Vegan lemon olive oil cake

Vegan baking is not something I ever imagined really getting into while I was in high school or college. I did bake a few vegan brownie recipes while in college because someone I worked with one summer inspired me with her own veganism. But I always thought of vegan baking as annoying because of all the substitutions that have to be made, and how not intuitive it all is. Eggs are typically used as a binder for cakes, cookies, and pancakes, so what do you use in place of them? The two major options in the realm of vegan baking seem to be a) flax egg (1 Tbsp ground flaxseed to 3 Tbsp water), and 2) aquafaba, which is a term for the bean liquid left in a can of garbanzo beans (chickpeas). How do you get buttery or creamy richness without butter or cream? You can use a rich oil like coconut oil or olive oil, or you can make cashew cream with soaked cashews blended with some water.

Once I started reading about all the alternatives, I realized it actually wasn’t that hard after all. But you can’t really just tweak a recipe and make 1:1 substitutes to make it vegan. You really have to start from scratch. And so I had this vegan lemon olive oil cake bookmarked for ages, but I never made it until today. I got inspired to make it after the non-vegan orange olive oil cake was such a hit at Chris’s mom’s cousin’s place a couple months ago, and I wanted to see how I could make a version of that cake but a) not use as much olive oil and b) not use as many eggs, or any eggs at all, as that recipe I originally used calls for a LOT!). All these ingredients can get really expensive. Plus, we’re living in high inflation times. And for baking, I rarely have heavy cream or cream cheese on hand, so it would be nice to get substitutes that are more pantry-based. This recipe had no egg substitute. I wondered if it would really bind together well or if it would totally fall apart. But I had been following this vegan baking blogger for ages, and she had over 68 5-star reviews, so I figured it had to be a pretty good recipe. I also thought it would turn out well when I saw metric measurements noted on her site. Ever since I got my cheap $10 digital kitchen scale, I don’t think I can go back to regular measuring cups for baking anymore. It’s so exact, and it’s just fun!

So I mixed the batter, added it to my greased, parchment-lined loaf pan, and baked it in the oven for 60 minutes. I let it cool and then unmolded it. Then I took it out and had a small slice, and wow – the edge piece was really crunchy, and the lemon and olive oil flavor really came out beautifully. The crumb was very moist and tight — not even a remote sign of falling apart. I used 10 grams less sugar because it just seemed like a lot of sugar, and the cake was just sweet enough to be called dessert.

I’m planning to share this cake with some neighbors, one of whom just had her second baby. I can’t wait to tell them that this cake is vegan!


I took a walk this afternoon to enjoy the warmer temperatures and decided to stop by Whole Foods to see what was on sale. Among sunchokes, mangoes, and buckwheat flour, I also picked up a whole heavy head of cabbage. I realize that since I’ve moved to New York, I’ve probably only purchased cabbage once, and it was to make a dumpling filling, not to eat it on its own. I brought it home, chopped it up, and stir fried it with garlic, Sichuanese peppercorns, Thai chilies, and a little soy sauce and Chinese black vinegar. It was a modified version of my mom’s stir-fried cabbage growing up. Sometimes, she’d stir-fry it with a little pork or dried shrimp, while other times, she’d simply add garlic, salt, and pepper to it. Regardless, when I took a bite tonight despite my minor additions, it was a familiar flavor, one that reminded me of eating dinners at our dinner table in that house atop a San Francisco hill. It’s a simple and humble dish — nothing fancy and nothing to jump up and down about, but the familiarity is comforting to me (and the added benefit is that after reading How Not to Die, I realized exactly how good cabbage is for you, especially the red kind!).

Today’s generation of parents complain and say they have no time to cook for their kids, which is how they justify giving their kids fast food, buying takeout many days of the week, among other junk food that isn’t particularly varied or nutritious. The thought stresses me out, too; when I come home from a long day at work, the last thing I really want to do is cook a full meal. That’s why most of the cooking I do is on the weekends, but the downside of that is that we end up eating most of the same food repetitively during the week, which also isn’t really what I want my future kids to do (and I’m sure they would whine). I wonder how I will balance all that in my own life. But because I associate stir-fried cabbage with my mom, I wonder if she ever really thought of the concept of “balance,” or if for her, it was just a given that she’d have to deal with two jobs — her paid work as well as raising two kids and running a household. My dad made his meatloaves and five-spiced chicken and baked “fried” chicken more as hobbies rather than to put food on the table; my mom’s goal was more practical: dinner on the table ASAP. I wonder if she ever resented my dad for never doing more around the house or cooking meals, or expecting her to prepare the majority of what we ate. I have a feeling if I ever asked this, she would not respond well.

A fond repeated memory I have is of the days when I’d see my mom eating something different than Ed and me, and I’d look over at her dish and ask what she’s eating.

“Leftovers,” she’d respond, mid-mouthful.

“Leftovers? You mean yesterday’s salmon?”

She’d nod.

“It smells different, though,” I’d say.

“I added nuoc mam (Vietnamese fish sauce) to it,” she’d say.

“Can I have some?” I’d ask.

“Yvonne, you eat your food I cooked. This food is old, and I don’t want you to eat old leftovers.” She’s getting annoyed at this point and just wants me to eat my food and shut up.

“But you’re eating the leftovers. Why can’t I eat them, too?” I’d ask.

“Because your mommy doesn’t want to waste food, and someone needs to eat it. Just eat your food.”

“Can I have some of yours? Please? It looks good.” Somehow, she always made her “old” food look good. And in my eyes and nose, it always seemed to smell and taste better than what was on my plate.

She’d stop eating and smile, like her heart was melting that I wanted to eat the “old” food when she wanted me to eat the “new” food. “Well, the nuoc mam does make everything taste better,” she’d say. And she’d proceed to add a few spoonfuls of her food into my dish.

Everyone has happy memories of their childhood. This is one of mine.



Chopped up turkey

I went to the Whole Foods in the Upper East Side after work tonight to pick up an 11.15-pound free-range whole turkey in preparation for my early Thanksgiving feast this weekend. My oven is a sad, small Manhattan oven, so there’s no way I’d be able to roast the bird whole. So the last few years, I’ve asked the butcher at the meat counter to cut it up for me. This year, I came to request it to be chopped up, and the meat guys behind the counter said the butcher had already left, but they’d cut it up as best as they could. But they warned me that they’d never cut up a turkey before, so to not be too disappointed if the pieces didn’t turn out too pretty.

“Isn’t a turkey really just an over-sized chicken?” I asked the meat guys quizzically. “You guys cut up chickens all day, right?” Yes, they do.

It came out fine. I also made sure they cut up the back bone and put it back in the bag. “You want the back bone, too?” Damn right, I do. I’m not paying for a whole turkey to then have them take away the freaking back bone. That’s for my future stock.

Then, I lugged my big bird all the way home along with a pint of eggnog ice cream on sale. I only walked about ten blocks back to my apartment, but I already felt strained carrying this bird, along with a five-pound bag of flour and a two-pound bag of sugar. As I walked down to my street, I remembered all those years when I prepared Thanksgiving feasts at my Elmhurst apartment, and I went all over Manhattan to multiple stores (because of my food quality anality) and brought all my foodstuff supplies back to my Queens apartment. I never thought much about the inconvenience of buying things in one borough and carrying them back to another. I just did it because it had to be done. Now, I’m spoiled for convenience and dislike carrying weight in general.

It’s interesting how times have changed in my life. And in the next stage of my life, I may have a car and drive groceries instead of carrying a grocery bag even one block.

Dead yeast

I love making bread. There are few things more amazing to me than the smell of fresh bread being baked in my oven at home, especially when that bread is either eggy, buttery, or a delicious combination of both. Unfortunately, since I’ve moved into this apartment over three years ago, I haven’t made a real yeast bread. The closest I’ve come to using yeast in this apartment was using it for appam earlier this year, and that, while edible, was a disaster in terms of how long it took to cook.

So for whatever reason, I bought instant yeast years ago, and I had no idea whether it was still alive or even how to test it. I know how to test dry active yeast, but I had no clue on how to test instant. So I did what anyone might do and just proceeded to use it in the challah recipe I wanted to use for my early Thanksgiving celebration this weekend, and I convinced myself it would work.

And then after two “risings,” I took photos and compared the before and after. I wasn’t sure if the dough had really risen, or if it was just my eyes trying to make me believe it did. It seemed too stiff and not airy at all… And the final verdict? The dough baked into a hard long brick. And I had a big mess to clean up after and no edible bread to eat.

I’m never buying instant yeast ever again. And the remaining instant yeast packet, which I bought around the same time a few years ago, also went into the trash with my sad dead yeast dough.

Bridal and bachelorette scrapbook

I spent almost all of today working on my bridal shower and bachelorette scrapbook. I saved all the cards, written memories shared during the shower, and even some of the wrapping paper and ribbon used to wrap my bridal shower gifts to compile this scrapbook using the memory book my friends got me. I’ve realized a big reason that scrapbooking can be so stressful; it forces me to hoard and save what most people generally will just throw away. So not only do I have to save a lot of “junk” and discardable material, but I have to organize it in such a way that it’s kept neat and in a certain order so I remember the timeline for the events in the order that they happened.

I finished it, though – 22 pages of documented events over the course of three days. I put a lot of work and thought into it, and I’m keeping it for myself as a treasure book of what my loved ones did for me.

Turkey carcass jook

The one time my mom ever accused me of being cheap was when I saved bones from a chicken that we just finished eating for the purpose of freezing them to make future stock. This is so memorable because I think cheapness in general runs in every Asian family, so it’s almost in our DNA to be as frugal as possible and save money even when we don’t need to; I spend most of my time wondering why my family is so cheap, and here my mom is, admonishing me for being cheap! We’re not necessarily cheap all around, but we are cheap when it comes to spending money on ourselves, particularly luxury items (and sometimes, sadly, a “luxury” item in my family’s eyes is just a new pair of jeans to replace the pair that has thinned out and has holes at the crotch).

I was thinking about this tonight as I pulled out all the turkey bones and carcass from the freezer that I saved from our early Thanksgiving celebration this past November. It’s going to contribute to the turkey/chicken jook I am making tomorrow. The best jook is made from homemade stock, which is made from real bones; I don’t do canned stock for this ever. My mom (and grandma when she was around) detests canned stock for jook; it’s blasphemous. She almost always uses a whole chicken when she makes jook and just cooks it down completely. She still thinks I am odd and cheap for saving bones, but I do it anyway. Maybe in a weird way, I get that form of frugality from her even if she doesn’t want to admit it.

Christmas cooking

This year for the Jacob family Christmas extravaganza, I am planning to make pumpkin pie, pumpkin panna cotta, jaffa cookies using my favorite chocolate chip cookie dough base, and Chilean-style empanadas. We just finished grocery shopping for all the ingredients, but of course, since Australians are not super familiar with the idea of canned pumpkin, we brought canned organic Trader Joe’s pumpkin into the country, as well as masa harina. These empanadas are going to be the most time consuming and laborious, and of course, the dough for them will not be light. I can already see Chris’s mother cringing at the amount of real butter we bought for them. No margarine use here.

Christmas is the one time of year historically (okay, so this is only the second Christmas) when Chris and I have cooked together in the same kitchen at the same time. One day, it will be nice when we have our own little ones in our kitchen pitching in to help cook and prep Christmas dinner every year together. My little Bart figurine can be in the background while we all cook to “Jingle Bell Rock.”

I Dream of Brioche

The first time I heard about brioche was in 2004 when a good friend wrote in my high school yearbook that she thought I was the best thing since sliced brioche bread. I felt a bit ignorant at the time, since although I knew it was a type of bread, I actually had no idea what it consisted of or why that would make me feel particularly special. This was especially embarrassing for me because I’ve always been a lover of all things sugar and butter related, and being the know-it-all dessert-loving teenager that I was, I thought I knew everything there was to know about buttery breads and desserts.

Brioche is probably the richest, most buttery bread I’ve eaten. It’s a bread that is more commonly known as a pastry because of its extremely high butter content. Enriched with not just lots of butter but also many eggs, it’s certainly not your typical toast on a weekday morning. The average recipe you can find for brioche has a flour-butter ratio of 2:1.

Brioche is the kind of pastry that you have at breakfast or tea when you want to indulge. When made properly, it is all at once flaky, delicate, tender, eggy, and subtly sweet. Brioche dough can be made in multiple forms – as brioche à tête (little heads), loaves, buns, as pain au chocolat – brioche dough is like the Play-Doh of breads, as you could make many different types of beautiful, tasty creations with it. The possibilities are endless.

The key to making flaky, tender brioche is cold, cold, cold; it’s crucial that all of your bowls, utensils, and butter are chilled (it also helps to be cold blooded, as well). The colder the kitchen, the more likely your brioche will be a success. The reason for this is that it is critical that the butter that you are incorporating into the dough has not melted. Pockets of fat need to be evenly distributed throughout the dough to result in butter melting in the oven, which will yield the flakiness that is key to a good brioche. Another way to ensure that the butter has not melted before it reaches the oven is to knead the dough either with cold dough hooks on your standing mixer, or with cold utensils by hand (if you are old school like me and want to knead the dough manually).

Brioche is probably the easiest yeast bread to mess up. The reason for this is that while making it, most people would overlook the fact that the dough needs to be really sticky and would either a) make the mistake above so that all the butter melts into the dough, or b) continue adding flour to the dough for greater ease in hand kneading or preventing the dough from sticking too much to the dough hooks. The first time I made brioche, I made mistake b. The brioche dough was extremely sticky, and being a novice, I continued using my warm hands to knead the dough. Annoyed by the stickiness, I continued adding flour until the dough was easy to handle and no longer stuck to my fingers. Big mistake. In the end, while the brioche looked beautiful on the outside, once I broke apart the bread, I realized that I had just made a glorified challah bread – an eggy bread with some fat, but none of the glorious flakiness that is associated with the true pastry.

The one recipe that I have grown to love and use for multiple brioche pastry desserts is Joanne Chang’s basic brioche. The two simplest ways to enjoy brioche are to eat it just as a plain pastry in the form of a loaf, or to make miniature brioche buns and dip them in a sugar and spice mixture. I’ve included recipes for both forms here. To call making brioche “simple” is a bit misleading, as it takes a lot of time and physical effort to knead the dough. In addition, we need even more time to allow the dough to properly proof twice to allow for that amazing light and airiness that will eventually contribute to the light, tender crumb of the final pastry. This is one of those bread-pastries that needs some advance planning and many patient hours. Wouldn’t we all love to have a piece of fresh, warm brioche from a hot oven every day, though? I’m not sure what satisfies me more – the first bite of the brioche when it is piping hot right out of the oven, or the incredible fragrance that fills the house as the combination of butter, sugar, eggs, and yeast work their magic in my oven.

Joanne’s brioche loaf recipe suggests that you form the dough into  a simple rectangle, but after seeing many images of loaves with interesting cuts and shapes, I thought it would be fun to shape three balls, combine them, and then cut slits on the top of each ball.

After proofing the second time, cutting slits atop each ball, and sprinkling the top with sugar, this is what the loaf looked like:

After baking for about 35-45 minutes, this is how my brioche baby turned out – beautifully browned with a happy sheen:

With the second half of the dough, I made the sugar and spice brioche buns from Joanne’s book.

After they came out of the oven, I dipped each bun into butter and rolled them in the cinnamon, nutmeg, ground ginger, and sugar mixture:

After the butter brushing and the sugar and spice rolling, this is what I eventually presented to my friends:

Both methods are the simplest ways to enjoy brioche. If only someone would present me with fresh brioche every week, maybe I would smile that much more. I guess I can either keep dreaming, or treat myself and make my own dreamy pillows of buttery, sugary delight.

Basic Brioche                                                                                                        Adapted from Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston’s Flour Bakery & Café by Joanne Chang

  • 2 1/2 cups (350 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour, plus more if needed
  • 2 1/4 cups (340 grams) bread flour
  • 1 1/2 packages (3 1/4 teaspoons) active dry yeast or 1-ounce (28 grams) fresh cake yeast
  • 1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon (82 grams) sugar
  • 1 tablespoon kosher salt
  • 1/2 cup cold water
  • 6 eggs
  • 1 3/8 cups (2 3/4 sticks; 310 grams) unsalted butter, at room temperature, cut into 10 to 12 pieces

Using a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook, combine the all-purpose flour, bread flour, yeast, sugar, salt, water, and 5 of the eggs. Beat on low speed for 3 to 4 minutes, or until all the ingredients are combined. Stop the mixer, as needed, to scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl to make sure all the flour is incorporated into the wet ingredients.

Once the dough has come together, beat on low speed for another 3 to 4 minutes. The dough will be very stiff and seem quite dry.

With the mixer on low speed, add the butter, 1 piece at a time, mixing after each addition until it disappears into the dough. Continue mixing on low speed for about 10 minutes, stopping the mixer occasionally to scrape the sides and bottom of the bowl. It is important for all the butter to be thoroughly mixed into the dough. If necessary, stop the mixer occasionally and break up the dough with your hands to help mix in the butter.

Once the butter is completely incorporated, turn up the speed to medium and beat until the dough becomes sticky, soft, and somewhat shiny, another 15 minutes. It will take some time to come together. It will look shaggy and questionable at the start and then eventually it will turn smooth and silky. Turn the speed to medium-high and beat for about 1 minute. You should hear the dough make a slap-slap-slap sound as it hits the sides of the bowl. Test the dough by pulling at it; it should stretch a bit and have a little give. If it seems wet and loose and more like a batter than a dough, add a few tablespoons of flour and mix until it comes together. If it breaks off into pieces when you pull at it, continue to mix on medium speed for another 2 to 3 minutes, or until it develops more strength and stretches when you grab it. It is ready when you can gather it all together and pick it up in 1 piece.

Put the dough in a large bowl or plastic container and cover it with plastic wrap, pressing the wrap directly onto the surface of the dough. Let the dough proof (that is, grow and develop flavor) in the refrigerator for at least 6 hours or up to overnight At this point you can freeze the dough in an airtight container for up to 1 week.

To make two brioche loaves, generously the bottom and sides of two 9-by-5-inch loaf pans with butter. Divide the dough in half, and then divide each half into three pieces. The dough will feel like cold, clammy Play-Doh. Knead each piece of dough, then form each into a ball. Place three balls of dough into each loaf pan so that the dough balls are touching.

Cover the loaves lightly with plastic wrap and place in a warm spot to proof for 4 to 5 hours, or until the loaves have nearly doubled in size. They should have risen to the rim of the pan and be rounded on the top. When you poke at the dough, it should feel soft, pillowy, and light, as if it’s filled with air (because it is!).

Position the rack in the center of the oven, and preheat it to 350 degrees F.

With a pair of kitchen scissors, cut a slit into the top of each ball of dough. Each loaf should have three slits.

In a small bowl, whisk the remaining egg until blended. Gently brush the tops of the loaves with the beaten egg. Add a sprinkling of sugar if you’d like to the top for some crunch.

Bake for 35-45 minutes, or until the tops and sides of the loaves are completely golden brown. Let cool in the pans on wire racks for 30 minutes, then turn the loaves out of the pans and continue to cool on the racks.

The bread can be stored tightly wrapped in plastic wrap at room temperature for up to 3 days (if it is older than 3 days, try toasting it) or in the freezer for up to a month.

Sugar & Spice Brioche Buns                                                                               Adapted from Flour: Spectacular Recipes from Boston’s Flour Bakery & Café by Joanne Chang

  • ½ recipe Basic Brioche Dough
  • ½ cup (100 grams) sugar
  • ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
  • ¼ teaspoon ground ginger
  • ¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
  • Pinch of ground cloves
  • Pinch of kosher salt
  • ¼ cup (1/2 stick/56 grams) unsalted butter, melted

Line 10 cups of a standard 12-cup muffin tin with paper liners or generously butter and flour them.

On a floured work surface, press the dough into a rectangle about 10 by 5 inches. It will have the consistency of cold, damp Play-Doh and should be fairly easy to shape. Using a bench scraper or a chef’s knife, cut the rectangle into 10 equal strips, each about 1 by 5 inches. Cut each strip into five 1-inch squares. You should have fifty 1-inch mini squares of dough.

Place 5 mini squares of brioche into each prepared muffin cup. Cover the pastries lightly with plastic wrap and place in a warm spot to proof for about 1.5 hours, or until the dough is puffy, pillowy, and soft.

Position a rack in the center of the oven, and heat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Bake for about 35-40 minutes, or until golden brown. Let the buns cool in the pan on a wire rack for 5 to 10 minutes, or until they are cool enough to handle. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, stir together the sugar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and salt.

When the buns can be handled, brush the tops with the butter. If you have used paper liners, remove the buns from the liners. One at a time, roll each warm bun in the sugar mixture to coat evenly.

The buns are best served warm or within 4 hours of baking. They can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature for up to 1 day, and then warmed in a 300-degree F oven for 5 minutes before serving.


Pumpkin Bread with Cranberries and Walnuts

One early evening this September I stepped outside, took a deep breath, and inhaled a familiar aroma that I hadn’t been acquainted with since this time last year. A feeling of excitement came over me as I continued to walk up Fifth Avenue, and I realized that this certain smell was autumn.

What does that mean – to smell like autumn? It’s hard to verbalize, but it smells light, cool, and crisp, as though the air has gradually calmed down from exposure to the summer sun’s bright rays. It is redolent of the leaves changing from deep and bright greens to warm red orange and amber shades, and it is aromatic of something that is slightly toasty and nutty, yet elusive in some way.

Autumn in the Northeast is completely unlike what I was used to growing up in San Francisco. A San Francisco autumn was unremarkable; the idea of leaves changing color was completely novel to me when I moved to the Boston area in 2004. I went to school at one of the most beautiful college campuses in the area and was able to fully experience a real New England autumn complete with Harry Potter-like Gothic-Georgian architecture in the background. The leaves slowly but surely changed color. I had no idea that a green leaf could turn into a deep magenta or purple shade, or that the same leaves that were orange could also become yellow before they crisped up and became brown. It was as though every day when I walked outside, I was constantly stunned by endless transformations and beauty.

Throughout the last seven years, I’ve watched with wonder as I’ve passed children in parks embracing autumn’s arrival. The glee with which they delight in autumn has never failed to bring a smile to my face – the way they thrash around in the leaves, rolling in them, tossing them up with their hands and kicking them and crunching them. I’m honestly not sure what warms me more – seeing the kids’ carefree delight or observing the parents watch their children, realizing how amazing it is to derive joy from life’s simple pleasures. Many times, I’ve been tempted to join in on the fun and jump up and down in the leaves with them, but then the self conscious adult side of me takes over and I decide that it wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do.

I’ve spent the last few months experiencing autumn in urban areas in New York like Union Square, Central Park, and Madison Square Park, but have also been able to see it by leaving the city and going hiking in Mohonk Preserve and wandering around the Berkshires in Massachusetts. Autumn in the Northeast is the most spectacular when you are outside of the city and completely immersed in nature. The few times I have left, it’s also helped me clear my head temporarily and just think about two of the simplest yet most complex things – love and life itself.

I always want to say that autumn is my favorite season, not just for that amazing smell that fills my nostrils as soon as September hits, and not just for the dramatic foliage, but also because it signifies the beginning of the holidays – Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas – and the traditions I embrace each year. Carving jack-o-lanterns, cutting up different types of squash for soup, getting together with family and friends for extravagant and gluttony turkey meals, decorating Noble Fir trees with my newest and oldest Christmas ornaments, and making egg nog and holiday cookies; it’s everything I love about life condensed into three short months of the year. If we just added some sun and warmth, it really would be the most perfect time of the year (I am slightly conflicted, though, because I also love watching the snow fall and lightly dust itself onto the city around me).

Autumn also means that I can get back to my favorite place in the house, the kitchen, and begin baking again. I bake the most during the autumn and winter, and one of the things I’ve been making without fail for the last four years has been pumpkin bread.

The spice combination in this bread – cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger, combined with cranberries and toasted nuts, is one of the best ways to welcome autumn back into our lives. That spicy smell wafting through my apartment just conjures up all of the memories I have of every autumn I’ve spent on the East Coast.

Pumpkin bread is a really simple quick bread to make. Canned, unsweetened pumpkin is readily available at almost any grocery store, and I can speak from experience when I say that cutting up, pureeing, and straining a real sugar pumpkin for your pumpkin bread or pie is not really worth the effort. The taste will be exactly the same, so you should save yourself some trouble and just buy the canned stuff. The canned stuff is really good, so there’s no reason to dismiss it.

I always like to add either dried cranberries and/or toasted, chopped walnuts or pecans to my pumpkin bread. Both dried cranberries and toasted nuts always remind me of the autumn, and what’s better than making an autumn sweet bread taste even more like autumn?

I got this recipe from the resident director at my dorm in college. He loved to bake and cook, and in the autumn, he made several loaves of this pumpkin bread and shared it with all of us. It was love at first bite – I immediately asked if he’d be so generous as to share the recipe with me, and share he did. Although I’m no longer in touch with him, his baking legacy lives on with me and everyone else I love who gets to benefit from the fruits of my autumn baking.

Pumpkin Bread with Cranberries and Walnuts

Adapted from the 2005-2006 Stone Davis Resident Director’s recipe collection

  • 2 C. sugar
  • 1 C. vegetable oil (canola or corn)
  • 3 eggs
  • 2 C. cooked/canned unsweetened pumpkin
  • 3 C. flour
  • ½ tsp. baking powder
  • 1 tsp. baking soda
  • ½ tsp. salt
  • 1 tsp. ground ginger
  • 1 tsp. cinnamon
  • 1 tsp. nutmeg
  • 1 tsp. cloves (optional)
  • 4 C. dried cranberries
  • 1.5 C. toasted, chopped walnuts or pecans

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F.

Combine the sugar and vegetable oil in a large mixing bowl; mix well. Add the eggs, one at a time, until incorporated. Combine the all of the dry ingredients in a medium mixing bowl. Mix the pumpkin into the egg mélange, and when combined, gradually add in all of the dry mixture. Stir in the cranberries and nuts. Put into two greased loaf pans. Bake the loaves for 1 hour.