Dutch Baby

One thing I did not reckon on when embarking on this recipe book project was the injuries I would incur in the process. Not that I couldn't have thought that far ahead: I'm an accident-prone person, to say the least. But nonetheless, my kitchen injuries to date have been pretty minimal. Well, no more.

So far, in just the past week, I have ratcheted up the kitchen injury count to 2. Last week I sliced my finger with the charmingly serrated (and properly sharpened) bread knife while cutting some French bread. It wasn't the French bread that I put into the French Toast Italiano, but it was from the same two loaves, so I say it counts. I was foolishly trying to slice it on a small plate instead of on a cutting board, and instead decided to cut my finger. Not a huge gash by any means, but enough to prompt an invective-filled scream, and--if the blood we found on the walls in both the kitchen and the dining room the next day was anything to go by--a lot of flailing. Then I sat angrily with my finger above my head until my sweet Nurse Josh left the room, and then went back to typing on my computer until he deemed my confinement was over.

Yesterday I fixed the problem of not getting enough burns in my life during the process of cooking the Dutch Baby, which now leaves me with a knife cut scab on one hand and a bubbly burn on the other. At least neither of them hurt anymore.

Mike, reenacting the fateful burn

The Dutch Baby was a contribution by another batch of Huntington family friends, the Tabers. I was making it for Mike, the writing partner who has been convincing me all along that this recipe book project was a good idea, and the self same one who enjoys hijacking my Facebook account and announcing colorful things about me to the universe, which I believe he did while my back was turned in Dutch Baby land. I have no exact idea why Dutch Baby is called Dutch Baby. It basically resembles a popover or turnover, but with the added benefit of sounding like you are going to be eating an abortion for your meal. Which, I hear, is the best kind of brunch.

Dutch baby is ridiculously easy, save for the burning-your-hand part. It is decent, but I think I could have made more if we really wanted to be stuffed full. Josh came home for lunch, too, so he and Mike could try to expound gourmet-like on how they could taste the salted butter and blah blah blah. It's basically dough with whatever you like on it, so Dutch Baby is what you make of it.

Murderous, blood-sweat-and-skin filled Dutch Baby

Dutch Baby

For a...
2-3 qt pan: 1/4 cup butter, 3 eggs, 3/4 cup milk, 3/4 cup flour
3-4 qt pan: 1/3 cup butter, 4 eggs, 1 cup milk, 1 cup flour
4-4 1/2 qt pan: 1/2 cup butter, 5 eggs, 1 1/4 cup milk, 1 1/2 cup flour
4 1/2-5 qt pan: 1/2 cup butter, 6 eggs, 1 1/2 cup milk, 1 1/2 cup flour

Run around kitchen complaining that you have no idea how many quarts any of your cake and other standard baking pans are. Acquiesce when Mike tells you that a top-of-stove pan, which is marked with quart size, is oven-safe. Live to regret this.

Melt butter in pan in hot oven. Meanwhile mix batter in blender. Or mixer. Who mixes batter in blenders?

Pour batter from blender (suuuure) into hot butter. Return pan to 425 degree oven. Bake for 20-25 minutes. Gloat about how easy this is.

Like an idiot, reach into oven with oven mitts that look like this, instead of ones that look like this, grab pot handle firmly, and burn the hell out of the meat of your hand. Scream 'Fuck.' A lot.

Angrily, bravely soldiering on to powder that
Dutch Baby bastard despite my pain

Recover. Serve immediately. Suggested toppings: wedges of lemon; powdered sugar; strawberries or other fruits, syrups, or canned pie filling; or marionberry preserves, which have the added benefit of evoking a lot of Mayor Marion Berry jokes in addition to tasting good.