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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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.

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Blueberry Hibiscus Panna Cotta with Wild Blackberry Swirl

FORAGING

On the motionless branches of some trees, autumn berries hung like clusters of coral beads, 

as in those fabled orchards where the fruits were jewels . . . 

– Charles Dickens 

It was a beautiful day. Certainly not a day for sitting inside, even with the windows thrown open. This was not a day for work, for burying one’s head underneath a pile of papers and a heap of ideas. No, this was a glorious day for heading out of town, for a brisk country walk. This was a day for liberating both body and soul, getting a bit of fresh air and just thinking of other things. Little did we realize just what we would discover.

JP wanted to see the storks. There is a secluded, wild area, a bird reserve where storks gather and breed, high up on the perches built especially for them in the marshes outside of Nantes. Just slip on boots and wade thigh-high among the grasses and reeds and you will surely come upon families nesting. But a cross between having lost our rubber boots and having lost our map and nature guide book in the move (or not quite being able to put our fingers on them), and after circling around in the countryside a bit, we pulled the care over to the side of the road, climbed out, leashed Marty and just dove into the trees, taking the first path we came across.

An unexpected hot wind was blowing against us as we made our way past the cows and deep into pastureland. Marty, unused to the harsh conditions of the great outdoors as he is these days, not having really adventured outside with us for many months, was weaving in and out among the prickly grass, lifting his short legs as high as possible in a failed attempt to bypass the sharpness of the flora. He dashed for the rare spots of shade where he would plop down and roll around in the grass to cool down. But happy he was to be outside and off the leash! We eventually came to the edge of a wide field and discovered a narrow river or deep stream edged with thorny bushes thick with leaves. An opening in the greenery and JP pushed Marty into the drink once, twice, thrice, forcing him to bathe and cool off.

We walked along the bushes, around the edge of the field and lo and behold what do we spy? Wild blackberries plump and ripe from the sun and the heat! We picked a few and popped them into our mouths. “Let’s pick some!” I shouted to him, thinking of my friend Nancy Baggett and her foraged berries. “But we don’t have anything to collect them in!” he shouted back, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “But I have a bag that I brought a snack in!” I answered back to his utter delight. (Thank heavens someone thinks to pack snacks!). And so we dove in and brought home over a pound of wild blackberries, our fingers black and sticky with juice.

What to make? We batted a few ideas around until finally I mentioned Panna Cotta. I know how he loves Panna Cotta.

BLUEBERRY HIBISCUS PANNA COTTA with Wild Blackberry Coulis

Blackberry Coulis:

1 lb (500 g) blackberries, cleaned
1 - 2 Tbs granulated white sugar and more to taste

Select and put aside 6 or 12 whole blackberries for decorating/serving.

The coulis can be prepared one of two ways:

Either

1) Cook the blackberries with 1 tablespoon of the sugar over very low heat, pressing and mashing the blackberries as they cook until soft and the sugar is dissolved, about 8 – 10 minutes. Add more sugar, one teaspoon at a time, until the berries and juice is sweet enough and to your liking (how much sugar you add will depend on the natural sweetness of the berries as well as how sweet you like them. If mixing with the panna cotta, it is better to under-sweeten them. Once cooked, allow the berries to cool for about ten minutes or so, then press through a fine strainer, pushing them through with a soft spatula until only seeds are left; discard the seeds and impurities. Taste the resulting liquid coulis and again add a bit more sugar if desired.

Or

2) Purée the berries in a blender or with an emulsion mixer. Cook the berries over very low heat with one tablespoon of the sugar until the sugar is dissolved (if they are very juicy, you can cook for a few minutes, stirring or whisking, until slightly thickened. Strain the berries through a fine mesh strainer, pushing them through with a soft spatula until only seeds are left; discard the seeds and impurities. Taste the resulting liquid coulis and again add a bit more sugar if desired.

Allow the coulis to cool. This can be done ahead of time and chilled in the refrigerator before preparing the panna cotta.

Blueberry Hibiscus Panna Cotta:

3 cups (750 ml) cream or a combination of heavy cream, light cream/half-and-half and milk, either whole or lowfat
2 tsps (1/4 oz, 8 g) unflavored gelatin powder
½ cup (100 g) sugar, 1 tsp replaced with 1 tsp blueberry hibiscus sugar (or similar) - alternately, use all white granulated sugar and make vanilla panna cotta

In a medium-sized, heavy saucepan, place half (about 1 ½ cups) of the cold cream or cream-milk blend; sprinkle the gelatin on top and gentle press down into the liquid with the back of a spoon or whisk. Allow to sit for 5 minutes to soften.

After the 5 minutes, turn the heat under the saucepan to low and gently allow the liquid to warm; once warm allow to cook for 5 minutes, whisking constantly, until the gelatin has dissolved completely (you won’t see anymore golden spots on the surface of the liquid). Do not allow the liquid to boil.

Remove 1 tablespoon of the white sugar from the half-cup and replace with the 1 tablespoon of the flavored sugar. Add both the sugar and the remaining cream or cream-milk blend to the saucepan and heat. Continue cooking over low heat, whisking constantly, until completely warmed through and the sugar has dissolved. Do not allow the mixture to boil. Stir in the vanilla.

Let the panna cotta mixture cool to tepid or room temperature before pouring into serving glasses.

Once the coulis is cooled and the panna cotta is at least warm or tepid, you can assemble the desserts. Have 6 or 8 glasses (depending on how much panna cotta you like to serve as a dessert – I made 6), transparent ramekins or cups ready. Pour 2 tablespoons of the blackberry purée/coulis in the bottom of each glass. Place the panna cotta liquid in a container with a spout, like a large measuring cup, for example; pouring from a spouted container simply allows dividing the liquid between the glasses with more ease and less mess. Carefully and slowly fill each glass with panna cotta almost but not quite up to the rim or as much as desired for one serving. If poured slowly, the dark coulis will swirl into the lighter panna cotta (see photos).

Cover each glass tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate for several hours to overnight to set. 

To serve, simply drizzle a bit of the blackberry coulis on each panna cotta, top with one or two blackberries and serve. Leftover coulis is perfect on yogurt, ice cream or cake.

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Crémet Nantais

PLATED STORIES

Monday Monday, so good to me, 

Monday Monday, it was all I hoped it would be 

- John Phillips for The Mamas & The Papas 

As I now sit day after day in front of the screen pulling memories like rabbits from a hat, playing with ideas and jotting them down before they scamper from my head, I cannot decide if inspiration comes just a little more quickly, that much easier when I have so much more to do or if it is harder to find, spread out as it is over so many surfaces. And now one more challenge to brighten up my week. With so much on our collective plates, why would Ilva and I add one more chore, impose one more deadline, foist yet another assignment on an already overcharged workload that demands time, writing and words or photographs?

Plated Stories now fills our days, our weeks with bold defiance, daring me to find the words to fit the theme that, yes, we ourselves have chosen in a fit of jubilatory glee (or gleeful insanity?). As each week now seems to scurry by in a mad rush, as if Monday is teasing, goading us on, provoking us to put out or give in, we push ourselves to meet the challenge. I desperately feed my own blog all the while pushing forward on my other projects, stories and articles to be submitted, pieces due for this magazine deadline or that, a crazy book project and now this.

But somehow, Plated Stories has turned out to be just what I needed. A blessing in disguise. Boxing myself in with a theme – at once so specific and so open - and a date due seems to bring out the best in me. Or quite possibly it is working with Ilva, a creative dynamo, that stimulates my own creative juices. Working with a photographer gives me a new perspective on a topic, a new way to look at something. It provokes ideas without the risk of overlap. Ilva allows me to go my own way, figure out how each theme touches me, the images it provokes and brings alive in my own head and heart. Sundays are as exciting as Mondays as we pull together the new post, meeting up on a draft to play show and tell.

No ; you are strict, you are ; we must wait over twelve o’clock, 

and get into Monday. 

– Charles Dickens, Little Dorrit

“I just put up the first photos. Tell me what you think. Will add two more once I shoot the recipe.” Music to my ears. We are each so anxious and excited to discover what the other has come up with, yet always sure that my words and her images will somehow go so well together, become a cohesive whole. “I’ve inserted my words, my stories. Hop over and read through and let me know what you think.” And the fun begins.

And Monday morning. “To you the honor to hit publish this week, baby!” I wake up and stumble to my phone to check messages – usually from her. A quick once over, a touch up or two on the story or recipe and I hit the button and share it with all the world.

Plated Stories is a game, the challenge a welcome treat. At Plate to Page, we give our students an exercise meant to open their eyes to new ways to be inspired, to find something to write about out of the ordinary, the way to discover a new angle or a new outlook on what could possibly be such an ordinary or difficult topic. Or simply a way to find inspiration when the mind pulls up a blank. Panicked eyes as we set the timer, the pressure wreaking havoc on the peaceful atmosphere. Then ideas begin to click, the working of 12 brains almost palpable, humming. Plated Stories has become my own exercise: a seemingly random topic placed in front of me, keyboard at the ready, timer adjusted and ticking down to Monday.

And it works the charm.

And Mondays will never be the same again.

Je n'ai jamais eu trop de sympathie pour le lundi, 

ce début de la semaine où l'on reprend la routine. * 

- Alice Parizeau, Une Femme 

This week, our theme is Sieves and Colanders. The recipe is a Crémet Nantais, a regional dessert and a mighty treat. Simple to make, no baking involved, wide open to variations and experimentation, it is a spectacular dessert. Visit Sieves and Colanders on Plated Stories for the recipe. And to be inspired.

What does the theme inspire in you?

* I never had much of a liking for Monday, this start of the week when we begin the routine all over again.

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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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