Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baking. Show all posts

27 September 2010

Things That Are Dairy-Free: Chocolate Cake

Over the last several months, since we discovered The Imp's allergy to all things milk, I've been looking for dairy-free substitutes for some of my old tried-and-true favourites. I refuse to accept that having an allergy means all the fun stuff is off-limits! For chocolate cake, fortunately, my old tried-and-true was already dairy-free, a fact I didn't even realize until I really started paying attention. The cake is actually vegan, although that's not its raison-d'ĂȘtre. It's not from a vegan or health-food cookbook, in fact it's adapted from the most basic of cookbooks: Betty Crocker's New Cookbook, which I've had forever. (I have the 8th edition.) It's deliciously moist and chocolatey, and dead simple to make. It's been my go-to cake recipe for years - long before The Imp's allergy made it a necessity.

Toddler approved! The Imp enjoys his 2nd birthday cake.


This post also features this cake (with photos), in our life pre-non-dairy. So easy a toddler can make it!

The recipe below makes one layer in a 8 inch square or round pan. For two layers, make the recipe twice. For three, make it three times, etc. For a larger cake like the one pictured in this post, double the recipe and bake each layer in a 13 x 9 inch pan.

I haven't tried it, but I'm sure you could make cupcakes with this recipe too - the cooking time would be much shorter.

Anyway, on to the ingredients:

1 2/3 cups flour
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/4 cup pure baking cocoa powder (I like
Fry's)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup water
1/3 cup vegetable oil (I use canola)
1 teaspoon white vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla


Heat oven to 350 degrees F.

And here's why it's so easy. Mix all the dry ingredients with a fork right in the cake pan - ungreased. Then stir in all the wet ingredients. When well mixed, stick it in the oven for about 30 - 40 minutes. VoilĂ .

That's the recipe more or less as it appears in the book. I often have a heavier hand with the cocoa powder, using 1/3 of a cup - how can cake be too chocolatey, I ask you? Also since I'm not a fan of super-sweet, I go a bit lighter on the sugar - a scant cup, unpacked.

My oven tends to run a bit hot, so I start checking it at the 25 minute mark. When a toothpick inserted in the centre comes out clean, it's done. Baking too long will result in a dry, crumbly cake. So don't do that!

I usually make 2 - 3 layers at once, then assemble them with jam and/or fresh fruit as a filling between the layers and pour melted chocolate chips (the Safeway Organic brand chocolate chips are a rare dairy-free option) thinned with soymilk over the top as a ganache-style frosting.

I am, however, looking for good dairy-free frosting recipes. Suggestions welcome!

11 June 2010

Things I'm Learning - Milk Allergies

The Imp was a pretty mellow baby. He cried when his diaper needed changing, when he was gassy, when he was overtired. But he was happy to be handed around to willing arms, grinned his toothless grin to any friendly face that came within range, and slept through the night at six months of age.

Then he became a toddler. From about 14 months on, there were temper tantrums. His willful independence started to assert itself. His stubborn temperament began to make itself known.

I can't imagine where he gets any of these traits.

Ahem.

A natural stage of childhood, I assumed. And it was. All part of the transition from dependent infant to independent little person, I thought. And it was. The lead up to the dreaded "Terrible Twos", I reassured myself. And it was. It was all those things - but turned up to eleven. Everyday simple things would cause extreme reactions. Aggression. Anger. Total lack of impulse control. My kid (that gentle, happy, cooing baby) had become that kid. The one that would. not. sleep. ever. The one that Did Not Play Well With Others. The one that bit other kids, that pushed the littler kids over at daycare. The brat that erupted into screaming, shrieking tantrums that would last an hour and a half, six or seven times a day, over nothing. The one that, when told not to do something, looked at us, oozing defiance, and did it anyway. And did it again and again, no matter what reasoning, cajoling, or expert-sanctioned behaviour modification strategies we threw in his direction. The child that bit, hit, kicked, head butted, and actually spit at us when we tried to change his diaper, or put his shoes on, or give him breakfast. We had THAT kid.

One of the really little guys at daycare actually cringed whenever The Imp went near him.

I was horrified. And mortified. And pretty sure that I must be the worst parent who ever lived to have spawned this awful, impossible to control child. I was pretty near the hairy edge of what I could deal with, so stressed that my stomach was literally tied in knots, causing me such pain that I spent big chunks of entire days curled into a ball on the floor. I was so frustrated, I wept daily.

It was awful. But it was our normal, and I didn't know what we were doing wrong.

Then my dad came to stay with us for a few days.

And he gently pointed out that the behaviour we were dealing with was very reminiscent of what he had experienced with my sister when she was about the same age. She'd also had uncontrollable anger and behaviour issues, which through trial and error (and terror that she would have to be medicated or institutionalized) they learned was caused by an allergy to milk. Dad said that within six hours of eliminating milk from her diet, she was an entirely different child.

The clouds parted. The angels sang.

Even though I was aware of my sister's milk allergy, even though HWSNBN and I had discussed, way back when I was pregnant, the possibility of different things being handed down from either of our families, it never occurred to me to associate The Imp's behaviour with his food. And I never wanted to be that mom. You know the one - the one who makes excuses for her "perfect" child's gawdawful behaviour.

Hearing my dad describe the uncanny similarities between The Imp's rage and my sister's childhood, it was like getting permission to explore whether his terrifying behaviour maybe, just maybe, wasn't our fault.

photo credit: luvi on flickr

The next morning, The Imp was a very different little boy. It literally was like day and night. Diaper change? No problem. Getting dressed in the morning? Easy peasy. Drop off time at daycare, which had become a half hour ordeal of screaming every day? "Bye bye Mummy. See you later!" as he ran off to play with the other kids.

And he stayed that way for the several days we managed to keep milk out of his diet. He slept better. The aggression towards the other kids at daycare melted away overnight. Small upsets could be addressed with words, and hugs, and kisses. The difference was gobsmacking.

Then he had some cheese at lunch one day through an oversight on my part.

The onslaught of his towering rage that evening was mind. numbing. Right back to hitting, spitting, biting, head butting fury.

Clear cause and effect.

It's been about a month now. There's been accidental ingestion of milk products a handful of times. Every single time has resulted in the same off the charts uncontrollable behaviour.

The takeaway:

1) Lactose intolerance and milk allergies are not the same thing. Lactose is the sugar in milk, and intolerance usually leads to gastro-intestinal distress of varying degrees. Milk products can often still be used, as long as something like Lactaid is taken with, or lactose is removed from the finished product. A milk allergy, on the other hand, is usually a reaction to proteins in milk, like casein or whey. Reactions run the gamut from skin rash and hives to anaphylactic shock. Behaviour issues are less common, but do exist, at least anecdotally.

2) Milk ingredients are in everyfuckingthing. Read labels some time; look for whey or casein. Almost all processed food, even that labeled "lactose-free" has some kind of milk ingredient in it. Hot dogs. Hot dog buns. Most margarines contain milk ingredients. Crackers, bread & other baked goods: the ones that don't say "milk ingredients" outright on the label usually contain whey powder, and if the label says "enriched flour", it's likely milk ingredients that do the "enriching" even if no milk ingredients are listed on the label. Caramel colour, found in many processed foods, including Coca-Cola, (incidentally, do you know how hard it is to find ingredient lists or nutrition information on Coca Cola's own website?) is often derived from casein. If you don't make it from scratch, odds are good it's got some kind of milk in it.

3) Can't substitute goat's milk, or sheep milk, or any other mammal's milk. (Except human, apparently, as The Imp seemed to have no problem with my own supply.)

4) You don't "grow out" of a milk allergy. Symptoms may change over time, but the immune system's response does not magically disappear. My sister, now in her 30's, still struggles with it.

5) I cannot possibly express the depth of my gratitude for my father's perceptive observations and his gentle approach in sharing them with us. Had he not come to visit at that moment, noticed the similarities 30-odd years apart, and spoken up about them, it's difficult to imagine what our life would be like now. It really was becoming more than I could bear. I didn't realize how much it was affecting me until it went away. Don't get me wrong, The Imp is still a two year old. There are still tantrums of the stomping feet and being obstinate when thwarted variety, but words can be used to address them, they're over quickly, and they happen a few times a week instead of all day long every day.

6) I'm no doctor. I don't even play one on TV. I am far from qualified to offer any kind of medical, psychological, or psychiatric advice. Even my parenting advice, well, take it with a grain of salt, I'm figuring it out on the fly, just like everyone else. But for the love of all things holy, and possibly your own sanity, if you have a child with behaviour issues, at least be open to the idea of exploring food allergies as a contributing factor. I'm not saying every child on Ritalin just needs to stop consuming milk. But if there's a chance that behaviour issues are exacerbated by food allergies, isn't that worth at least investigating? We didn't do our homework a few evenings ago and accidentally gave The Imp milk - his behaviour until we finally managed to get him to sleep? A couple hundred years ago would've merited an exorcism. It was agony watching him go through that - he was literally howling and writhing in his fury - and knowing we had unwittingly caused it by giving him a chock full o'milk ingredients hot dog for dinner at the beach really made me feel like the worst mom ever. Perhaps with some justification this time.


So in answer to the question "Got Milk?" in our house the answer is now a resounding "Hell, no!" and I'm on the hunt for truly dairy free products. I've had some luck with kosher and vegan stuff, and I've been adapting recipes I know and love by substituting rice- or soymilk for regular milk, and vegetable or olive oil for butter, but I'm wondering if anyone can steer me in the direction of some great, absolutely 100% dairy free resources. Websites (preferably not of the hysterical-omg-you-guys-milk-causes-autism variety), books, organizations... Help?

18 April 2010

Food Revolution Fridays - Blueberry Pie Redux

I know it's not Friday, but the blueberry pie post I wrote last week got some enthusiastic response! As such, I thought it deserved an update once the actual pie-making took place. Which happened today.

Hence, this little photo-essay:
First, have your toddler stir together the ingredients.



Make sure he has a beverage handy.

Keep him at it until it looks more or less like this.

Spread waxed paper on a damp surface.

Place pastry dough in the middle of the waxed paper.

Prepare for rolling out.

Unorthodox rolling pin technique or salute to the pastry gods? You be the judge!

Expire of the cuteness.

Remove top sheet of waxed paper,

and transfer rolled out dough to pie plate.

This is what the flour/sugar/lemon juice looked like, proportion wise, this time.

Pour the filling into the pie plate and set aside. Somewhere out of your toddler's reach, preferably, because if you don't...

...this is what happens.

I did mention that I like to overfill my pies, right? And you're not suffering double-vision from the length of this post. We had to make two pies for dinner tonight - 11 people.

Dot with butter. Mmmm, butter.

Not my best lattice top, but it'll do.

Have your toddler tidy up a little while pie's in the oven.

Finished product.


However, the possibility does exist that I may have used one or two (hundred) too many blueberries. You should see the bottom of my oven.

Off for dinner, pies in hand. Happy Sunday, everyone!

21 March 2010

Things I've Learned - Helping Mummy!

My sister-in-law is celebrating her 50th birthday today. I'm the designated birthday-cake-maker in the family, so this morning I was up early looking through recipes for something worthy of the occasion. Cake, filling & frosting chosen, I got out ingredients and got ready to bake. The Imp picked that very moment to become desperately in need of my attention, clinging to my leg and insisting "Up, Mummy!" repeatedly. He WOULD NOT like to go read books with Daddy, thank you very much.

He was, however, delighted to help me stir flour, sugar, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt together.



And the problem with child labour would be...?



Well, I guess the problem with child workers is their tendency to eat the product.

Given that The Imp a) never stops moving, and b) has the attention span of a... well, an almost 2 year old, I was surprised at how diligent he was about stirring things together. He stuck with it until it was all mixed together, and then worked at it again once we added the wet ingredients. I can't even begin to describe how much fun he had - and how much I loved it. It's not often I recognize those perfect moments for what they are as they're happening. This morning I knew. As I stood there next to him, The Imp dressed in his too-big hand-me-down jammies on the chair pulled up to the kitchen counter, fork in hand, enthusiastically stirring cake batter, I knew.

This was one of those moments. I was so overcome with happiness that I had to struggle not to cry. I will remember the look on his face until the day I die. He was perfectly happy, stirring with purpose, saying proudly as he smiled up at me, "Helping Mummy!"

Happy sigh.


Daddy held him at a safe distance while the cakes went in to the oven.

Cake layers cooling on racks prior to filling/frosting
Far left is the layer The Imp made



Right then, dabbing a wee speck of sentiment from my eyes, on to frosting.


The genesis of cream cheese frosting


Add pure cocoa powder & icing sugar

Like most things in life, it needed more chocolate...

...and Kahlua.

And strawberries & whipped cream, of course.


Now for the assembly:


At this point in the process, I had to stop taking photos as things were getting a little messy. The four layers stacked were somewhat lacking in structural integrity. (Let's just say it's not an earthquake-proof cake.) And then the cream cheese frosting wasn't sticking to the whipped cream and the whole thing threatened to devolve into not so much cake as birthday pudding. I live in fear of the car journey to my sister-in-law's house.

I did manage to use ALL the frosting and filling, so.



The finished product:




The takeaway:

My husband and I were talking this afternoon about the things we remember from our childhood; the things that made us really happy. For him it was going skating with his whole family every weekend in the winter. For me it was sitting under a tropical night sky with my dad and having him teach me the constellations of the southern hemisphere.

We realized one of those Important Truths. It's not the fancy birthday party, the cool new bike, the "event" moments in our childhood that stick with us. It's the simple time spent standing on a kitchen chair with your mom stirring together your first cake.