Lemon Limoncello Ricotta Mousse

A QUIET CELEBRATION

New Year's eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things that the passage of another twelve months may be noted; and yet no man has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the coming of darkness on other nights. 

- Hamilton Wright Mabie 

A quiet night in, just the two of us. The coffee table is spread with a festive cloth, candles lit and wine glasses placed next to plates and the best cutlery. Corks are popped and glasses filled, a time to toast our new year. JP has spent the afternoon making a traditional potée, slow-cooked potatoes, carrots, cabbage and sausages until tender and savory, leaving behind a wonderful, flavorful, warming broth to sip before the meal is served. A great Muscadet from La Domaine le Fay d'Homme has been chilled and we snuggle up together for a cozy, quiet celebration. The following day, the first day of the new year, may be gray and dreary, the drizzle of rain tapping delicately against the window panes, but the traditional New Year’s Day boudin blanc (white sausage) with apples which have been cooked and caramelized until tender is served for lunch and has added a certain brightness, something festive to the day.


Since the Edict of Roussillon was written and signed in 1564 when Charles IX officially selected and set January 1st as New Year’s Day, the French have been celebrating this day with family and close friends. La fête du réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre, New Year’s Eve and the night of Saint Sylvester, was a joyous festive celebration, bringing together, merging many traditions from many cultures.

Mistletoe has been hung since the time of the druids when it was said to bring good luck and kissing under the mistletoe – on New Year’s Eve, not at Christmas – promised sentimental happiness. I saw my first mistletoe at the market, at the flower stalls, gorgeous branches ballooned out like debutants’ gowns as they hung head down, tied to metal bars with string, lovely faded white beads clinging between the green, not at Christmas but just before the New Year. “Mistletoe?” I asked. “Yes. In France we hang the mistletoe on New Year’s Eve, not at Christmas” JP explained. (How is it in 26 years of living here I never knew this?). “Will you kiss me?” I asked, as I leaned in towards the branches and puckered. “It isn’t New Year’s Eve yet,” he responded as he turned his back and walked away.

It has long been a time to give small gifts, sweets or coins to children, a practice that over the years has extended to the concierge, the postman, the firemen, echoing the centuries- old practice of offering good luck charms and then food, clothing or money in Roman times. I wonder why we have not yet received our visit from the local firemen, offering their choice of calendars with the images of chalets in the snow and kittens posing next to vases of daisies for “purchase”? 

Of course, the most widespread traditions for seeing in the New Year have to do with food! New Year’s Eve is celebrated with the Feast of Saint Sylvestre, organized in abundance and joy! Oysters, smoked salmon on blinis and wedges of foie gras sweetened with a dab of onion confit or jam, pear chutney or another sweet and sour accompaniment are all well known New Year’s specialties enjoyed by the French, celebratory each one. From there, some eat turkey with chestnuts, others boudin blanc, white sausage with caramelized apples, others choose something completely different as we did, choosing pure comfort food in the form of a potée.

A little bit of Christmas cheer in Nantes.

And the joy then traditionally overflows on a wave of warmth and alluring scents from the feasts within out into the streets where folks will spread good cheer, joy and wishes for a Happy New Year to the sound of car horns and under the lights of fireworks. And be woken up in the wee hours of the morning by the snap of the front door as son tiptoes home and the drunken wailing and singing of joyous revelers in the streets below.

The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year. 

It is that we should have a new soul. 

- G. K. Chesterton 

In 26 years of being together, JP and I have gone to one single New Year’s Eve party. It was the first year that we were a couple, the December before we married. We traveled into the city to attend the party thrown by an acquaintance, a friend of a friend. We arrived and pushed our way through the crowd, a jumble of people gathered together to chatter excitedly about nothing, laugh loudly, show off and drop names, or so it seemed to the two of us. The artsy fartsy crowd. We sipped Champagne as we were jostled this way and that, the music deafening, the mob rowdy, and all we wanted to be was alone. And so after a short stay, a few hellos, and well before midnight, we slipped quietly out and sped home, to see in the New Year in each other’s arms.

Since that December 31st all of those many years ago, spending the evening alone, just the two – or the four of us, as the case may be - has been a tradition, our New Year’s Eve tradition, allowing us to celebrate just as we like it: quietly, peacefully and in each other’s arms. Early that morning, we stroll over to the market (trying to beat the crowds) and, skirting in and out among those lined up at the fruit stalls or pressed against the chill case of capons and duck or foie gras, we purchase paper-thin slices of smoked salmon, wedges of cheese, tome, comté and camembert, hors d’oeuvres of stuffed olives, tiny marinated artichokes, goat cheese wrapped in papery, smoky strips of speck and a platterful of oysters straight from the Brittany coast, picking up a dense, chewy loaf of brown bread on the way home. Son will arrive later with a press of foie gras and a jar of onion confit, sweet and savory, and we dress our table in finery, turn on a movie and ring in the New Year.

A little Christmas sparkle in Nantes.

And six days later, on Epiphany, we will all cut into a homemade galette des rois that I have filled with traditional frangipane, or maybe apple purée or sweet pastry cream, the puff pastry a deep golden brown, shattering at the first press of the knife, flicking bits all over the tabletop, all over our laps, all over the carpet. One of us will discover the fève, the tiny ceramic charm, in his or her slice, earning the title of King or Queen and the honor of wearing the paper crown on his or her head for the rest of the day.

Following a warming, hearty potée, one must finish the meal and the evening on a cool, light note. I concocted a lusciously light lemon mousse using the ricotta I had in the refrigerator. I kept both the sweetness and the tartness to a minimum, but feel free to increase either with the addition of more sugar and/or more lemon juice. Mound in tiny pre-baked pastry shells or add a ring of homemade ladyfingers or lemon sponge to create a beautiful charlotte. Something this simple to make and light and delicious and the possibilities are endless.

LEMON LIMONCELLO RICOTTA MOUSSE
Serves 4 – 6

1 cup (250 g) ricotta cheese, drained if wet
Zest of 1 lemon
Juice of ½ lemon and more to taste
1 Tbs limoncello, optional
3 Tbs powdered/icing sugar and more to taste
¼ - 1/3 cup (100 ml) cold heavy whipped cream
1 egg white (for body)

Beat or whisk the ricotta with the lemon zest, lemon juice, limoncello and 2 tablespoons powdered sugar until smooth and creamy. Beat the cold heavy whipping cream until thick and soft peaks hold. Gently and delicately fold into the ricotta mixture.

Using clean beaters in a clean bowl (I prefer a plastic bowl for beating whites), beat the egg whites until opaque; add one more tablespoon of the powdered/icing sugar and beat until peaks hold. Gently and delicately fold into the ricotta-cream mixture until well blended. Do not overfold as the mousse should be light and creamy. Taste and add more sugar and/or more lemon juice as desired, to taste.

Divide into glasses, verrines, cups or even wine glasses or Champagne flutes and chill until ready to serve, at least an hour.

Read more »

Individual Apple Crumbles

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Why not upset the apple cart? If you don't, the apples will rot anyway. 

- Frank A. Clark 

The New Year is swiftly approaching, but before we pop the cork on that bottle of bubbly we still have the time to savor the last few days of this year, playing with the toys we have received from loved ones, putting up our feet and watching one more Christmas movie, the last slice of pie nabbed, plated and on our lap. We watch as the leftovers disappear from the fridge, never fast enough, although we know that all those plastic containers of turkey and relish, stuffing, salads and bûche de noël will save us from having to cook another meal quite yet. We sit in our favorite comfy chair and sigh contentedly, smiling at those who gather round us as we tiptoe towards January first and a new year. So just take a breath and, before we commit ourselves to those big, impossible resolutions, let’s have a little more cake and think it all through.


New Year’s Resolutions.

The time is once more upon us when we sit down and, pen and paper in hand, draw up that impossible list of resolutions, that endless list of promises to ourselves, promises rarely kept. This cold, cold month comes to a rousing, bubbly conclusion and as the end draws nigh something odd and inexplicable takes over us. All power of sensible thinking comes screeching to a halt and irrational thoughts flood our poor over-holidayed brain. All of those heavy meals and sweets must have made us delirious, intoxicated by one too many candy cane or marshmallow Santa. Maybe it was the days and days of stirring cookie dough, pushing heaping spoonful after heaping spoonful of the stuff onto innumerable cookie sheets and putting a tray in, pulling a tray out and replacing it with yet another tray of even more little mounds of cookie dough. Maybe it was all that sentimental “Good will towards men” stuff, all the presents that softened our hearts, all those Christmas specials and maudlin, wistful black and white holiday films that did the job. Spending time with beaming grandparents or too many giddy little kids, thoughts of jolly Old Saint Nick sliding down yet another chimney or all the dazzling, glittery candles and fairy lights that blinded us, the frivolity of the season and the festive preparations for New Year’s Eve made us go all wobbly and weak-kneed and completely lose all sense of reason. And in a moment of nostalgia and sanctimoniousness, of feel-good pluck, believing that anything is within our reach, we do it.

We pull out pen and paper and begin the list.

Glancing over past lists, we shake our head in disbelief and wonder how we can, year after year, set the bar so high, pledging to ourselves and anyone within listening range that we will do this or that as if the simple act of turning over a page on the calendar will make us better, more determined, more resolute. And it usually comes to nothing. As the January days turn gray and dreary, as the lights are taken down and boxed back up, the feel-good holiday joy and frivolity slowly turns back into winter slump.

Comfort me with apples. 

- Song of Solomon 2:5 

New Beginnings.

Starting a new year is both exciting and scary, a time of reflection, thanks and wishes. We hope for great things yet are unsure of what it will bring. This year, I have decided not to try putting together a list of resolutions, no matter how reasonable, promises to myself, for I know that I am lazy and that, no matter the good intentions, I would much rather be baking.

I also know that very little will change my writer’s heart, my writer’s self-doubt, my writer’s emotions. I would love to tell myself that I will be more steadfast and focused, that I will work more quickly, that I will neither take myself nor the world around me so seriously nor allow myself the luxury of feeling low, hesitant, questioning my place in the world, measuring my own success and failure against others and always coming out behind.

I know that this will never change; I am who I am. And so I have decided to remind myself what I have earned in 2013, of the good things that have come to me. I will celebrate what I have received, the friends I have made, the people who have touched me with their love and encouragement and allow that to inspire my 2014. Instead of making claims to a future that does not yet exist in an attempt to change the way that I fundamentally am, I will look back as a way to influence my future actions, motivate my creativity, reassure myself of my road. And remind myself of all that I truly appreciate.

Fulfilling my passions, achieving my goals, inspiring others and allowing others to inspire and motivate me, creating new friendships, new partnerships, reinforcing the old. Wallowing in the love and laughter that fills our home while putting the troubles into perspective, taking them one day at a time. These are the building blocks of a new year.

Don't get fancy. Have you cooked an apple pie? You don't know what you did wrong? Do this: Take two or three apples. Put them on a table. Study them. 

- Paul Prudhomme 

I end 2013 and lead into 2014 with apples. Homey, comforting apples baked warm, meltingly smooth and oh so sweet. The mysterious, forbidden apple, the symbol of both love and sexuality to some, sweetness and new beginnings to others. To yet others, the apple embodies home. Whether baking an all-American apple pie or a very French apple galette, whether dipping apples in honey at the Jewish New Year or baking them into puff pastry at Epiphany, puddings, coffee cakes and yeasty apple-filled wreaths, the apple is the one single fruit that is at home in both everyday comfort food and elegant treats, eaten all the year round at every occasion. And there is no better way to welcome in a new year than with something homey, comforting, warm and sweet.

For more apple recipes, visit my Favorite Recipes page.

APPLE CRUMBLE

Makes 6 or 7 individual crumbles For the Apples :

 4 – 5 cups apple cubes, about 5 small to medium-sized apples *
2 Tbs brown sugar (granulated brown sugar or light brown packed sugar)
2 Tbs freshly squeezed orange juice
¼ tsp ground cinnamon

* I used Cox Orange – very sweet with a slight tartness, an apple that becomes meltingly smooth when baked.

For the Apple Crumble Topping: 

1 cup (130 g) flour 2 pinches salt
½ tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp baking powder
¼ cup (50 g) granulated white sugar
¼ cup (55 g) packed or granulated light brown sugar
½ cup (115 g) cold butter, cubed 

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Place 6 individual ramekins on a baking sheet and set aside.

Prepare the fruit filling:

Peel and core the apples; chop into small cubes. Toss with the sugar, cinnamon and orange juice. Spoon the prepared fruit into the waiting ramekins, evenly dividing it between the cups and piling it up a bit – remember that cooked fruit will shrink. Push little cubes of apples in any gap or space.

Prepare the crumble topping:

Combine all of the ingredients except for the butter in a large mixing bowl. Toss until well combined. Add the cubes of cold butter and, using your fingertips, rub or work the butter into the dry ingredients until there are no more chunks of butter and the mixture resembles rough damp sand or crumbs.

Divide the crumble mixture evenly between the ramekins, spooning it generously on top of the fruit. Gently press the crumble topping down onto the fruit just to keep it from falling off of the fruit and onto the baking sheet.

Bake the ramekins on the baking sheet for 35 – 40 minutes until the crumble puffs up and turns a light golden color; the fruit should be bubbling in the ramekins and up around the edges of the crumble. It may even begin to dribble down the sides of the ramekins .

Read more »

Passover Lemon Almond Sponge Cake with Warm Lemon Sauce

PASSOVER

My parents were the model of discreetness. Social, well-known and very involved with our local synagogue, family mealtimes were nonetheless private affairs, the six of us finding ourselves around the dinner table every night without guests, friends, family or company of any sort. The food was plentiful but plain, a mix of Russian Jewish cooking, all-American meat-and-potatoes cuisine and 1970’s convenience foods. The holidays in our home followed form and were low-key and simple, never much hoopla or decoration, rarely a lot of special cooking or baking filling our home with culinary memories.

Passover was the exception. The Jewish festival, joyous in its commemoration of the Jews’ exodus from slavery in Egypt towards the Promised Land, was a treat because we went to celebrate – and eat – at the Rosenberg’s house. Mrs. Rosenberg was the Jewish Mama extraordinaire, overseeing her kosher kitchen and her family with love, tradition, an iron fist and a huge personality. And her cooking was everything that my own mother’s was not: extraordinary and delicious! Her Apple-Noodle Kugel warm from the oven, dense and just sweet with a crisp cinnamon-sugar topping, was my ultimate comfort food; I loved it so much that she made a huge baking pan of it just for me as a special Bat Mitzvah gift! She was a legendary cook in our small Jewish community, so spending Passover at her home was sure to mean a fabulous meal, an event looked forward to eagerly by a happy eater such as I.

A dinner with family and relatives.

The rules concerning what is to be eaten and, more importantly, what cannot be eaten by Jews for the duration of the 8-day festival is extremely strict. Jews are forbidden to eat chometz, any food containing barley, wheat, rye, oats, and spelt. No leavening is allowed. The interdiction of these ingredients symbolizes the fact that the Hebrews had no time to either wait for these five grains to grow or to let their baked bread rise as they made a hurried escape from Egypt. Ashkenazi Jews, whose origins are in Europe, also avoid eating corn, rice, peanuts, and legumes while the Sephardi Jews of Northern Africa and Spain do permit them. The days leading up to the holiday thus consist of an intense and thorough cleaning of one’s home in order to rid even the tiniest trace of each and every one of these foods. Followed, of course, by the cooking and baking of dishes and baked goods specific to and allowed during the holiday.

The first night – and for many the second night as well – of Passover is observed with a very traditional and festive ceremonial meal called a Seder at which the story of the exodus is read aloud. The meal follows a very specific order and is a combination of rituals and symbolic foods; food and the rituals surrounding the preparation and eating of meals are intertwined with each and every Jewish holiday, yet none more so than Passover. The meal, the food placed on the table during the reading of the story and the story itself are woven together and intimately connected. In the center of the table is placed a beautiful, decorative plate holding six symbols necessary to the retelling of the story: maror and chazaret, the bitter herbs, normally horseradish, symbolizing the bitterness and harshness of slavery; zeroa or a roasted lamb shank or bone, symbolizing the Paschal sacrificial lamb that was offered in the great Temple in Jerusalem; charoset, usually a brownish-red mixture of nuts, apples, ground cinnamon and red wine representing the mortar the slaves used to build the Pyramids in Ancient Egypt; karpas such as celery, parsley or lettuce to be dipped into salt water representing the tears of the slaves, the dipping process symbolizing hope and redemption; beitzah, a roasted egg, both a symbol of mourning for the destruction of the Temple as well as a symbol of Spring and thus renewal.

The seventh symbol and the most well-known food of Passover is the matzoh, a special unleavened flatbread of Passover-friendly flour and water which is not only symbolic of our escape from slavery and the 40 years spent wandering through the wilderness, but it is eaten as a reminder of what we were running from, a life of slavery and poverty thus inspiring humility and the true appreciation of our freedom. A plate covered with a decorative cloth holding a stack of three matzot is placed on the Seder table next to the Seder plate, each one playing a very specific role during the meal. And finally, the last symbol, near the Seder plate and the matzoh, is placed Elijah’s cup filled with wine; this is for the Prophet Elijah whose visit is said to precede the coming of the Messiah.

This year, I actually made my own homemade matzoh following this wonderful recipe on Leite’s Culinaria. Easy and quite a lot of fun, it made matzoh, while not looking like the boxed we are used to, was absolutely so delicious that even my men who dislike matzoh with a passion, have been enjoying it immensely! Even if you do not celebrate Passover, these make fabulous crispy, thin crackers perfect for dip!

Mrs. Rosenberg’s holiday meal – her Passover Seder - would invariably begin with a bowl of homemade chicken soup with hand-shaped matzoh balls, always inspiring hours of debate over the quality of firm versus fluffy matzoh balls, followed by her magnificent brisket, a rich, root-vegetable-laden beef stew. The brisket would be served with matzoh farfel kugel, a seasoned savory baked pudding made with crushed matzoh, matzoh meal, onions and eggs as well as green vegetables, mashed potatoes and homemade Kaiser rolls, matzoh meal replacing the flour. Dessert was a traditional Passover sponge cake and a luxurious dried fruit compote, long-simmered prunes, apricots and raisins. A traditional feast filled with traditional foods found on so many Passover tables across the country. We would all joyously sing and laugh throughout the meal, the children waiting impatiently for the search for the Afikomen, the middle matzoh of the stack on the holiday table, which was hidden during the meal by Mr. Rosenberg and inspiring an animated search by the youngsters, the winner receiving a small gift, usually a fifty-cent piece.

Cooking and eating during Passover is a meticulous, studied affair, and many of us go out of our way to prepare special foods. Those Passover meals have left a warm memory and following in Mrs. Rosenberg’s culinary footsteps is never easy. Every year as this holiday approaches, I scour a multitude of cookbooks old and new for Passover-friendly recipes – flour and wheat products, grains and leavening agents are all forbidden. There is no way that I can go eight days without sweets in the house! As my own mother was not a baker, I grew up eating canned coconut macaroons and jelly smeared on matzoh to soothe my sweet tooth. All grown up, I spend quite a bit of time every year researching recipes and baking. This year, I was determined to create a cake that one-ups the old-fashioned, traditional Passover sponge cake, that inimitable standby, that emblematic myth of the holiday. Usually dry. Usually flavorless. A risky choice.

I scoured old cookbooks, played around with a few recipes, found a box of potato flour in my grocery store as I realized that all of my boxes of matzoh meal and matzoh flour had disappeared in the move. I had already made the Lemon Sauce and wanted something to accompany that smooth, luscious, tangy sauce. Lemons, almonds and a splash of vanilla. And I got beating! Egg whites, that is.

The cake was perfect! It rose to dizzying heights! Light and fluffy like a great Passover sponge cake, the ground almonds, nonetheless, produced a sponge denser and moister than average. The lemon and almond flavors were delicate yet present and the beautiful, smooth, tangy Lemon Sauce complimented it all to perfection. Whether for Passover or any other time of the year, this cake deserves a celebration!

Other festive Passover – but not only – sweets from Life’s a Feast:

Chocolate Almond Torte

Strawberry Mascarpone Cheesecake

Chocolate Espresso Pecan Torte

Chocolate Chestnut Fondant (omit the flour)






For more fabulous Passover recipes, visit these favorite blogs: Labna & Food Wanderings

PASSOVER LEMON ALMOND SPONGE CAKE With Warm Lemon Sauce

4 large eggs, separated
1 cup sugar
Finely grated zest and juice from ½ lemon, preferably organic or untreated
¼ tsp vanilla extract
½ cup ground almonds
½ cup potato flour
Pinch salt + few drops lemon juice for whites
Handful slivered blanched almonds to decorate, optional

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Have ready a springform pan – I used a 7 ¼ inch-diameter x 4 inch-high springform but a regular 8-inch pan is fine, too.

Separate the eggs; place the yolks in a large mixing bowl and the whites in a medium bowl, preferably plastic or metal. Add a pinch salt and a few drops lemon juice to the whites and set aside.

Using an electric mixer, beat the egg yolks for a couple of minutes until thick and pale. Add the sugar and continue beating until thick and creamy. Beat in the zest and juice of ½ a lemon and the vanilla extract until well blended and thick. Quickly beat in the ground almonds.

Using very clean beaters, beat the egg whites on low speed for 30 seconds, then increase the speed to high; beat the whites until thick, glossy and peaks hold. Do not overbeat until the whites are dry. Using a spatula, gently but firmly fold the stiff whites into the lemon almond cake batter in 3 additions. Fold in the potato flour with the third addition of the whites in order to avoid overworking the batter. Fold in the whites just until all the lumps of white have disappeared.

Gently pour the batter into the springform pan. Dust with a couple of tablespoons slivered almonds.

Bake in the preheated oven 30 – 45 minutes, depending on your oven and pan size. The cake is done when puffed, set and golden. Gently press on the top of the cake and it should feel set, much like an angel or sponge cake. A tester inserted in the center should come out dry.

Remove the pan from the oven onto a cooling rack and allow to cool before unmolding. Carefully run a long, thin blade around the sides to loosen the cake while still warm.

Serve the Lemon Almond Cake with Warm Lemon Sauce.

WARM LEMON SAUCE

2 cups water
1 cup sugar
Finely grated zest and juice from 1 lemon, preferably organic or untreated
2 Tbs cornstarch or potato starch (for Passover)
2 Tbs butter, cubed and softened 

Bring the water to a boil.

Sift the cornstarch or potato starch into the sugar in a medium heatproof bowl and stir. Whisk in the boiling water then, when smooth, return to the pan and continue cooking over low heat, whisking or stirring, for 8 to 10 minutes until thickened to the consistency of a sauce. Whisk in the lemon zest and juice. Remove from the heat and whisk in the butter a cube at a time until the buttered is melted and incorporated and the mixture is smooth. Strain through a mesh strainer if necessary. Store in a jar in the refrigerator; to reheat, simply put the gelled sauce in a saucepan and heat very gently over low, stirring or whisking constantly, until pouring consistency (not too runny) and warm. Strain.

Serve warm.

Read more »

GALETTE DES ROIS WITH VANILLA BEAN APPLE PASTRY CREAM

IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER

In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan, 

Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone; 

Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, 

In the bleak midwinter, Long ago. 

– Christina Rossetti, 1872 

The steely winter continues. We stay huddled indoors, no desire to emerge from our cosy cocoon and no longing to spend more time than necessary out in this intemperate weather. No snow to brighten, no snow to gladden and excite, drawing us outdoors like wide-eyed children, bundled up against the chill, damp mittens tossing snowballs at each other. Simply gray days, indecisive weather, no cheer. Mornings spent cooking, afternoons lolling about, evenings in front of the tv, weekends watching rugby, this bleak midwinter is so perfectly formed for family time and for eating. Husband has a good old-fashioned Pot au Feu simmering on the stovetop, hearty and comforting, and I attempt to perfect my puff pastry, my Galette des Rois.

It was late November, I think, and I was thinking about the whole Christmas thing: 

the birth of Christ, the Wizard of Oz, family murders, and quite frankly, I was depressed. 

– Joe Harper, In The Bleak Midwinter, Kenneth Branagh, 1995 

January lies ungraciously halfway along the darkened road of winter. From gorgeous autumn days under a brilliant sun, brisk walks among the fallen leaves in shades of gold and sepia, crimson and copper, October and November energize and invigorate. November into glorious December shines, the occasional misty rain dances among the clouds and reminds me of searching for snails among the thick, waist-high reeds edging the trees surrounding our Italian house, children romping through the fields playing pirates with a great lumbering dog behind. Autumn’s bounty of pumpkins, figs, chestnuts and mushrooms brings the promise of holidays. December hung with colored lights and festive garlands and no matter the slurries of mist spattering against the window and illuminated in the halo of bright streetlights against the inky blackness of the night, we are happy and excited in anticipation, our mouths watering for holiday fare.

Yet January from end to end, from corks popping on the first of the year to my birthday at the end there is little to celebrate. We muddle along, protecting ourselves from the dreariness outside. Son heads back to class, dragging his exhausted body – exhausted from two weeks’ lack of sleep - out of the house. And husband and I cook. And bake. And watch Nouvelle Star and rugby.

Our work weighs on us as we plod into 2013, waiting for grand new adventures to start. Husband dances and sings through the house in a grand effort to remain cheerful and not let his own worries drag him down. I chatter with my alter ego who keeps me in line as we plan projects together, spurring each other on and making each other laugh. Husband and I gather our energy and continue the final touches on the apartment – almost there! And little by little new projects do fall into my lap, take form, and the excitement begins to take hold. And meanwhile, I bake.

I had half of my batch of puff pastry leftover from my Cinnamon Caramelized Apple Galettes des Rois – not to mention half of the apple filling – and was determined to finally make the perfect Galette, even, thin, flaky with a perfectly golden glaze. I had all day ahead of me, the time to plan, organize and work slowly and patiently, normally not my habitual state. I had been craving a pastry cream filling, smooth and luscious. As apples are a favorite of my husband in any dessert, I decided that nothing would be better than the rest of those caramelized apples folded into the perfect vanilla pastry cream. And so I got to work.

GALETTE DES ROI WITH VANILLA BEAN APPLE PASTRY CREAM

Half a batch of Puff Pastry or 21 oz (600 g) puff pastry
Vanilla Bean Pastry Cream (recipe follows)
Egg wash (1 large egg yolk + 1 tsp cold water)
Confectioner’s/Powdered Sugar for dusting
1 fève/bean/charm with 1 paper crown

Prepare the Galette des Rois:

Remove the chilled puff pastry from the refrigerator and measure and cut about half the batch (21 oz / 600 g). Cut into two halves. Working one of the pieces at a time, roll each on a baking-sheet-sized piece of parchment paper into a large square/circle between 1/8 and ¼ - inch thick (the dough can be rolled out thicker for a puffier Galette but I wanted a rather thin Galette with more filling to pastry); the pastry should be large/wide enough to cut out a circle approximately 9 ½ inches (24 cm) diameter. Place a template (a ring mold, ring of a springform pan or even a dinner plate) on the pastry dough and, using a sharp knife carefully and slowly cut around the template forming a circle, being careful not to stretch or pull the dough.

Since Galettes are not baked in a pan or mold, the size can vary as you like.

Cover each of the two puff pastry rounds with a piece of plastic wrap and refrigerate while preparing the pastry cream.

VANILLA BEAN PASTRY CREAM

Smaller batch Pastry Cream:
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
6 Tbs (90 g) sugar
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks
2 Tbs (30 g) unsalted butter (preferably at room temperature)
Small pinch salt
1 cup (250 ml) whole milk (I used 2% low fat)
½ tsp vanilla or ½ a vanilla bean, split down the center, seeds scraped out

Larger batch Pastry Cream:
3 Tbs cornstarch
½ cup (100 g) sugar
1 large whole egg
3 large egg yolks
2 Tbs (30 g) unsalted butter (preferably at room temperature)
Pinch salt
2 cups (500 ml) milk (I use 2% low fat)
1 tsp vanilla or 1 vanilla bean, split down the center, seeds scraped out

Sift the cornstarch into a medium-large heatproof bowl and stir or whisk with half the sugar. Add the whole egg and yolks and whisk until smooth and thick.

Place the butter, the remaining sugar, the pinch of salt, the milk and both the vanilla bean pod and the seeds (if using a bean) in a saucepan and bring just to the boil. Remove from the heat.

Pour the hot milk into the egg mixture in a slow stream a ladleful at a time, whisking constantly so that the eggs do not curdle or begin to cook; this will gradually heat the eggs. Once all of the hot milk has been added to the egg mixture, pour it all back into the casserole and return to a very low heat. Whisking constantly, bring the cream to a gentle boil and cook for 2 to 3 minutes. The pastry cream may thicken rapidly but cooking for 2 minutes or so eliminates the cornstarch flavor.

If using liquid vanilla extract, add it to the cooked pastry cream. If using the vanilla bean, remove the pod and discard; the dark speckles seen in my pastry cream are the seeds.

I added and stirred in the cinnamon caramelized apple chunks leftover from my Caramelized Apple Galettes des Rois – about 2 apples of chunks.

Immediately pour and scrape the pastry cream into a clean heatproof bowl, cover with plastic wrap, pushing the plastic onto the surface of the cream to keep a skin from forming. Allow the cream to cool slightly as you prepare the puff pastry; do not prepare this too far in advance or cool too much as the pastry cream must still be soft and creamy enough to easily spread on the puff pastry round.

Assemble the Galette:

Remove the two pastry rounds from the refrigerator and discard the plastic. Choose one round to be the bottom of the galette and, leaving it on the parchment-lined baking sheet, gently press the edges out a bit with your fingers to enlarge the circle slightly. Mound enough of the cooled vanilla bean pastry cream filling in the center of the disc of dough to a thickness of about ½ inch (1 cm) but no more than ¾ inch, leaving about a ½ inch (1 cm) – 3/4 inch border of dough free around the edges. Press a fève, a ceramic charm of some sort, or even an old-fashioned dried bean or a coin into the filling, if desired.

Brush the edge all around with a light coating of egg wash (too wet and the top disc may slide during baking). Gently place the second disc of dough on top of the filling placing the top and bottom discs’ edge to edge (so the edges meet all the way around), gently stretching the top disc if needed so the edges line up. Press to seal tightly, pressing to have at least one finger width of pastry around all the edges well sealed.

Using a sharp knife held perpendicular to the table, cut into the side edges of the dough to create a scalloped edge all around to the cakes. Now carefully carve a design into the top of the cakes (not too deeply into the dough), making a couple or few small vents through the dough. Brush the top and sides of the galette lightly with egg wash. Place the baking tray in the refrigerator for the time the oven takes to preheat.

Preheat oven to 425°F (220°C).

Place the baking tray with the Galette in the hot oven and bake for 20 minutes until the pastry is puffed up and golden.

Reduce the oven temperature to 400°F (200°C) and continue baking for an additional 25 - 30 minutes until the top and the sides of the pastry are golden and crisp and the pastry is well risen. If you think the pastry is browning too quickly, simply lay a piece of foil over the top.

Remove the Galette from the oven and move the rack up one notch. Generously dust the entire top surface of the Galette with powdered sugar (using a sieve or sifter) then place the pastry back in the oven. Now bake for around 5 minutes until the sugar has turned to a golden and very shiny glaze. Stand next to your oven and watch because once you have the perfect glaze it can very quickly, in the flash of an eye, burn! You must watch so you can pull it out of the oven just as the last of the top turns a gorgeous shiny deep golden and not leave it one second longer.

Remove the Galette from the oven and slide the parchment paper off onto a cooling rack. Allow the Galette to cool before serving.

If serving a Galette des Rois with a fêve inside, make sure there is a child under the table while the host cuts the Galette and then passes each slice as the child calls out whom to serve. Have a paper crown ready to crown the King or Queen who finds the charm!

Read more »

CHOCOLATE CHESTNUT CLOUD CAKES

AND LET THE FESTIVITIES BEGIN!

There is probably a smell of roasted chestnuts and other good comfortable things all the time, 

for we are telling Winter Stories – Ghost Stories, or more shame for us – round the Christmas fire; and we have never stirred, except to draw a little nearer to it. 

– Charles Dickens 

Hanukkah has come upon us in a rush, almost unexpectedly. Surrounded by the remains of our renovations, pampering a sick dog, befuddled and amazed by the busy-bee energy of our normally slow-as-molasses son, time has slipped by at an almost unreal pace and we are astonished when we realize that it has only been a month since our move. Four, maybe five short weeks. It feels like we have been here forever emptying cartons, stepping over heaps of tools, tripping over coils of wire, making so many trips to the dump it has my head in a spin! And now Hanukkah has arrived and I am just not ready.

Son and I go hunting for Hanukkah gifts as the afternoon light wanes, just before rushing home to light the first candle. Late, as usual. We join the jungle of bodies, the swell of humanity clutching bags and boxes, children crying, parents hustling youngsters in and out of shops trying to retain some semblance of dignity and holiday cheer. Son hurries me, skirting the gawkers, reminding me of what we are there for and urging me onward only wanting to be home. But I am caught up in the festive air of the city, bedazzled by the neons, the garlands, the flurry of Santa hats bobbing up and down the streets. The brisk chill invigorates and the Hanukkah spirit is upon me and all I want to do is drift, weightless, carried along on the sights and sounds and smells of Christmas.

I’m just a little sentimental this time of year as the skies deepen to a dull slate gray, misty and mysterious. We venture out at night, brilliant bulbs in green, red, blue and white piercing the blackness, flickering, floating, fairy lights leading us towards the center of town. Noise and laughter rise and swirl around us like snow as we are swept along in the bustling crowd, pushed and pulled in between the brightly lit wooden stalls of the Christmas market. The smells of popcorn and churros mingle with the heady, spicy scent of mulled wine, the salty, smoky fragrance of sausages coming from the booth hawking some far-off regional delicacies, making us yearn to approach, lulled like fairytale children, spellbound, being pulled towards a candy-covered fantasy of sweets and the warmth of a blazing hearth. Images of my mom far away, thoughts of my brother rush in to fill up the spaces in my head between plans for our own festivities and the jollity and mirth, the lightness and wellbeing now mingled with emptiness, tainted by sadness. My son tugs on my sleeve, gives me a gentle nudge in the back and I turn my attention to the stands of books and the bins of dvds.

The holidays back home, the holidays of my childhood, weren’t swathed in snow or faded into a misty Winter Wonderland; no children bundled up in thick, puffs of coat, stuffing hands into mittens, tucking ever-dancing feet into boots, tugging knitted bonnets on heads. Bright bulbs flashed against crystal clear skies, luminaries flickered up and down neighborhood streets against a backdrop of deep, lush green grass. Mornings were indeed punctuated by entertaining stalagmites sprouting up from neighbors’ garden sprinklers; Santas galore were perched upon rooftops dressed in flowered cotton shirts, shorts and flip flops, ready for the balmy Florida season. By afternoon, the morning’s jackets were peeled off and we were down to warm weather outfits as we piled into the station wagon to go Hanukkah shopping with mom. We had the only house on the block, in the neighborhood, bare of decorations, the only wreathless front door. No strings of lights hung from the eaves, no garlands graced the front window. My parents were discreet, practical and sober when it came to holidays. A lone Menorah stood in the livingroom, one gift per night, a gift we had most likely chosen ourselves, was handed to each of us before we gathered around the table for a game of dreidl, peanuts or M & M’s our tokens of choice. And we were happy that way, happy being together, laughing, singing, playing with our toys. For eight nights, brightened by the candles’ flames.

Chestnuts are delicacies for princes and a lusty and masculine food for rusticks, 

and able to make women well-complexioned.

– John Evelyn, 1620 – 1706 

No chestnuts found their way into our kitchen, nor graced our holiday table. Foreign, they were, to us Floridians who spent the winter eating citrus morning, noon and night. Pies in pumpkin, apple and cherry were reserved for Thanksgiving as was bird and sticky sweet marshmallow sweet potato casserole. A plate of latkes was our Hanukkah treat along with a tiny bag of Hanukkah gelt, thick chocolate coins wrapped in glittering, shiny gold foil, counted out, made to last eight days. These simple traditions have found their way into my own home as we, husband, two sons and I, gather round the old family Menorah, the same from my childhood, lighting the candles for eight nights, exchanging gifts and enjoying our time together.

No, no special holidays meals for Hanukkah, yet this time of year I love to bake and cook with those special seasonal ingredients that, for me, are forever linked to a joyous, sprightly winter: pumpkins and apples, oranges and chestnuts. And when I can add chocolate to the mix, well, don’t I just do it. After my recent escapade into decadence the result of which, a Chocolate Chestnut Fondant, was received with merriment, gobbled down by one and all, I decided to try yet another chocolate chestnut delicacy with the rest of the can of Crème de Marrons. This Chocolate Chestnut Cloud Cake gets its airiness from thick, creamy meringue which is folded ever so gently into chocolate and butter, flavored by chestnut cream and a festive splash of Cointreau, my tipple of choice this season. I first baked one single fluted cake and then repeated the recipe baking individual portions, mini Bundts and tiny cakes. And the holidays call for something more, a bit special, so each cake was drizzled with Chocolate Orange Ganache.

These wonderfully festive treats are perfect for December’s Monthly Mingle, created by my Zesty Sister and fellow Plate to Page instructor Meeta. This month’s host, my talented friend Simone of Junglefrog Cooking, asked us to bake Christmas Cakes and that is just what this Chocolate Chestnut Cloud Cake is!

CHOCOLATE CHESTNUT CLOUD CAKE with Chocolate Orange Ganache
Adapted from Crème de Marrons les 30 recettes culte by Sandra Mahut

5.3 oz (150 g) dark chocolate 70% cacao, broken into pieces
9 Tbs (135 g) unsalted butter
3 rounded/heaping Tbs (150 g) chestnut cream (crème de marrons Clément Faugier)
3 Tbs (30 g) flour
3 Tbs (20 g) unsweetened cocoa powder
5 large eggs, separated
½ cup (100 g) granulated sugar
1 Tbs Cointreau, optional

Orange Chocolate Ganache (this recipe can easily be halved):
3.5 oz (100 g) Lindt Excellence Orange Intense or equivalent orange-scented dark chocolate
½ cup (125 ml) heavy cream

Or confectioner’s/powdered sugar and unsweetened cocoa powder for dusting

Preheat the oven to 325-335°F (170°C). Butter and flour either a medium-sized Bundt or fluted tube pan or about 18 – 20 individual cupcake or mini-Bundt molds.

Place the butter and the broken chocolate into a medium-sized Pyrex or heatproof bowl. Melt gently either in a bain-marie, over a pot of gently simmering water or in the microwave; barely 1 minute on high heat in the microwave should melt the butter completely and more than partially, but not completely, melt the chocolate. Remove from the heat/microwave and stir or whisk until the chocolate is completely melted and the mixture well blended and smooth. Add the 3 heaping tablespoons of chestnut cream/crème de marrons and whisk to blend.

Measure the flour and the cocoa powder together into a small bowl and then sift the two onto the chocolate/butter/chestnut mixture. Whisk to blend until smooth. Whisk in the Cointreau, if using.

Separate the eggs, placing the 5 clean whites into a large, very clean bowl ideal for whipping meringue – I prefer plastic. If you like, add a drop of lemon juice and a few grains of salt to help stabilize the whites. Using an electric mixer, beat the whites for 30 seconds on low speed then increase speed to high; beat for about 2 minutes until the whites are no longer foamy, are white and opaque and soft peaks hold. Begin gradually beating in the sugar, about a teaspoon at a time while continuing to beat on high speed. This should take another couple of minutes. Continue to beat until all of the sugar is incorporated and the meringue is very thick. The entire process should take about 5 minutes.

Beat the egg yolks into the meringue one at a time, beating on medium or high speed, beating in each yolk just to combine.

Using a spatula, fold the yolky meringue into the chocolate batter, adding and folding in a quarter of the meringue at a time. Do not overmix.

Spoon into the molds and bake for not more than 30 minutes (if making one large cake, this could bake up to double the time depending on the pan and the oven). When done, the top should be set, dull (no longer shiny) and lightly crispy. The cake should spring back when gently pressed and a tester inserted in the cake should come out clean.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool in the pan until completely cool before gently loosening and turning out.

Prepare the ganache while waiting for the cakes to cool by chopping the chocolate and placing in a heatproof bowl. Bring the cream just to the boil and pour over the chopped chocolate. Stir until the chocolate is completely melted and the ganache well blended, smooth and creamy. Leave to thicken at room temperature, stirring occasionally, until drizzling consistency. If you like, allow to get very thick and then thin with a bit of Cointreau. Spoon onto individual cakes or slices as serving. Top with sugar pearls or other festive sugar decorations.

Read more »