Blondies
I like to feel at home in the kitchen. Throw me into someone else's and I feel like a rookie again.
For most of December, we stayed with my husband’s parents in California. Their kitchen is big, the cupboards filled with an impressive array of cookware collected over 45 years. The heart of the kitchen is a handsome Viking stove. It's a crotchety, aged workhorse, with six gas burners and a huge oven. The stove’s dials require precision; turn a hair in the wrong direction and your omelet burns or your porridge boils over. The oven works its way up to temperature slowly, never letting you know where it’s at or when it might be ready. And once your cakes or cookies or loaves slide into the cavity, it’s anyone’s guess how long they’ll take to bake.
My mother-in-law is tuned into her stove in a way that only comes from living with another for four and a half decades. She understands what it needs. She knows that a pot of water for pasta will take an eternity to boil, and that a frying pan on the same burner will frazzle onions in minutes. She spends every Friday preparing the family Shabbat meal, sometimes for as many as 15 people. The food is always cooked beautifully; the stove's shortcomings are no hindrance to her. The stove and I, on the other hand, barely know each other, and we interact with a certain standoffishness. On some level, I respect its obstinance. But honestly, my big baker ego is intimidated. So much so that I usually use the toaster oven to bake instead.
In the kitchen, I like to know exactly where to reach for my favorite spatula, mixing bowl, or serving spoon. I like to know that the pasta pot is stacked below the rice pot, which is stacked below the pot for boiling eggs. I like to know exactly where a high, medium, and low heat sit on the stovetop controls, and I like that when I set my oven to 220°C, it tells me with a beep when it’s ready to accept whatever I’m offering. Most of all, I like to have success in the kitchen. Throw me into someone else’s and I suddenly feel like a rookie again. I burn the omelet. I boil over the porridge. I even under-bake the banana bread, a cake I’ve made countless times.
While we were in California, I started to think about what I’d like to bake first when I got back to my kitchen. It wasn’t especially warm in the Bay Area, but it wasn’t Berlin-cold, and I knew I’d need an indulgent bake to ease the shock of being back. My mind went straight to blondies, with their caramel sweetness, creamy white chocolate, and a nutty undercurrent. Unlike brownies—which, in my opinion, should be fudgy and a bit gooey—blondies are best when they're a little cakey and a little chewy. Use the best quality white chocolate you can afford, and take care not to overheat it in the bain-marie. The blondies keep exceptionally well in a sealed Tupperware container, though if you’re anything like me, they won’t sit around too long waiting to be eaten.
Blondies
Makes a 20-centimeter square
150 grams unsalted butter, melted
170 grams light brown sugar
2 eggs at room temperature
200 grams white chocolate, melted gently over a bain-marie
110 grams all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon fine salt
100 grams ground almond
Topping
50 grams white chocolate, roughly chopped
20 grams whole almonds, toasted and roughly chopped
Maldon salt (optional)
Equipment
Electric hand mixer
20-by-20-centimeter baking tin, ideally loose-bottomed
Preheat the oven to 170°C (with fan). Grease the baking tin and line with baking paper.
Add the melted butter, sugar, and eggs to a large mixing bowl. Use an electric hand mixer on high speed to combine. Add the melted white chocolate and mix thoroughly. The mixture will thicken.
Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt, then add to the white chocolate mixture, along with the ground almonds. Mix until fully combined.
Transfer the mixture to your prepared baking tin and smooth the surface using a spatula. Sprinkle the chopped chocolate and almonds over the top, and finish by sprinkling the whole lot with a pinch of Maldon salt.
Bake in the oven for 35 minutes, or until the surface is evenly browned. Allow to cool in the tin for 15–30 minutes before transferring to a cooling rack. Allow to cool completely before cutting.
My grandmother's kitchen gave me a scolding over the holidays and brought me back to feeling like a complete novice in the kitchen. You captured that feeling so well here.
Ruth 🥲