I stick to a few tricks I’ve worked out over years of practice.

I use a pan specifically made for popovers. Those shallow muffin tins work only when the mood moves them. Maybe they’re too shallow to carry the heat upward. Even when the oven is pumped up to 450 degrees Fahrenheit!

For ingredients, I use largesize eggs (not extra) and real butter or vegetable shortening. And always whole milk. I sit these ingredients on the countertop until they reach room temperature before starting. Popping failure can result from cold ingredients.

Batter ready, I prep the pans. Whatever amount of butter (or shortening) seems too much is not enough! Double the effort and thickness gets it into the seams. I made this discovery teaching a children’s cooking class. The enthusiastic little fingers did a thoroughly messy job “greasing the pans” and the popovers slipped out easily when done.

I pour the batter nearly to the top of each well in the pan. Not all the way, just over three-quarters.

The baking pan goes on the center rack of the 450 F oven, with lots of head room for rising. I turn the heat down immediately(!), and watch them rise through the window. NEVER open the oven door to peek. Why? Because an oven door will invariably slam closed, even a little bit, and deflate all the nice poofy batter.

Popovers

MAKES 6

Serve these hot from the oven with butter and jam. Alternatively, slit them open to fill with scrambled eggs and smoked salmon or homemade meat pie filling.

` Butter or vegetable shortening

`

2 large eggs

`

1 cup all-purpose flour

`

1 cup whole milk

` Pinch of salt

Preheat the oven to 425 F. Grease the insides of a 6-well popover pan thickly.

Blend the eggs, flour and milk in a food processor or blender until smooth. Alternatively, hand-whisk or use a stick blender.

Pour an equal amount of batter into each well, filling nearly to the top.

Transfer the pan to the oven. Immediately turn the heat down to 400F. Bake for 20 minutes. By now, they will be tall, puffed and golden.

Remove from the oven and gently pierce the tops with the point of a knife to allow steam to escape. Wait three to five minutes before removing them from the baking pan. To get them out of the pan in one piece, run a very thin knife, a boning or paring knife, around the edges to loosen them. Serve them still hot before all the steam escapes.

BY COURT MERRIGAN

There are vast stretches of Wyoming where you go days without encountering another person. The solitude becomes the very reason to venture there. I’ve been going up into the mountains in Medicine Bow National Forest since before I could walk, and I took my own kids there from the same age. Every time I came down off the mountain back to civilization into cell phone service and my phone exploded with notifications, it felt like being wrenched from paradise.

Now I live in the Northeast, where civilization stretches west for days from the deep green sea. More people pass by my house in one afternoon than I might see in Wyoming in a solid month, and every time I drive down Route 1A I share the road with roughly Wyoming’s entire population. By way of comparison, the population density of Marblehead is 4,656 souls per square mile. The population density of Goshen County, Wyoming? Six. (Not a typo).

So imagine my surprise when the other day I found myself all alone in Steer Swamp.

Now, the sign for Steer Swamp off Beacon Street indicates the area comprises 48 acres. I’ll admit my inner hiking snob scoffed just a touch. Medicine Bow National Forest encompasses 1.1 million acres. (That makes 88 Marbleheads, for those of you counting at home.) I expected the experience to be something like a stroll through a public park. Some trees, some picnickers. Carefully tended grass.

Well, friends, when I’m wrong, I’m wrong. Within moments of stepping on the trail the street sounds vanished, replaced by birdsong and shifting branches. I followed the meticulously maintained trail down to a pond that would not have been out of place in a vaster wilderness. Brooks babbled underfoot. The trees were mature and healthy. This is a credit to the fine folks of the Marblehead Conservancy, who do the hard work of keeping our local natural spaces natural. I was particularly impressed by the wood chipping along the trails that prevents erosion and ruts.

Hard to believe, but I didn’t encounter another person during the hour that I spent traversing the trails. Talk about a truly unexpected surprise. My professional life centers on people and relationships, and I embrace the possibilities in every new person I’ve gotten to know here. Nonetheless, solitude matters too. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the feeling until I stood alone under that winter canopy.

But the day wasn’t done with me. That evening, I attended my first yoga class.

About a year ago, my partner (she of the sea witches from my last column) asked if I’d like to join her daily hardcore fitness regimen.

Just show up and hit “play” on the streaming video, she said, and she’d help coach me remotely, as she traveled for work and I was in Wyoming. The workouts would include yoga. At the time, I wore boots every day, owned farmland (still do), and drove a pickup truck. I was skeptical that yoga and I were a match. But darn sure she and I were, so I said yes.

Now, I give my best effort to everything I do, but I am also somewhat less flexible than pig iron. You likely have a wrench in your garage that can touch its toes more easily than I can. Fortunately, my partner sticks with me as I sweat myself into clumsy approximations of yoga positions while she dives into a chaturanga with the grace of a dancer.

Ever thoughtful, my partner thought I might like to try out a real yoga class with a live instructor, so she gifted me some yoga sessions down at The Yoga Loft for my birthday. She even promised to come with me. I do admit to some trepidation as I envisioned sleek pros pretzeling themselves into nirvana as I toppled over at the basics. But I’m nothing if not game. I figured I could hang at the rear while my partner made us both look good.

But here again I was surprised! The lights were dim, the music was soft and my classmates were folks just like me. No one seemed to mind my struggles. An hour is a long time for me to do yoga, but the time flowed with ease as I basked in the calm of the collective effort. Much like the way the Marblehead Conservancy maintains the reservations, the Yoga Loft made the practice into something more than just a workout.

The two of us walked out refreshed and determined to return, just as I will surely return to Steer Swamp. That’s the thing I’ve noticed about these Marblehead first-time experiences – I always want to come back for another round. Ask the Cranks. I’m now a regular with the group.

If you’ve got an idea, shoot me an email at court. merrigan@gmail.com or catch up with me on the Current Facebook page. Thanks to those who’ve reached out so far! I’ll be back soon with another edition of “My Marblehead First Time.” orbs that will be hidden along trails in town for people to find and keep.

Wyoming transplant Court Merrigan is a new Marblehead resident. His column, “My Marblehead First Time,” appears regularly in the Current.

Charles wants to work with local restaurants to get them more involved in the festival. And “there will be more theater and music,” she said.

Charles has three main goals for the festival this year:

» Attract a younger crowd of people 25-40 years old. “We need to think about what we’re doing for them,” she said.

Partner more closely with artists and organizations throughout Essex County to make the festival more of a regional event.

» Raise money for student scholarships.

» She also hopes people start to see the festival as more than just a weekend event.

“There are so many ways to touch the festival,” she said. “There’s the holiday marketplace in December and the logo contest in February. In May, we’ll focus on restaurants and the 5K. In June, there’s the champagne reception.”

Charles runs LCG Brands, a marketing firm with international clients. LCG stands for La Capoise Galerie, a nod to her Haitian heritage. She has worked as deputy press secretary for Gov. Mitt Romney, a producer for the “Matty in the Morning” radio show, and on New England Cable News. She hosts the podcast Minding Your Business, which has featured several Marbleheaders.

In all of her jobs, storytelling has been key, Charles says. And the festival will be no different.

“We want to capture and share the history of the festival,” she said. “We are a town of talented people. It’s mind blowing.”

Learn more about the Marblehead Festival of Arts at marbleheadfestival.org.