You know, I am flying rather high over last night's dinner. Writing about it, and re-reading it, is making me take more "air." So, rather than make you all wait another day, I'm going to give you the risotto recipe NOW. Am I a sweetheart or what?
There is a mythology that builds up around risotto, making it sound like one of those "Mt. Everests" of the kitchen. There ARE a few principles that you need to keep in mind, but ultimately, this is a very simple dish to make.
Risotto needs Italian short grain rice. You may NOT subsitute long grain rice. Or basmati. Or brown rice. Or wild rice. Sorry, you just can't. It won't work. When you buy the rice for risotto, you'll be offered three choices: arborio, carnaroli, and nanno. Arborio is the one that everyone has heard of. It's good rice, and it's the cheapest one. Carnaroli is better. Nanno is the "queen of risotto rice," but it's too fine, in my opinion, for a good risotto. Stick to carnaroli, and you'll be fine.
A cup of short grain rice will absorb four cups of liquid. Keep that in mind when you're cooking. Also, keep in mind that risotto was always intended as a FIRST course. You can make it for dinner as your main dish, but it's very difficult to cook more than two cups worth of dry rice at a time. Now to our recipe, which served the four of us.
In addition to the rice, you need fish stock. DON'T buy canned fish stock. It's vile. It is TRULY vile. You can buy fresh made fish stock at a good fishmonger (what do you think they do with those bones?), or you can take a shot at making it yourself: get two or three pounds of bones from the fish monger (he or she may give them to you, but you'll probably have to pay something), as well as a large carrot, cut into pieces and a peeled onion, cut into quarters. Put them all in a pot, with two quarts of water. Bring this to a boil, then simmer it for ten minutes, NO MORE. Strain that liquid immediately, because if you let it sit, it will get nasty. In a pinch, you can use clam juice, diluted 1:1 with water. For this recipe, you need a quart of the liquid
Risotto starts with a "battuto," which is a bad name for it. Battuto means "beaten," and really, what you have here is the sort of thing that Spanish cooks call a soffrito, or a "fry." Usually, it's shallots and/or onions. For a fish risotto, I prefer a fennel bulb, chopped fine, but roughly (I wish you could have seen Jeremy go to work on that bulb). Put this in a pan with a few tablespoons of olive oil, and let it cook away until the sizzle begins to die down. While this is happening, heat your stock.
Now add the cup of rice. Stir it in the hot fat and the fennel, and keep an eye on it. Rice, when it is sauteed, goes from an iridescent "pearl" quality, to a drier, chalky white. When this happens, you're ready to start adding hot stock.
You add stock gradually when making risotto, and there's a good rule to follow. When you can run a spoon down the middle of the pan, and separate the solids without any liquid running to the path, it's time for more stock. I add it - or in this case, Keith added it - ladle by ladle, stirring regularly at the start, i.e., for the first half of the stock. At this point, taste it. You may need some salt, and if you don't put it in now, it won't get into the rice.
Keep adding the stock until you've used about three quarters of it. It's at this point, you're going to add your shrimp. In any kind of fish risotto, you're going to add the fish late, because it cooks so fast. We used rockshrimp because they are in season now, although not in NY. Much of shrimp harvesting is done via shrimp FARMS, and the debate goes on as to whether the dredging of the bottom of bodies of water, where shrimp reside, does damage to the environment. Rock shrimp are wild. They are only in season for a while, and they are small, plump, sweet and delicious. You'll need a pound for this.
Anyway, stir them in after you've added 3 cups of the stock, and then, all at once, add the last cup of stock. You can continue to stir at this point, but honestly, you don't need to. What you SHOULD do is taste the rice. Is it soft enough for you? This is important because the texture of the rice is really a matter of personal taste, and what's soft enough for you isn't soft enough for the next guy, and so forth. If it's not soft enough, keep the fire on. If it is, or if it's CLOSE to being soft enough, turn it off. The rice is going to absorb all of the liquid, it's just a question of soft texture. At this point, you toss in a cup of peas and stir them in, as well. Finally, if you like and you have them, stir in some of the fronds of your fennel bulb.
NO CHEESE IN THIS!!!! If you want to, you can do the traditional "mounting" of the risotto by adding a tablespoon of butter. We didn't, and we were quite fine without it. The rice was creamy, and delicious, and the sweetness of the rock shrimp, and peas from last spring was perfect. (STILL cleaning out the freezer, what can ya do?).
Now again, go back and count down what you have to do. Getting the ingredients together will take you almost as much time as it does to make the dish. It's a quickie. You can get from start to finish in half an hour. And if you set up your fish ahead of time, what you can do is put the fish in the oven ten minutes before the risotto is ready, and have a wonderful, multicourse dinner at your command, without a whole lot of work.
The work, of course falls to the person who does the dishes, but why should that be you? Hell, you cooked. And you worked SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO hard.
Right...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
I MISSED IT!!!! I MISSED THEM!!!! Our fish dinner
I find myself, from time to time, in a situation where I feel somewhat akin to how Jessye Norman described her debut at the Met Opera. This was way back in 1982. The production was "Les Troyens" (worth seeing, but not a great opera, in my view). Interviewed, after it was over, I recall her saying something to the effect of "I was so excited !!! I was jumping up and down and laughing and smiling and screaming" .
Well, the thought of Ms. Norman jumping up and down is a bit frightening. Funny, but frightening. And in an apartment building with sensitive neighbors, who DO like to sleep, this is probably not the best way to behave. Be that as it may, it is how I felt last night after we made the dish I describe.
Yes, the pronoun was "we," and that's why I was jumping up and down with joy. See, Annalena has gone back into the kitchen. This time, with Keith and Jeremy. It has been MONTHS since Keith and I have cooked together. Jeremy and I cooked together last month, and I have been wanting to get him back in the kitchen since then. Also, Annalena has a pretty good instinct about when things will work. And you take two men who are extremely open and easygoing, and you have a magic in the kitchen. The fact that the food we cooked was delicious is almost , in fact it is, secondary. "Where there is great love there are always miracles" wrote Willa Cather. There was great love in that kitchen last night. Was the fish miraculous? Perhaps. Was the atmosphere around the fish miraculous? YOU BETCHA. Story lines opened and weren't finished (and that's good!), much frustration was forgotten, at least for a while, and a good meal was enjoyed by all.
So, all I can say about this, folks, is learn from my "mistakes." Remember the line from one of my favorite songs: "If you know it show it" Well, I KNOW I love cooking with my friends. Why I let them get away, I dunno. But guys, you ain't getting away again. Uh uh.
We made two dishes last night. Either one of them would have made a truly wonderful meal. Together, they were sublime. And you'll have to be patient, because you're only getting one in this note: fish baked in creme fraiche mustard sauce, a dish based on my new girlfriend, Ina Garten's book.
Creme fraiche is one of those ingredients that Europeans very much take for granted, and Americans don't use. USE IT. In fact, make it. I will tell you how in a minute. The reason you should use it is because it is solid and rich and does not coagulate in cooking, the way yogurt and other solid dairy products do. And whilst based on cream, it is solid enough to hold together as compared to cream itself. You can buy really good creme fraiche, but here's how you make it: take a pint of heavy cream. Get stuff that hasn't been irradiated, and if you can, get unpasteurized stuff. Pour it into a big container. Add about a quarter cup of buttermilk. Shake it. Put it on a counter, UNREFRIGERATED and let it sit. After two days, you'll have a loose, slightly sour product. At three, it solidifies nicely. At four, you have a solid mass that is also pretty tart, going toward sour cream. You decide how you want it, and then refrigerate it.
You will need anywhere from a cup to two cups of the creme fraiche for this dish. We used two cups but we had lots of sauce left (and that will be the subject of YET ANOTHER NOTE in the future). You will also need a big tabelspoon of a grainy mustard, and three of dijon. If you only have one type, use that, but you should have them both in the house . Mustard is one of a cook's best friends. Stir that mustard into the creme fraiche, and put it aside.
You also want to chop up one shallot. And you want a tablespoon of capers. Now, I favor the kind that are packed in salt, rather than under brine. What that means is that I have to soak mine for about half an hour before I want to use them, and drain the water a few times. To me, it's a simple operation and it's worth doing it, because I don't like the briny taste of the jarred ones. This is your call, though.
Ok, now to our fish. You want four fillets, about half a pound of a white, firm fish. We used red snapper. Use halibut, use cod, use pollak, use what you have available. A few weeks ago, we ate tilefish here that was available from local waters. Worked great. Later in the year, local black seabass will work as well. Lay the fish, skin side down, in a 9x13 pan, and salt and pepper them. You do this to taste . Keith is not a big fan of pepper, and we didn't use a lot. If you are a pepper slut, use lots. Use green peppercorns, or pink ones, too.
Now, take that sauce and pour it over the fish, and spread it nicely to cover everything. Sprinkle the shallots and the capers over it. Get your oven heated to 425 and put the fish in (Here's a hint folks: if you're cooking fish, especially one in a sauce, hot and fast is better than low and slow).
Bake this for about 15-20 minutes. You'll see the sauce brown slightly, and bubble at the end. The only issue you will have with this is finding the fillets in the sauce, since the color is so similar. But deal with it.
Now, putting aside my rant on friendship for the day, is that an easy recipe or what? For simple, make some potatoes or rice. For complex, make the risotto I'll post tomorrow.
As I think about this recipe, I keep on thinking that the shrimp and peas we used in the risotto could go into this preparation without a thought, and it would be great. What do you fellas think?
Jeremy once wrote "I make anywhere I am , home." Make t his place home Jeremy. Keith, you know by now the door is always open here. Come on by again, guys. Let's cook some more, or let's just sit around and talk, or do whatever the hell we want.
Welcome back, both of you. I missed you. And now, if you'll excuse me, I AM in fact going to go and do some jumping up and down
Well, the thought of Ms. Norman jumping up and down is a bit frightening. Funny, but frightening. And in an apartment building with sensitive neighbors, who DO like to sleep, this is probably not the best way to behave. Be that as it may, it is how I felt last night after we made the dish I describe.
Yes, the pronoun was "we," and that's why I was jumping up and down with joy. See, Annalena has gone back into the kitchen. This time, with Keith and Jeremy. It has been MONTHS since Keith and I have cooked together. Jeremy and I cooked together last month, and I have been wanting to get him back in the kitchen since then. Also, Annalena has a pretty good instinct about when things will work. And you take two men who are extremely open and easygoing, and you have a magic in the kitchen. The fact that the food we cooked was delicious is almost , in fact it is, secondary. "Where there is great love there are always miracles" wrote Willa Cather. There was great love in that kitchen last night. Was the fish miraculous? Perhaps. Was the atmosphere around the fish miraculous? YOU BETCHA. Story lines opened and weren't finished (and that's good!), much frustration was forgotten, at least for a while, and a good meal was enjoyed by all.
So, all I can say about this, folks, is learn from my "mistakes." Remember the line from one of my favorite songs: "If you know it show it" Well, I KNOW I love cooking with my friends. Why I let them get away, I dunno. But guys, you ain't getting away again. Uh uh.
We made two dishes last night. Either one of them would have made a truly wonderful meal. Together, they were sublime. And you'll have to be patient, because you're only getting one in this note: fish baked in creme fraiche mustard sauce, a dish based on my new girlfriend, Ina Garten's book.
Creme fraiche is one of those ingredients that Europeans very much take for granted, and Americans don't use. USE IT. In fact, make it. I will tell you how in a minute. The reason you should use it is because it is solid and rich and does not coagulate in cooking, the way yogurt and other solid dairy products do. And whilst based on cream, it is solid enough to hold together as compared to cream itself. You can buy really good creme fraiche, but here's how you make it: take a pint of heavy cream. Get stuff that hasn't been irradiated, and if you can, get unpasteurized stuff. Pour it into a big container. Add about a quarter cup of buttermilk. Shake it. Put it on a counter, UNREFRIGERATED and let it sit. After two days, you'll have a loose, slightly sour product. At three, it solidifies nicely. At four, you have a solid mass that is also pretty tart, going toward sour cream. You decide how you want it, and then refrigerate it.
You will need anywhere from a cup to two cups of the creme fraiche for this dish. We used two cups but we had lots of sauce left (and that will be the subject of YET ANOTHER NOTE in the future). You will also need a big tabelspoon of a grainy mustard, and three of dijon. If you only have one type, use that, but you should have them both in the house . Mustard is one of a cook's best friends. Stir that mustard into the creme fraiche, and put it aside.
You also want to chop up one shallot. And you want a tablespoon of capers. Now, I favor the kind that are packed in salt, rather than under brine. What that means is that I have to soak mine for about half an hour before I want to use them, and drain the water a few times. To me, it's a simple operation and it's worth doing it, because I don't like the briny taste of the jarred ones. This is your call, though.
Ok, now to our fish. You want four fillets, about half a pound of a white, firm fish. We used red snapper. Use halibut, use cod, use pollak, use what you have available. A few weeks ago, we ate tilefish here that was available from local waters. Worked great. Later in the year, local black seabass will work as well. Lay the fish, skin side down, in a 9x13 pan, and salt and pepper them. You do this to taste . Keith is not a big fan of pepper, and we didn't use a lot. If you are a pepper slut, use lots. Use green peppercorns, or pink ones, too.
Now, take that sauce and pour it over the fish, and spread it nicely to cover everything. Sprinkle the shallots and the capers over it. Get your oven heated to 425 and put the fish in (Here's a hint folks: if you're cooking fish, especially one in a sauce, hot and fast is better than low and slow).
Bake this for about 15-20 minutes. You'll see the sauce brown slightly, and bubble at the end. The only issue you will have with this is finding the fillets in the sauce, since the color is so similar. But deal with it.
Now, putting aside my rant on friendship for the day, is that an easy recipe or what? For simple, make some potatoes or rice. For complex, make the risotto I'll post tomorrow.
As I think about this recipe, I keep on thinking that the shrimp and peas we used in the risotto could go into this preparation without a thought, and it would be great. What do you fellas think?
Jeremy once wrote "I make anywhere I am , home." Make t his place home Jeremy. Keith, you know by now the door is always open here. Come on by again, guys. Let's cook some more, or let's just sit around and talk, or do whatever the hell we want.
Welcome back, both of you. I missed you. And now, if you'll excuse me, I AM in fact going to go and do some jumping up and down
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Errors, recipes gone wrong, and being flexible: winter tomatoes
Strictly speaking, this winter has not been any longer than any other. And temperature wise, it hasn't been especially fierce. Yet, yours truly, and many other people, seem to have had ENOUGH. This isn't uncommon in March, when you have flashes of warm weather with the cold, but still.. Annalena has heard many of her friends, being quite vociferous in their wanting this TO END NOW. Annalena is amongst them.
When I get tired of a season, I look to food "out of season." As I've written before, you can always argue that something is "in season" SOMEWHERE. Peaches are growing in Chili, even as I speak. You can have them. There is very little I can do for them. And I don't have the hankering for them. But asparagus have begun to come in, in Southern California. We'll be having those tonight. And I broke down with my craving for tomatoes this week, because of a recipe in the Ina Garten book I have been writing about.
Ina "gets it." She admits, right up front, that winter tomatoes are horrible. She's right. She then goes on to propose a recipe that makes them work. It's a good idea. She roasts them, at high temperature, in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, adding basil at the end. Three items that seem to have been "invented" to go with tomatoes.
Well, I made her recipe, which was accompanied by a picture. Her tomatoes were burnished brown, whole, solid, lovely things. Not so, mine. Perhaps mine had too much water in them, perhaps I had them too close to each other on the pan, but what I got was, essentially, a cross between stewed tomatoes, and tomato sauce. They sure tasted GOOD, but not what I expected.
So what do you do when that happens? Well, you learn to be flexible. Clearly, I could not serve these as whole tomatoes. What's wrong with a puree, though? Or, as I used them, pizza sauce. I have tons of red sauce in the fridge, always do. These, however, were better. MUCH better. I urge you to make this. It's really good.
You start with 12 plum tomatoes. That will be about 3 pounds of them. Cut them in half, lengthwise, and scoop out the seeds. Then, lay them out on a baking sheet. You should space them as much as possible. Maybe if they look TOO close, put them on two sheets, who knows? Then, sprinkle them with a teaspoon and a half of salt, and two of sugar. Now you add, say a third of a cup of olive oil, less if you like, sprinkling it all over the tomatoes. Finally, two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar gets sprinkled too.
Put the tray in a preheated, 450 oven, for 25 minutes or so. Check. As I say, with Ina's recipe, they looked burnished and whole. Mine collapsed. When you take them out of the oven, if you were smart last summer and froze pesto, add some to it. If you didn't, and you have some good quality commercial stuff, a few tablespoons please. And if you don't, don't do anything. Either scoop the stuff up, and put it in a container, or store the items as whole, half tomatoes. Either way, you have something wonderful that can go with your eggs in the morning, or you can use them as I did, in a pizza topping, or put them underneath something meaty, like a chicken breast. Or, just eat them whole.
The smart ones out there will see that, while pesto is wonderful, you can substitute. Make an arrabiata by adding red hot pepper. Or, if you have some rosemary sprigs, go for it. I bet there are other ideas too. The basic idea, though , is to roast those tomatoes until their sugar comes out. And because the winter tomatoes may not have enough residual sugar to begin with, that's why you add the granulated sugar, and the balsamic vinegar.
They'll be here soon, ragazzi, but if you can't wait, get the bad ones and make em good. That's what cooking is all about. ONWARD TO SPRING!!!!
When I get tired of a season, I look to food "out of season." As I've written before, you can always argue that something is "in season" SOMEWHERE. Peaches are growing in Chili, even as I speak. You can have them. There is very little I can do for them. And I don't have the hankering for them. But asparagus have begun to come in, in Southern California. We'll be having those tonight. And I broke down with my craving for tomatoes this week, because of a recipe in the Ina Garten book I have been writing about.
Ina "gets it." She admits, right up front, that winter tomatoes are horrible. She's right. She then goes on to propose a recipe that makes them work. It's a good idea. She roasts them, at high temperature, in olive oil and balsamic vinegar, adding basil at the end. Three items that seem to have been "invented" to go with tomatoes.
Well, I made her recipe, which was accompanied by a picture. Her tomatoes were burnished brown, whole, solid, lovely things. Not so, mine. Perhaps mine had too much water in them, perhaps I had them too close to each other on the pan, but what I got was, essentially, a cross between stewed tomatoes, and tomato sauce. They sure tasted GOOD, but not what I expected.
So what do you do when that happens? Well, you learn to be flexible. Clearly, I could not serve these as whole tomatoes. What's wrong with a puree, though? Or, as I used them, pizza sauce. I have tons of red sauce in the fridge, always do. These, however, were better. MUCH better. I urge you to make this. It's really good.
You start with 12 plum tomatoes. That will be about 3 pounds of them. Cut them in half, lengthwise, and scoop out the seeds. Then, lay them out on a baking sheet. You should space them as much as possible. Maybe if they look TOO close, put them on two sheets, who knows? Then, sprinkle them with a teaspoon and a half of salt, and two of sugar. Now you add, say a third of a cup of olive oil, less if you like, sprinkling it all over the tomatoes. Finally, two tablespoons of balsamic vinegar gets sprinkled too.
Put the tray in a preheated, 450 oven, for 25 minutes or so. Check. As I say, with Ina's recipe, they looked burnished and whole. Mine collapsed. When you take them out of the oven, if you were smart last summer and froze pesto, add some to it. If you didn't, and you have some good quality commercial stuff, a few tablespoons please. And if you don't, don't do anything. Either scoop the stuff up, and put it in a container, or store the items as whole, half tomatoes. Either way, you have something wonderful that can go with your eggs in the morning, or you can use them as I did, in a pizza topping, or put them underneath something meaty, like a chicken breast. Or, just eat them whole.
The smart ones out there will see that, while pesto is wonderful, you can substitute. Make an arrabiata by adding red hot pepper. Or, if you have some rosemary sprigs, go for it. I bet there are other ideas too. The basic idea, though , is to roast those tomatoes until their sugar comes out. And because the winter tomatoes may not have enough residual sugar to begin with, that's why you add the granulated sugar, and the balsamic vinegar.
They'll be here soon, ragazzi, but if you can't wait, get the bad ones and make em good. That's what cooking is all about. ONWARD TO SPRING!!!!
Monday, March 9, 2009
Best cookie EVER????
You've read - or at least I HOPE you've read - some of the stories of my watching cooking shows, getting recipes or books, or ideas, and then making the dish a part of my regular repertoire. This is such a story.
Some years ago, there was a wonderful cooking show on public TV, coming from San Francisco. It was called "Weir cooking in the wine country," featuring the wonderful Joanne Weir. The whole "look" of the show made me want to just pick up and move to the wine country. Joanne had, and has, such an "air" about her, that I fell in love with her right away. There was a "simpatica" that I felt. Even when she was smiling and going through her steps in cooking, I felt that there was an underlying melancholy that motivated her. And I've written, at great length, how I think that "melancholia" may very well underly all great "popular" art. By that I mean things like cooking, movies, that kind of thing. For example, I remember one critic talking about my favorite movie (An American in Paris), and how most people don't get the underlying sadness of that, or any of Vincent Minelli's movies. I could not have agreed more. I always feel just on the verge of tears when I watch that movie, even as it glorifies dance, color, and all that is wonderful. So, too, with anything else he made.
Anyway, that's the connection to where this recipe came from. I got her cookbook, which is wonderful. I made many of the recipes that she demo'd on the show. She never made this one, but my copy of her book falls open to this page. I have made these cookies often. They are quite wonderful - perhaps THE most wonderful cookie that has ever been designed.
Now, I know that this is a VERY bold statement to make. The same has been said of Viennese vanilla almond crescents, toll house cookies, gingersnaps, and others. I LOVE gingersnaps. I could eat them every day. I could NOT eat these cookies every day, or even every other day. They are just too "filling" to my taste. Nonetheless, when I put a plate of these down, they disappear. And they're beautiful. LORD are these cookies beautiful. And they are relatively easy to do.
There will be an interesting test tonight for the cookies. I'm serving them, as well as very serious, bittersweet chocolate chip cookies, at a bakesale. The cookies are priced the same. Let's see who wins....
If you make these, you will win.
You need 4 ounces each of bittersweet and semisweet chocolate. I use Scharffenberger, which was called for in the original recipe, but you can use what you like. Just PLEASE do not skimp on the quality of the chocolate. Chop it fine. I find that if I have the chocolate at room temperature, and I use a serrated bread knife. The pieces do not have to be uniform, but they should be small.
You will also need two cups of chopped , toasted hazelnuts. Now, I buy chopped toasted hazelnuts from King Arthur Flour, and they are a godsend. But... you can take two cups of hazelnuts and toast them at 350 for ten minutes. Then cool them, and either pulse them in a food processor, or put them in a plastic bag and beat them to the size you like. Again, go for small.
You will also need the seeds of one vanilla bean. I LOVE this technique. I feel like a jeweler. You cut the tip off of the bean, and then make a horizontal cut in it. You can then peel it back and expose the innards (I DID tell you I used to be a biologist, didn't I? It's sort of like dissecting an earthworm). scrape the seeds out, and put them on top of a cup of granulated sugar. Put the pods into your sugar bowl to flavor the sugar. Or put them in a jar of vodka.
You also need three egg whites from three large eggs. NOW, we're ready to go. You start beating the egg whites until they're foamy (I use a kitchenaid). When they get to the foamy stage, add a teaspoon of white vinegar and a pinch of salt. Increase the beating speed until you get firm peaks. Now, add that cup of sugar and the vanilla bean, little by little. "Little by little" is key here. You don't want to do it that quickly. When you get firm, glossy peaks, that look like the meringue on lemon pies in diners, fold in the chocolate and the hazelnuts.
Get a small scoop, and scoop this stuff out onto parchment paper on a baking sheet. Smaller is better. You'll get about 36 cookies from this recipe if you do small ones.
Preheat the oven to 250 - that's 250, not 350 - and bake the cookies for about thirty minutes. I have an irregular oven, where the bottom shelf gets much hotter than the top one. I solve the unevenness problem by double sheeting the bottom cookies, and rotating them after fifteen minutes.
You need to let these cool completely after that half hour. If you don't, they won't come off of the paper. If you do, they will peel away like a well cooked, hard boiled egg shell comes off of the egg.
If you have any left over, put these in a metal tin. Moisture is their worst enemy. Even a drop will turn the whole batch into a sog of disgusting, overly sweet chocolate and nuts, sort of like a bad candy bar (trust me on this).
Now, try them. And tell me if you've ever had a better cookie. I would bet you you haven't, but if you have, tell me about it. I wanna know
Some years ago, there was a wonderful cooking show on public TV, coming from San Francisco. It was called "Weir cooking in the wine country," featuring the wonderful Joanne Weir. The whole "look" of the show made me want to just pick up and move to the wine country. Joanne had, and has, such an "air" about her, that I fell in love with her right away. There was a "simpatica" that I felt. Even when she was smiling and going through her steps in cooking, I felt that there was an underlying melancholy that motivated her. And I've written, at great length, how I think that "melancholia" may very well underly all great "popular" art. By that I mean things like cooking, movies, that kind of thing. For example, I remember one critic talking about my favorite movie (An American in Paris), and how most people don't get the underlying sadness of that, or any of Vincent Minelli's movies. I could not have agreed more. I always feel just on the verge of tears when I watch that movie, even as it glorifies dance, color, and all that is wonderful. So, too, with anything else he made.
Anyway, that's the connection to where this recipe came from. I got her cookbook, which is wonderful. I made many of the recipes that she demo'd on the show. She never made this one, but my copy of her book falls open to this page. I have made these cookies often. They are quite wonderful - perhaps THE most wonderful cookie that has ever been designed.
Now, I know that this is a VERY bold statement to make. The same has been said of Viennese vanilla almond crescents, toll house cookies, gingersnaps, and others. I LOVE gingersnaps. I could eat them every day. I could NOT eat these cookies every day, or even every other day. They are just too "filling" to my taste. Nonetheless, when I put a plate of these down, they disappear. And they're beautiful. LORD are these cookies beautiful. And they are relatively easy to do.
There will be an interesting test tonight for the cookies. I'm serving them, as well as very serious, bittersweet chocolate chip cookies, at a bakesale. The cookies are priced the same. Let's see who wins....
If you make these, you will win.
You need 4 ounces each of bittersweet and semisweet chocolate. I use Scharffenberger, which was called for in the original recipe, but you can use what you like. Just PLEASE do not skimp on the quality of the chocolate. Chop it fine. I find that if I have the chocolate at room temperature, and I use a serrated bread knife. The pieces do not have to be uniform, but they should be small.
You will also need two cups of chopped , toasted hazelnuts. Now, I buy chopped toasted hazelnuts from King Arthur Flour, and they are a godsend. But... you can take two cups of hazelnuts and toast them at 350 for ten minutes. Then cool them, and either pulse them in a food processor, or put them in a plastic bag and beat them to the size you like. Again, go for small.
You will also need the seeds of one vanilla bean. I LOVE this technique. I feel like a jeweler. You cut the tip off of the bean, and then make a horizontal cut in it. You can then peel it back and expose the innards (I DID tell you I used to be a biologist, didn't I? It's sort of like dissecting an earthworm). scrape the seeds out, and put them on top of a cup of granulated sugar. Put the pods into your sugar bowl to flavor the sugar. Or put them in a jar of vodka.
You also need three egg whites from three large eggs. NOW, we're ready to go. You start beating the egg whites until they're foamy (I use a kitchenaid). When they get to the foamy stage, add a teaspoon of white vinegar and a pinch of salt. Increase the beating speed until you get firm peaks. Now, add that cup of sugar and the vanilla bean, little by little. "Little by little" is key here. You don't want to do it that quickly. When you get firm, glossy peaks, that look like the meringue on lemon pies in diners, fold in the chocolate and the hazelnuts.
Get a small scoop, and scoop this stuff out onto parchment paper on a baking sheet. Smaller is better. You'll get about 36 cookies from this recipe if you do small ones.
Preheat the oven to 250 - that's 250, not 350 - and bake the cookies for about thirty minutes. I have an irregular oven, where the bottom shelf gets much hotter than the top one. I solve the unevenness problem by double sheeting the bottom cookies, and rotating them after fifteen minutes.
You need to let these cool completely after that half hour. If you don't, they won't come off of the paper. If you do, they will peel away like a well cooked, hard boiled egg shell comes off of the egg.
If you have any left over, put these in a metal tin. Moisture is their worst enemy. Even a drop will turn the whole batch into a sog of disgusting, overly sweet chocolate and nuts, sort of like a bad candy bar (trust me on this).
Now, try them. And tell me if you've ever had a better cookie. I would bet you you haven't, but if you have, tell me about it. I wanna know
Annalena makes marmalade
I believe I have written of my past adventures with the jam pot. T hose were fourteen or fifteen years ago. They are comical, scary, an example of a true kitchen obsession, and one I thought I had put behind me.
Until this weekend.
Look, I have no idea how my mind works, and probably would be scared to death if I did, but somehow, I got it in my head that I wanted to make some marmalade.
Well, the Citrus Bomb and the Artichoke Queen had SOMETHING to do with that. See, I had asked for some seville oranges in last week's citrus box. I had visions of a marinade for a pork tenderloin, that I never made. Since the ladies, like this lady, believe that "anything worth doing is worth overdoing" (AMEN SISTAH), there were fifteen of them in my box. Now, that's a lot of marinade, so some switch went off in my head and said "marmalade."
I could see Guy's eyes rolling to the back of his head. BUT... what I found was that this recipe makes a very reasonable amount of the stuff. Again, this is a bit time consuming, but it makes a really good product. I am going to give it for seville oranges, which you can still get, but I think you could probably use others. I will check with my friend June Taylor, who makes the ULTIMATE jams.
Incidentally, once you make this, you will NEVER carp about the price of good jam or marmelade again. And if you do, you don't deserve to eat it.
The recipe, is shamelessly stolen from David Lebovitz, who posted it on his blog. I changed it in one respect, as I will tell you.
You start with about three pounds of sevilles. For me, this was six of them (David's recipe called for six, and I weighed them). Half them, squeeze them through a juicer (the hand kind is fine), and save the pits. Of course, save the juice as well. Also - and here's where I varied things - squeeze two blood oranges and add that juice to the seville orange juice.
Gather all those peels, and cut them roughly, but not too big. If the pieces are more than, say 1/3 of an inch wide, you will have problems. This will take a bit of time , but not that much. Dump the peels into a pot, and add 3 quarts of water . Then, take all those seeds, wrap them i cheesecloth, tie it tight and add it to the pot as well. Those pits are LOADED with pectin and will give your marmalade a soft set as it cools. Turn on the pot, and then when the water boils, drop it to simmering, and cook for about 30 minutes. You're softening the peel here. When it's done, pull out the bag of pits.
You can proceed immediately after you do this, but there's some kind of peaceful rest in letting the stuff sit overnight. I think it helped make good marmelade, but what do I know. In any event, add that juice and two pounds of sugar . (you best make sure your pot is nice and big).
Either right away, or the next morning, start heating this, and when it boils, lower the heat to simmer. Now, you need your thermometer, and you need PATIENCE. You need to cook this to 220 degrees. Seems fairly simple, after all, it was boiling, that was 212.
WRONG. Heat distribution in a mass like this takes a while. It took nearly an hour and a half of slow simmering for me. Toward the end, you will see massive reduction in the amount of liquid, a thickening of the syrup, and you will probably have to stir with some regularity to keep the peel from settling and burning. It's all good. When the mass has come to 220 and stayed there for a minute or two, get it off the heat . The stuff will "set" some as it cools, but t his is never going to be as firm as a commercial jam, and that's just fine. Get some jars, and fill em up and share them.
I think you get about a quart and a half of marmalade out of this, with a very intense flavor and a lovely orange rose color. I don't seal the jars, so you will have to refrigerate the stuff. That being the case, unless you have a friend who TRULY loves jam, use small jars.
We put some on fresh baked whole wheat bread right away and it was GREAT. I'm thinking soft white cheese as well. Now THAT sounds good, and very very European.
Give it a try.
Until this weekend.
Look, I have no idea how my mind works, and probably would be scared to death if I did, but somehow, I got it in my head that I wanted to make some marmalade.
Well, the Citrus Bomb and the Artichoke Queen had SOMETHING to do with that. See, I had asked for some seville oranges in last week's citrus box. I had visions of a marinade for a pork tenderloin, that I never made. Since the ladies, like this lady, believe that "anything worth doing is worth overdoing" (AMEN SISTAH), there were fifteen of them in my box. Now, that's a lot of marinade, so some switch went off in my head and said "marmalade."
I could see Guy's eyes rolling to the back of his head. BUT... what I found was that this recipe makes a very reasonable amount of the stuff. Again, this is a bit time consuming, but it makes a really good product. I am going to give it for seville oranges, which you can still get, but I think you could probably use others. I will check with my friend June Taylor, who makes the ULTIMATE jams.
Incidentally, once you make this, you will NEVER carp about the price of good jam or marmelade again. And if you do, you don't deserve to eat it.
The recipe, is shamelessly stolen from David Lebovitz, who posted it on his blog. I changed it in one respect, as I will tell you.
You start with about three pounds of sevilles. For me, this was six of them (David's recipe called for six, and I weighed them). Half them, squeeze them through a juicer (the hand kind is fine), and save the pits. Of course, save the juice as well. Also - and here's where I varied things - squeeze two blood oranges and add that juice to the seville orange juice.
Gather all those peels, and cut them roughly, but not too big. If the pieces are more than, say 1/3 of an inch wide, you will have problems. This will take a bit of time , but not that much. Dump the peels into a pot, and add 3 quarts of water . Then, take all those seeds, wrap them i cheesecloth, tie it tight and add it to the pot as well. Those pits are LOADED with pectin and will give your marmalade a soft set as it cools. Turn on the pot, and then when the water boils, drop it to simmering, and cook for about 30 minutes. You're softening the peel here. When it's done, pull out the bag of pits.
You can proceed immediately after you do this, but there's some kind of peaceful rest in letting the stuff sit overnight. I think it helped make good marmelade, but what do I know. In any event, add that juice and two pounds of sugar . (you best make sure your pot is nice and big).
Either right away, or the next morning, start heating this, and when it boils, lower the heat to simmer. Now, you need your thermometer, and you need PATIENCE. You need to cook this to 220 degrees. Seems fairly simple, after all, it was boiling, that was 212.
WRONG. Heat distribution in a mass like this takes a while. It took nearly an hour and a half of slow simmering for me. Toward the end, you will see massive reduction in the amount of liquid, a thickening of the syrup, and you will probably have to stir with some regularity to keep the peel from settling and burning. It's all good. When the mass has come to 220 and stayed there for a minute or two, get it off the heat . The stuff will "set" some as it cools, but t his is never going to be as firm as a commercial jam, and that's just fine. Get some jars, and fill em up and share them.
I think you get about a quart and a half of marmalade out of this, with a very intense flavor and a lovely orange rose color. I don't seal the jars, so you will have to refrigerate the stuff. That being the case, unless you have a friend who TRULY loves jam, use small jars.
We put some on fresh baked whole wheat bread right away and it was GREAT. I'm thinking soft white cheese as well. Now THAT sounds good, and very very European.
Give it a try.
"The times they are a changin"
Again, my readers of a "certain age" will remember that title, and how that song impacted all of us, in so many ways. Remember sitting around and trying to "figure out" what Bob Dylan REALLY meant when he wrote his songs?
Last night, sitting at dinner with Jonathan and Joe, I was recounting taking religion class with THE FIRST MEN TEACHERS my grammar school had ever hired. One of them was my religion teacher. He taught it via Bob Dylan songs. These were the sixties, remember? To this day, I'm still not sure "Mr. Tambourine Man" is supposed to be a pusher, but that's what Mr. Trainor's seventh grade class considered. And none of us would EVER use a pusher, no siree.
Uh, right.
Well, that reminiscence came up because yes, the times ARE changing. Spring is ALMOST here. Nevia, the vegetable goddess, is planning to be back ahead of schedule. So the early spring greens and pinks are almost here for the cook. Last night, I was pulling out ramp recipes.
And sitting at dinner with Jonathan and Joe last night was a revival of something we haven't done in over ten years. We had a small dinner at home, on Sunday night. I have to say, it was a wonderful evening. It went well past it had any right to, but it felt so right. The discussion of everything from raunch sex to critical theory on St. Teresa's writings (this is my crowd, gang. Be jealous, laugh or do what you like, but it is what it is, and I'm happy to "be here now,") was so engaging that I should feel tired today, and I'm not.
So, all this digression in what should be about food. And it IS about food. I just want to give you the set up to this.
Note that "the times they ARE a changin," not that they HAVE changed. So we're still working with the products of late winter, imminent spring. We had roast chicken. That recipe is early on in this blog. Here's the side dish. I got it from Ina Garten's book, and to me, it's sort of the apotheosis of everything good about winter. (I can use words like that around Joe and Jonathan).
This is a rough puree of apples, celery root, fennel and potatoes. It's amazingly easy to do. We followed Ina's instructions, and Jonathan got a work out in making a passato, but to be honest, when I took it off the stove, I thought we could have served it as it was. You make it and decide. It's not that hard to do.
You need a stick of unsalted butter, half a fennel bulb (make a salad with the other half and oranges the next day), four golden delicious apples, a half pound of potatoes, and two pounds of celery root. You'll also need apple cider, and heavy cream.
The chopping will take a little time. You have to chop the fennel into small, rough pieces, peel and chop the potatoes, do the same with the apples , and also with the celery root. Celery root is intimidating looking. Don't be afraid. Cut two horizontal slices, one from each end, and stand it up. Then run the back end of your knife down each root, until you've taken off the skin. Half it, and then you have what looks like a small, white pineapple. Very easy to chop now.
When you have everything chopped, melt the stick of butter in a BIG pan or pot. Then dump in all the vegetables, half a cup of apple cider, and a big pinch of salt. Cover the pot, lower the heat, and go away for about twenty minutes. Then, come back and check the softness of the CELERY root. This is the veggie that is going to take the longest to cook. If it feels soft enough for you to eat, then you're done. If not, put the cover back and let it cook for another ten minutes, and check again.
I WILL tell you that I had a bit of an issue with carmelization here, maybe because I used a big, wide, shallow pan. It tasted real fine, but if you want something pure white, you're going to want less surface area on your vegetables, and that means a smaller, deeper pot.
When the veggies are soft enough for you, Ina has you pass them through a food mill, for a rough texture, or in the food processor, for a softer one.
Something happens to potatoes in food processors. There is a release of a gummy starch if you process them too much. I've had it happen once or twice. So you can either pulse and watch yourself, or put it through a food mill. It's a texture thing here. When you're done, add some heavy cream. As I think about the dish now, we added less cream than the recipe called for, and that's fine. Again, it's a question of what you like. Add a bit more salt. You do have to taste this along the way, because you're dealing with a collection of vegetables that are really pretty bland.
If you didn't want to puree this, that would be fine with me. I thought the chunks of vegetables looked just fine as they are, almost like a soft "hash." NOT the hash that Mr. Tambourine man is allegedly selling, but hash nonetheless.
This will give you anywhere from four pretty big servings, to eight small ones. Look at the quantities: you have well over 3 pounds of vegetables up there. Pretty healthy ones too.
So, if you have a tambourine around, especially if it's a green one (bonus points to anyone who gets THAT allusion), shake it a few times as you bring the puree out with whatever else you're serving. I can't help but think this is going to be wonderful with duck, or perhaps pork cooked i a citrus sauce. Add your ideas, and make it.
We'll be saying "see ya" to celery root soon. Fennel will be around, in baby form soon, and apples are aways with us, but they won't be at their best. So, give winter "one last hurrah," and make this while you can.
And maybe St. Teresa will send her blessings on you, too
Last night, sitting at dinner with Jonathan and Joe, I was recounting taking religion class with THE FIRST MEN TEACHERS my grammar school had ever hired. One of them was my religion teacher. He taught it via Bob Dylan songs. These were the sixties, remember? To this day, I'm still not sure "Mr. Tambourine Man" is supposed to be a pusher, but that's what Mr. Trainor's seventh grade class considered. And none of us would EVER use a pusher, no siree.
Uh, right.
Well, that reminiscence came up because yes, the times ARE changing. Spring is ALMOST here. Nevia, the vegetable goddess, is planning to be back ahead of schedule. So the early spring greens and pinks are almost here for the cook. Last night, I was pulling out ramp recipes.
And sitting at dinner with Jonathan and Joe last night was a revival of something we haven't done in over ten years. We had a small dinner at home, on Sunday night. I have to say, it was a wonderful evening. It went well past it had any right to, but it felt so right. The discussion of everything from raunch sex to critical theory on St. Teresa's writings (this is my crowd, gang. Be jealous, laugh or do what you like, but it is what it is, and I'm happy to "be here now,") was so engaging that I should feel tired today, and I'm not.
So, all this digression in what should be about food. And it IS about food. I just want to give you the set up to this.
Note that "the times they ARE a changin," not that they HAVE changed. So we're still working with the products of late winter, imminent spring. We had roast chicken. That recipe is early on in this blog. Here's the side dish. I got it from Ina Garten's book, and to me, it's sort of the apotheosis of everything good about winter. (I can use words like that around Joe and Jonathan).
This is a rough puree of apples, celery root, fennel and potatoes. It's amazingly easy to do. We followed Ina's instructions, and Jonathan got a work out in making a passato, but to be honest, when I took it off the stove, I thought we could have served it as it was. You make it and decide. It's not that hard to do.
You need a stick of unsalted butter, half a fennel bulb (make a salad with the other half and oranges the next day), four golden delicious apples, a half pound of potatoes, and two pounds of celery root. You'll also need apple cider, and heavy cream.
The chopping will take a little time. You have to chop the fennel into small, rough pieces, peel and chop the potatoes, do the same with the apples , and also with the celery root. Celery root is intimidating looking. Don't be afraid. Cut two horizontal slices, one from each end, and stand it up. Then run the back end of your knife down each root, until you've taken off the skin. Half it, and then you have what looks like a small, white pineapple. Very easy to chop now.
When you have everything chopped, melt the stick of butter in a BIG pan or pot. Then dump in all the vegetables, half a cup of apple cider, and a big pinch of salt. Cover the pot, lower the heat, and go away for about twenty minutes. Then, come back and check the softness of the CELERY root. This is the veggie that is going to take the longest to cook. If it feels soft enough for you to eat, then you're done. If not, put the cover back and let it cook for another ten minutes, and check again.
I WILL tell you that I had a bit of an issue with carmelization here, maybe because I used a big, wide, shallow pan. It tasted real fine, but if you want something pure white, you're going to want less surface area on your vegetables, and that means a smaller, deeper pot.
When the veggies are soft enough for you, Ina has you pass them through a food mill, for a rough texture, or in the food processor, for a softer one.
Something happens to potatoes in food processors. There is a release of a gummy starch if you process them too much. I've had it happen once or twice. So you can either pulse and watch yourself, or put it through a food mill. It's a texture thing here. When you're done, add some heavy cream. As I think about the dish now, we added less cream than the recipe called for, and that's fine. Again, it's a question of what you like. Add a bit more salt. You do have to taste this along the way, because you're dealing with a collection of vegetables that are really pretty bland.
If you didn't want to puree this, that would be fine with me. I thought the chunks of vegetables looked just fine as they are, almost like a soft "hash." NOT the hash that Mr. Tambourine man is allegedly selling, but hash nonetheless.
This will give you anywhere from four pretty big servings, to eight small ones. Look at the quantities: you have well over 3 pounds of vegetables up there. Pretty healthy ones too.
So, if you have a tambourine around, especially if it's a green one (bonus points to anyone who gets THAT allusion), shake it a few times as you bring the puree out with whatever else you're serving. I can't help but think this is going to be wonderful with duck, or perhaps pork cooked i a citrus sauce. Add your ideas, and make it.
We'll be saying "see ya" to celery root soon. Fennel will be around, in baby form soon, and apples are aways with us, but they won't be at their best. So, give winter "one last hurrah," and make this while you can.
And maybe St. Teresa will send her blessings on you, too
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Apples for the teacher? BAH! Chocolate Chestnut cake
This one is for my teacher Jonathan, who may have the hardest job in the world.
I'm serious about that. I take two sets of lessons: Italian and guitar. I am NOT a good student. I get distracted, I get bored, and I am willful. And those are my GOOD points. But every week, Jonathan comes over and tries as best as he can to improve my Italian. In the course of about 9 months ( or has it been less?), we've become good friends. That doesn't always happen with your teachers, ya know, and it's sometimes a challenge to keep both relationships working when it does. But we've succeeded. Rather than theorize about it, this is yet another case where I'm going to "enjoy the butterfly" instead of dissecting it to see if I can figure out what makes it so beautiful.
OK, enough philosophizing, let's get to the cake of the matter. I have written a few blogs on chocolate cakes, including my prize winning one. I almost never make that cake anymore, because I prefer making this one. I made it at New Year's and Jonathan remembered it. When someone remembers a dish you made two months ago, STAND UP AND TAKE NOTICE. That means it was a success. Try to remember EVERYTHING you ate over the last two weeks. Now, try to remember SOMETHING you ate over the last two weeks.
See what I mean? And you cooked a lot of this stuff. So if YOU don't remember. ...
This recipe appeared, originally, in a book called "Festive Favorites," which was produced by the California Culinary Academy. They had a television show on public televison, which was very slick. SO slick that when they showed you a recipe being prepared, they left out proportions and quantities, so that if you wanted the recipe, you had to buy the tie in book.
Buying that book was an exercise in complete and total frustration. I had to go to San Francisco's public television network, and essentially yell at six or seven people before I could get it.
The book itself is not really worth the effort. "Festive Favorite" is a good title. There are recipes in that book that take 9 pages to get through. Uh, not me.
There are three recipes in the book that I use. One is for a persimmon walnut cake. Another is their recipe for manicotti crepes. It's the best one I've found. And finally, this chocolate chestnut cake. It is truly a mammoth cake, that can easily feed 20 people. The texture is sort of a cross between cake and fudge, probably because of the chestnut paste, one of my favorite ingredients.
I will also tell you that when I have not been able to find chestnut paste, I have done this with hazelnut paste, for more of a "gianduja" kind of cake. It works. I would stay away from the other nutpastes, with the exception of almond butter, rather than almond paste. You need something that is sort of unctious and creamy, rather than thick and heavy, which is what almond paste is like. Cashew and peanut butters, I think, would never work. Sesame paste MIGHT, but I'd be cautious. So if you can't find the chestnut paste or puree called for, look for hazelnut, which is easier to find year round (chestnut products are easy to find in fall and winter, harder in the warmer months), and make the cake. The ingredient list looks formidable, but read this through, it's not that hard.
Jonathan, forse facciamo questa torta insieme. I probably got everything right in that sentence, but who knows? Jonathan will never tell me.
You start by preheating your oven to 350. Then, get a BIG springform pan, 10 inches if you can find one. It really is necessary for this cake. If you don't have one, borrow one. Grease it with soft butter all over.
Now, chop up a pound of the best bittersweet chocolate you can find. If you like a sweeter cake, use semisweet, but the difference will be profound. I have found that the easiest way to chop up a block of chocolate is to use a serrated bread knife. You also need half a cup of white wine . The original recipe called for champagne.
Uh, right. I have leftover champagne in my fridge (well, actually, I do.... But there are reasons. ). Anyway, champagne is a white wine. Use something dry. Sauvignon blanc, chardonnay, yadda yadda. You also need a stick of unsalted butter, soft, half a cup of heavy cream (I kid you not: the original recipe called for 1 5/8 cup of cream. GET OVER YOURSELF). A one pound jar of chestnut puree. The recipe calls for unsweetened chestnut puree, which is a nightmare to find. If you find the sweet stuff, fine. If you fine the sweet stuff with vanilla, even more fine. You also need 1.5 cups of white sugar, a half cup of flour and six eggs.
Okay, now we start cooking. Combine the chocolate and the wine in a pot and bring it to low heat until the chocolate melts. Stir occasionally to help it along. (If you h ave a microwave, you can do this step in that contraption. I don't). Put it aside while you do the following steps.
Get out your mixer, or get set for a workout, and combine the cream, the butter and the chestnut paste until it's very smooth. You don't really want to combine that much air into this, so when they're combined and you have a uniform color, you're there. Now, add the melted chocolate mixture, stir that to a uniform color, and then add the chestnut puree. Again, mix to uniform color. Now mix in the flour, and maybe a pinch of salt. Finally, add the eggs.
That last step is very interesting, and it has a very determined impact on texture. Normally, you combine eggs with fat, to create a matrix of air and the lipids, to give "lift" to the cake. Not so here. And if you're a careful recipe reader, you will see NO leavening agents whatsoever. This is gonna be a very solid cake.
Pour everything into that pan, and if you happen to have a baking sheet, put it on the baking sheet just for safety. Now, go and read critical literary theory for an hour or so . (This IS for Jonathan, remember). Check the cake. It will rise, fall, and crack. Then turn off the oven, and let it cool there for fifteen minutes. That will finish the baking .
Let it cool completely at room temperature before you serve it. You do NOT need to refrigerate this, and probably shouldn't.
This cake will keep at a cool room temperature for at least a week. I usually don't make it in warm weather, so I can't vouch for it; however, there is very little in here to call in those mold spores, so you should be ok. You're only gonna make this for a big party though, so you shouldn't have a concern.
Jonathan, I'm having a blast and I AM learning Italian. Enjoy it, and yes, we will make it together.
A presto.
I'm serious about that. I take two sets of lessons: Italian and guitar. I am NOT a good student. I get distracted, I get bored, and I am willful. And those are my GOOD points. But every week, Jonathan comes over and tries as best as he can to improve my Italian. In the course of about 9 months ( or has it been less?), we've become good friends. That doesn't always happen with your teachers, ya know, and it's sometimes a challenge to keep both relationships working when it does. But we've succeeded. Rather than theorize about it, this is yet another case where I'm going to "enjoy the butterfly" instead of dissecting it to see if I can figure out what makes it so beautiful.
OK, enough philosophizing, let's get to the cake of the matter. I have written a few blogs on chocolate cakes, including my prize winning one. I almost never make that cake anymore, because I prefer making this one. I made it at New Year's and Jonathan remembered it. When someone remembers a dish you made two months ago, STAND UP AND TAKE NOTICE. That means it was a success. Try to remember EVERYTHING you ate over the last two weeks. Now, try to remember SOMETHING you ate over the last two weeks.
See what I mean? And you cooked a lot of this stuff. So if YOU don't remember. ...
This recipe appeared, originally, in a book called "Festive Favorites," which was produced by the California Culinary Academy. They had a television show on public televison, which was very slick. SO slick that when they showed you a recipe being prepared, they left out proportions and quantities, so that if you wanted the recipe, you had to buy the tie in book.
Buying that book was an exercise in complete and total frustration. I had to go to San Francisco's public television network, and essentially yell at six or seven people before I could get it.
The book itself is not really worth the effort. "Festive Favorite" is a good title. There are recipes in that book that take 9 pages to get through. Uh, not me.
There are three recipes in the book that I use. One is for a persimmon walnut cake. Another is their recipe for manicotti crepes. It's the best one I've found. And finally, this chocolate chestnut cake. It is truly a mammoth cake, that can easily feed 20 people. The texture is sort of a cross between cake and fudge, probably because of the chestnut paste, one of my favorite ingredients.
I will also tell you that when I have not been able to find chestnut paste, I have done this with hazelnut paste, for more of a "gianduja" kind of cake. It works. I would stay away from the other nutpastes, with the exception of almond butter, rather than almond paste. You need something that is sort of unctious and creamy, rather than thick and heavy, which is what almond paste is like. Cashew and peanut butters, I think, would never work. Sesame paste MIGHT, but I'd be cautious. So if you can't find the chestnut paste or puree called for, look for hazelnut, which is easier to find year round (chestnut products are easy to find in fall and winter, harder in the warmer months), and make the cake. The ingredient list looks formidable, but read this through, it's not that hard.
Jonathan, forse facciamo questa torta insieme. I probably got everything right in that sentence, but who knows? Jonathan will never tell me.
You start by preheating your oven to 350. Then, get a BIG springform pan, 10 inches if you can find one. It really is necessary for this cake. If you don't have one, borrow one. Grease it with soft butter all over.
Now, chop up a pound of the best bittersweet chocolate you can find. If you like a sweeter cake, use semisweet, but the difference will be profound. I have found that the easiest way to chop up a block of chocolate is to use a serrated bread knife. You also need half a cup of white wine . The original recipe called for champagne.
Uh, right. I have leftover champagne in my fridge (well, actually, I do.... But there are reasons. ). Anyway, champagne is a white wine. Use something dry. Sauvignon blanc, chardonnay, yadda yadda. You also need a stick of unsalted butter, soft, half a cup of heavy cream (I kid you not: the original recipe called for 1 5/8 cup of cream. GET OVER YOURSELF). A one pound jar of chestnut puree. The recipe calls for unsweetened chestnut puree, which is a nightmare to find. If you find the sweet stuff, fine. If you fine the sweet stuff with vanilla, even more fine. You also need 1.5 cups of white sugar, a half cup of flour and six eggs.
Okay, now we start cooking. Combine the chocolate and the wine in a pot and bring it to low heat until the chocolate melts. Stir occasionally to help it along. (If you h ave a microwave, you can do this step in that contraption. I don't). Put it aside while you do the following steps.
Get out your mixer, or get set for a workout, and combine the cream, the butter and the chestnut paste until it's very smooth. You don't really want to combine that much air into this, so when they're combined and you have a uniform color, you're there. Now, add the melted chocolate mixture, stir that to a uniform color, and then add the chestnut puree. Again, mix to uniform color. Now mix in the flour, and maybe a pinch of salt. Finally, add the eggs.
That last step is very interesting, and it has a very determined impact on texture. Normally, you combine eggs with fat, to create a matrix of air and the lipids, to give "lift" to the cake. Not so here. And if you're a careful recipe reader, you will see NO leavening agents whatsoever. This is gonna be a very solid cake.
Pour everything into that pan, and if you happen to have a baking sheet, put it on the baking sheet just for safety. Now, go and read critical literary theory for an hour or so . (This IS for Jonathan, remember). Check the cake. It will rise, fall, and crack. Then turn off the oven, and let it cool there for fifteen minutes. That will finish the baking .
Let it cool completely at room temperature before you serve it. You do NOT need to refrigerate this, and probably shouldn't.
This cake will keep at a cool room temperature for at least a week. I usually don't make it in warm weather, so I can't vouch for it; however, there is very little in here to call in those mold spores, so you should be ok. You're only gonna make this for a big party though, so you shouldn't have a concern.
Jonathan, I'm having a blast and I AM learning Italian. Enjoy it, and yes, we will make it together.
A presto.
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