MooMooFoodie

NY Times: How We Got to Dessert

December 2, 2011

How We Got to Dessert

By DAWN DRZAL

Eel in marzipan and goose-liver macaroons may sound like outtakes from Monty Python’s “Crunchy Frog” skit, but in SWEET INVENTION: A History of Dessert (Chicago Review Press, $24.95), Michael Krondl tells us that the eel was offered at a 16th-century Italian banquet while the cookies, known more elegantly as foie gras macaroons, are the creation of a 21st-century Parisian pastry chef. These two dishes show how the relationship between sweet and savory has come full circle — from medieval and Renaissance Europe, when there was no division between them, to their segregation during the 20th century and back again to the current era, in which cutting-edge chefs delight in toying with our expectations.

Krondl’s book attempts to chronicle the evolution of the sweet course by visiting six regions that roughly reflect sugarcane’s spread across the world: India, the Middle East, Italy, France, Austria and the United States. After all, at the heart of dessert is sugar, “the prime mover,” ­Krondl thoughtfully points out, “of the trans-Atlantic traffic in human beings.” As the author of “The Taste of Conquest: The Rise and Fall of the Three Great Cities of Spice,” he is qualified to tell the shameful story of sugar as spice.

Although science has established that our love of sweet things is rooted in evolution, ­Krondl posits that “dessert is a purely cultural phenomenon.” Thus the Sacher torte, “an edible manifestation of an urban, cosmopolitan Vienna, as smooth and fitted as a little black cocktail dress,” embodies Austria’s tradition of skilled artisanal pastry cooks. Contrast this with America’s “rural and profoundly unaristocratic” apple pie, an expression of our nation’s “almost religious attitude about home baking.”

Unfortunately, Krondl’s fascinating cultural account is embedded deep within another, far less digestible one. Somehow he fails to draw the crucial distinction between a history of dessert, certainly an ambitious enough subject, and a history of individual desserts. After a seemingly endless trudge through the “thousand and one sweet layers” of Middle Eastern cooking, I reached what Krondl calls the “smoking gun” — that kasutera or “castela cake” was introduced into Japan by the Portuguese in the 16th century — and my first thought was, “Hand it to me, quick.”

“The French noun dessert,” Krondl explains, “originates with the verb desservir, or un-serve, that is, to remove what has been served. In other words, le dessert was set out once the table had been cleared of the dishes that made up the main part of the meal.” Although the term appears a couple of times in the late 14th century, it would not attain its current meaning until roughly 1900.

Medieval European cooks added a lot of sugar to their savory dishes, and at that Italian meal in 1529 featuring the eel in marzipan, Krondl reports, “anchovy salad was served alongside ­sugar-dusted cream pies.” By the mid-17th century, however, when La Varenne wrote “Le Cuisinier François,” a weak “Maginot line” had been established between sweet and savory. Sugar was banned from salty dishes, but sweet foods were still served concurrently with meats and fish. Yet the breach had been opened and would be widened further by the gradual replacement, 150 years later, of “service à la française, the custom of serving numerous dishes simultaneously, . . . by service à la russe, where one dish followed another.” A century of Russian service ultimately resulted in dessert as we know it.

Today we have the surreal experiments of a generation of young “molecular gastronomists” inspired by Ferran Adrià of the legendary — and, lamentably, recently closed — restaurant in Catalonia, El Bulli. At one such meal, “oysters come with a gin and tonic foam, barnacles sit atop cubes of watermelon, seared foie gras is served with cherries and octopus.” Mmm. Just like Grandma used to make.

NY Times: Chicks With Something to Peep About (Marshmallows)

 

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April 15, 2011

Chicks With Something to Peep About

By MELISSA CLARK

AT Easter time, when the shops erupt in a pastel frenzy of chocolate bunnies, candy eggs and marshmallow chicks, I try hard to resist. Unless I’m buying an artisanal rabbit made from single-origin chocolate, most of the confections look a lot better than they taste.

The most cloying offenders are fluffy marshmallow chicks, which don’t actually taste like anything beyond a tooth-aching sugary burst. (Although after they’ve aged, unwrapped, for a few days, the sugar coating does harden into a pleasingly gritty crust.)

So of all the D.I.Y. projects I’ve contemplated, nothing could be more apropos than making my own Easter chicks.

I had already developed a recipe for homemade marshmallows that was not only airy and light, but also had a complex flavor from substituting good, fragrant honey for the bland corn syrup.

The only problem was the color: my marshmallows are white. Every toddler on our playground knows chicks are yellow and Easter bunnies are, of course, pink. A few drops of food coloring massaged into a sugar coating would help, but if I wanted my candy to really stand apart, I could tint it with something that tasted good, too.

A small pinch of ground saffron, I hoped, would give a faint yellow cast while adding an earthy, spicy note to my chicks, and pomegranate juice would put the pink in my bunnies’ cheeks along with a tart and fruity nuance.

Both recipes were hits with the under-3 crowd and their parents, particularly after I let the critters age unwrapped for a few days to stiffen up.

Then I started spinning out variations, trying grape juice for lavender marshmallow Easter eggs sprinkled with dark green sanding sugar for a sparkling contrast.

And for something even more intense, I added matcha powder to make green tea marshmallows with a bracing bitter note. I spooned this verdant fluff over a shortbread cookie crust, then topped it with candied ginger for a vaguely s’mores-inspired bar cookie with a much more exotic flavor.

It made a nice moss-hued pasture for my sugared animals to graze. I’ll bet they would have even enjoyed the taste.

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Saffron Honey Marshmallows

Time: 45 minutes, plus 4 hours to set

 

6 drops yellow food coloring (optional)

2/3 cup superfine sugar

2 cups plus 1 teaspoon granulated sugar

1/2 teaspoon crumbled saffron threads

3 tablespoons unflavored gelatin (about 3 envelopes)

1/4 cup honey

2 large egg whites

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt.

 

1. Place parchment or waxed paper on the bottom and sides of a 12 7/8-by-

17 3 /4-inch baking sheet. If using the food coloring, combine it with the superfine sugar in a small bowl; stir or massage with your fingers until color is evenly distributed. Sift half of the superfine sugar, with or without color, over the bottom of the pan.

2. Using a spice grinder or mortar and pestle, finely grind 1 teaspoon granulated sugar with the saffron threads. Place in a bowl and cover with 2 tablespoons very hot water. When cool, cover with 3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons cold water. Stir the gelatin into the water and let rest until the mixture becomes very thick.

3. In a saucepan over medium heat, cook the remaining 2 cups granulated sugar, honey and 1/2 cup water, stirring, until the sugar dissolves and the mixture reaches 240 degrees on a candy thermometer.

4. Meanwhile, with an electric mixer on medium speed, whisk the egg whites and salt until soft peaks form, about 4 minutes. With the mixer running, carefully pour the 240-degree sugar syrup down the side of the mixing bowl in a slow and steady drizzle. Continue whisking until the mixture has cooled slightly, about 2 minutes. Scrape in the gelatin mixture. Continue whisking until the mixture begins to thicken and quadruples in volume, about 10 minutes. Scrape the mixture into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Sift the remaining superfine sugar over the marshmallows. Allow marshmallows to set for 4 hours or overnight at room temperature.

5. Use cookie cutters or a knife to cut marshmallows into shapes or squares.

Yield: About 2 dozen marshmallows.

Pomegranate variation: Eliminate the food coloring and skip Step 2. Stir the gelatin into 1 cup pomegranate juice and let it thicken. Proceed with Step 3.

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Green Tea-Ginger Marshmallow Shortbread

Time: 45 minutes, plus 4 hours to set

 

2 cups all-purpose flour

2/3 cup sifted powdered sugar

1 teaspoon kosher salt

2 sticks unsalted butter

3 tablespoons unflavored gelatin (about 3 envelopes)

4 teaspoons matcha (green tea powder)

2 large egg whites

2 cups granulated sugar

1/4 cup honey

1/2 cup finely chopped candied ginger

3 tablespoons superfine sugar.

 

1. Heat the oven to 325 degrees. In a food processor fitted with a blade, pulse together flour, sugar and 3/4 teaspoon salt. Add the butter and pulse to fine crumbs. Pulse a few more times until some crumbs start to come together, but do not overprocess. Dough should not be smooth. Press dough into an ungreased 9-by-13-inch baking pan. (It won’t look as if you have enough, but keep pressing and it will cover the pan in a thin layer.) Prick dough all over with a fork. Bake until golden brown, 35 to 40 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack and cool completely.

2. In a small bowl, whisk the gelatin and matcha together. Stir in 1 cup cold water. Rest the mixture until it thickens.

3. In the bowl of an electric mixer, whisk the egg whites and the remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt on medium speed, until soft peaks form, about 4 minutes. Stop the mixer.

4. In a saucepan over medium heat, cook the granulated sugar, honey and 1 cup water, stirring until the sugar dissolves and the mixture reaches 240 degrees on a candy thermometer. Start the mixer on medium-high and carefully pour the hot syrup down the side of the mixing bowl into the whites in a slow and steady drizzle. Continue mixing until the mixture has cooled slightly, about 2 minutes. Scrape in the gelatin mixture. Continue mixing on medium-high speed until the mixture begins to thicken and quadruples in volume, about 10 minutes. Scrape the mixture into the pan with the shortbread, smoothing the top with an offset spatula. Rub together the candied ginger and superfine sugar to break up any clumps. Sprinkle over the top of the marshmallows. Let marshmallows set for 4 hours or overnight at room temperature. Cut into squares.

Yield: About 2 dozen servings.

NY Times: Pear and Red Wine Sorbet

 

April 4, 2011

Pear and Red Wine Sorbet

By MARTHA ROSE SHULMAN

This has a beguiling flavor and a wonderful ruby color. You’ll simmer away most of the alcohol in the red wine, but the phytonutrients in the red pigments will still be present.

2 1/2 pounds ripe pears (4 medium to large pears, like Bartlett pears)

1/2 cup sugar, preferably organic fair-trade

1 1/2 cups red wine

1 1/2 cups water

1 2- or 3-inch cinnamon stick

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Pinch of freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

1. Peel, core and quarter the pears. Place them in a medium saucepan with the sugar, red wine, water, cinnamon stick and vanilla extract. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, until the pears are soft and translucent. This will take 15 to 20 minutes if the pears are ripe and soft to begin with, or about 30 minutes if they’re somewhat hard. Add the pepper.

2. Using tongs, remove the pears to a bowl. Remove the cinnamon stick from the poaching liquid, and discard. Turn up the heat, and reduce until the mixture has the consistency of a thin syrup. (This step may be unnecessary, depending on how long you cooked the pears and how juicy they were.)

3. Place the pears, in batches, in a blender, or place all of them in a food processor fitted with the steel blade. Purée until smooth. Slowly add the poaching liquid and the lemon juice, and blend together. Transfer to a bowl, and chill. Meanwhile, place a 1-quart container in the freezer.

4. Freeze in an ice cream maker following the manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer to the chilled container, and freeze for at least two hours before serving. If frozen solid, allow to soften in the refrigerator for 15 to 30 minutes.

Yield: One quart, serving six.

Advance preparation: This will keep for a couple of weeks in the freezer.

Nutritional information per serving: 218 calories; 0 grams saturated fat; 0 grams polyunsaturated fat; 0 grams monounsaturated fat; 0 milligrams cholesterol; 46 grams carbohydrates; 5 grams dietary fiber; 6 milligrams sodium; 1 gram protein

Martha Rose Shulman is the author of "The Very Best of Recipes for Health."

WSJ: Easier-Than-Pie Meringue

FOOD & DRINK
APRIL 2, 2011

Easier-Than-Pie Meringue

From a simple egg-white-and-sugar foundation arises an empire of superchic desserts

Romulo Yanes for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Vivian Lui

Clockwise from left: Lemon Angel 'Pie'; Chocolate and Meringue Angel 'Pie'; Meringue Shell With Mixed Tropical Sorbets and Fruits; Mixed Berry Pavlova

Elegant and fun, meringues invariably elicit "ooohs" and "aaahs" from guests. Consisting of little more than egg whites and sugar infused with air, this miracle food has a plethora of uses. Crowning glory of lemon meringue pie and baked Alaska, it is also the basis for delicately flavored "kisses," and the decorative mushrooms atop yuletide Bûches de Noël.

But meringue needn't be fancy or complicated. My favorite use for it is as hassle-free pie crust. Spend 15 minutes preparing the meringue, pop it into a 200-degree oven and leave it there—ignored and unattended—for at least five hours. And if you forget about it for a few more hours, it will be fine, too. (The reason for the long, low-temperature cooking method is to ensure it thoroughly dries out without browning.)

Either use the crunchy-all-the-way-through basic meringue or a chewy-in-the-center version associated with traditional pavlovas, and top it off with whatever appeals. On the following page, you'll find four recipes that explore meringue's possibilities. The Mixed Berry Pavlova is spectacular; but so are lemon curd, chocolate or sorbet options. Play with various shell and filling combinations and see which you prefer.

—Gail Monaghan

LEMON ANGEL "PIE"

Sweet and sour and absolutely delicious, this food named for heavenly inhabitants is well-loved by mere mortals as well. Serves 8

Romulo Yanes for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Vivian Lui

Lemon Angel 'Pie'

1 baked meringue shell
1 batch lemon curd (recipe below)
Whipped cream topping (recipe below)
½ cup fresh raspberries or slivered strawberries (optional)

Lemon Curd:
1¾ cups sugar
Finely grated zest of 6 lemons
10 egg yolks
Juice of 4 lemons
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons heavy cream

Whipped Cream Topping:
1 cup very cold heavy cream
4 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Make the lemon curd: Whisk sugar, lemon zest and egg yolks until pale yellow. Stir in lemon juice.Scald cream in a large saucepan and then pour it into the egg yolk mixture in a slow, steady stream while whisking constantly.Return mixture to saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. When mixture has simmered for several minutes and is very thick, return it to bowl. Smooth a piece of plastic wrap directly over the curd (not the top of the bowl) to prevent a skin from forming. Let cool, then chill in refrigerator. The cooled curd will keep for at least 2 weeks in the refrigerator.

2. Make the whipped cream topping: Whisk the cream with the sugar and vanilla until soft peaks form.

3. To serve, place the meringue shell on a cake plate, spread the lemon curd and then the whipped cream over the top. Garnish with fruit if desired.

NOTE: The cooled curd, whipped cream and meringue also make a delicious frozen bombe: Roughly mash everything together and freeze in a metal bowl for at least 4 hours. When ready to serve, dip bowl in hot water and invert onto a cake plate.

MERINGUE SHELL WITH MIXED TROPICAL SORBETS AND FRUITS

This intensely flavorful fruit-filled dessert is ideal in hot weather. Serves 8

Romulo Yanes for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Vivian Lui

Meringue Shell With Mixed Tropical Sorbets and Fruits

1 baked meringue shell
2 pints mango, pineapple, passion fruit and/or banana sorbets
1 pint vanilla ice cream (optional)
Whipped cream topping (optional; recipe above)
6 cups sliced kiwi, passionfruit, pineapple, mango and/or banana, cut as for fruit salad and mixed with a pinch of salt and superfine sugar to taste

To serve, place the meringue shell on a cake plate and spread sorbets and, if using, ice cream over the top, followed by whipped cream. Garnish with sliced fruit.

CHOCOLATE AND MERINGUE ANGEL "PIE"

Coffee-and-Kahlua-enhanced chocolate atop a bed of airy meringue makes for one of the most luscious desserts of all time. Serves 8

Romulo Yanes for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Vivian Lui

Chocolate and Meringue Angel 'Pie'

1 baked meringue shell
Chocolate filling
Whipped cream topping
¼ cup shaved or coarsely
grated semisweet chocolate
½ cup fresh raspberries and/or slivered strawberries (optional)

Chocolate Filling:
12 ounces semisweet chocolate, chopped
¾ cup water
2 tablespoons instant espresso coffee powder
Pinch of salt
4 eggs yolks
2 tablespoons Kahlua
1 cup very cold heavy cream

Whipped Cream Topping:
1 cup very cold heavy cream
4 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract

1. To make the chocolate filling: Place chocolate, water, coffee powder and salt in the top of a double boiler or metal bowl set over simmering water. Heat until the chocolate has just melted, stirring frequently. Remove from heat and beat in yolks, one at a time. Stir in Kahlua. Allow to cool. When mixture is completely cool, whip heavy cream until soft peaks form, and fold it into the cooled chocolate. Refrigerate until ready to use.

2. Make the whipped cream topping: Whisk the cream with the sugar and vanilla until soft peaks form.

3. To serve, spread chocolate filling followed by the whipped cream over meringue. Sprinkle with shaved chocolate and fruit, if desired. Cut into wedges.

MIXED BERRY PAVLOVA

Named for legendary ballerina Anna Pavlova, this pie combines tangy fruit and crunchy meringue. Serves 8

Romulo Yanes for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Vivian Lui

Mixed Berry Pavlova

1 Pavlova shell
6 cups mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, etc.) cut as for fruit salad and mixed with a pinch of salt and superfine sugar to taste
2 pints best-quality vanilla ice cream (optional; not traditionally included in a Pavlova, but very good)
Whipped cream topping

Whipped Cream Topping:
1 cup very cold heavy cream
4 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Place the Pavlova shell on a cake plate. Soften the ice cream (if using). Spread first the ice cream and then the whipped cream over the shell and top with the berries. Slice into wedges.

Romulo Yanes for The Wall Street Journal, Food Styling by Vivian Lui

Classic Meringue Shell

CLASSIC MERINGUE SHELL

4 room-temperature egg whites
Pinch of salt
½ teaspoon cream of tartar
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons superfine sugar
¾ teaspoon vanilla extract

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment and draw a 10-inch circle on it. Turn paper over.

2. With the whisk attachment in place, beat egg whites, salt and cream of tartar in the bowl of an electric mixer set on medium-low speed. When frothy, increase the speed to medium-high and beat until the whites form soft peaks.

3. About 2 teaspoons at a time, add sugar while continuing to beat. Increase the speed to high and beat until stiff and glossy. Beat in vanilla.

4. Spoon meringue into the traced circle, smooth with a spatula and shape like a shallow bowl.

5. Place in the lower third of the oven, reduce heat to 200 degrees, and bake for at least 5 hours (the longer it stays in, the surer you can be that the shell will arrive at crisp perfection). Then turn off the oven and leave the meringue in the turned-off oven to cool, preferably overnight.

PAVLOVA SHELL

Follow steps 1-4 for making the meringue shell, but beat in 1 teaspoon white vinegar and 2 teaspoons cornstarch along with the vanilla. To cook: Place in the middle of the oven and reduce heat to 250 degrees. Bake for 1¼ hours. Turn off the oven. Leave the meringue in the closed oven for at least 4 hours. Should end up crispy on the outside, chewy in the middle.

Printed in The Wall Street Journal, page D1

Copyright 2011 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved

NY Times: Rose Water Adds a Subtle Kick

August 31, 2010

Rose Water Adds a Subtle Kick

By JOHN WILLOUGHBY

LET’S just get this out of the way first: Yes, rose water does smell like your grandmother’s linen drawer. O.K., let that thought go.

Now, imagine walking past an Arabian garden, cool and green in the bright sun, with a fountain splashing softly in the background and a faintly sweet, almost undetectable fragrance of roses lingering in the air.

That’s rose water, too. Now, don’t you feel better about cooking with the stuff?

In fact, rose water has a long and illustrious culinary history. Made by distilling rose petals with steam, it was created by chemists of the Islamic world in the Middle Ages. It became firmly ensconced in the cooking of the Middle East, North Africa and North India, all cuisines in which the floral and the aromatic are highly prized.

But don’t think of it as an exotic ingredient used in far corners of the world. Before 1841, when vanilla became widely available (after a 12-year-old slave figured out how to hand-pollinate the vanilla orchid so that it could be commercially produced outside its native Mexico, but that’s another story), rose water was also a primary flavoring in a wide range of desserts and pastries in Europe and even the United States.

It’s not hard to figure out why. This relatively inexpensive product allows you, with just a drop or two, to add the alluring fragrance of one of the world’s great flowers to your cooking.

In one respect, though, rose water does resemble the cologne that detractors so often compare it to: too much can have the opposite of the intended effect. The idea is that people should notice it, but have to ask you exactly what that subtle flavoring is, not quite able to put a finger on it. Uncooked, rose water has a full, rounded fragrance; heat erases some of its aromatic qualities but still leaves a warm, muted flavor.

If you’re looking for clues as to how to use this distinctive flavoring, there are plenty of traditional recipes to turn to, most of them for sweets.

One of my favorites is a rice pudding that is popular in North India, scented with super-aromatic cardamom as well as just enough rose water to make itself known. And, of course, there is the baklava of Turkey and a whole panoply of sweets from Iran.

But there are also some savory applications worth trying. Iranian lamb stews sometimes contain relatively large infusions of rose water, as does the occasional pilaf. And in Morocco, rose water provides a delicate balance to the earthy cumin and coriander in a classic carrot salad.

You can also just start freelancing. Taking a cue from 18th-century bakers, substitute rose water for the vanilla in cupcakes, puddings or scones. Or (a personal favorite) add a teaspoon or so to your next batch of French toast batter. Put a drop or two in a glass of lemonade for a remarkably refreshing summer drink — or make a rose martini in the same manner.

Rose water matches uncannily well with many fruits, drawing out their shy aromas. Try adding a bit to a bowl of strawberries, or sprinkling sliced melon, plums or peaches with rose water mixed with a bit of riesling.

And if you make a salad of bitter greens dressed with a vinaigrette that has been barely touched with rose water, you’ll quickly change your mind about the versatility of this ingredient.

Its delicate fragrance can even stand up to the bold flavor of grilled food. (It’s still summer, so you knew that was coming.) Rose-water poundcake sliced thick and then left over the coals just long enough to get a little toasty and a tiny bit smoky is a fine finish to any summer meal. Draping it with a peach-and-rose-water compote doubles the pleasure.

Despite its lack of mainstream popularity, rose water is surprisingly easy to find in this country. Middle Eastern stores carry it, as do most Indian stores and many specialty-food stores. Most brands are fine, though the readily available Cortas, made in Lebanon, seems to me to have particularly clear flavor. Just don’t buy rose syrup, which may have added sugar that will throw off your recipes.

And you can even put a couple of drops in your linen drawer.

Related Recipes

• Moroccan-Style Carrot Salad (September 1, 2010)

• Grilled Rose-Water Poundcake (September 1, 2010)

• Peach Compote With Rose Water (September 1, 2010)

• Rice Pudding With Rose Water and Cardamom (September 1, 2010)

Sabra Krock for The New York Times

FT: The trend - British chocolatiers

The trend: British chocolatiers

By Sudi Pigott

Published: October 1 2010 21:44 | Last updated: October 1 2010 21:44

First you bite into a crisp shell of Toscana Amedei dark chocolate with ripe red berry fruit notes, followed by a confit of orange jelly and a light génoise sponge. This chic chocolate, made by award-winning chocolatier William Curley and inspired by the humble Jaffa Cake, is probably too good to dunk into a cup of tea. For the full decadent experience, it is best accompanied by a mug of hot chocolate at Curley’s svelte Belgravia café-boutique.

EDITOR’S CHOICE

Some like it haute - Oct-01

FT foodies: Rosita Missoni - Oct-01

The corporate diner: lunch at Google - Oct-01

Can Hollywood stars bring Michelin stars? - Oct-01

Where bankers become butchers - Sep-24

A Japanese chef with a Michelin star - Sep-17

Curley, like other British chocolatiers, is indulging in the past with witty results. Stalwart British flavours such as Earl Grey tea are finding their way into chocolates, just as restaurants are serving up nostalgic treats such as apple crumble and shepherd’s pie. (Watch out for the imminent arrival of Heston Blumenthal’s Dinner at London’s Mandarin Oriental Hotel. The chef and his team have looked at British menus dating back as far as the 16th century for ideas.)

Darren Williams, chocolate buyer at Fortnum & Mason, says “retro chocolates of impeccable provenance are absolutely flavour of this season”. He points to the “English eccentric” approach of wine merchant-turned-chocolatier Elinor Gorvett, whose first collection for Fortnum’s is inspired by favourite childhood puddings and old English flavours. Rose and violet fondants are made with a skilful light touch, while a treacle tart chocolate has just the right sticky texture. Gorvett’s Eton mess chocolate even has a perceptible meringue crunch.

What seems to set the new British chocolatier tradition apart is this enterprising use of flavour. Marc Demarquette, who makes Fortnum’s best-selling own-label chocolates, is launching a Nutkeeper’s Caramels range for autumn – including a Kentish cobnut flavour. His recent Orient collection draws on his French-Asian parentage with infusions of Indonesian pepper and lemon grass in pure origin cacao from southern Vietnam’s Ben Tre plantations.

Curley, too, has been influenced by ingredients his Japanese pâtissier wife Suzue introduced him to on their travels. Sadachi, a lime-like citrus, and black Japanese vinegar, have both been incorporated into his chocolate ganaches.

Matching flavours to chocolates with a complementary aroma and texture is a key part of the creative process. Damian Allsop, another rising chocolate star, works with a wide range of chocolate makers. Bean-to-bar newcomer Original Beans is one of the best. Founded by conservationist Philipp Kauffmann, it sources cacao from relatively unknown or remote areas, such as eastern Congo and the Peruvian Andes, to give a distinctive taste.

Allsop also pioneered the use of water rather than cream in ganache for a cleaner mouth-feel. “It’s similar to adding a drop of water to a good malt whisky to bring out its peaty, more complex characteristics,” he explains. Allsop has recently moved his kitchen to the Lord Abergavenny estate in Kent where, serendipitously, he has his own source of natural spring water.

Dorset chocolatiers Chococo are among many who are keen to support local ingredients – they buy cream exclusively from a nearby dairy. But British chocolate is far from a parochial affair. Chocolatier Paul A Young, who first trained as a pastry chef with Marco Pierre White, has already attracted attention further afield. He won a World Gourmand Award earlier this year with his debut Adventures with Chocolate. Leading Parisian chocolatier Patrick Roger has offered to write an introduction to the French edition.

Young has a quirky, fun appeal (his Marmite truffle is a best seller) which he maintains by operating chocolate-making kitchens on the same sites as his chocolate boutiques in Islington and The City. “Often I come up with an idea, perfect it and launch it that day to get my regular customers’ feedback.”

But could chocolate start to take itself too seriously? Young hopes not: “chocolate should be all about fun and indulgence blended with a little daring, however high-minded we may seem.”

Chocolate Week: October 8-17; Chocolate Unwrapped: October 16-17, Vinopolis. www.chocolate-week.co.uk

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Details

William Curley, London SW1; Surrey TW9, www.williamcurley.co.uk

Elinor Gorvett, available at Fortnum & Mason, London W1, www.fortnumandmason.com

Marc Demarquette, London SW10, www.demarquette.com and at Fortnum & Mason

Paul A Young, London N1, EC3, www.paulayoung.co.uk

Chococo, Swanage, Dorset, www.chococo.co.uk

Damian Allsop, www.damianallsop.com

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2010.

FT: Perfectly peachy

Perfectly peachy

By Rowley Leigh

Published: June 12 2010 00:49 | Last updated: June 12 2010 00:49

A good peach does not need much doing to it, apart from some careful handling and good timing. A bowl of perfect white peaches and a dessert knife make an eloquent dessert, just as long as they are ripe but unbruised. They should be peeled – a perfectly ripe fruit can be peeled without blanching – and that can be enough. However, more often than not, I drop them into boiling water, rinse them in cold and remove the skins and then, with a small knife, cut segments into a bowl.

Just supposing we don’t stop there – or add the segments to a glass of wine – I often make a salad with tomatoes (peeled and segmented in the same fashion), basil and olive oil or a different sort of salad with strawberries and fresh mint. Or, I might just put the segments in a blender and add prosecco to that purée to make a bellini.

Perfect white peaches – in Britain at least – are not so easily found. Even in France and Italy, the fragile but fragrant white peach is vastly outnumbered by its more robust yellow-fleshed cousin. Some would say the yellow was not worth bothering with and one should stick to the best. In many things I believe that holds true. There is no point in eating a second-rate steak or a battery chicken any more than eating a not perfectly fresh mackerel or a tasteless tomato. A fat squab pigeon is undoubtedly “better” than a wood pigeon, an English partridge is more interesting and flavoursome than the French variety and a fat early season spear of English asparagus is more succulent and exciting than the thin “sprues” that shoot up at the end of the season. The superior luxury does not necessarily invalidate its inferior counterpart, even if one may be for every day and the other for Sunday best.

Since a yellow peach can use a little help, there are many recipes which are better suited to the yellow peach. A cobbler or crumble, for example, with a generous hint of almond in the crumble, are generally better with yellow peaches, as are these stuffed peaches, redolent of rum (you can leave it out if you want) and almond.

Rowley Leigh is the chef at Le Café Anglais

rowley.leigh@ft.com

More columns at www.ft.com/leigh

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Stuffed peaches and Moscato zabaglione

There are many variations of this Piedmontese classic: I’ve served it cold with a chilled zabaglione made with Moscato Spumante, which was fabulous, but ice-cream or cream will do very well. Serves four to six.

Stuffed peaches

Ingredients

6 peaches

50g butter

A measure of rum

6 amaretti biscuits, or macaroons

2 egg yolks

30g sugar

Method

● Split the peaches in half and remove the stones. Scoop out a little of the flesh with a spoon to enlarge the cavities left by the stones. Chop this pulp and stew it in a saucepan in the butter before adding the rum. Remove from the stove.

● Crush the amaretti biscuits to a coarse powder in a mortar and pestle and then add to the pulp.

● Whisk the egg yolks and sugar together and add to the peach pulp and amaretti biscuit mix.

● Put the peaches skin-side down in an ovenproof dish. Spoon in the stuffing mixture. Bake in a medium oven (375°F, 180°C) for about 20 minutes.

Moscato zabaglione

Ingredients

3 egg yolks

85g caster sugar

125ml glass of Moscato d’Asti

Method

● Whisk together the ingredients in a large bowl. Set the bowl over a pan of simmering water and proceed to whisk with a steady beat until the mixture slowly starts to thicken and increase in volume. Keep going until the mixture holds its shape and there is no liquid at the bottom of the bowl.

● Serve immediately or cool slightly, fold in 125ml whipped cream and chill.

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2010.

FT: Eyes on the pies

Eyes on the pies

By Rowley Leigh

Published: May 8 2010 01:49 | Last updated: May 8 2010 01:49

I heard her, under her breath, murmuring something about school food. Though not exactly idolatrous, my wife is, generally speaking, appreciative of my culinary endeavours but on this occasion there was a distinct holding back.

The trouble was that it had the ring of truth and highlighted the awkward fact that there is a part of me that has always liked school food. However, I don’t ever remember being given strawberry and rhubarb pie at my school – certainly not one as fragrant and delectable as the one I placed before my wife last weekend, and I am sceptical that it featured much on the menu at the Convent School of St Mary in Shaftesbury, which she attended.

A pie at my own school meant a large aluminium catering tray of indeterminate matter with pastry on top. A fruit pie meant stewed plums or apples and, in conjunction with copious quantities of rather suspicious-looking custard, was highly enjoyable. Real aficionados seeking variety on the pie front would buy Lyons Individual Fruit Pies, available in no less than 14 different flavours (apple, apricot, raspberry, rhubarb, gooseberry, mince, blackberry and apple, blackcurrant, cherry, orange, peach, pineapple, mixberry, and lemon curd – according to its faithful website, which reports that production ceased in 1968). The only fruit conspicuously absent is the strawberry.

I shared this aversion to the idea of cooked strawberries until Simon Hopkinson gave me a hot strawberry pie. He wrote about it, too, (in Gammon and Spinach, a 2001 collection of brilliant newspaper pieces) and few could not warm to the idea of the hot strawberry pie waiting on the stove when the young Hopkinson came home from school for the holidays. Since that moment I too have salivated at the sight of warm strawberry liquor oozing out of the sides of a pie. This is not high-toned food but it is deeply homely and comforting.

I confess to being slightly alarmed, however: it is bad enough pining for the food of one’s boyhood but to pine for that of somebody else’s is really rather disturbing.

Rowley Leigh is the chef at Le Café Anglais

rowley.leigh@ft.com

More columns at www.ft.com/leigh

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Strawberry and rhubarb pie

The bottom layer of pastry has to be quite robust in view of the liquor produced by the strawberries so prolonged cooking is necessary to prevent it being a soggy, doughy and rather leaky mess. The rhubarb can be dispensed with but provides a nice foil to the sweetness of the strawberries.

Ingredients

400g self-raising flour

Pinch of salt

250g butter, cold but chopped into small cubes

3-5 tbs very cold water

500g rhubarb

400g strawberries

1 egg

1 tbs of milk

100g light brown caster sugar

Method

● Sieve the flour into a mixing bowl and add the butter. Either using the tips of the fingers, the paddle of an electric mixer or the pulse function of a food processor, very lightly rub the flour and butter together until you achieve a fine sandy texture. Add the water, not too much at first, and slowly gather together the pastry, working it gently with the hands until it just forms a malleable dough. Divide into two parts, one slightly larger than the other, and form them into balls that you then slightly flatten into fat discs. Place them in a plastic bag and allow to rest for two hours in the fridge.

● Pre-heat the oven to 180°C. Top and tail the rhubarb, pulling the skin off in the process if it is stringy and fibrous. Cut into 2cm lengths and place on an oven tray with two tablespoons of sugar and a tablespoon of water. Bake until tender, say 10 minutes, and then drain in a colander and allow to cool. Hull and wash the strawberries and lay on a cloth to dry.

● Roll out the larger piece of pastry dough into a circle 3mm thick (just over the thickness of a pound coin). Collect the pastry on the rolling pin and unroll out into a 9in (23cm) pie dish with sloping sides. Beat the egg with a tablespoon of milk and brush the pastry all over with this mixture and then sprinkle over two tablespoons of sugar, shaking the dish to distribute it evenly. In a bowl, mix together the drained rhubarb, the strawberries and another two tablespoons of sugar. Tip the fruit into the pie dish, mounding it up slightly in the centre.

● Roll out the remaining, smaller piece of pastry slightly thinner than the bottom piece. Roll this piece over the pie and crimp together the two edges of the pie and make a pattern with the tines of a fork before trimming off the excess dough with a small knife. Brush the surface with some of the egg and milk mixture and sprinkle over one last tablespoon of sugar.

● Bake in the pre-heated oven for 20 minutes at 180°C and then cook for a further 30 minutes at 150°C. Allow to settle for 20 minutes and serve warm with thick running cream.

Copyright The Financial Times Limited 2010.

MooMooFoodie's Milo Pudding - Blackforest Version

My alternative take on blackforest :) Enjoy!

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All you need is 1 pack of agar agar powder and do as you would for any agar agar. Usually one pack requires you to have like 1litre of water. What I do is to cut it down to 850ml so I can add on other liquid e.g. evaporated milk.

In the case of milo pudding, I don't have the exact measure of the milo and sugar. I just taste it as it goes :P So do it the way as you like it :)

To do the blackforest version, simply buy the canned cherries from the supermarket. Drain the liquid and reduce it down. Add in the cherry liqueur. If you want the sauce to be a little thick, just thicken it with corn starch.

Serve it with whipped cream on the side.

NY Times: Milk in a Can Goes Glam

March 3, 2010

Milk in a Can Goes Glam

By JULIA MOSKIN

 

Victoria Belanger’s jewel-like condensed milk and gelatin.

SWEETENED condensed milk is everywhere. There’s probably a can or two lurking in your cabinets. It is the key to Key lime pie; it brings the sweet to Vietnamese coffee; it went to Rio for Carnaval last month in the shape of brigadeiros, bite-size balls of milk fudge that are a Brazilian national treat.

But Victoria Belanger, a photographer also known as the Jello Mold Mistress of Brooklyn, may have a unique relationship with the stuff.

“Sweetened condensed milk solved a lot of problems for me,” said Ms. Belanger, who brings her professional understanding of light and color to an ongoing jellied-desserts experiment. “Now I can make opaque layers that set off the clear, bright-colored ones.”

Every few weeks, Ms. Belanger fills a few of her 30 molds — in shapes like fish, roses and starfish — with a mixture of condensed milk and gelatin. She’s drawn to imported and self-created flavors, like mango or crème caramel or milk chocolate-macadamia nut. She unmolds the shapes, photographs them while they still have their satiny sheen, then feeds them to pals and neighbors. “The condensed milk makes it more like a pudding, more satisfying for people,” she said. “I tried Cool Whip and vanilla ice cream, but only condensed milk got it really smooth.”

Sweetened condensed milk and its unsweetened cousin, evaporated milk, have never been in favor with food snobs. “Originally, these were marketed as nutritional solutions, not luxury ingredients,” said Anne Mendelson, a food historian and the author of “Milk: The Surprising Story of Milk Through the Ages.” Fresh milk and cream have always been preferred by American consumers, she said, with the shelf-stable products seen as inferior, if useful, substitutes.

“It was probably frowned on because it comes in a can,” said Alex Stupak, the pastry chef at WD-50 on the Lower East Side, who has made frozen “Oreo” centers, doughnut fillings and even a tart-sweet mayonnaise from sweetened condensed milk. “It’s a righteous emulsifier,” he said. At Momofuku Milk Bar, the chef Christina Tosi uses it to smooth soft-serve ice creams like peaches-and-cream and cherries jubilee.

And as more American home cooks with roots in Southeast Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean chime into the national culinary conversation, condensed milk is getting a lot of love. “Just try telling anyone from Latin America that canned milk isn’t real milk,” Ms. Mendelson said. “You’ll have a fight on your hands.”

In the Philippines, it is drizzled onto halo-halo, the popular dessert of shaved ice, coconut and a riot of toppings; in Jamaica, it’s mixed with stout, sherry and nutmeg to make a robust cream punch. Hong Kong-style “French toast,” served at cafes there, is toasted white bread glazed with condensed milk and peanut butter; it is a key ingredient in Thai iced tea and in Vietnamese coffee; and Brazilian cooks whip it with avocado to make gorgeous pale-green desserts like pudim de abacate.

In regions like these, where dairy-making might be difficult, expensive or untraditional, the stability and reliable sweetness of condensed milk has earned it a lot of fans. “It is hard to explain the relationship people have with it in Latin America,” said Leticia Moreinos Schwartz, a cooking teacher in Connecticut who grew up in Rio de Janeiro. “Leite moça came when life was hard and there were not many treats,” she said, using the generic Brazilian term that means “milk of the lady,” a reference to the Swiss milkmaid on cans of Nestlé condensed milk, introduced to Brazil in 1921.

It is one of the three milks in Mexican tres leches cake, and can be caramelized right in the can to make dulce de leche. (Put the can in a pot and boil for three hours; keep the can covered with boiling water or it will overheat and may explode.)

Sweetened condensed milk came on the United States market in 1856, the brainchild of Gail Borden, a chronic culinary inventor. (He had already patented a prototype of a complete nutrition bar, which he called a “meat biscuit.”) Mr. Borden began experimenting with sterilized milk after a series of “swill milk” scandals that revealed the true contents of much of the milk then for sale in American cities: chalk powder, molasses and vermin.

His process — a combination of vacuum pressure, heat and added sugar — produced a dairy product that is nearly indestructible, with a shelf life of years. Mr. Borden made his fortune supplying condensed milk to the Union Army in the Civil War. It was airlifted into Berlin in the 1940s, and more recently has opened up Asia as a major market for American milk.

“We grow up with it,” said Kathy Wong, an owner of Laut restaurant, one of few places in New York that serves real Malaysian pulled tea, or teh tarik. It is a thick brew of strong tea — preferably Boh brand, grown in the cool Cameron Highlands north of Kuala Lumpur — and condensed milk. (Fresh-squeezed ginger juice can be added to make teh halia, reminiscent of Indian chai.) The mixture is poured vigorously back and forth from one pot to another: this is the “pulling” process, which makes the drink smooth and gives it a frothy top. “The higher the pour, the thicker the top,” said her partner Camie Lai, who said that hawkers compete for customers by pulling the tea behind their backs, or from ever-greater heights. Among those who see cooking as an ongoing science experiment or craft project, condensed milk can do the work of milk, sugar and eggs combined — and can often stand in for all three.

Jessica P Lin, who has a blog, epicuriouseateries.blogspot.com, where she posts recipes and restaurant reviews, long tinkered with recipes for ice cream that wouldn’t require an ice cream maker. “At the time, I was a culinary student, but all I had at home was a $10 hand mixer,” said Ms. Lin, who grew up in Dallas and now lives in New York. She has often visited Taiwan, where her parents were born, and where condensed milk is a popular topping for dessert, or bread.

Ms. Lin said that she finally hit on the idea of whipping condensed milk, which she always keeps on hand, into heavy cream. “I was basically trying to be lazy and avoid making an egg custard,” she said. The result takes just a few minutes to get into the freezer.

Condensed milk has a very different chemical profile than fresh, and behaves accordingly. It will not curdle in the presence of acid, like regular milk would (that’s why it’s used for Key lime pie). The sugar crystals in condensed milk will not clump together and harden (this is called seizing), making it useful for candies like fudge.

“All candy-making is about preventing crystallization,” said Michael Chu, an engineer based in Austin, Tex., who writes about his kitchen experiments online at Cooking for Engineers. Mr. Chu’s chocolate fudge recipe, which he calls “absurdly easy,” has the pleasantly cakey, almost sandy texture desirable in fudge, which can be tricky to achieve using milk and butter. He uses condensed milk to reduce the ingredients in the fudge to a mere three (salt is optional), and to eliminate the dreaded step of cooking the sugar syrup to the soft-ball stage. “The manufacturing process has already done that work for you,” he said.

Fudge made from condensed milk is the base for brigadeiros, bite-size sweets served in paper frills and covered with sprinkles. “Brigadeiros are like the cupcakes of Brazil,” Ms. Moreinos Schwartz said. “They are at every birthday party.” (They are named for a once-popular politician, Brigadier Eduardo Gomes, who ran for president in 1945 under the slogan “Vote no brigadeiro, que é bonito e é solteiro” — “Vote for the brigadier, who’s good-looking and single.”)

Once, Ms. Moreinos Schwartz said, it would have been odd to serve brigadeiros at a grown-up dinner party — “it would have been a French chocolate mousse instead” — but now Brazilian cooks like her are embracing their own traditions. In her new book, “The Brazilian Kitchen,” she has transformed the classic, tooth-aching recipe with unsweetened coconut, pistachio paste and real chocolate sprinkles. “Now when I go home, the brigadeiros taste too sweet,” she said ruefully. “I’m like, guys, come on! You’re killing the fudge!”

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Recipe

Absurdly Easy Chocolate Fudge

Adapted from Michael Chu, Cooking for Engineers

Time: 15 minutes, plus at least 4 hours’ cooling

4 tablespoons ( 1/2 stick) butter, plus extra for greasing the pan

1 pound semisweet or bittersweet chocolate

1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

1/8 teaspoon salt (optional)

1/2 cup chopped nuts (optional).

1. Butter an 8-inch-square baking pan. Line with parchment or wax paper, letting edges of paper hang over sides of pan.

2. In top of a double boiler or a metal bowl set over (not resting in) simmering water, combine all ingredients except nuts. Mix just until melted and well combined. (Alternatively, use a microwave on low power to melt ingredients, stopping every 10 to 20 seconds to mix well.) The mixture should be heated as little as possible. Mix in nuts, if using.

3. Scrape mixture into prepared pan. Refrigerate until set, about 4 hours or overnight. Lift fudge on paper out of pan and use a large knife to cut into squares.

Yield: 16 two-inch squares.

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Recipe

Coconut Brigadeiros

Adapted from Leticia Moreinos Schwartz, ‘The Brazilian Kitchen’ (Kyle Books, 2010)

Time: 20 minutes, plus at least 4 hours’ cooling

1 cup sweetened condensed milk

1/2 cup coconut milk

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 teaspoons light corn syrup

1 1/2 cups finely shredded unsweetened coconut (see note).

1. In a medium-size heavy saucepan, combine condensed milk, coconut milk, butter, corn syrup, and 1/2 cup shredded coconut. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat to low and whisk constantly until fudgy, 8 to 10 minutes. When mixture is ready, it will pull together into one soft piece, leaving browned residue on bottom of pan.

2. Slide mixture into a bowl. (Don’t scrape the pan; leave any residue behind.) Let cool to room temperature, then refrigerate until very firm, at least 4 hours.

3. Scoop out teaspoonfuls of the mixture and use your hands to roll into balls, about 3/4-inch in diameter. Set aside on a baking sheet.

4. Place remaining 1 cup coconut in a wide bowl. Roll 4 to 6 brigadeiros at a time through coconut, covering surface completely. Store in an airtight container at room temperature for 2 days, or refrigerate for up to 1 month. Serve at room temperature.

Yield: About 30 brigadeiros.

Note: Sweetened flaked coconut will be too sweet. If desired for flavor, toast coconut beforehand on a baking sheet in a 350-degree oven, stirring every 2 minutes.

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Recipe

Condensed Milk Ice Cream

Adapted from Jessica Lin, epicuriouseateries.blogspot.com

Time: 15 minutes, plus cooling

1 cup cold heavy cream

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 (14-ounce) can cold sweetened condensed milk.

1. In a mixer, whip heavy cream just until it begins to thicken. Add vanilla and whip until soft peaks form. With mixer running, slowly pour in condensed milk and whip until high peaks form.

2. Transfer into a container or bowl for freezing. Freeze at least 4 hours or overnight.

Yield: 6 servings.

Copyright 2010 The New York Times Company