Panadería Brooklyn: Meyer Lemon Curd Rugelach

Everywhere my grandmother lived, she planted a Meyer lemon tree in her backyard.

My maternal grandmother, Frances Elster Warren Summers, was the inspiration behind Panadería Brooklyn—she grew up in Boyle Heights, and it was my tour around the neighborhood courtesy of my friends Brigitte and Hector back in 2014 that gave Brigitte and me the idea for a Mexican-Jewish bakery in the first place.

Born Frances Elster on January 20, 1931, in Phoenix, Arizona, she lived what you could call a very Mexico-adjacent life: after her first few years, she spent pretty much the rest of her life in Los Angeles. When she was young, she spent time visiting her relatives in Mexico City, and when she was older she taught kindergarten all over the Los Angeles Unified School District. And while Franny wasn’t much of a cook herself, she loved Mexican food.

These days people throw out feel-good self-help “you are a badass” nonsense right and left, but my grandmother really was a badass. As a teenager, she was kicked out of high school for smoking. When my mother was a baby, she popped her into the stroller and went door to door campaigning for Adlai Stevenson.

When, a few years later, while pregnant with my uncle, she found out her husband, my grandfather, was having an affair with a woman from the university where he was doing his PhD, Franny showed up to a class the other woman was teaching one day, sat in the front row, and stared her down for the duration. And some time after my grandfather had left her, she picked up and decamped from LA to Mexico City for a fresh start, her four-year-old daughter and two-year-old son in tow.

Her decisions weren’t always for the best. But you can’t say she wasn’t bold.

My grandmother died in her early 60s, when I was just four, and even though I only remember her in bits and pieces I think about her a lot, about what my life might have been like with her in it. I think she would have made me less afraid, and more loving. I think she would have helped me love animals, and traveling.

I think of her as someone who needed to be loved as ferociously and desperately and impossibly as I did. Sometimes I find myself wondering what Franny would have said to me, confronted with my various romantic (and other) failures. I think, for the most part, she would’ve told me to buck the fuck up, but lovingly. And I think, from her, maybe I could’ve listened.

When I got to thinking about what I could bake in honor of Franny’s birthday (which would have been this past Sunday, for those of you keeping track at home), I knew it had to involve Meyer lemons.

This sweet citrus, a cross between a lemon and a Mandarin originally developed in China, has been beloved by Californians since it made its way to the US in the early 20^th century. Due to the fruit’s fragility—thanks to its thin, soft skin—it’s not easy to distribute long-distance, and even today with the fruit’s increasing popularity it’s hard to find outside of specialty markets on the East Coast.

Meyer lemons are one of the few fruits that are, even in the 21^st century, really and truly only available seasonally. They come on the market in November, and the season lasts until March. As much as I loathe and detest East Coast winter (and I really, really do), the first Meter lemon sighting of the season is always an occasion for much rejoicing. And whenever I consume one—usually just squeezed into a glass of water, but sometimes baked into a cake or stirred into a curd—I always think of my grandmother.

I know Meyer lemon rugelach may seem a little, er, lacking in Mexican-ness to be part of Panadería Brooklyn. And that is a fair criticism. I thought of all kinds of baked goods I could Meyer lemon-ize, and in the end this was what spoke to me most—and at its heart, Panadería Brooklyn is really about the beautiful mix of cultures that makes LA (and California, and this country) great. And there’s no question that these little ruggies (as I like to call them) are very California.

Meyer Lemon Curd Rugelach

Meyer Lemon Curd (from Epicurious)

½ cup fresh lemon juice

2 teaspoons finely grated fresh lemon zest

½ cup sugar

3 large eggs

¾ stick (6 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into bits

Whisk together juice, zest, sugar, and eggs in a 2-quart heavy saucepan. Stir in butter and cook over moderately low heat, whisking frequently, until curd is thick enough to hold marks of whisk and first bubble appears on surface, about 6 minutes.

Transfer lemon curd to a bowl and chill, its surface covered with plastic wrap, until cold, at least 1 hour. Curd can be chilled up to 1 week.

Dough (from Serious Eats)

8 ounces (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

8 ounces cream cheese, softened

4 tablespoons granulated sugar

¼ teaspoon table salt

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

2 cups (about 10 ounces)all-purpose flour

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, mix butter, cream cheese, granulated sugar, and salt on medium speed until completely combined, about 1 minute. Mix in vanilla until combined. Mix in flour until combined.

Pat dough into an 8-inch square, wrap dough in plastic wrap, and chill until fairly firm, about 1 hour.

Adjust oven rack to upper-middle and lower-middle positions. Preheat oven to 350°F. Line 2 rimmed baking sheets with parchment paper.

Cut dough into 4 equal pieces. On a floured surface, and working one piece of dough at a time, roll out into a 12-inch by 4-inch strip. Spread with a generous coating of lemon curd.

Working from the long end, gently roll dough strip into a 12-inch long log, making sure seam is at the bottom. Cut log into 1-inch pieces and place on one half of the baking sheet, evenly spacing apart. Repeat with second piece of dough to fill the first pan. Repeat with remaining pieces of dough to fill second pan. (You should have approximately 24 rugelach per pan).

Bake until rugelach are turning a very light golden brown, 20 to 25 minutes, rotating pans from top to bottom and front to back halfway through baking. Cool for 5 minutes on pan, then transfer rugelach to wire rack to cool completely. Rugelach can keep for up to four days refrigerated.