Cognac Panna Cotta with Salted Butter Caramel

VALENTINE’S DAY

If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day 

so I never have to live without you. 

- A. A. Milne 

I never had a Valentine before JP. I was one of the hopelessly, heartbreakingly, perpetually Valentine-less. No surprise, really, considering I was an ugly duckling. No golden tresses dancing in the ocean breeze, no long, slender legs that seem to go on forever, no Florida bronzed beauty was I. Like the others. Alas, life was cruel. Even as I got older and moved away from home, all grown up, I was forever the plain Jane, spunky, practical and domestic, merely a foil to the popular, the gorgeous, the desired.


Valentine’s Day and Cupid’s arrows slid past, one after another, boyfriend-less year after boyfriend-less year. As I flipped the calendar over from February to March I would sigh the sigh of the unloved, the single girl, the independent woman who, once again, finds herself stoutly declaring to herself and her friends that Valentine’s Day is just another meaningless holiday, just another day like all the others, that we strong, college-educated women didn’t need something so trite and frivolous and I would soldier on, getting through school and getting on in the world.

I often dreamed of being one half of a couple. Who hasn’t? I certainly had crushes, schoolgirl crushes or the headier, intoxicating, more adult kind. And men had crushes on me. Sadly, those crushes never really coincided. Bumped heads. Intertwined or overlapped. I skirted around certain attentions, played dumb to other yearning glances and earnest words. Disappointment shook me to my very core. And in return, my own longing remained unnoticed and unreturned, my love squarely unrequited. And I nursed one broken heart after the next.

Life and love are funny that way.

If you press me to say why I loved him, 

I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I. 

- Michel de Montaigne 

The flowers he fills my arms with are never the ordinary, the expected, rather they are blood red dahlias, lush, fragrant peonies in oh so many shades of pink and deep purple, tulips, plump and mysterious, the color of aubergines. No diamonds for me, no, he slips a tiny silver band upon my ring finger, etched with the single word “toujours”. Forever. Platefuls of oysters (I am his pearl) and bowlfuls of delicate, aromatic clams, dazzling tagines and gastronomic soirées, sunny lunches and cozy dinners, golden champagne flowing into long-stemmed glasses with a gentle sigh, the bubbles frothing up and over the rim. My man knows how to please me, knows just what makes this woman smile. The way to a man’s heart, they say, is through his stomach. This man knows that food means more to me than almost anything else.

And I, in turn, express my love and desire by offerings of sweet and savory. Candles lit, table dressed, dainty morsels set before him, sweet ambrosia. I offer him the choicest morsel, he slides his fork between his lips and I wait expectantly, breath held, for his reaction, a murmur of bliss, a groan of pleasure. His delight transports me to a better place, joyful rapture. I glance at him starry-eyed, thrilled with his enjoyment, the gusto with which he eats, a spoonful, a slice, this is how I offer myself to those I love, the best I have to offer.

Panna Cotta is a favorite treat, his guilty pleasure. Creamy and rich, smooth as silk, sensuous as it shimmers on the spoon and slides over the tongue. As delicate as an angel’s touch, as light as air, Panna Cotta warms his heart as sure as my hand placed on his cheek. Knowing just how much he loved it I stayed away from this luxurious, elegant dessert for years, afraid of not living up to expectations. On any restaurant menu, he was sure to order it, the satisfaction wavering with the quality of what was placed before him; sometimes rubbery, sometimes floury, not often pleasing. Each disappointment cut me to the heart. The last made me realize that it was up to me to create for him the best, the most exquisite Panna Cotta, a sure sign of what I was willing to give of myself. For each perfect bouquet of flowers he ever placed in my arms, for every jewel he slid onto one of my fingers, this gift was for him. Romance in a slender glass, the color of faded roses or pale champagne, the scent, the delicate taste of cognac, just a dollop of salted butter caramel hidden beneath to balance the sweetness, a masculine edge, like a fur wrap draped over a delicate satin gown. Placing the spoon next to the empty glass, he smiles and takes me in his arms.

COGNAC PANNA COTTA with salted butter caramel
Serves 6

3 cups (750 ml) whole milk or a combination of heavy cream, light cream/half-and-half and milk (I used 2% lowfat)
2 tsps (1/4 oz, about 8 g) powdered unflavored gelatin
½ cup (100 g) granulated white sugar
½ tsp vanilla extract
3 tsps cognac or to taste, I used Martell Noblige Cognac

6 tsps or more Salted Butter Caramel, just warm or room temperature, optional

In a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan, pour 1 ½ cups (375 ml) of the cream/milk mixture and sprinkle the gelatin on top. Allow to sit for 5 minutes to soften the gelatin; I usually just tap the gelatin to push it under the liquid. After 5 minutes, turn the flame under the pot to low and allow to heat very gently for 5 minutes until the gelatin dissolves completely, whisking carefully and continuously. Do not allow the milk to come to a boil; if the milk starts to steam too much, simply pull the pot off of the heat and whisk until the 5 minutes are up.

Whisk in the sugar and the rest of the milk or milk/cream mixture and continue to heat over low until the sugar is dissolved and the liquid is thoroughly warmed through. Whisk in the vanilla and cognac, taste and add more cognac if desired. Remove from the heat.

If adding Salted Butter Caramel, place a rounded teaspoon in the bottom of each glass. Carefully pour the hot panna cotta evenly between 6 glasses, verrines or ramekins.

Cover each with plastic wrap and slide into the refrigerator to chill and firm overnight.

Other sexy, romantic ideas for Valentine’s Day desserts:

Vanilla Rum Panna Cotta with Rum-Roasted Cherries

Blueberry Hibiscus Panna Cotta with Wild Blackberry Coulis

Coffee Panna Cotta with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce

Buttermilk Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta with Balsamic Strawberries from Passionate About BakingChocolate

Pots de Crème with Pomegranate Rubies 
from Creative Culinary

Cherry Cheesecake from Zoë Bakes

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French Pudding au Chocolat

CHOCOLATE FOR VALENTINE'S DAY

My Funny Valentine 

Sweet Comic Valentine 

You Make Me Smile With My Heart 

You're Looks Are Laughable, 

Unphotographable 

Yet You're My Favorite Work Of Art 

Is Your Figure Less Than Greek 

Is Your Mouth A Little Weak 

When You Open It To Speak 

Are You Smart 

Don't Change A Hair For 

Me Not If You Care For Me 

Stay Little Valentine Stay 

Each Day Is Valentine's Day 

- Chet Baker 

“One thing you should know about me,” he declared as I watched him dress, crumpled sheets pulled up to my chin, drunk on love, “you will never receive chocolates from me. I will shower you with gifts, buy you jewelry, fill your arms with flowers, but I will not buy you candy. Chocolate is a vice like cigarettes and alcohol and I will not feed any vice.” And as Valentine’s Day approached he stoutly proclaimed his disdain for this “American holiday, this commercial invention by some ad man or company created for the sake of making a few bucks. And I certainly don’t need someone else to designate one particular day, tell me when and how I should tell you that I love you! I can do that when and how I please!”


Yet that first Valentine’s Day together a single chocolate heart was placed atop my pillow with all the care of a newborn babe. One single chocolate heart filled with a thousand words, words that said “I love you” silently yet louder than if he had screamed them from the rooftops. With that one chocolate heart wrapped in shimmering silver foil he let me know that he understood that this simple gesture meant more to me than his contempt for the signs in shop windows and the ads on TV, the French adaptation of this very American faux holiday. He understood that expectation fluttered underneath my bold claim of agreement with him, my apparent disinterest for this special date, expectation fluttering like a schoolgirl heart as she places that shoebox decorated with pink crepe paper hearts and white doilies on the corner of her desk as she silently utters a prayer.

When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now 

Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? 

If I'd been out 'til quarter to three, would you let me drive 

Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four? 

You'll be older too 

Ah, and if you say the word, I could stay with you 

- Paul McCartney 

So many Valentine’s Days have come and gone, 27 of them to be exact. 27 years filled with roses and tulips, carnations and peonies, stunning jewels and breathtaking adventure. And chocolates. One time I asked him, after a very long, arduous several months trying to slim down, if he could tell that I had lost weight, if I looked better in my snug skirts, and he looked at me with that look before saying, “You know, you always look the same to me… I see you through eyes of love and you are always perfect.”

Lately, he has been dancing around the apartment making fun of us growing old together. “Maybe I’ll start cultivating the “fat, old pépère look – you know, baggy clothes, crazy hair, slumped over in my armchair saying crazy things, walking Marty in my slippers and pajama pants?” And now I look at this man as he grows older, as his moods and tempers blow hot and cold, from stressed to panicked to gleeful, from utter joy to tempestuous moody and dark; I look at this man who can drive me absolutely nuts or rant and rave and make me feel like a disobedient girl, who can make me laugh so long and so hard that my sides hurt and tears course down my cheeks, who can woo me, whisper in my ear and make me feel so loved and I realize that 64 isn’t that far away anymore.

And my answer would be yes.

FRENCH PUDDING AU CHOCOLAT

Finely ground stale bread or dry wafer-type cookies – plain white bread, Challah, brioche, ladyfingers or digestive biscuits – are used to bind these puddings in place of flour and are a fabulous way to use up stale bread. Unlike the Anglo-saxon/American style of pudding in which chunks of bread soak up custard, the bread and cookies used for a French pudding are undetectable; these puddings are velvety smooth, creamy, incredibly rich and intensely chocolate without the bitter edge. The addition of a bit of cinnamon, ground ginger or espresso, Grand Marnier, Cointreau, rum, cognac, coffee liqueur, there are so many possibilities for these deep, lusciously chocolate puddings. This is a recipe based on one found in Maisons Côté Nos 100 Recettes Tout Chocolat December 2012

5.3 oz (150 g) stale bread and/or plain wafer cookies or digestive biscuits
7 oz (200 g) dark semisweet or bittersweet chocolat 70% cacao
2 2/3 cups (600 ml) milk – I used 2% lowfat
½ cup (100 g) sugar
3 large eggs
½ tsp ground cinnamon, optional or replaced by another flavoring
½ tsp vanilla

Preheat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly butter 10 muffin cups in a muffin tin or silicone mold or ramekins. These puddings will be baked in a bain-marie, so the muffin tin or the ramekins need to sit comfortably inside a larger baking pan that will hold water.

Finely chop the chocolate on a cutting board; place the cookies and/or stale bread in a robot mixer and grind to a fine powder.

Place the milk and sugar in a large saucepan and bring up to the boil over low heat; add the chocolate and stir until the chocolate is just melted then stir in the cookie/bread crumbs. Remove from the heat.

Allow the chocolate milk to cool to warm, stirring often. Lightly beat the eggs in a measuring cup or small bowl; once the chocolate mixture has cooled, whisk three or four tablespoons of it into the eggs in a slow stream just to warm the beaten eggs. Pour the eggs into the saucepan of warm chocolate mixture in a slow steady stream while whisking the mixture (we do not want the eggs to cook).

Divide the batter evenly among the cups of the muffin tin/silicone mold or the ramekins. Place these inside the larger baking pan and slide into the preheated oven. Carefully pour very hot tap water from a spouted measuring cup into the pan around the molds until the molds/tin/ramekins are immersed just halfway, being careful to not let any water get on/in the puddings.

Bake in the preheated oven in the water bath (bain-marie) for 25 – 30 minutes until the puddings are set.

Remove the baking pan very carefully from the oven so the water doesn’t slosh and wet the puddings or burn your hands. Very carefully (use oven mitts or a kitchen cloth) lift each pudding or the muffin tin out of the bain-marie water and place on a kitchen towel or cooling rack.

Serve the puddings warm with salted butter caramel sauce, berry coulis, whipped cream or a scoop of ice cream. These puddings are incredibly sexy when eaten warm, but are also quite fabulous at room temperature. Chilling will make them very dense and chewy but the flavor is still astonishingly good.

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Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta & Amaretti Brownies

Valentine’s Day. Again.

Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own. 

- Robert Heinlein 

Valentine’s Day. This evokes a great philosophical debate chez nous year in and year out. Do we or don’t we? To Valentine’s Day or not to Valentine’s Day? I am led to believe by those willing to convince me that this day is no day at all, that if I surrender, give in to the commercial greed and false proclamations of so many admen, I somehow put our love at risk, laugh at the seriousness of the glue that holds our couple together, relinquish our passion to someone else who dares dictate how and when we declare our love. The sceptics surround me on every side, closing in, yet I glance up and smile sweetly, nodding in ostensible agreement all the while dreaming romantic dreams of my man.

Go ahead, just try and convince me. I surrender to your words. Wrap me in your arms and tell me that the day means nothing to you at all, that no one can put limits or restrictions, obligations or rules on the expression of your feelings. Tell me that you desire me every day and you need no one at all to hand you an opportunity to show me just how much. But (just this once) recognize this day with a gift or a sign, no matter how small, just because you know what it means to me, a single sentimental gesture to acknowledge the expectation that flutters in my heart, and I promise you that in return I will agree with you about the nothingness of Valentine’s Day every single day for the rest of the year.

Ah, Valentine’s Day. Who knows just precisely how or when or where you began, who proclaimed this as the day of love, billets doux, sweet nothings, gentle whispers and fervent glances. And to what import? Did Mark Antony need Valentine’s Day to pull Cleopatra into his lustful embrace? Did Romeo need Valentine’s Day to inspire him to declare his passion for the young Juliet hovering breathlessly above in the moonlight? Did Valentine’s Day stir Napoleon’s amour for Josephine or elicit Darcy’s throwing himself at Elizabeth’s feet? No, I dare say not. It is true that one does not need this day to be a lover, to express desire, to recount unhesitatingly, ardently, passionately one’s undying love. No, not at all.

And as far as famous lovers go, we may be more Lucy and Ricky, our couple that quirky balance of fiery and comical, or George Burns and Gracie Allen, a little bit like some zany old-fashioned sitcom. Or even Julia and Paul Child, playful and creative and standing out from the crowd like two rare and exotic creatures, more intellectual than glamorous, more ordinary than star crossed, more frivolity and heartfelt emotion than dark, brooding vamp and suave Casanova. But whoever or whatever the influence, we have never needed Valentine’s Day as a pretense to offer each other gifts, pop open the Champagne or snuggle up together. Yet…. yet… there is still something about Valentine’s Day that stirs up my womanly desires, lights the fire within, brings out the fluttering young girl in me again.

Like a faded romance novel or timeworn love story, I want him to smother me with kisses, shower me with baubles and sentimental gewgaws; I want to feel his soothing caress and his warm breath on my cheek as his love washes over me. But he is right. No exuberant display of emotion is necessary, not even diamonds and rubies are required, just his loving glance, my hand in his, a gentle squeeze, a careful, graceful acknowledgement of my frivolous desire to be pampered on this of all days and then we can move on to all the rest of the days of the year.

For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. 

It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul. 

– Judy Garland 

* It’s the same story every year, and this Valentine’s Day is no different. Although he offers to take me out and bring me a voluptuous bouquet simply to make me happy, he believes none of it. Yes, it is the same story every year so I decided to republish an old Valentine’s Day post from 2011, only slightly altered, a bit like us.

Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta & Amaretti Brownies

Recipe Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta can be found here:
Changes: the seeds scraped out of one vanilla bean/pod replaced the liquid vanilla extract. Add the seeds with the 2 cups cream and the sugar to the warm cream/gelatin mixture in the pot and finish the recipe as indicated.

Make the Panna Cotta the day before making the dessert. Either divide the panna cotta evenly among 6 or 8 dessert glasses or ramekins or pour into a large, shallow baking dish if you want to add a layer of the panna cotta to a layer of brownie. Chill overnight in the refrigerator.

Recipe Amaretti Brownies can be found here:
Changes: The Amaretto can be replaced with 1 teaspoon vanilla extract or ½ teaspoon vanilla extract + ¼ teaspoon almond extract.

Allow the brownies to cool completely in the pan.

For the Valentine’s Day dessert, serve the glass of Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta with a dollop of very lightly sweetened or unsweetened whipped heavy cream and raspberries with a small round of Amaretti Brownie.

To create the layered dessert, using a round ring mold or cookie/biscuit cutter, cut out a round from the Amaretti Brownies per serving; carefully twist the mold and lift out brownie round and place on a dessert plate. Very carefully, using the same ring mold, cut out a round from the Vanilla Bean Panna Cotta and lift up using a spatula pushed underneath to lift it up and onto the brownie. Carefully but quickly slide the spatula out from under the panna cotta, aligning the ring mold over the brownie and lift. Serve immediately with a dollop of whipped cream and raspberries. If desired, place the ring mold with the slice of panna cotta over the brownie round and slide the ring down onto the brownie and reserve in the refrigerator in the ring mold to chill until ready to serve.

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ORANGE COINTREAU BROWNIE TIRAMISU

SNOWED IN

Mieux encore que dans la chambre j’t’aime dans la cuisine
Rien n’est plus beau que les mains d’une femme dans la farine
Quand tu fais la tarte aux pommes, poupée, tu es divine
Rien n’est plus beau que les mains d’une femme dans la farine. *
- Claude Nougaro

As, once again, Europe reposes snuggly under a blanket of white, Nantes remains bright and clear and unusually, sadly, free of dusty snow. Blizzards rage across the country and cities are buried under thick drifts of powder one after the other, yet Nantes stays temperate and dry. Oh, we did have our one flurry, whipping across the rooftops and through the streets, ever so fleetingly, but it has already fluttered away, disappearing like an ace of spades in the fingers of a magician, as ephemeral as dandelion fluff carried away on the wind. The long-promised snow came early one morning and by the afternoon we were out tromping across the stretch of white on Place Louis XVI, crunching and running and laughing, enticed outside and throughout the city like excited children. Handfuls gathered up and tossed back and forth, screeching with delight, laughing as Marty danced and skipped in a futile attempt to keep his paws out of the damp cold ice. We arrived back at the house chilled and out of breath but thrilled and content with the vibrancy and sparkle of the much-anticipated winter.


But nothing lingers; the temperature has dropped to glacial yet the lovely white has melted and gone away. The Arctic chill has driven us indoors and we stay huddled together happily, reading, watching films, working on projects. I must admit that I have been so lazy these past few days, lazy and blah and just a tad grumpy, so grumpy that I had my men dancing around me trying to cheer me up, attempting to drag a chuckle from my lips, doing what they could to pull me up and out of the doldrums. Silly faces, eye-roll-worthy jokes and a quick song and dance were mine for the asking, but, alas, I was in no mood to be consoled. I buried my chin just a little bit deeper into my collar and plunked down into my chair at the table, as if on cue, just to be fed. Despite my absolute passion for the icy winter weather, maybe the fact of being inside, albeit cozy and warm, has made me lackadaisical, my energy sapped and my brain and body simply listless. So JP decided that a jaunt out in the chill, a stroll through town, a spot of window shopping, would be just the thing to kick start my creative energy and inspire a story or two. So…

We ventured to Angers today, a wonderful city an hour outside of Nantes, where the chill factor was below frigid and snow still carpeted the ground. Simon went to take a language proficiency test, so JP and I scurried and slid across their very icy sidewalks, through the streets, looking for a warm haven in which to wait. Arm in arm, only tumbling once, we popped into a café and ordered steaming mugs of hot chocolate and nibbled on bottereaux, small square puffs of fried dough dusted with powdered sugar, a regional specialty for Carnival, and we happily wiled away an hour in the warm comfort of a barren bistro. Not ones to miss out on a little adventure and fresh air, we finally bundled back up, gathered our courage and ventured our way back out into the cold. A slippery-slidey trip through the center of Angers, we decided to once again visit the la Tenture de l’Apocalypse, the stunning XIVth century tapestries depicting the Apocalypse created for Louis 1er d’Anjou, on display in a long, dark, solemn wing of the city’s Château. We love the quiet, deserted space, miles high and so dim we had to lean in closely and squint to read the description of each tapestry. A wonderful sanctuary with a fascinating history, but back out into the snow we went to finally meet up with Simon and drive back home where….


We found Marty curled up against the radiator, slowly going bald as he mysteriously does each and every winter, and we unbundled and tried to find a warm spot in our vast, drafty apartment. An adventure and a quick call to a friend upon returning home did indeed seem to boost my spirit and knock some ideas into the old noggin and I began to organize my work and type. Yet, for three days or more, Simon has been begging me, nudging me, prodding and harassing me to bake him brownies: chocolaty yet not too chocolaty, moist yet not too dense, fluffy, crusty with enough chopped pecans to balance out the natural sweetness of a good pan of brownies. Yes, my baby is exacting, fussy and downright imperious, but what’s a mother to do? He loves my treats as long as they are always exactly the same. With nothing special or, as he says, “fishy” inside. And so I made him brownies. Little does he know and much to his horror if he ever finds out, I decided to jazz up this great, classic brownie recipe with orange and Cointreau with the idea to turn part of the recipe into a stunning, elegant, luxurious and romantic treat for Valentine’s Day. So a splash of liqueur and a bar of orange-flavored chocolate and the trick was done. And out came my heart-shaped muffin tin and the romantic girly-girl and the devoted mom merged into one and Orange Cointreau Brownies were born.

A te voir ainsi je retrouve mon âme enfantine
Rien n’est plus pur que les mains d’une femme dans la farine. *

Who says that Valentine’s Day should be pink and red. Orange is the color of burning desire, and after 25 years with my own man I can assure you that burning desire is still indeed the color of the day. Orange is fiery heat, burning bright and constant rather than explosive red bursting and then quickly fading away or gentle pink, pale, feminine and utterly forgettable. Orange is creativity and enthusiasm, deep, passionate, inspiring. So you can keep your dainty raspberry concoctions, your effeminate, sweet strawberry confections. The bright, jazzy taste of oranges, the voluptuous whipped mascarpone cream, light, ethereal yet so sumptuous, spiked with an ever-so-adult splash or three of Cointreau atop a dense orange-scented brownie infused with sharp, bitter orange marmalade is my Valentine’s Day offering, a gift from the heart. Passionate, indulgent, neither insipid nor conventional, an astonishing Tiramisu, a superbly lavish Valentine’s Day dessert to declare your burning desire.


There’s nothing quite like chocolate for Valentine’s Day and February is #chocolatelove month! Please join in on the #chocolatelove fun and romance by linking up any chocolate recipe posted during the month of February 2012 . Don't forget to hop over to this post to share your recipe. The twitter hashtag is #chocolatelove.

* Even more than in the bedroom, I love you in the kitchen.
Nothing is more beautiful than the hands of a woman in flour.
When you make an apple pie, baby doll, you are divine
Nothing is more beautiful than the hands of a woman in flour.
Seeing you so my childhood soul returns to me
Nothing is purer than the hands of a woman in flour.
- Claude Nougaro

ORANGE COINTREAU FUDGE BROWNIES
Adapted from a recipe in Brownies by Linda Burum

3 ½ oz (100 g) Intense Orange Chocolate by Lindt (or equivalent orange-scented semisweet chocolate)
2 oz (60 g) unsweetened chocolate
1 1/3 cups (300 g) unsalted butter
2 ½ cups (500 g) sugar
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
1 – 2 Tbs Cointreau or Grand Marnier
5 large eggs
1 ½ cups (180 g) flour (lightly spooned into measuring cup then leveled with a knife)
1 ½ cups (125 g) coarsely chopped pecans

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C). Lightly but thoroughly butter a six-cup heart-shaped muffin tin or equivalent (each cup holds a little more than one soup ladle of batter) and one 15 ½ x 10 ½ x 1-inch (approximately 39 x 26 x 2 ½ cm) jellyroll pan.

In a medium saucepan over low heat, melt the butter together with the chocolates, stirring gently to keep from burning. Remove from the heat when almost but not completely melted, continuing to stir off the heat until all the butter and chocolate are melted. Allow to cool slightly.

Scrape all of the chocolate-butter liquid into a large heatproof mixing bowl and add the sugar, salt and vanilla and stir or whisk until well blended. It will be grainy. Stir in the Cointreau. Vigorously whisk or stir in the eggs one at a time, blending well after each addition. The batter should become smooth and no longer grainy. Stir in the chopped pecans and the flour until well blended and smooth.

Ladle batter into each buttered muffin cup of the tin until filled about halfway and not more than ¾ full. Pour the rest into the prepared jellyroll pan and smooth, making sure the batter fills the corners and all the way to the edges.

Bake the brownies for 25 – 30 minutes, depending on the size of the pans and the oven, until the brownies are set and the top shiny. A toothpick inserted into the brownies should come out clean. If you prefer your brownies gooey and slightly undercookied in the center, take them out of the oven sooner, but the top should be uniformly set and shiny.

Remove the tins from the oven and allow to cool on racks.


ORANGE COINTREAU BROWNIE TIRAMISU
For approximately 8 individual Tiramisu

Orange Cointreau Brownies (½ x 10 ½ x 1-inch (@ 39 x 26 x 2 ½ cm) jellyroll pan)
Bitter orange marmalade or jelly + a bit of Cointreau

4 large eggs, separated
2 cups (500 g) fresh mascarpone
½ cups (100 g) granulated sugar, divided
2 – 3 Tbs Cointreau or Grand Marnier

Unsweetened cocoa powder for dusting

Separate the egg yolks from the whites. Set the whites aside is a medium bowl, preferably plastic or metal.

Beat the yolks in a large bowl with all except 1 tablespoon of the sugar until very thick, creamy and pale. Beat in the mascarpone until well blended and creamy. Stir in 2 tablespoons of Cointreau.

Beat the whites until they start to stiffen. Add the remaining tablespoon of sugar gradually, continuing to beat the whites stiff. Carefully fold the stiff egg whites, a third at a time, into the mascarpone/egg mixture: using a spatula, gently fold the whites into the mixture after each addition so as not to break the air in the whites. Taste the mascarpone cream, adding a bit more sugar or Cointreau to taste.

Using individual metal ring molds, press each mold into the brownies; carefully slide a wide spatula underneath the brownie and the ring and lift off of the pan. Invert the mold with the brownie base inside it and place the inverted ring mold on a platter; press the circle of brownie down into the mold, sliding it so it rests at the bottom on the plate (still inside of the ring): the brownie is now upside down so the crusty, shiny side is down and the moister side is up.

Once all of the ring molds have a brownie base (inverted) and are lined up on the platter or clean cookie tray, melt several tablespoons of bitter orange marmalade over very low heat, stirring to avoid burning; stir in a capful of Cointreau to liquefy the jelly. Using a pastry brush, dab a layer of bitter orange marmalade onto and all over each brownie base, as much or as little as desired. Spoon the prepared Cointreau mascarpone into each ring mold on top of the brownie base to fill up to the top of the ring.

Cover all of the filled ring molds with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.

To serve, slide a wide spatula underneath each Tiramisu, one at a time, and place one on each individual dessert place. Dust the surface of each Tiramisu generously with unsweetened cocoa powder. Carefully slide a thin, sharp knife around each Tiramisu to loosen then gently twist and lift the ring mold off of the Tiramisu. Serve and eat immediately.

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COOKIES FOR VALENTINE’S DAY

THE SLIPPERY SLOPE


Nothing says Valentine’s Day quite like chocolate; lovely, elegant handmade chocolates wrapped in shiny gold foil, snuggled up together and smartly tucked in a box all tied up with ribbon. Or decadent rivers of dark sauces and creams smothering something so special, so ooey, gooey, luscious as a single portion of cake, mousse or torte, something that sends shivers down our spine. Or is it a fragrant bouquet of roses that speaks louder than words? Plump, velvety red for passion, delicate yellow for constancy and friendship, orange for burning desire… placed in the open arms of the one we love, roses symbolize what Valentine’s Day is all about. Or, hmmmm…. could it be jewels, brilliant, glittering gems, a circle of diamonds or a deep red ruby, the color of our heart, that one dazzling, never-ending band slipped onto a finger or pendant clasped around the neck like a warm embrace binding us forever to that special someone. Candlelight and surprise, warmth and tenderness expressed in the most personal way possible.


Nothing says Valentine’s Day like ranting and raving, furrowed brows and “I warned you a long time ago how I felt about this faux holiday!” sneers. Astonishment and dismay at all the gaudy baubles and cheesy cards, cheap red velvet boxes and clichéd decorations, each more over the top than the next, stuffed into shop windows, the more the merrier simply to sell just another corny, vapid celebration. Obligations, anticipation, withering looks if desires and expectations are not met with enthusiasm, doubt and disappointment if flowers are not delivered, tiny, sentimental gewgaws not slipped across candlelit tablecloths, if our perfect, romantic notions are met with indifference and disgruntled sidelong glances and snide comments.

Sigh.

But I’m an old romantic at heart and that lovely no-man’s land between my birthday and Valentine’s Day is filled with hope, hints and baking. Almost anything goes, from treating myself to one more, teeny tiny, self-indulgent gift to creating cookies, cakes and puddings in feminine heart shapes, dotted and dusted with shimmering pink and red sprinkles. As the only girl in the house – yes, female, woman, there are more politically correct and accurate designations depending upon the topic discussed – but when it comes to birthdays and Valentine’s Day I am still a giggly, whimsical, hope-filled, dreamy, wide-eyed girly girl… so as the only girl in the house I have the undisputed right to pull out all the stops (well, within reason), the pink and the pearly, the shimmery and the frou-frou. I ignore the rolled eyes and smirks, the snorts of derision and the turned backs and I just carry on my merry way towards Valentine’s Day. Nothing is ever acknowledged nor is anything promised. Au contraire! They swear up and down year in and year out that Valentine’s Day is just a bunch of hogwash, a load of hooey, a hackneyed, silly, expensive just another day that deserves no more attention in this house than does Halloween.


But don’t I know them better than that? They know I have a weakness for love and romance and Valentine’s Day has just always been another chance for them to circle me with whimsy and enchantment and shower me with attention. And really anything will do. From those long ago days of my ugly duckling youth when every St. Valentine’s would slip by unrequited, and the shoebox decorated with care and emotion placed squarely on the corner of my grade school desk remained empty of vows of undying, undeclared love and my dreams sadly unfulfilled, veritably dashed to the ground, my need has grown each and every year, my expectations increase enthusiastically with each dinner, bouquet of flowers or jewel I receive against all odds. Each year they assure me that I can forget all about any special gallantry, no consideration would push them to treat the 14th any way other than as just another day. But I know better than that…

And so I tiptoe ahead through forbidden territory, these two weeks sandwiched between my birthday and St. Valentine’s Day. And hearts are the theme once, twice, over and over again. Call me corny, saccharine or just plain cheesy, I don’t care… hearts come pouring out every February. Cookies this week as we hunker down and snuggle up against the cold. Winter has settled in much to my delight, a fine layer of snow covers the ground slowly turning to slush and I wait for a second round of flurries tonight to set things right: a beautiful romantic white glimmering in the black of night. An evening en famille watching an old black & white comedy or a Hitchcock thriller, and a platter of freshly baked buttery sugar cookies enjoyed with the evening’s final glass of wine will suit me just fine.


My first Valentine recipe is heart-shaped cookies edged in pink and red. I mean, how much more romantic can one get than this? And bonus: they are absolutely divine: buttery, tender, full of flavor, not too sweet (just sweet enough, like the ideal sweetheart), the cherry-scented sugar crystals, rose petal nibs and colored sprinkles adding a wonderful crunch and a beautiful dazzle. Wrap them in ribbon and offer them to the one you love.


BUTTERY SUGAR COOKIES
Always tender, never crumbly or dry and less cloyingly sweet than other butter cookie recipes.

2 sticks (1/2 lb, 225 g) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
¾ cup (150 g) sugar
2 large eggs
1 Tbs Amaretto, optional
½ tsp vanilla – increase to 1 tsp if omitting the Amaretto
3 ½ cups (525 g) flour

To decorate:
1 lightly beaten egg
Colored sugar crystals, sprinkles/jimmies or sugared flower petal nibs

In a large mixing bowl, cream together the softened butter and the sugar until light and fluffy.

Add the eggs one at a time, beating briefly after each addition just to incorporate.

Beat in the Amaretto and vanilla and then about a third of the flour until smooth. Gradually beat in as much of the remaining flour as possible using the electric beater, then stir in the rest with a wooden spoon or a spatula.

Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead quickly; if you haven’t stirred in all of the flour you can knead in the rest quite easily. Once you have a smooth, homogeneous dough, wrap tightly in plastic wrap and let it chill in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350°F (180°C).

Working with about half the dough at a time, roll it out to a thickness of not less than 1/8-inch (no less than .3 cm), being careful that the dough is very evenly rolled out. Carefully cut out shapes with your cookie cutters. Gently transfer to a cookie sheet (I use unlined, ungreased cookie sheets with no problem at all). If you want to decorate, just gently lift the cookies one by one, brush around the edges with a beaten egg, then dip in the decorative sugar before placing on the cookie sheets.


Bake for about 10 minutes. They will be set and appear cooked but they will NOT brown. You’ll know they are done because they will slide right off the cookie sheet when just nudged with a spatula. Remove from the oven and gently lift each cookie off of the baking sheet and place on a cooling rack. Allow to cool completely before enjoying.

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CHOCOLATE ESPRESSO LAYER CAKE

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY

The secret to staying young is to live honestly,
eat slowly,
and to lie about your age.
~ Lucille Ball

“Oh, grow up!” he often says to me when I’ve said or done something particularly ridiculous, a smirk dancing upon his lips, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Would you really want me to?” is my usual rejoinder. We revel in our youthful silliness and utter disregard for the rules of behavior that most seem so urgently ready to apply to folks of our age. Another birthday has rolled around and I am now squarely centered in that “woman of a certain age” category. I look in the mirror and see the lines on my skin and the silver threaded through my dark hair, I feel the weight of the years upon my shoulders, pulling me down with unforgiving severity, gravity giving me a less-than-youthful appearance. These old bones creak and the back has a tendency to slouch, the elevator has taken precedence over the stairs and fabric seems to strain at snaps and buttons. But for all of the outward changes, that slow but inevitable metamorphoses that we each go through, the visible traces left by the advancing years, I somehow feel an inward subtle shift in the opposite direction.

So the “Oh, grow up!” followed immediately by the “Would you really want me to?” is a game we play, just more childish banter between two who simply do not feel that the years have made us grow old. We laugh in the face of Old Man Time and hold onto youth joyfully, in an ironclad grip.

Youth is a wonderful thing.
What a crime to waste it on children.
~ George Bernard Shaw

The body is some strange foreign vessel, almost alien in its outlandishness. There is an odd disconnect throughout our youth and well into adulthood, this relationship we have with our outer shell, as if wearing someone else’s ill-fitting clothing. As a child, we often have moments of not quite being able to control our movements nor do we quite understand the changes that happen seemingly overnight as we sleep; as a teen, there is discomfort and embarrassment in every lump and bump, every growth spurt and unruly, out-of-control development. There may be a brief moment when we achieve the perfect balance, when we reach some ideal age, that place in time where it all comes together effortlessly, without blemish, pure and sublime, our hair, our skin, our figure; we glance in the mirror and smile, content, self-confident, at ease and at peace with ourselves. “Ah, I have finally grown up and grown into the person I was meant to be all along!” we exclaim, nodding in approval as we turn to blow out the 30 or so candles. But the moment is fleeting; it rushes by, a whisper blown swiftly away on the wind. We wake up shortly after, minutes it seems, and the walls begin to crumble; the skin sags, ever so imperceptibly at first, but we notice it a bit more every day; the first gray hair sneaks in, almost as a fine joke; the knees creak and crack as we climb the stairs to the apartment and it seems just that much more difficult to push ourselves out of bed in the morning. We catch a glimpse of our face, our body as we walk in front of a mirror or plate glass window and are stunned, wondering when it was that we grew so old.

Growing old is mandatory;
growing up is optional.
~ Chili Davis

Yet, although I reached my stride quite a number of years ago, my peak physical years have come and gone, and today, well, the lines are getting fuzzy, the streaks of sophisticated silver run their fingers brazenly through my unruly hair and keeping in shape takes more effort every day, my inner child is well and alive, thank you very much. Rebellious in nature, the youthful me bursts at the seams, a ball of energy, not willing to sit still and twiddle her thumbs allowing any old rather snooty Grande Dame to make the decisions. Some may say that there is something irreverent in the way I behave, that silliness does not become a woman of a certain age; others may shake their head in dismay at my adamant determination to simply not grow up, their eyes opened wide in disbelief at my jokes or antics. But although I have little control over the outer shell other than exercise, diet and a good haircut, a touch of makeup and the choice of what I wear, my spirit is my own to do with as I please.

Age is a question of mind over matter.
If you don't mind, it doesn't matter.
~ Leroy "Satchel" Paige

Yes, another birthday has come and gone with much hurrah and I was spoiled and pampered by my men in their usual, quiet way. And as is the tradition every single year, I baked my own cake. French pastry shops are abundant in tarts of glistening fruit, creams of chocolate, raspberry or vanilla studded with poached pears or bright berries and crunchy with praline or biscuits, elegant verrines of layer upon delicate layer of mousses and bavaroises topped by froths of whipped Chantilly; one jaw-dropping gorgeous, ravishingly delicious delight after another, it is true, but a birthday is simply not a birthday without a layer cake. And there is no better way to have exactly what you love best than making it yourself. I toyed with the idea of repeating last year’s wildly successful Espresso Chocolate Cake with Mocha Mascarpone Frosting, as it had indeed been one of the best cakes I have ever tasted. And although I had finally settled on the same flavor combination – a favorite – I turned instead to my favorite chocolate cake recipe, one that was handed down from my father, and my simple chocolate buttercream frosting. Yet I twisted and turned and added espresso to both the cake batter and the frosting, whisked in a container of fresh mascarpone to the buttercream for a richer, smoother, creamier frosting and voilà I created my perfect birthday cake!


A childhood delight to bring out the youthful frivolity, the joy and delight in each of us; dense, ultra moist, devilishly chocolaty layers with a diabolically inspired kiss of espresso, a cake at once flirtatious with its voluptuous swirls of mocha cream and serious in its sinful decadence. And what a cake! A flash to whip up and bring together, and oh so easy going down. Kid friendly indeed yet oh so incredibly adult.


And a perfect romantic dessert for St. Valentine's Day.

CHOCOLATE ESPRESSO LAYER CAKE
Makes a 8 ½ or 9-inch two layer cake or an 7-inch three layer cake.


1 ¾ cup flour
2 cups sugar
¾ cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 ½ tsp baking powder
1 ½ tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
2 large eggs
1 cup whole milk
½ cup vegetable oil
2 tsps vanilla
1 cup prepared coffee *

* If you prefer, the coffee can be replaced with water or a mixture of water and fruit juice.

Preheat oven to 350°F (180°C). Oil and flour two 8 ½ or 9-inch round cake pans or three 7-inch cake pans generously. (I oiled the pans, lined with parchment and then lightly oiled the paper and dusted with flour.)

Combine all of the dry ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Whisk or whiz them with the electric mixer on low speed for 30 seconds until everything is well combined. Add the eggs, milk, oil and vanilla. Beat on low until well blended then increase the mixer speed to medium and beat for about 2 minutes. Bring the 1 cup of coffee just to the boil and stir in carefully by hand until very well blended. Carefully divide the batter between the two prepared cake pans – it will be liquid. (If you want to make the smaller 3-layer cake and only have 2 cake pans: oil, line and flour the two pans and divide 2/3 of the batter between the two; the pans should be filled about 1/3 to ½ full. Bake the first two layers. When they are done, remove from the oven, allow to cool for several minutes, slide a sharp knife around the edges to loosen and invert (then upright) on cooling racks to completely cool. Clean, oil, line and dust with flour one of the pans and pour the remaining third of the batter into this pan and bake as directed.)

Bake in the preheated oven for 35 – 40 minutes or until the center is set (30 – 35 minutes for the smaller layers). Remove from oven and allow to cool for 10 – 15 minutes on cooling racks before turning them out onto the racks to cool completely.

CHOCOLATE MOCHA MASCARPONE BUTTERCREAM FROSTING


11 - 12 oz (325 - 350 grams) powdered/confectioner’s sugar
8 Tbs (120 grams) unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
1.8 oz (50 grams) unsweetened cocoa powder
4 Tbs very hot prepared coffee
3.5 – 5.3 oz (100 – 150 g) fresh mascarpone cheese

Using an electric hand mixer, cream the butter and the powdered sugar together. Add the cocoa powder and the hot coffee and beat, scraping down the sides as necessary, until well blended and fluffy. Beat in as much mascarpone as desired until smooth and whipped.

Chill in the refrigerator until firm enough so that, when spread and the layers are stacked, the frosting does not slide.

Frost the tops of the layers then stack, placing the bottom layer on a cake or serving plate. I slip strips of waxed paper or parchment under the edges of the cake before frosting the sides in order to keep the plate clean and frosting-free. Smooth the frosting on the sides of the cake. Pipe rosettes of frosting and decorate as desired. Gently slide the strips of parchment out from under the cake and retouch as needed. Chill in the refrigerator until the frosting has firmed. Because the frosting contains mascarpone, it is best to store uneaten cake in the refrigerator.

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