Comfort comes in small packages

Recently at Seven Spoons:
Tara speaks from the depths of the couch, towers of magazines and cookbooks obscure her from view. Dear S is otherwise occupied with Ms. Billie, the feline mistress of the house, who is making quick work of the deconstruction of a bag of gift bows.

Tara: I’m torn. Florentines or tuiles? Both look lovely and would be perfect to package up for friends.
S: Uh huh, whatever you want, sweetie.
Tara: (opening another book, sending others flying) Take a look at these stunning cookies Martha’s made. Gingerbread snowflakes, piped with royal icing then dusted with sanding sugar. They sparkle so prettily - and you know I’m a sucker for anything with sparkles. I could do those, then some I saw in Gourmet ... I just need to find my copy ... (begins searching)
S: Do any of our friends like gingerbread? How about making the cookies from last year?
Tara: But that is boring.
S: But they were yummy. And I liked them.
Tara stops looking.

How can one not get excited to try new things come Holiday season? Bombarded with delectable images upon every magazine rack, bookshelf and television show, the season smacks of promise - there is always a new cookie to try, another way to roast a turkey, and this year’s penultimate side dish.

However, at least with my family, rarely do these new fangled recipes garner much praise. True they are well-received, but it is not often are they requested the year following. Not because they are not truly tasty, but because they are just not the tradition.

Take for example my father’s turkey. A few years ago he gallantly deboned an entire bird at our request, stuffed it with a savoury filling and then rolled into roulade - dark meat cradling the white meat inside. The turkey was perfect, moist throughout and utterly impressive.

Though it was, by far, the best bird I’ve ever eaten (and by my Mother’s command has been the only way we have celebrated the holidays for the last five seasons), there are still dissenters among the family. Since the turkey, no matter how beautifully tied, no longer resembles the classic image of a proper bronzed beast it is somehow considered inferior. My ever diplomatic Dad now roasts separate pieces of turkey to appease those souls.

It seems certain dishes are so firmly rooted in our sense of the season that we cannot be so foolhardy as to alter them. As we prepare the meal, going through the motions of making the brussels sprouts, stirring the gravy or getting out the same china we use every year - there is something inherent in these movements, in their ritual and rhythm that reminds us of years past and of memories shared. It is simply not Christmas without these tastes and smells and textures.

While I am all for innovation, I choose to spend this time looking forward and behind; taking note of now only where I am going but where I have been. There is comfort in the known, there is affection in tradition and there is pride in all that has stood up to the tests of time. Sometimes all that is needed are the tastes of home to assure us that there is still some right in the world.

These jam thumbprints are ridiculously easy and immediately invoke a sense of nostalgia, for a time we may or may not have known. Buttery shortbread, crowned with bronzed bits of coconut and gushing with a jam filling, you cannot get more classic than these.

Jam Thumbprints
Recipe published on Food TV.com courtesy of Ina Garten. Originally published in Barefoot Contessa Family Style. This recipe produces a fabulously rich shortbread base; experiment with different shapes and fillings to suit your tastes. I used Blackberry jam for my version, and upped the salt to 1/3 teaspoon.

I'm a sucker for a pretty face

The holidays have already started to catch up with me – and they’re not even here yet. It is not because I’m feeling rundown or because I’m overwhelmed (though I’ll cop to that as well), it is because I get easily distracted. I’ve mentioned this before, I know, but this time of year is truly a minefield for those of us with short attention spans.

It does not help that I can be terribly shallow. Pretty things always get me. Distractions abound. Winter Wonderlands full of sparkles, lights and glitter – every stereotypically girly impulse in me is awakened and I am left cooing over the window displays in Williams Sonoma.

I am every merchandising executive’s dream. Everything is so perfectly-package and so preciously presented, I am weak.

Such is the case with these darling little measuring cups from Nigella’s Home collection. A set of four ranging from 1/4 cup to a full cup, they have a beautiful eggshell finished exterior that begs to be touched. Brought to me after an interesting string of events, I could not say no to the generosity of the offer. And they’re just so pretty.

Taking them from their custom box and setting the little collection out on my counter I was immediately smitten. Not wanting to relegate these beauties to the baking cupboard, I checked their particulars and found that they are dishwasher, oven and microwave safe. Ah the joy of a new canvas to play upon.

Of course with their robin’s egg blue shade, the cup begged to be filled with something deep and dark to set off its looks. And truly, is there any other option than chocolate?

Though parading as a cup of steamy hot chocolate do not let looks beguile you, this tasty dish is more than it seems. Not satisfied with the flavours of chocolate and cream alone, it boasts a custard base – rich and creamy and perfectly tinged with a hint of espresso. Silkier and more sensual than mousse, chocolate pots de crème prove that sometimes depth can be found in a shallow attraction.

Chocolate pots de crème
A classic recipe, with some guidance from Williams-Sonoma and some inspiration from Nigella Lawson.

Ingredients
2 cups chilled whipping cream
2 teaspoons instant espresso powder
5 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped
6 large eggs yolks
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of salt

Garnish options
Sweetened whipped cream
Chocolate shavings
Chocolate covered espresso beans
Cinnamon
Candied pecans or other nuts
Orange zest

Preheat oven to 325º F (160º C) with rack in centre position.

In a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the cream and espresso powder. Bring the mixture to a simmer while you whisking to dissolve the espresso powder. Once simmering, remove from the heat, add the chocolate and stir until it is melted and smooth. Set aside.

In a large bowl, whisk the egg yolks, sugar and vanilla, and salt until it the yolks lighten. Stir in the melted chocolate. Strain (you may want to strain into a measuring cup or a pitcher with a spout to ease in pouring).

Place 6 3/4 cup in a large roasting pan. Divide the mixture evenly between the ramekins. I usually transfer the pan to the oven at this point, as I tend to spill water in the next step. Prepare a Bain Marie by pouring water from a recently-boiled kettle around the ramekins, until it comes about halfway up the sides. Cover the entire pan with aluminium foil and bake until the custard is set around the edges – about 25 minutes. Alternatively, you can prepare the Bain Marie on a countertop and then transfer to the oven, but as I said I tend to spill.
When just set (they should still be wobbly in the centre), remove the baking pan from the oven and transfer to a rack to cool for 10 minutes. Remove the ramekins from the roasting dish and allow to come to room temperature. When cool, cover and chill for at least 3 hours, preferably overnight.

To serve, whip the cream with the sugar and garnish the custards. Can be served chilled or at room temperature, though I prefer somewhere in between. The custard seems to be at its silken best and fullest flavour when the chill is off the cup but not as far as being warm.

Notes:
• A dash of a liqueur like Grand Marnier, Crème de Cacao or Kaluha would be great seasonal additions to the whipped cream garnish.
• For a change of pace, omit the espresso and instead add 1 teaspoon of chilli powder (or to taste) for a spicy chocolate hit. Cinnamon and other spices can be similarly substituted.

How to end a week

My apologies on the delay, as some happenings have prevented me from posting. The full write up will be up soon, but please enjoy the recipe!

Arborio rice pudding with Calvados and cinnamon caramel
A lovely, comforting treat, which boasts a risotto-like consistency but requires minimal effort.

3 1/2 cups milk/cream mixture (I used 2 3/4 cups milk and 3/4 cups 10% cream, but use whatever is on hand or what suits your tastes)
1/2 cup Arborio or other short-grain white rice
1 vanilla bean
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons Calvados
1/4 cup heavy cream (optional)
Cinnamon caramel sauce (recipe follows)

Combine the milk and cream (if using) and rice in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan. Split the vanilla bean in half and scrape in the seeds into the liquid, drop in the pod as well. Bring the milk to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium. Simmer until the rice is tender, stirring frequently, about 20-25 minutes. Discard the vanilla bean. Add the sugar, Calvados and heavy cream (if using), stirring well to dissolve. Cook until the mixture thickens to your desired consistency, about 5 to 10 minutes longer.

Spoon the rice pudding into bowls. Cover and refrigerate until cold (preferably overnight if you can wait that long, but 3-4 hours should suffice). Serve with the warm caramel sauce.

Cinnamon caramel sauce

Caramel sauce
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon (or to taste)

Reduce the vanilla in the recipe to 1/2 teaspoon. Make the sauce as per instructions, adding the cinnamon at the same stage as the vanilla. If the cinnamon is added too soon, the heat from the caramel will toast the spice, adding a slightly bitter note.

Notes:
• Alternatively, omit the caramel sauce entirely and simply sprinkle the pudding with a bit of cinnamon sugar (Demerara works especially well here). To gild the lily so to speak, you can lightly torch the cinnamon sugar for a brûléed effect – I love the contrast between the crisp spiced sugar and the almost custard-like pudding below.
• Other flavour and spice combinations work well in the method, such as Grand Marnier and ginger.
• To prevent a skin from forming while chilling, make sure to press down a layer of cling film against the top of the rice pudding.

A friend for dinner, Nigella Bites

This is my third instalment of my series in exploring my cookbooks, this time featuring Nigella Bites by Nigella Lawson.

I find that different books respond to different moods. When I want to know the minutiae of proper hollandaise technique, I know that there is nowhere to turn but a dog-eared copy of Larousse Gastronomique. A desire for “classic American cooking” is easily sated by flipping though one of the many books by Marion Cunningham. In the mood for adventure? Madhur Jaffrey’s soothing tone can lead even the novice home cook through the complex world of spices.

But there is one author I turn to most often when I’m looking for companionship - Nigella Lawson. One known for her conversational prose rather than complex (or always accurate) preparations, her books bring pure comfort; it is rainy day reading at its best. She doesn't take herself to seriously, with recipes ranging from classic to kitch. Charming and engaging, her writing is like having a chat with another food-loving friend. Details are scattered sometimes, and the stories can be rambling, but it really is all about the food.

I find her books to be inspirational, not in the sense of something to aspire towards, but rather a style of cooking that is closely related to my own everyday routine yet full of new ideas. It is accessible and simple, but still with a world-travelled palate and with an evident fondness for the social aspect of preparing and sharing food.

I will admit, I rarely follow her recipes to the letter. I usually try to make them as written the first time, but after that I usually tweak and fiddle to suit my own tastes. The fact that Lawson includes space for notes in her books speaks to me of her desire for the reader to make each recipe personal - she does not aspire to be the definitive expert on a dish, but rather seems content in introducing you to a method or an ingredient.

Such was the case with this gorgeous Chocolate Cloud Cake. Featured in the book, Nigella Bites, it was such a success I ended up making three in the same amount of days. True, no two cakes were identical (I also took ideas from recipes from Williams-Sonoma and Ina Garten), but hers was the original inspiration — and really, isn’t that saying something? Densely fudgy with a crackling, brownie-like top, this cake is deceptively simple to make, with results far greater than the effort involved.

Chocolate Cloud Cake
Also available online (including US measurements) at Nigella.com.

On days when I want the warmth of the hearth rather than the hurly burly of the city streets I stay in and read cookery books, and this recipe comes from just the sort of book that gives most succour, Classic Home Desserts by Richard Sax.

The cake itself (which was the pudding I made for last New Year's Eve dinner) is as richly and rewardingly sustaining: a melting, dark, flourless, chocolate base, the sort that sinks damply on cooling; the fallen centre then cloudily filled with softly whipped cream and sprinkled with cocoa powder. As Richard Sax says 'intensity, then relief, in each bite'.

For the cake
250g (9 ounces) dark chocolate, minimum 70% cocoa solids
125g unsalted butter, softened
6 eggs: 2 whole, 4 separated
175g caster sugar
2 tablespoons Cointreau (optional)
Grated zest of 1 orange (optional)
23cm (9 inch) springform cake tin

For the cream topping:
500ml double cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon Cointreau (optional)
Half teaspoon unsweetened cocoa powder for sprinkling

Preheat the oven to 180ºC/gas mark 4.

Line the bottom of the cake tin with baking parchment.

Melt the chocolate either in a double boiler or a microwave, and then let the butter melt in the warm chocolate.

Beat the 2 whole eggs and 4 egg yolks with 75g of the caster sugar, then gently add the chocolate mixture, the Cointreau and orange zest.

In another bowl, whisk the 4 egg whites until foamy, then gradually add the 100g of sugar and whisk until the whites are holding their shape but not too stiff. Lighten the chocolate mixture with a dollop of egg whites, and then fold in the rest of the whites. Pour into the prepared tin and bake for 35-40 minutes or until the cake is risen and cracked and the centre is no longer wobbly. Cool the cake in its tin on a wire rack; the middle will sink as it cools.

When you are ready to eat, place the still tin-bound cake on a cake stand or plate for serving and carefully remove the cake from its tin. Don't worry about cracks or rough edges: it's the crater look we're going for here. Whip the cream until it's soft and then add the vanilla and Cointreau and continue whisking until the cream is firm but not stiff. Fill the crater of the cake with the whipped cream, easing it out gently towards the edges of the cake, and dust the top lightly with cocoa powder pushed through a tea-strainer.

Serves 8-12

Notes:
• You can make this into an Easter Nest Cake by folding 200g melted chocolate into the cream topping and dotting with the sugar-coated eggs instead of the cocoa. Leave the Cointreau out of both the cake and the cream. (NL)
• When I made this cake, I took some license and added 2 teaspoons of instant espresso powder to the egg yolk/chocolate mixture. I also used a mix of bittersweet and semisweet chocolates, for added depth.
• I ran out of parchment paper, and had fine success using a non-stick pan that I buttered and dusted with cocoa powder.
• Miniature versions of this cake are adorable, using six 4-inch springform pans. Adjust cooking times accordingly.

The essence of home

I’ve been putting off writing this post. The topic seemed simple enough, but whenever I tried to come up with an answer to the question, I was overwhelmed.

“What does Canada taste like to you?”

Deciding on one taste that most embodies the Canadian experience is, in my opinion, nearly impossible. With a country of such physical size and cultural contrasts, to concentrate on one flavour would be to exclude the thousands of other culinary adventures there are to be had.

To me, Canada tastes like maple syrup on my father’s French toast. I think of a butter-drenched crab boil on one coast, and Asian-influenced seafood on the other. Summer evenings wandering the streets of Montréal, shopping for decadent Opéra cakes. The requisite hotdog from Toronto street vendors. Breakfast cooked over a campfire, with smoky bacon and biscuits baked in a cast iron pan.

Canada tastes as sweet as summer fruit, as hearty as pierogies and as complex as our world-renowned wines. Canadian food reflects our varied climates, our landscapes and our seasons – it is the expression of the way we have created communities in this immigrant nation, and suggests the direction of what is to come.

Despite my travels, I would wager to say 85% of all the meals I’ve ever eaten have been in Canada. Seeing that I’m now somewhat obsessed with food, my food adventures this country surely have been nothing short of inspiring. Though I am itching to continue to travel the world and try new things, Canada will always be home to me. There is enough to explore down the street, throughout the province and across the nation to sustain me for years to come.

Maybe it would be easier if I concentrated on what Canada Day tastes like to me?

That’s easy. Growing up in a city on the edge of Lake Ontario, Canada Day meant one thing, and one thing alone – the annual Lion’s Club carnival. Every long weekend for the summer, the Lion’s Club carnival would make its rounds through local fairs and festivals throughout our region. And Canada Day was when it would come to my city.

Along with the other kids in our neighbourhood, I would watch the workers set up the tilt-a-whirl, Ferris wheel, and midway down by the beach. Soon enough, you could smell the popcorn and the air would become heavy with the sweetness of cotton candy. Twinkling lights would greet nightfall, and we would wait for the inky blackness to blanket the lake completely – setting the stage for the evening’s fireworks display.

Inspired by those memories, I’ve created miniature sweet wonton cones filled with icewine-macerated strawberries. The strawberries come from a nearby farm, the wine from a winery down the highway, and the wontons are my nod to Canada’s distinct cultural heritage. It is seasonal, the ingredients are local, and there is a bit of kitschy humour – how very Canadian. And red and white on Canada Day - how can you go wrong?

For an explanation of icewine and its production, click here.

Icewine strawberries in sweet wonton cones
My own creation, with apologies to Thomas Keller

Ingredients
1 pint strawberries
1/4 cup icewine
1 cup clarified butter
16 x 3 1/2” square wonton wrappers (4 are in case of mishap – and anyway, that is what my package contained)
2 tablespoons granulated sugar or Demerara sugar

Sweetened whipped cream, to serve

Speciality utensils
12 conical shaped metal forms (the type used for kulfi will do) or conical paper cups for water dispensers

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C).

Hull and slice the strawberries, taking into account the size of your cone forms. Add the berries to a bowl and add the icewine. Stir lightly to combine, and refrigerate for at least two hours.

On a baking sheet, set out the metal forms or the paper cups. Brush each wonton on both sides with clarified butter. Wrap wonton wrappers around the cups to form cones, making sure to press the seams together. Twist the bottom to secure the point, if necessary. Lightly dust the cones with the granulated sugar, and bake for 7 minutes or until golden brown and crispy. Allow to cones to cool and remove from forms.

To serve, mound some of the macerated strawberries into your sugared cones, and top with the whipped cream.

Notes
• I used an Inniskillin 2002 Riesling Icewine for this recipe, thinking the floral apricot notes and bright acidity would complement the strawberries. Any icewine you enjoy would be suitable, or even a late harvest Vidal would be a great substitution, offering a bit of spice and sweet peach flavours.
• For Ontario readers, the LCBO does offer icewine in small bottles (a bit larger than hotel room minis). This size would be perfect to splash on a few berries, and are reasonably priced.
• I chose not to add sugar to the berries, but you may want to check for sweetness and add sugar accordingly.
• For the photograph, I used a non-sugared cone. It was terribly humid that day, and sugar was melting into a sticky mess. However, I would not suggest skipping this step as the wonton seems too savoury without this bit of gilding.
• The next time I make these cones, if I'm feeling particularly industrious that is, I think I would experiment with a tuile cone instead - if anyone experiments, please let me know!