Poires au Chocolat

Coffee & Walnut Cake v.2

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 16 May 2013 14:22:00 +0000

Four years ago, when I first posted about this cake, I had a tempestuous relationship with the icing.

Behind the scenes, the icing in that post caused a fit of frustrated weeping (which was very embarrassing, as my then-brand-new-now-ex boyfriend was staying with me at the time - and let's face it, I was probably trying to impress him). Luckily I left it mixing and a few minutes later, it had whipped itself back.

Mum and I had been making the cake for years - it was my granny's favourite - but because we didn't understand the reasons and techniques behind the recipe, the icing was always nerve-wracking to make.

Delia calls the icing 'mousseline' (which appears to be a catch-all term for various things enriched with butter or whipped cream) but I think it's more accurate to call it French buttercream. One of our first exam dishes at Cordon Bleu involved French buttercream - it's a lot like Italian meringue buttercream except it's based on egg yolks instead of whites. I didn't realise the icings were the same until I made the cake for the first time in a few years for mum's birthday in April. I also found that my old recipe was too brief and not very clear, so I thought this was a good opportunity to talk about French buttercream and rewrite it.

The first step is getting the syrup to the right temperature. I'd recommend testing with a thermometer because it's easier and the finger test takes time. Having said that, if you don't have a thermometer or want to try it out, it's quite fun. The test for thread stage is to spoon a bit of the syrup onto a plate, then wait for it to cool. Squidge some syrup between your thumb and first finger then pull them apart slowly until you have a gap of about a centimetre - a thread of syrup should stay linking the two.

One of the problems is that different recipes take the syrup to different temperatures. It doesn't help that the temperatures stated for the stages seem inconsistent too - for instance, we were taught that soft ball was 116-122C but McGee says it's 113-116C. Thread, similarly, is 105-110C or 102-113C. Though others go to soft ball, Delia recommends 103-5C for this - I've been taking it up to 110C and that has been working well, so I've settled for that.

The second step is to pour the syrup down the bowl into the whisking egg yolks. I found it quite hard to visualise at first and mum used to get into a tangle by pouring the syrup into the whisk and it spinning everywhere, so I decided to do a little video for you. Excuse the little slip of the pan near the end - I'd recommend using a smaller saucepan with a long handle as they're easier to control.

After that, you leave it to whisk until cool. It's really important that the mixture is room temperature before you start adding the butter or it'll melt and create a mess.

Once it has cooled, you add the butter bit by bit. To illustrate the speed to add it (and because I find watching the mixer going round mesmerising), here's a clip of the middle of the step. Also note that I often squish the cube I'm about to add to give it a last minute bit of warmth and pliability. The butter needs to be room temperature but not melting or greasy.

Once the butter is all in, give it few more moments to whip. Finally, you can add flavourings - in this case, coffee.

If it goes a bit curdled towards the end, this can usually be fixed by whipping it for longer. If not, try putting it in the fridge for 15 minutes then whipping again.

Though the icing is rich, I like it much more than normal buttercream. The bitterness of the coffee and touch of salt cuts through the limited sweetness. It's also very smooth and thick, which is particularly lovely against the crispy-edged cake and toasted walnuts.

When I was making the cake in the photos the other day, I realised I'd run out of unsalted butter when I needed to start warming it up for the icing. I had some salted in the fridge so I decided to try it. The icing finally tasted exactly like I remember it.

It reminded me that mum always used to use salted butter for her baking - partly because that was what was in the fridge - but also because it was apparently harder to buy unsalted when I was little. It made me wonder if something got lost in translation as unsalted became more popular, as many modern baking recipes use unsalted and don't add salt. Perhaps it's because people weren't used to having to add extra salt to sweet dishes as traditionally the butter was salted to preserve it. I guess it's also because of health concerns.

Generally the reason unsalted is preferred is so that you can control the amount of salt. I think a pinch of sea salt improves nearly all baking and desserts. It's useful to have the control as packets vary - my salted butter had 1.8% salt, which is therefore 2.7g in the 150g butter I used. It is quite a bit and while I personally think it tastes amazing in the icing, it would be too much in some other recipes.

Coffee and Walnut Cake
(adapted from Delia Smith's Book of Cakes)

For the cakes:
60g walnut halves + 12 for decoration
1 tbsp instant coffee* + 1 tbsp boiling water
110g unsalted butter, at room temperature
110g caster sugar
2 eggs
110g plain flour
1.5 tsp baking powder
pinch of fine sea salt

For the icing:
2 egg yolks
pinch of salt (or a little more, to taste, or use salted butter)
60g caster sugar
60g/ml water
150g unsalted butter, cubed, at room temperature
1 tbsp instant coffee* + 1 tbsp boiling water

Preheat the oven to 170C/340F. Toast all of the walnuts for 5 minutes then remove the 12 halves for decoration and chop the rest roughly. Grease then line the bottom of two 7" round tins. Combine the coffee and water in a bowl or mug. Cream the butter and sugar together for several minutes until very pale and fluffy. Meanwhile, sift the flour, baking powder and salt together. Beat the eggs lightly together in a jug or bowl then add small amounts to the mixer, beating well in between each addition. When all the egg is incorporated, add the flour and mix on low until combined. Add the chopped walnuts and coffee and fold through. Divide between the tins and smooth out - it will feel like there isn't much mixture but don't worry. Bake for about 25 minutes until a deeper, rich brown and a toothpick can be removed cleanly from the middle. Leave to cool for 5 minutes then turn out of the tins and leave to cool on a rack.

For the buttercream, put the egg yolks and salt into the bowl of a stand mixer with the whisk attached and whisk briefly until broken up and a bit frothy, then turn off. Place the sugar and water into a small saucepan and place over medium heat with a sugar thermometer attached. Once the sugar has dissolved, turn up to medium-high, occasionally giving it a gentle swirl, until it reaches 110C/230F. This takes me about 5-6 minutes (the last 10 degrees are often the slowest). The moment the temperature hits, turn the yolks up to medium speed then steadily pour the hot syrup down the side of the bowl, resting the lip of the pan on the top of the bowl (see video above).

Turn the mixer up and leave to whip until you can't feel any heat in the mixture - this takes about 7 minutes (check if it is cool by touching the outside of the bowl, then if that is room temperature, testing the mix itself with a finger). If it is cool, start adding the butter, which should be soft and pliable but not greasy. Add the butter cube by cube, letting each piece disappear before you add the next. At stages it might start looking weird or curdled but just keep whipping and slowly adding the butter - this all takes about 7 more minutes. When you've added all the butter and have a thick, glossy buttercream, whip in half the coffee, followed by the other half.

Place one of the cakes on a serving plate. Spread half of the buttercream over the cake then place the other cake on top. Spread the remaining buttercream over the top then decorate with the remaining walnut halves.

(Makes 12 small slices)

* This cake tastes weird to me with anything other than cheap instant coffee as that's what I grew up with. Feel free to try using very strong proper coffee, though I'm not quite sure how you'd get a thick concentrate like this.

***

On another note, I want to briefly talk about Pinterest.

A few months ago I was contacted about working with Pinterest on their Pin it Forward UK campaign to improve their UK service by making the suggestions when you join more regional (so, for instance, it's easier to find people who pin links to recipes in metric rather than cups). I wasn't sure about saying yes considering my policy about these things but as I genuinely enjoy pinning I decided to make an exception (perhaps I should declare at this point that they bought me a delicious raspberry, ginger and apple juice at our meeting and I had a few orange juices at their launch party...). A blogger is posting every day during the campaign - tomorrow Kavey will take over.

I use Pinterest for three things. I use it as a bookmark tool for recipes I want to make, articles or quotes I want to keep, ideas for the house I want to try, clothes or shoes or stationary I want to buy and a combination of all those for parties I'm going to throw. Secondly, I use it to pin each new post I write onto my Poires au Chocolat board.

Finally, I use it for my food books board. I pin my favourite books from amazon so they're easy to find and buy if one takes your fancy - though, of course, you could get it from your local independent bookshop too. I write a short introduction or mini-review in the description for each one. I only pin books I've read recently, or in the case of recipe books, made at least three things. This is the board I chose for them to feature on their suggested food & drink boards for new followers.

So that's why and how I use it. My profile is here and this is the link to click if you want to sign up.

Sarah's Syrup Sponge

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 09 May 2013 13:25:00 +0000

Sarah, one of my best friends from university, moved back to Scotland when she finished her degree. It's really quite inconvenient.

A few weeks ago I flew up to Edinburgh for a long weekend. On the Friday night, we headed out for dinner at the Scran & Scallie, Tom Kitchin & Dominic Jack's new restaurant. We had a very enjoyable (though maybe a touch over-seasoned) meal and finished it off with 'Alison Jack's Syrup Sponge' (in a fit of curiosity I asked them about Alison Jack's connection to the sponge on twitter - no reply so far, though I presume she is part of Dominic's family).

We shared the pudding - a little round ceramic dish with a thin layer of hot cake soaked from the bottom up in golden syrup with a rich scoop of vanilla ice cream melting languidly into the sponge - and then walked round and round the park, catching up.

As she was driving down with her family last weekend to graduate (Oxford has - of course - got a weird and delayed system for graduations), Sarah made me promise that I'd make syrup sponge for her when she came to stay.

Usually syrup sponges are steamed but as our pudding was baked, I went for that (it's also much faster and less fiddly). Essentially, this is a thin layer of all-in-one brown sugar sponge cloaking a lake of golden syrup.

To create the individual portions we were served, I tried baking it in small ramekins. I didn't get the sponge/syrup ratio or portion size right the first time. The second time I was making it for post-graduation brunch as there was no other time I could make the sponge for Sarah. I didn't know exactly how many people were going to turn up (family plans, hangovers...) so I decided to make it in a bigger dish and slice it up just before serving. Either option works, though with a bigger dish you avoid the hazard of serving piping hot ramekins.

Before you ask, I don't think there is a substitute for golden syrup in this recipe - just like treacle tart, it's the whole point. Also, please don't ignore the salt - you need it to balance out the sweetness (just like salted caramel).

As it cools, the sponge soaks up syrupy sauce, so for pudding it's best to eat it while it's still hot. When it gets cold it's a treacle-tart-cake cross, which is really quite delightful (and perhaps easier to understand for those who haven't grown up with treacle tart).

It's worth keeping in mind that the point of this pudding is that it's sweet - sweeter than I'd normally go for, but that's the pleasure of it. I now serve little squares - six per batch - but you could do four, or even fewer. I find 1/6 with ice cream just right - it leaves me feeling satisfied but not stuffed or woozy. It would be easy to scale this recipe up for a crowd - I can imagine serving it at a big party from a roasting tray. You can also serve it with a few berries, now summer is coming. I had some strawberries on hand when I made this yesterday, which gave a juicy colour contrast. I think some tart raspberries would pair well too.

It was surprisingly emotional watching my friends graduate (and scary to think that mine was a year ago and that it's two years since I was slaving away for finals). The next morning, we had our brunch. We had a plaited milk loaf (from Scandilicious Baking) with lots of different spreads, croissants and pain au chocolat from the bakery, chunky slices of bacon, feta & spring onion frittata (from the Smitten Kitchen Cookbook) and lots and lots of tea. Then I served up slices of hot syrup sponge with a big, melting scoop of ice cream. The room fell silent for a minute.

Sarah gave it her approval.

Sarah's Syrup Sponge

3 generous tbsp golden syrup
1 egg
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
50g unsalted butter, at room temperature*
50g plain flour
40g light brown sugar
1/4 tsp baking powder
2 pinches of salt

Preheat the oven to 160C/320F. Spoon the golden syrup into the bottom of a dish (roughly 7x5"/18x13cm) or 4-6 ramekins (about 3"/7cm) and let it spread out. Lightly beat the egg and vanilla together. Place the butter into the bowl of a stand mixer (or use a electric hand whisk) and beat for a minute to soften. Sift the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt into the bowl then add the egg mixture and beat just until combined. Spoon the batter over the syrup then spread it out into an even layer. Bake for around 25 minutes for one sponge and around 10-15 minutes for ramekins - the sponge should have risen and set, turned golden brown and you should be able to remove a toothpick cleanly. Slice and serve straight away with vanilla ice cream (let the ramekins cool a bit - the heat in the ramekin will keep the syrup at the bottom very hot at first) and possibly some fruit.

(Serves 4-6)

* You can also use salted butter and not add the pinches of salt.

Three more recipes that use golden syrup:
Gingernuts
Salted Caramel Brownies
Treacle Tart

Roasted Hazelnut Butter Biscuits

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 02 May 2013 08:02:00 +0000

Have you heard about cookbook clubs?

Essentially, every month you pick a book, a host and a date. Everybody chooses one or two recipes from the book, makes them and brings them along. Then you have a big feast.

A local cafe chef set up our cookbook club in Oxford, inspired by Tea's post How to Start a Cookbook Club. I really recommend starting one up - they're a great way to meet new people in your area and try recipes and books you wouldn't necessarily pick otherwise.

Last month we decided on Jerusalem by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi. I had planned to make the Chocolate Pecan Krantz Cake again but I was late back from my weekend in Edinburgh (read: I missed my flight home...) and didn't have time to set it up.

Instead, I made the Tahini Cookies (picture here). I wouldn't have picked them out normally but they were the only things I could make with the ingredients I had on hand after a weekend away. I was worried that the tahini flavour would be a bit odd in cookies but we were all pleasantly surprised by how much we loved them.

While I was standing over the mixer, watching the tahini whirl into the creamed butter and sugar, I started thinking about the idea that tahini is essentially puréed sesame seeds - like a thin nut butter. That reminded me of hazelnut butter, which is a bit thinner than other nut butters and absolutely delicious.

So, of course, I had to try a hazelnut version of the tahini cookies.

I first made roasted hazelnut butter a few years ago - it's so simple yet really lovely. All you do is roast the hazelnuts, roughly skin them and then food processor them until smooth and slick with a pinch of salt. I've only tried it with hazelnuts but the process is the same with other nuts (including, of course, peanut butter). I like it smeared on toast with swirls of raspberry jam.

Unusually, the tahini cookies recipe tells you to knead the dough in the mixer and by hand before portioning it. It does make it smoother but I found that when I skipped the step and just brought the dough together as I shaped it into a ball it didn't change the texture particularly and made life easier.

I also tried making the biscuits in the food processor (combining the butter and sugar with the paste already in there, then continuing as before) to save on time and washing up but the texture wasn't quite as good. I found it crumbled a little more than normal - they're quite crisp usually, which I really like. Because they're crisp through (though admittedly with a slightly, slightly moist centre) and keep really well, I've also called them biscuits instead of cookies.

After two batches I decided I needed to ramp up the hazelnut flavour, so I came up with the idea of rolling the cookies in ground hazelnuts and squishing them with a flat object rather than a fork. I think they look really pretty with the speckled nuts and little cracked edges and they gave me the flavour boost I wanted.

I love hazelnuts and I'm really pleased to have a recipe on hand that focuses purely on their flavour. It's also a great excuse to keep a batch of roasted hazelnut butter in the fridge.

*

Finally, I'm incredibly honoured to have been picked for The Guild of Food Writers Awards shortlist for Food Blog of the Year 2013! I never thought I'd make the list again after winning last year so the call was a big surprise. I was actually on a coach going into London when my phone went - I think I might have disturbed the other passengers with my enthusiasm...

Roasted Hazelnut Butter Biscuits
(inspired by the tahini cookies in Jerusalem by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi)

100g whole hazelnuts, skin on*
pinch of salt
80g unsalted butter at room temperature
70g light brown sugar
1 tbsp crème fraîche or double cream
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
135g plain flour

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Lightly grease a large baking tray. Pour the hazelnuts onto a small baking tray and roast for 8 minutes or until the skins have darkened and cracked open in places. Rub the skins off - some will stick but as long as you get about 2/3 off, don't worry. Tip into a food processor and pulse until the nuts are finely ground. Remove 30g of the ground nuts from the mixer. Add a pinch of salt to the mixer then pulse the remaining nuts until they become a smooth paste (with such a small amount you may need to scrape down a few times). You could now transfer this to a sealed jar and keep for up to a few weeks in the fridge - the ground nuts would need to be kept in a sealed bag.

Place the butter and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer and beat just until creamy and uniform. Add the hazelnut paste (about 65g), crème fraîche/cream and vanilla to the bowl and beat until combined. Finally add the flour and mix on the lowest setting until combined. Increase the speed briefly to bring the mixture together into a smooth dough. Take a 20g chunk of the dough (about the size of a whole walnut shell or a squash ball) and roll it between your palms until smooth. Tip the ground hazelnuts out into a shallow bowl then roll the ball of dough around until fully coated. Transfer to the baking tray then repeat with the rest of the dough - I usually get 16-17 biscuits. Use a palette knife or similar to flatten the cookies to about 1 - 1.5cm thick.

Bake for 14-16 minutes, turning the tray once at 10 minutes to help get an even colour. The biscuits should be a deep golden colour, slightly bigger and have a few little cracks around the sides. Leave to cool on the tray for 5 minutes then fully cool on a wire rack. I think they're better a day or two later and they keep in a tin for at least a week (I haven't managed to keep a batch longer than that!).

(Makes 16-17 biscuits)

* If you'd prefer to make a big batch of the paste, feel free to use more nuts. To make the biscuits, scoop 65g of the hazelnut butter into the cookie dough.

Three more posts about hazelnuts:
Fig & Hazelnut Crumble Bars
Chocolate Hazelnut Torte with Smoked Salt
Homemade Nutella - a dégustation

A Smitten Kitchen Lunch

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Tue, 30 Apr 2013 18:25:00 +0000

A few months ago I was asked to photograph and write a feature for a magazine. Sadly the feature idea as a whole has now been dropped but it seemed a shame to waste the work. Instead, I thought I'd share a few highlights and outtakes with you as a little extra - I'll be back on Thursday with a recipe.

The idea was that I cooked a three course lunch from Deb Perelman's wonderful Smitten Kitchen Cookbook at home for my friends. I rounded up a few people from university who were in town for Emily's birthday and we had Sunday lunch (say hello to Mike and Sam, l-r above, and Emily, below). Emily's the uni friend who lived with me last year.

I was pretty terrified about photographing people and savoury food - both are definitely a step outside my comfort zone. Having said that, I was also really excited and in the end I learnt a lot from the whole experience of doing the piece.

To start, I made tiny versions of the leek fritters with garlic and lemon (p.129), which I served on a platter with the dip. For our main course we had the flat roasted chicken with tiny potatoes (p.173) - though I forgot to serve the extra veg to go with it in the chaos. Finally, I made the whole lemon bars (p.217) for pudding. We really enjoyed all of the recipes (and they worked consistently well both times I tried them). The lemon bar base mingled with the topping more than I expected from pictures of other recipes but they were delicious.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the photos - we certainly had a lovely time (it was the weekend I wrote about here).

{Lots of leeks}

{Steamed leeks}

{Wringing them out}

{Boys being silly}

{Roast chicken}

{On the table. My mum had the table and benches made when I was eight from wood that came from a Lebanese Cedar tree that stood on my grandparents' front lawn (she could see it from her bedroom window as a child). It fell down in the gales a few months before I was born and my grandpa milled the wood. Now it doesn't fit in mum's home in Switzerland so I get to look after it. It's very special (and don't worry, there's a trivet hidden beneath the hot tray).}

{Eating}

{Dusting the lemon bars}

{Trying to get a photo of me with a straight face - I'm much happier behind the camera.}

{We lit the candles just before pudding. I realised when I looked back that (surprise surprise) they'd changed the light. But they were pretty.}

{In the midst of my photoshoot planning, I'd decided I could highlight the birthday element to the piece by giving Emily a lemon bar with a candle in it. I was so preoccupied with my plan that I completely forgot the fact that Emily is mildly allergic to citrus. I was mortified when I realised what I'd done, especially as she'd already eaten the slightly-lemony chicken because she didn't want to upset me halfway through the shoot I was so nervous about.}

{Pulling faces}

Note: though I normally never accept review copies of books, a copy of SKC was sent to me as it was meant to be for a non-blog piece. I wasn't sure I should post this for that reason but I decided to bend my rules.

Finally, my short anonymous survey about Poires is still open. It's just 10 questions, 8 of which are multiple choice. I'm really chuffed with the response so far - over 600 replies and counting! I'll put together a post (or part of a post) soon answering questions and suggestions that have come up and maybe telling you a few of the key statistics.

Edit: The survey is now closed! Thank you so much for your helpful responses.

*

The Poires au Chocolat 2013 Survey

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 25 Apr 2013 14:50:00 +0000

I'm going through a phase where I'm questioning everything I do. In tandem, I want - and sometimes feel that I need - answers. Most of the time I can't get those answers - they're hidden in the future or are choices I need to make - but I realised recently that I do have a way to find out what you think of a few blog-related questions: a survey.

There are only ten questions, eight of which are multiple choice, so it shouldn't take too much time. None of the questions are compulsory and the survey is anonymous.

~~To take the survey, please click here.~~

The survey has now closed. Thank you so much for your responses!

I hope you enjoy doing the survey - I'm certainly looking forward to seeing the results and playing with the statistics (on that note, have you seen these awesome graphs you can create from the incidence of words and phrases in the digitized archive of Google Books? I obviously entered 'butter', 'biscuit' and 'cake' - I find the peaks in 'butter' and 'cake' around the two world wars fascinating).

I couldn't think of any sensible photos to use for this post so I've gone for a series entitled 'holding my camera where I can't see into it: inadvertent self portraits'. And yes, I was wearing my pyjamas when I made the éclairs.

The three posts that match this photo series:
Mince Pies
Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs
Caramelised Milk Chocolate

Cinnamon-Cardamon Kringel Bread

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Mon, 15 Apr 2013 21:59:00 +0000

Every time I make this bread, two memories pop up.

The first time I tested this idea, I was listening to the radio online. Someone had linked to the programs - I think on twitter - and I'd clicked though, curious. As they describe, "We spent five months at Harper High School in Chicago, where last year alone 29 current and recent students were shot. 29. We went to get a sense of what it means to live in the midst of all this gun violence, how teens and adults navigate a world of funerals and Homecoming dances." It's split into two halves: Part One and Part Two. Guns and gun crime weren't even on my radar as a child or teenager. I know nothing else about the show but the programs have stayed with me.

It's not just the words or their lives that have stayed with me, but the way I felt, listening quietly as I wove the dough together. It's as if I entwined my heavy heart into the recipe and I can't disentangle the strands.

Then, before I went out to Switzerland a few weeks ago, a few of my friends came to stay to celebrate a friend's birthday. I'd made the bread a few times in the weeks after listening to the radio and I wove it together again, taking the series you see below, the morning everyone was arriving. I ran out of time to bake it and had to throw it into the fridge to rise overnight. We ate it for breakfast the next day, hacking off slice after slice as we drank our tea and chatted.

I miss having lots of good friends in Oxford. All but one of my friends from university have moved away and are spread out over the UK. I miss the community of university, even though I know it wasn't as rosy as my memory tells me. It was so good to spend that weekend talking for hour after hour after hour - to get past catching up on the basics of our new lives and onto other stories, onto childhood memories and new questions.

So now the bread is infused with two very different - but both strong, both emotionally evocative - memories.

Tip dough out onto a floured surface / Coax into a square / Roll out into a rectangle / Smear with butter and sprinkle with sugar and spices/

Roll up from the long side / Cut carefully into two / Weave the strands together, cut side up / Pull round into a circle, weave the ends together and seal.

This recipe started with Ottolenghi's Chocolate Pecan Krantz Cake. As I mentioned in that post, I wanted to try a cinnamon roll version using the shaping technique but changing the recipe. When I got around to making it, I added cardamon and I decided to try and loop it around into a circle.

My main problem was trying to get the baking right - the first time I underbaked the loaf and I slightly burnt the edges twice. In the end I settled on a high starting temperature then a decrease for the rest of the baking time, which seems to work well.

After making a few versions, I saw a very similar idea on Pinterest and discovered that the loaf has a name and a history. It's called a kringel and it comes from Estonia. I first saw the pictures from this post, which I followed to this one.

Every time I make it, it looks a bit different - here's a blurry picture of my first loaf. The other reason the two photos above look a bit different is that I was experimenting with spelt flour. Both of the times I tried spelt, the dough was wetter and didn't rise as much. I think I prefer the texture of the loaf made from normal bread flour, though that might just be because it's what I'm used to. The photo below shows a slice of both loaves - the spelt is on the bottom (the normal one is only part of a slice). I might fiddle a bit more with the spelt version - I do quite like the flavour.

This bread has become one of my favourite breakfasts. I particularly like it toasted with some salted butter. Sometimes I even add a slather of jam or marmalade.

*

The past few weeks have been a bit rough and I know a few things have been a bit erratic (especially replying to emails and posting on time). Hopefully things will calm down now I'm back in Oxford and I'll get back into a rhythm.

Cinnamon-Cardamon Kringel Bread
(no specific source but owes general sweet bread knowledge to Peter Reinhart and Signe Johansen)

For the dough:
250ml whole milk
75g unsalted butter
450g strong white flour
70g caster sugar
1/2 tsp fine sea salt
10 green cardamon pods
7g fast action yeast (normally 1 packet)
1 egg

For the filling:
60g unsalted butter
40g caster sugar
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp fine sea salt

Take the butter out of the fridge for the filling to let it soften. Put the milk and butter for the dough into a small pan and heat over medium until the butter has melted, then turn up and scald (bring just up to the boil). Pour into a bowl and pop into the fridge to cool. Crush the cardamon pods with the side of a knife and remove the seeds, then finely grind the seeds. Combine the flour, sugar, salt, cardamon and yeast in a mixer bowl and stir. Beat the egg up lightly in a bowl. Once the milk has cooled to body temperature, add it and the egg to the bowl. Stir until you have a shaggy dough then put on the machine and knead with the dough hook for 4-5 minutes until the dough comes away from the sides and passes the windowpane test. Cover the bowl with cling film and leave to rise for about 45 minutes until the dough has doubled in size.

Punch the dough down on a lightly floured surface then roll out into a rectangle of 30x40cm. Stir the sugar, cinnamon and salt together. Spread with the soft butter then sprinkle the sugar/cinnamon/salt mix over the top. Roll up from the long side, then use a serrated knife to split the roll lengthways (it doesn't always fall apart as much as the pictures). Transfer to a sheet of baking parchment (I forgot to do this during the photo series above - if you do too, just carefully lift it onto the paper later). Weave the two strands together with the cut side up. Bring the ends together then press together to make a ring. Cover with cling film and leave to rise for about 30 minutes until puffy (if you press it with a finger, it should make a dent). You can also place into the fridge overnight to rise slowly - take out to warm up ten minutes before baking.

While it rises, preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Use the parchment to shift the ring onto a tray. Put into the oven and bake for ten minutes, then reduce the temperature to 160C/320F. Bake for 30-40 minutes until the ring is risen, deep brown and sounds hollow when knocked. Remove to a wire rack to cool. Keeps fresh for a day, toasts for a few days, freezes well.

(Makes one large loaf)

Three more posts with cardamon or cinnamon:
Cardamon Orange Pound Cake
Apple Cinnamon Layer Cake
Super Chocolate Cinnamon Rolls

Seed Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Sun, 07 Apr 2013 22:06:00 +0000

"I cut and handed the sweet seed-cake - the little sisters had a bird-like fondness for picking up seeds and pecking at sugar; Miss Lavinia looked on with benignant patronage, as if our happy love were all her work; and we were perfectly contented with ourselves and one another."

David Copperfield, Charles Dickens, Chapter 42, 'Mischief', published 1850.

Since coming across this tender scene while reading in preparation for my first term at university, I've found seed cake in several other books and always wanted to try it. As I was already on a history kick with my Hot Cross Buns and Lemon Posset, I decided to see what I could find.

According to the OED, seed cake was first mentioned in 1570 by Thomas Tusser in an new edition of A Hundreth Good Pointes of Husbandrie (I can only find the later Five Hundreth Good Pointes Of Husbandry online). He writes:

"Wife, some time this weeke if that all thing go cleare,
an ende of wheat sowing we make for this yeare.
Remember you therefore, though I do it not,
the Seede Cake, the Pasties, and Furmentie pot."

The feast to celebrate the end of sowing fell on St Martin's Day, the 11th of November. Originally, the forty day fast for advent started the next day, so it would have been an occasion to use up and enjoy rich and special foods (just like Pancake Day before Lent). Over time this association with St Martin's Day seems to have faded and seed cakes became popular all year round.

(Also - on the subject of fasting - BBC Radio 4's Food Programme broadcasted an wonderful discussion on Easter Sunday about fasting from a historical, religious and current 5:2 perspective - you can listen to it here.)

But what is a seed cake? Nicola Humble notes in her book on the history of Cake that the following recipe from 1631 is the earliest recorded for a no-yeast sponge-style cake. It also contains aniseeds and coriander seeds. I've transcribed this from digital images of the edition I found through the Bod, preserving the spelling and capitalisation, though not the long s and other typography (I'd have loved to show you the images but the permissions were a bit complex).

"To make Bisket-bread, take a pound of fine flower & a pound of sugar finely beaten and fearfed, and mixe them together; Then take eight egges and put foure yolks and beate them very well together; then throw in your flower and sug it as you are beating of it, by a little at once, it will take very neere an houres beating then take halfe an ounce of Aniseedes and Coriander seeds and let them be dried and rubbed very cleane, and put them in; then rub your Bisket pans with cold sweet butter as thin as you can, and so put it in and bake it in an oven."

From The English House-wifes, Gervase Markham, 3rd edition, printed in London in 1631, p.125-6.

The recipe continues on to describe how to make thin cakes with the same mixture, which, interestingly, are then called 'Cakes' instead of 'Bisket-bread'. It's also noteworthy that most of the beating takes place after the flour has been added - I imagine it would make a very tough cake (as well as tough arms after nearly an hour of beating...).

I also looked at some later recipes from 1732. Eliza Smith has two recipes for seed cake - one is yeast risen and the another is for a richer sponge with butter, sack (a fortified white wine) citrus and sugar-coated caraway seeds. I've transcribed the second one for you (in a similar way to above):

"A good Seed Cake

Take five pounds of fine Flour well dried and four pounds of single-refined Sugar beaten and sifted; mix the Sugar and Flour together, and sift them through a Hair-sieve; then wash four pounds of Butter in eight spoonfuls of Rose or Orange-flower water; you must work the butter with your Hand, till 'tis like Cream; beat twenty Eggs, half the whites, and put to them six spoonfuls of Sack; then put in your Flour a little at a time, keeping stirring with your Hand all the time; you must not begin mixing it till the Oven is almost hot; you must let it lie a little while before you put your cake into the Hoop; when you are ready to put it into the Oven, put into it eight ounces of candied Orange-peel sliced, and as much Citron, and a pound and half of Carraway-comfits; mix all well together, and put it in the Hoop, which must be prepared at bottom, and buttered, the oven must be quick: it will take two or three hours baking. You may ice it if you please."

From The Compleat Housewife, Eliza Smith, 5th edition, printed in 1732 , p.132-3.

Though the seeds change between recipes, caraway seeds seem to be the most popular choice. Conversely, caraway seeds aren't actually seeds - they're fruits that look similar to cumin and taste a bit like anise. Eliza's recipe appears to have a huge amount of seeds - a pound and a half to five pounds of flour - but I think that's because they're sugar coated comfits. Gervase's half an ounce to a pound of flour seems much more normal. Modern cakes are much smaller - depending on the weight of the pound (there were several systems at the time) five pounds of flour would weigh around two kilos, making an enormous cake - so you just need a pinch or two.

I've tried making two styles of seed cake. They're quite different, both in taste and texture, but I liked the caraway in both. The first recipe I tried was Fergus Henderson's, which is a buttery, rich sponge that is vaguely like Eliza's. I found it impossible to stop the mixture curdling (even after trying every trick I could think of and adjusting the ingredients a few times) but it still rose well and tasted good. I've also spotted a similar-ish caraway seed cake in the beautiful Vegetable Literacy, though I haven't tried it yet.

Finally, and as pictured, I tried adapting my family Old Fashioned Sponge Cake recipe by adding a big pinch of crushed caraway seeds to the mix and sprinkling another pinch of whole ones over the top along with a teaspoon of caster sugar. I made a three egg mix (so the flour is divided by 3 and multiplied by 1.6) and I didn't replace the self-raising with baking powder (as it doesn't really need the extra boost and it seemed more traditional that way). It took 35 minutes to bake instead of 40-45. This version bears more of a resemblance to Gervase Markham's recipe.

I think it's a shame that people stopped adding seeds to cakes - up until the end of the nineteenth century they were in almost every non-fruited recipe, yet now they're a curiosity. It's worth trying a pinch in your favourite plain sponge - if only as a simple way to evoke the past.

*

P.S. I'm very touched - and a little flabbergasted - at the response to the Four Years post. I'm going to work my way through the comments replying to each in the next two days. If you'd like to enter the draw for one of the four presents to celebrate Poires' forth birthday, then please click over here and leave a comment before the 9th. Thank you, once again.

Three more posts about simple cakes:
Brown Butter Pound Cake
Pear and Chocolate Loaf 2.0
Ginger Root Bundt Cake

Four Years

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 16:57:00 +0000

Today, Poires au Chocolat turns four.

To celebrate, I've decided to give out some presents. To thank you all for reading, for making my recipes, for the emails, the comments, the opportunities and generally being so enthusiastic and supportive (and because four is my favourite number).

I've picked the two things that I use every single time I bake: electric scales and high-quality heatproof spatulas. When I went to California last year, I packed my scales and two of these spatulas into my suitcase.

I am a big supporter of scales, metric and weighing ingredients for baking - and not just because I grew up with the system. If you're still not convinced, try reading this excellent post by Stella of BraveTart, or this article by Alice Medrich. As for the spatulas, a perfectly scraped bowl or pan makes washing up much easier and means you never waste mixture.

I wish I could send presents to all of you but four is all I can manage. But still - thank you. I genuinely wouldn't be where I am without your support.

How to get a present/the small print:

- This is open to everyone. I will post to anywhere in the world. You don't need to be a longtime reader or a regular commenter. I only ask that you genuinely want to use them.

- To enter the draw, leave a comment below (or, if you're reading this on email or a reader, click through to the post and leave a comment), telling me if you would like to receive the scales or one of the three spatulas. If you already have some scales, please let them go to someone who needs them (I hoard spatulas so you can have as many as you like). The draw will close at midnight GMT on Tuesday the 9th April 2013, ten days from today. I will randomly pick four people and email them for address details.

- To emphasise the fact that this is completely free of any links with the companies that make or sell these items, I've only shown them wrapped (and because it feels more like giving a present). I promise they exist. I went out to the shops and bought them with my own money and I will post them out of my own pocket too. Both are brands that I use everyday and trust to work for you too.

10/04/13: I have now closed the draw, randomly selected the names and sent out the emails... please check your inbox!

*

Finally, out of curiosity, who remembers the early days of this header? I found it in the depths of my filing system a few days ago.

Three more celebratory posts:
One year: Pear and Chocolate Loaf Cake
100 posts: Butterfly Fleur de Sel Caramel Cake
Three years: Poires Belle Helene

Lemon Posset: A Guest Post

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 13:51:00 +0000

Today my post is over on My Darling Lemon Thyme, a lovely Australian blog. Emma used to be a pastry chef and is now busy finishing off her first book and asked me to fill in for a week. Emma's blog is gluten-free (and mostly dairy-free, though my recipe didn't have to be). I kept clinging to awkward ideas, which caused quite a few kitchen disasters (part of the nightmare ten days I mentioned before). In the end I gave up on something new and tweaked and updated an old favourite.

So if you're interested in creamy, tangy puddings made with three ingredients, Shakespeare quotes, food history or want to check out My Darling Lemon Thyme, I suggest you click here.

P.S. There will be an exciting post coming your way on Saturday, so keep an eye out for that...

Three recipes from My Darling Lemon Thyme that I want to try out:
Spiced Orange Chocolate Chunk Cookies
Peach and Mulberry Cake
Strawberry Coconut Popsicles

Hot Cross Buns v.4

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 22:37:00 +0000

If you flip to the 'Bun: Hot Cross Bun' entry in the Oxford Companion to Food, you'll find the idea that the Saxons ate buns marked with a cross in honour of Eostre, a goddess of light, and that her name was transplanted to the Christian festival of Easter.

It sounds fascinating. Yet the only vaguely contemporary mention of Eostre is in Bede's eighth century 'De temporum ratione' (a.k.a. The Reckoning of Time). Chapter 15 describes the Anglo-Saxon names for the months of the year - April is called Eosturmonath, after Eostre "in whose honour feasts were celebrated". Bede notes that her name has transferred to Easter, "calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance". (ed. Wallis, 1999). In this - the only mention of Eostre - there's no description of the contents of the feasts or of crossed buns.

As this is part of the time period I studied (though I really focused slightly later), this whole idea started nagging at me, especially when I saw how often it's repeated. Where did it come from?

According to the OED's etymology section for 'Easter', some scholars believe Bede made the goddess and the name connection up. I don't think I agree - it seems odd for Bede, a devout monk, a famous biblical scholar and a historian, to invent a claim that Easter had any association with paganism. We have a small number of surviving manuscripts from the period so it's perfectly feasible that other references were lost or never recorded. The OED's alternative claim for the history of the word sounds convincing - but that doesn't mean Bede made Eostre up.

During the conversion of the English, the Christians tried to adapt the existing structure of worship to the new religion. The idea of the transference or merging of a festival - and, within that, food - therefore seems possible. This concept of adaption and exchange is recorded in Pope Gregory's letter to Abbot Mellitus in 601, which was preserved by Bede in his Ecclesiastical History. Pope Gregory writes that they should not destroy the existing temples but clear them, destroy the idols and turn them into churches, so the people can worship at the place they are accustomed to. Instead of sacrificing oxen to their pagan gods, the people should kill the oxen for a Christian feast.

After all, "there is no doubt that it is impossible to efface everything at once from their obdurate minds; because he who endeavours to ascend to the highest place, rises by degrees or steps, and not by leaps." (ed. McClure, 2008).

Next, I had a look through my books on medieval food to see if I could find any relevant information. I couldn't find anything, so I sent an email to my beloved-tutor-now-friend asking if she had any ideas about where I could look. She pointed me towards the rest of chapter 15, where Bede mentions that Solmonath (February) "can be called 'month of cakes', which they offered to their gods in that month" (ed. Wallis, 1999). As the cakes were given as offerings to 'their gods' in general, Eostre was probably included. The division between bread and cake would not become clear for centuries, so it's not too much of a stretch to imagine the cakes were what we would call loaves or buns. But where does the cross come from? Did the buns become associated with Good Friday because of their existing cross or were they made to fit the occasion?

I haven't found the answer to the cross questions, but I think I've found the possible origin of the Oxford Companion's claims - an article in the New York Times from 1912, Who were the first to cry 'Hot Cross Buns?'. Along with the Saxon claims, it includes the Greek and Roman versions that the book mentions (that I haven't seen elsewhere), including the amazing note that two small loaves were found plainly marked with a cross in Herculaneum (destroyed and preserved with Pompeii in AD 79). It's worth noting that many people slash their loaves twice before baking them without thinking of the significance of the symbol - the bakers of Herculaneum or the Anglo-Saxons could have done the same.

I want to keep digging to find the answers (though, of course, it could easily be a figment of a long lost imagination), so - as with the recipe - I'll come back with any updates next year. I hope you don't mind me getting geeky about this (though I feel like I'm on slightly shaky ground - I know enough for it to be shameful if I get it wrong, but not enough to be sure of it). I love revisiting the buns every year, moving forward step by step, as Gregory advocates. Here are the other versions: three, two, one.

This year I have:
- Doubled the fruit and added some extra cinnamon.
- Decided to use dried yeast as it's easier to find (though you can adapt it back if you can get fresh yeast).
- Switched the water for milk and added a touch of extra liquid.
- Altered the cross mixture so it's a bit thicker, so they look a little bolder.
- Lowered the oven temperature a bit.

I also tried soaking the fruit in hot water (before I changed to milk) but I discovered that as it kneaded, the softened fruit was smashed into the dough until it basically disappeared. I've found that it can do this even without soaking, so for the buns in the pictures I tried kneading it on the machine until ready, then hand kneading the fruit in. I can't decide if half the charm of the buns is the way some of the fruit becomes part of the dough or not. I think I might try half at the beginning and half at the end next year.

Hot Cross Buns v.4
(heavily adapted from Delia Smith's Complete Cookery Course)

For the dough:
225ml milk
50g unsalted butter
450g strong white bread flour
50g caster sugar
7g instant yeast
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1/2 tsp fine sea salt
1/4 tsp freshly ground nutmeg
5 whole cloves, ground
1 egg, beaten
100g sultanas
100g currants

For the candied peel:
1 orange
1/2 lemon
100ml water
100g granulated sugar

For the crosses:
1 tbsp plain flour
2 tsp water

Pour the milk and butter into a small pan and place over medium heat until the butter melts. Turn the heat up until the milk starts steaming (this scalds the milk, which makes the dough softer). Pour into a bowl to cool (I often put it into the fridge to speed it up).

Use a vegetable peeler to take big strips of peel off the orange and lemon - try to have as little white on the inside of the strip as possible. Chop into 2-3mm little squares, stacking a few strips together for speed. Place them in a medium pan and add 3-4 cm of cold water. Bring up to a strong boil and let bubble for a minute or so until the water is bright yellow. Strain into a bowl, then add more cold water and the peels to the pan and repeat. Repeat for a third and final time, leaving the peel in the strainer. Throw out the bitter yellow water.

Combine the 100ml of water and sugar in the pan and heat on medium until the sugar has dissolved, swirling every now and again. Turn up the heat a little and add the blanched peel. Occasionally brush a little cold water around the sides to stop the sugar crystallizing. Let it bubble away until the peel is translucent, about 8-10 minutes. Let cool for five minutes then drain the peel off from the syrup, reserving both.

Sift the flour, sugar, yeast, cinnamon, ginger, salt, nutmeg and cloves into the bowl of your stand mixer (or a mixing bowl if making by hand). Stir the peel into the milk (this stops the peel clumping). Add the sultanas, currants, peely-milk (it should be around room temperature or less or it'll kill the yeast) and beaten egg into the bowl. Stir with a spoon until the mixture comes together. Attach the dough hook and knead for 6 minutes (if making by hand turn out onto floured surface and hand knead) until smooth and bouncy - it should pass the windowpane test. Place the dough into a big, lightly oiled bowl, cover with cling film and leave to rise in a warm place until doubled (usually about 1hr 15 mins in my rather warm kitchen - can be quite a bit longer if it's cold but time develops the flavour so don't worry).

Turn the dough out of the bowl onto a lightly floured surface. Punch down. Cut the dough with a sharp knife into 16 pieces and place them under a sheet of cling film. Roll into balls one by one, keeping them under the cling film when you're not shaping (see last year for a technique). Line a tin with baking parchment then arrange the buns on the sheet. Cover again with cling film and leave to rise for 45 minutes until puffy. Preheat the oven to 200C/390F.

Combine the flour with the water to create a smooth, thick paste (you may need to add a few extra drops of water) then scoop it into a piping bag. Unwrap the buns and pipe the paste over each bun in the cross pattern. Bake for 15-20 minutes until golden brown and hollow when tapped. Brush the reserved peel syrup over the buns then remove to a cooling rack.

Serve split, toasted and topped with lots of salted butter. They freeze very well - I usually split them with big serrated knife then toast from frozen but you can defrost them first too.

(Makes 16)

Three more recipes that use dried fruit:
Apricot & Fig Tea Loaf
Chelsea Buns
Fig & Hazelnut Crumble Bars
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Caramelised Milk Chocolate & Espresso Shortbread

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 22:00:00 +0000

For the past ten days or so - ever since I got back to Oxford - I've been in the midst of one of those patches where every recipe I try seems to go wrong. It drives me up the wall (and, occasionally, drives tears down my face).

Earlier this evening I was reading The Year in Food when I came across Kimberly's description of weeks like these: "Where one week will feel smooth and productive, another will feel like I am trying to herd cats – the recipes are stubborn and lopsided and resist coaxing to the place where I’d like them to go." It inspired me to finally stop procrastinating and herd some words onto the screen.

To be honest, life seems to be full of herding unruly and unpredictable cats at the moment. One opportunity turns up, then disappears, then mutates, then another appears, changes, tangles, clashes and so on. Every opportunity I'm getting at the moment - both food and teaching related - is a challenge and seems designed to push me to my limits and out of my comfort zone.

I know that's a good thing and nothing makes you learn faster - but it doesn't make it any less dizzying or scary. Especially when everything is going wrong, the days are vanishing and the deadlines are looming.

Thankfully caramelised milk chocolate never seems to fail and this shortbread behaved itself impeccably three times in a row, like a little purring cat. Most of my recipes for this chunk of time seem to be finally coming into control too, perhaps taking note from these two.

Yet this obedient shortbread wasn't the first version of this post. My first idea was to make some viennese biscuits - you know, the ones that you pipe into nice shapes then dip into chocolate.

I couldn't find a trustworthy recipe to try out and surprise, surprise, the one I picked didn't go well. They literally resisted being coaxed into the right shape. I stood there squeezing and squeezing on the piping bag full of mixture, trying to make the dough come out. The piping bag became streaked with pale stretch marks but the mixture wouldn't budge.

In the end, I snipped the tip off and formed the biscuits by hand. Once baked, they were bland and boring. My guess is that getting it to a pipeable consistency that won't spread in the oven while maintaining taste is pretty difficult, so I shelved it for a later date. Do you have a good recipe for them? I'd love to know.

So, aware that I really needed something to just work, I went back to my Whole Vanilla Bean Shortbread and adapted from there. When I was tasting all the milk chocolate last week I kept thinking that coffee would go really well with it, so I flavoured it with espresso powder. I haven't tried it with real espresso but I imagine it would work too.

I also tried two more chocolates: Sainsbury's Taste the Difference Belgian Fairtrade Milk Chocolate (£1.39) and Tesco Finest 40% Cook's British Milk Chocolate (£1.28). Both worked well and were cheaper than all of the ones I tried last time. The Tesco one has a totally inexplicable but pleasant honey aftertaste.

I tried drizzling the biscuits with chocolate, spreading it on the bottom and sandwiching. The sandwiches won both on taste and because you can't see the chocolate cloud once it's cooled.

Finally, while I really like making the caramelised milk chocolate and I do think it's worth it, for this recipe I think you could just melt the chocolate and stir the pinch of salt through if you don't have time. It won't be quite the same but I think they'd still be delicious.

The light coffee and chocolate flavours remind me of opera cake - it's such a good combination. These are the sort of buttery biscuits that come in a fancy tin (though, made at home, they're a bit fresher).

Caramelised Milk Chocolate & Espresso Shortbread

For the chocolate:
100g milk chocolate*
pinch of fleur de sel or fine sea salt

For the shortbread:
100g unsalted butter, cold to the touch but not rock solid
50g caster sugar
1 tsp espresso powder
1/2 tsp boiling water
2 pinches fine sea salt
135g plain flour

For the caramelised milk chocolate, heat the oven to 120C/250F. Break the chocolate up and place in a small oven dish. Place in the oven and bake for 5 minutes, then take out and stir until smooth. Repeat every 10 minutes until it has been baking for 65. Stir in a pinch of salt then scrape into a bowl to cool.

Put the butter, sugar, combined espresso powder/water and salt into the bowl of a food processor. Blend until you have a smooth paste. Add the flour then blend until the dough forms clumps (you may need to scrape down once or twice). Tip out onto a sheet of baking parchment then form into a square. Roll out, turning the dough by a 1/4 between turns and trying to keep a square shape, until it is 3-4mm thick. Place on a tray and put in the fridge to chill for 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 170C/340F to bake the biscuits. Lightly grease a baking tray. Trim the sides and cut into squares - I use the width of my ruler, which is 3.5cm, and cut along it for a straight edge. You should have about 26 squares with a few odd shaped offcuts (I had 7 partial squares last time). Place onto the tray and into the oven and bake for 9-11 minutes, turning the tray halfway through. Leave to cool for a few minutes on the tray then remove to a rack.

When the biscuits have cooled, pair them up according to size then sandwich them with the chocolate (you may well need to re-melt it to spread it - place the bowl over a pan of simmering water). They keep for a few days in a sealed tin.

(Makes about 13 sandwiches or 26 singles + a few odd shaped ones)

* I used about 60g of the milk chocolate to fill the biscuits but I haven't tested caramelising less than 100g. If you're not caramelising it, perhaps try melting 70g (for a little leeway).

Some more recipes that include coffee:
2009: Coffee and Walnut Cake
2011: Tiramisu
2013: Toscakaka (Caramel Almond Cake)
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Caramelised Milk Chocolate

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 23:13:00 +0000

You've heard of caramelised white chocolate, right? It's been popping up all over the place since Food 52 posted about it a few weeks ago. I joined in and made Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs filled with softly whipped cream. Just the memory of them makes me feel a bit weak at the knees.

One day when I was testing for the éclairs, I asked mum to get some extra chocolate from the shops. When she came back there was a bar of Frey Milk in amongst the selection, a sweet and creamy Swiss chocolate that she'd mistaken for a bar of white.

So, ever curious, I decided to see what happened if I applied the same process to milk chocolate.

For the first thirty minutes, nothing seemed to change. Then another flavour started to creep in, bit by bit. Once finished and cooled, it was quite different. It's not as big a change as with white, but I rather like it.

It's still sweeter and creamier than dark chocolate, but it's richer and more complex than usual. The difference is hard to describe - there's a touch of extra caramel, a bit of bitterness (even a touch of sourness in one of the chocolates I tried) and a roasted-coffee depth. The salt, as ever, heightens the flavours and takes the edge off the sweetness. Unlike white chocolate the colour doesn't change, though it does thicken a little. The flavour deepens as it cools.

I couldn't find much information on caramelised milk chocolate, though quite a few chocolate manufacturers talk of caramel notes and caramelised nuts are often folded through or paired with it (i.e. this is the first time I've ever googled an idea and not been able to find anything specifically about it. Cue shock and an uneasy feeling.)

In the oven it stiffens and the surface becomes rough, but it all smooths out if you work it with a spatula. You can see the difference the oven makes in this pair of photos (the first is after 5 minutes of baking, once the melted chunks - as above - have been stirred, and the second is after ten more minutes i.e. 15 in total):

Given all the talk about how you need to buy expensive, professional brands to make caramelised white chocolate (certainly never pick something conveniently from the supermarket), I thought it would be interesting to see what people thought of caramelised milk chocolate made with a variety of different brands.

I haven't organised a blind taste test since 2010. The first one I did was for chocolate hazelnut spreads, where I roped in four friends to taste Nutella, two other brands and a homemade version. Later in the year I organised a larger test for vanilla ice cream - four brands and two homemade versions tested by ten people. They're good, geeky fun - at least for me (though I've never had a complaint...).

So I persuaded five neighbours to come round and eat chocolate for me.

For the test, I tried six types of chocolate (the price is per 100g, calculated from the amount I paid):

Valrhona Jivara (£5.71)
Green & Black's Milk (£2)
Green & Black's Creamy Milk (£2)
Hotel Chocolat Milk 40% Cooking Chocolate (£1.87)
Lindt Excellence Extra Creamy Milk (£1.85)
Marks & Spencer Milk Chocolate (£1.49)

There were so many brands and types I wanted to try but in the end I had to stop somewhere (stirring every ten minutes, hour on hour, was messing with my mind). I tried to create a range of prices and cocoa/milk percentages. (As always, I bought all of the ingredients myself and do not have any links to any of the brands.)

The six were all baked at 120C/250F for 65 minutes, stirring after the first five minutes and then every ten. I used 100g of each, except for the Valrhona, which was 70g (due to the packet size). As I wanted to do two at a time, I used glass dishes as I don't have two appropriate metal dishes. A pinch of fleur de sel was stirred in at the end of the process, before it was all scraped into a numbered bowl and cooled. Once firm, I sliced it into squares for easier tasting.

I asked my testers to make comments (including on the suspected price) and then rank them. I then scored them so that their top choice received 6 points, the second 5 and so on. The result:

1 - M&S
2 - Lindt
3 = Hotel Chocolat
3 = Valrhona
4 - G&B Milk
5 - G&B Creamy Milk

As you can see, the rank is almost reversed in comparison with the price list. The Valrhona divided opinion, with two testers putting it last and the others ranking it highly (though only one placed it first). None guessed that it was the most expensive (I should note that if I had wanted to have a kilo of it, I could have reduced the price per 100g to £2.59). The G&B Creamy Milk behaved weirdly - it didn't seem to roast like the others and kept a milder, neutral flavour.

The amount of cocoa and milk didn't seem to make a huge difference. The M&S has 36% cocoa and a minimum of 26% milk, very similar to the G&B Milk (34%, min 25%), whereas the Lindt has 30% cocoa and a minimum of 20% milk.

The only ingredient that did make a visible difference was the amount of cocoa butter. The series of photos are of the Green & Black's Milk, which goes particularly thick when you roast it. Cocoa butter is the fourth ingredient in its list, compared with the fluid Valrhona, where it is the top ingredient.

Interestingly, the M&S chocolate lists 'caramelised sugar syrup' as an ingredient, which probably added to the effect. Other common flavourings included vanilla and malt (though the Hotel Chocolat has no flavourings, presumably as it's for cooking).

Obviously it's a small, imperfect test, but I think it shows that you can get a delicious result with a variety of chocolates. Perhaps it would have been different if I'd tried other brands or had a gathering of professional pastry chefs and world class chocolate experts around my table (but then when do I ever feed them?).

I think that the caramelisation and salt makes the most difference to the cheaper chocolates, where the conversion of the pure sweetness to a richer, deeper flavour is most needed.

So there you go. A little experiment. I'll be back next week with a recipe that uses some of my rather large pile of caramelised milk chocolate...

For the moment, my tip is to toss a few chunks into a mug then pour steaming hot milk over the top. Leave for a few minutes, then stir or whisk together. It makes glorious hot chocolate.

A few more recipes that use milk chocolate:
2009: Triple Chocolate and Pecan Cookies
2010: Milk Chocolate and Hazelnut Biscuits
2013: Champagne Truffles

Seville Marmalade Almost-Linzer Torte

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 28 Feb 2013 19:38:00 +0000

I made a big batch of Seville Orange Marmalade in January. Before I came out to Switzerland, I ate it every day for breakfast.

I'm obsessed with toasted wholemeal bagels spread with lots of salted butter that melts and mingles with the bittersweet marmalade. The buttery mixture often breaches the edge and runs in sticky rivulets down your fingers. I couldn't bring a jar with me as I came over with hand luggage, so I've been dreaming about it every morning (though Homemade Granola has been an acceptable replacement). The half term stint is nearly over, so on Sunday morning I'll be joyfully munching through a marmalade bagel with lots of hot tea in a sticky mug.

To try and make it last the full year until the Sevilles come back again, I tend to go through a jar quite slowly. As a result, I've never really baked with it. This year I miscalculated the number of empty jars, so I ended up with about half a jar worth of marmalade in bowl. It seemed like a good opportunity to experiment.

Usually a Linzer torte has a lattice on top and the short, crumbly pastry is enriched with egg yolks and flavoured with lemon and cinnamon. This recipe evolved from an Alice Medrich recipe for a speedy, non-traditional torte. I've halved the recipe to make a smaller 6" torte (and in doing so simplified the recipe even further). It isn't a proper Austrian Linzer anymore - the flavours and texture are different - so I've called it the Almost-Linzer.

In a way, it's a bit like a giant cookie that you slice up - it's not very thick, about 1.5cm. The shreds in the marmalade give it an extra texture that you don't get with other jams. The ginger gives it a bit of fire to balance out the sweetness from the pastry and the bitter note from the oranges.

This recipe is wonderfully adaptable. I've made several tortes with the more traditional raspberry-redcurrant jam (the same as in the swiss roll), spiced with cinnamon. I've also tried vanilla with a swirled combination of raspberry-redcurrant and chunky apricot. My friend Steph, of Desserts for Breakfast, made a cranberry and clove version of the same original recipe. I think it's best if you use a jam or filling that had a touch of bitterness or tartness to counteract the outside. I've always used almonds, but I'd love to try hazelnuts, pecans or walnuts.

I think it's considerably better when it's fully cooled (or on the next day), but I find it very tempting hot - it smells so good - and often can't resist. It's soft when it's warm but goes chewy as it cools, which makes it easy to transport. It took me two slices to fall in love with it but now I'm thrilled I have it in my repertoire.

Do you bake with marmalade?

Seville Marmalade Almost-Linzer Torte
(adapted from Alice Medrich's Sinfully Easy Delicious Desserts)

50g whole almonds
65g plain flour
75g light brown sugar
1 tsp ground ginger
big pinch of fine sea salt
75g unsalted butter
1 tsp milk
100g seville orange marmalade*

Place the almonds, flour, sugar, ginger and salt into a food processor and blend until fine. Cube the butter then add it with the milk and blend until the dough just comes together. Wrap a 25g chunk of the dough in a bit of cling film. Lightly grease a 6" round cake or tart tin with a removable base, then scrape the rest of the dough into it. Use your fingers to press it out into an even layer with a little lip at the side. Place the little ball of dough and the tin into the fridge and chill for at least 30 minutes - meanwhile, preheat the oven to 170C/340F.

Spread the marmalade out in the middle of the tin, leaving a gap at the edge. Tear the extra bit of dough into small chunks and arrange on the top. Put into the oven and and bake for 30 minutes until the sides and splodges in the middle are deep golden-brown and the jam is bubbling. Sit on a wire rack. After five minutes, run a knife around the edge and remove the tin. Leave to cool fully. Keeps well for at least 4 days in a sealed tin.

(Makes one 6" torte, 6-8 slices)

* The jams and marmalades I make are generally soft-set. If yours isn't, a tiny bit of lemon juice or water should loosen it slightly. Lemon would also be a good idea if the jam is purely sweet (i.e. not a little bitter, like marmalade).

A few more recipes that use ginger:
2012: Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie
2011: Ginger Root Bundt Cake
2010: Gingernuts

Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 21 Feb 2013 20:33:00 +0000

I like white chocolate but I wouldn't normally choose to eat it. But if you roast it until it caramelises and add a touch of salt? I can't leave it alone.

Though I have a faint memory of reading David Lebovitz's post about caramelised white chocolate in 2009, I didn't try making it until the day Food 52 published an article about it. It felt like the first time I tried brown butter - a whole new set of possibilites opened up and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I have to admit that I still haven't tried it with the original Valrhona Ivoire. I didn't get around to ordering any before I left England last week and I haven't been able to get my hands on any here in Switzerland.

However, I have had great success with Green & Black's White (twice) and Lindt Blanc. I've also tried a bar of Cailler Blanc Vanille but it quickly seized. I tried combining it with a bit of oil and blending it (as advised on Food 52) but it was still gritty and tasted oily. After buying some Felchlin couverture from a local bakery, I was very surprised when it seized instead of melting. Instead of trying to blend it, I left it in the oven until it reached a similar caramel colour. The tiny nuggets of chocolate tasted just as good and I think if you melted them down with a touch of cream, they might liquify.

After a few spoonfuls of the caramelised chocolate, I decided that I needed to make éclairs.

Choux pastry and I have history. Three years ago, after I started building croquembouche shaped like presents with chocolate ribbons, I became obsessed with choux pastry. I spent hours filling out spreadsheets with dozens of recipes, comparing ratios, temperatures and methods.

Then it turned up at Le Cordon Bleu. Éclairs were one of our three exam dishes in my first term. Though I'd been warned about having a favourite, I thought that I had a much better chance of a good mark with one of them. I was convinced that I would pick the right slip out of the bowl of folded papers as I stepped into the exam room. But I didn't - I picked the éclairs.

My focus blurred and for the first time in my life, I didn't rise to an exam. I tried to reason with myself that it couldn't possibly be harder than finals but once it had started to get messy and out of sync, I couldn't claw it back. Looking around, I compared my work to my classmates even though I knew it wouldn't help. Somehow I managed to cut myself on a plastic d-scraper and had to go out to patch it up. Struggling to breathe, I moved around in slow motion, time running out despite every minute feeling like an eternity. I screwed up the elements I was best at and left the room feeling sick.

The feeling lingered on, even though I passed and my other marks pulled me up to a good grade overall. I was embarrassed that I had let it get to me, that I'd cracked instead of rising to the occasion. To be honest, I still am.

The experience coupled with the type of éclairs we made (filled with cloying coffee pastry cream, topped with super-sweet fondant) clouded my love of choux pastry. I stopped making it, even though fresh éclairs filled with softly whipped cream and topped with melted chocolate are one of life's great pleasures.

In general, my experience at Cordon Bleu pushed me away from neat pâtisserie towards the simple, the not-so-sweet, the seasonal and the slightly messy. I like the odd drip of golden chocolate sneaking down the side, streaking the escaping cream.

I can't think of a better way to use the caramelised white chocolate and - while I worry about hyperbole - they're one of the tastiest things I've ever made.

Though the general consensus seems to be that you should make the chocolate in big batches of 350 - 450g, I like smaller batches so I can try different things out. The recipe below makes just enough to cover the six éclairs with a bit extra for tasting - you could easily make more and use it for other things. When I was taking these photos, I was making a double batch of the choux, so the amounts you see are a bit bigger than you'll get from the recipe below. I weigh the liquids for the pastry as they're small amounts and need to be accurate.

If you don't often use a piping bag or want some tips, I recommend this excellent tutorial on BraveTart. I use disposable bags like these.

Finally, I really recommend tasting and smelling the chocolate as it roasts and sensing how it develops each time you take it out. The colour is a good guide but it's far more fun to eat it. Do try it before and after the salt, too - the difference is quite spectacular.

Caramelised White Chocolate Éclairs
(chocolate adapted from Valrhona via Food 52)

For the caramelised white chocolate:
100g white chocolate (30%+ cocoa butter)
pinch of fine sea salt (I use fleur de sel)

For the choux pastry:
25g butter
35g water
25g whole milk
pinch of salt
30g plain flour
1 large egg

For the whipped cream:
150g double cream
1/4 tsp vanilla paste (or extract)

Preheat the oven to 120C/250F for the chocolate. Break up the chocolate and place it in a small baking tray. Put into the oven. After five minutes, take it out and stir with a spatula - it may be stiff at first but should smooth out. Repeat every five minutes until it is a lovely deep caramel brown (mine took about 40-50 minutes*). Stir in the salt. Scrape into a small bowl or jar and leave to cool. This should keep for months - it will cloud once it cools but don't worry.

Preheat the oven to 200C/390F for the choux. Prepare a piping bag with a plain tip (not sure of the number but mine has a diameter of 1.3cm), push the bag into the tip and sit upright in a tall glass. Grease a baking tray. Cut the butter into cubes and add it to a small saucepan (mine is 15cm) with the water, milk and salt. Sieve the flour onto a big sheet of baking parchment, fold in two to make a shoot and put near the hob.

Put the saucepan over a low heat until the butter melts. Turn up to medium-high and bring just to the boil - when it's steaming and you see the first bubbles in the middle, take off the heat and immediately shoot the flour in off the baking parchment and stir with a wooden spoon until it comes together. Put back onto the heat and stir for 1-2 minutes - you should have a stiff ball of paste that sizzles and leaves the sides of the pan clean. Tip into a mixing bowl and squish up the sides to help it cool.

Leave to cool for a few minutes until it's warm - not hot - to the touch. While it cools, beat the egg lightly together. Add a dribble of egg to the bowl and beat into the paste (it goes slimy and looks like it won't incorporate but if you keep going it will). Keep adding small amounts of egg until it is all incorporated - around 6 inclusions. If you scoop up the mixture and turn the spoon to the side it should hesitate, then fall off in thick ribbons, leaving a hanging tail. Scrape into the piping bag and seal. Pipe 11-12cm lines onto the tray, flicking back onto the éclair to finish, leaving a few cm in between. There should be enough for 7, which gives you one spare in case of accident (or for a few profiteroles...). Add a dash of milk to the eggy bowl, then dip a pastry brush into it and lightly brush in opposite direction to your piping, smoothing down the flick.

Bake for 20 minutes at 200C without opening the door, then turn down to 180C, use a wooden spoon to jar the oven door open and bake for 10 minutes. They should be deep golden brown all over and crispy. Cool on a wire rack. (You can store them for a day in a sealed tin, but they're best fresh).

Place the chocolate over a pan of barely simmering water and melt. Leave to cool and thicken slightly. Pour the cream into a mixing bowl and add the vanilla. Whip until you have soft peaks (or whip in a stand mixer but be careful not to overwhip). Slice the éclairs lengthways with a serrated knife. Spoon the whipped cream into the bottom half then place the other half on top. Use a blunt knife/small palette knife to spread the chocolate on top. Serve quickly - they're best within an hour. You can keep leftovers for 24 hours in the fridge, but they're not as good.

(Makes 6 éclairs, can multiply up)

* Several commenters have told me that theirs took longer to caramelise - it seems to depend on the oven and the brand of chocolate. If you get fed up waiting, it seems you can increase the oven temperature a little and it should start to turn. I haven't tried it on a higher temperature myself, however.

A few more posts that involve whipped cream:
Coconut Cream Cake
Brandy Snaps
Hervé's Two Ingredient Chocolate Mousse

Raspberry-Redcurrant Jam Swiss Roll

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Fri, 15 Feb 2013 18:32:00 +0000

I love the simplicity of a jam roll. There's something very satisfying about a swirl of light, fluffy cake stained with fruity, slightly sharp jam.

Once you've got the hang of it, they're also very speedy, especially as the ingredients are the sort of things you might have to hand. I can usually go from thought to cake in under thirty minutes.

My first attempt at a Swiss Roll, back in 2010, didn't go well. It cracked badly and the sponge tasted bland and was somehow both sticky and dry. Now I have a much better recipe.

I also found it difficult to picture the techniques involved (and a few others have mentioned the same problem), so last week I decided to take some videos. The first is of me spreading the mixture (sounds absurd, but it is delicate and took me time to get right) and the second is of the whole flipping/trimming/rolling process. I hope they make it clearer.

I've also solved the problem of the cake sticking to the parchment by lightly greasing it with butter and using granulated sugar - the bigger crystals keep it off the parchment, don't turn syrupy or sticky and give the outer bites a satisfying crunch.

In recipes that fill the roll with anything heat-sensitive, like my Chocolate Swiss Roll with Peanut Butter Mousse or Bûche de Noël, you have to roll it up between sheets of baking parchment, let it cool, then unroll and fill as below. If I'm making a jam roll with a different flavour (the raspberry-redcurrant jam already has a slight sharpness), I stir in a touch of lemon juice to loosen the set and balance the sweetness.

I was flustered filming the second video as I knew I'd have to make the cake again if I made a mistake. Thankfully I'd already decided to cut the sound, so you can't hear me swear when the side of the sponge sticks to the tray. But, as Julia Child said - 'never apologise'. Just cut more of the side off and proceed as normal - with an extra snack for the chef...

Jam Swiss Roll
(sponge recipe adapted from David Lebovitz's Ready for Dessert)

80g plain flour
30g cornflour
1/2 tsp baking powder (optional*)
pinch of fine sea salt
3 eggs
25ml cold water
120g caster sugar
tbsp or so of granulated sugar
jam to fill (about 150g)

Preheat the oven to 170C/340F. Lightly grease and line a baking tray that's at least 30 x 40cm (the one above was a bit small). Sift the flour, cornflour, baking powder and salt together three times. Place the yolks and water into the bowl of a stand mixer and whisk on high for 1 minute. Sprinkle the caster sugar in and whip for 4 minutes until pale, thick and a ribbon of mixture stays on the surface for the count of five. Whip the whites until a peak on the end of the whisk stays stiff. Carefully fold a third of the flour into the yolks with a big metal spoon, then another third, followed by a third of the whites, the rest of the flour, then the rest of the whites. Carefully scoop out onto the tray (but don't scrape any gluey/unmixed bits off the spoon/bowl) and use a big palette knife to confidently sweep it out into an even rectangle of roughly 25 x 35 cm (see video above).

Bake for 10-12 minutes until light golden brown, slightly risen and springy to the touch in the middle. While it bakes grease a square of parchment bigger than the cake and sprinkle with the granulated sugar. Get a big knife, cake rack and the jam ready (I usually do this on the dining table for space). When it comes out, let it sit on the tray for 1 minute, then flip out onto the sugary parchment. Cut a thin slice off the edges to straighten them and stop it cracking as you roll. Spread the jam liberally over the sponge, leaving a cm gap around the edge. At one of the short ends of the rectangle, use the knife to dent (not cut) about 1 cm into the end. Use this to start rolling the sponge up, keeping it tight and peeling off the paper as you go. When you get to the end, tuck the end underneath. Trim the two swirly ends with a serrated knife to neaten them up and leave to cool for a few minutes before slicing.

Best eaten when just cooled. It keeps in a tin for a day and freezes well.

*The baking powder gives it an extra boost - you can easily make it without, but it helps if you're worried about losing too much air when you're folding and spreading.

(Makes 1 roll, 8-10 slices)

A few more posts that involve whipping egg whites:
Tiramisu
Pomegranate and Berry Pavlova
Old Fashioned Sponge Cake

Pancakes with Lemon & Thyme Sugar

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 17:52:00 +0000

Next Tuesday, the 12th of February, is Pancake Day (a.k.a. Shrove Tuesday). Pancake Day is the only food holiday that I never miss.

I tend to call pancakes crêpes here, to avoid confusion with American pancakes. But Crêpe Day sounds silly (and a bit pretentious), so today they're pancakes.

There are many ways to eat a pancake.

If I'm ordering one at a fair, I tend to go for a slathering of Nutella that bubbles and pales as it warms on the circular hot plate.

Sometimes, at home, I swirl double cream and maple syrup in the middle, then roll it up into a tube. Each slice drips as you eat it, so you have to sweep it up with the next slice - just for the same thing to happen again.

Recently I made a version of this unusual food52 recipe: pancake parcels filled with a ricotta-mascarpone mixture, topped with a honey and blood orange sauce.

Today I cooked a banana with a tablespoon of butter, a tablespoon of maple syrup and a pinch of salt until the slices were caramelised and soft. Piled onto two hot pancakes with a splash of double cream and a touch more maple syrup, they made an oozy, sweet and filling pudding.

But, to be honest, I usually eat pancakes flipped onto a plate straight from the pan, soaked with lemon, sprinkled with sugar straight from the packet and eaten with my fingers, standing in the kitchen, while they're still hot and crispy around the edges. They're perfect as they are - I certainly don't blame you if you never try them with anything other than lemon and sugar.

However. Sometime around the beginning of the year, mum and I were making pancakes when I noticed some leftover thyme on the counter. On a whim, I crushed a few leaves into the sugar with my fingers. It adds a background herbal note that gives it a little edge.

How do you eat your pancakes on Pancake Day?

Pancakes with Lemon & Thyme Sugar
(adapted many years ago from Delia's Complete Cookery Course)

15g unsalted butter
55g plain flour
pinch of fine sea salt
1 egg
100ml milk
25ml water
a lemon
a few spoonfuls of sugar
a few springs of thyme

Melt the butter in a large, sturdy frying pan. Keep heating until the foam dies down and the butter is full of rusty flecks (see brown butter foundation for more guidance). Pour into a bowl to cool.

Tip the flour and salt into a mixing bowl and whisk together. Make a well in the middle then break the egg into it. Whisk in, incorporating some of the flour. Pour in a bit of the milk and whisk in, slowly incorporating all the flour and milk. Add most of the water, reserving a dash to change the consistency if needed - it should be around double cream. Whisk in the butter. Scrape the batter into the milk measuring jug, to make pouring easier (or use a ladle). Leave to sit for a few minutes while you organise the fillings - in this case, slice up the lemon and briefly rub the thyme leaves into the sugar.

Heat the pan up over a high heat - once you can feel a strong heat when you hold your hand a few inches above the pan, turn the heat down a bit and add a small knob of butter and swirl around (if the pan is hot enough, the butter browns almost immediately after it melts). Holding the pan at an angle, pour a bit of the batter into the pan and swirl into a thin layer. When it starts to brown around the edges, flip. Once that side is done, remove to a plate and serve immediately with the lemon and sugar (or stack on a plate with kitchen paper in between, then reheat when you serve). Adjust the consistency if the pancake is too thick and repeat, melting a little butter in the pan each time. The batter keeps in the fridge for a day (whisk it back together before using).

(Makes 5-6 pancakes, easily multiplied up)

A few more posts about ~~crêpes~~ pancakes:
2012: Crêpes Suzette
2011: Dusky Caramel and Raspberry Crêpe Cake
2010: Wholemeal Crêpes

Toscakaka (Caramel Almond Cake)

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 31 Jan 2013 19:45:00 +0000

About a week ago, I spotted this recipe and pencilled it in for the end of February. After testing it for the first time, I sent the draft to mum for her to try. Her pupil declared it the best cake she'd ever eaten and asked to take some home for her parents. They made the same claim.

I made it again yesterday and handed half to a friend. A few hours later, I got four texts in quick succession:
'Oh'
'My'
'Goodness'
'That cake is delicious.'

It seemed cruel to keep the recipe under wraps for a month. Besides, it's the perfect way to celebrate the end of January.

I found the recipe in Signe Johanson's fantastic book from last year, Scandilicious Baking. I've only tried two recipes so far but they've both been excellent.

Signe notes that this is "the quintessential Scandi cake". In an inspired move, she adapts the tradition by adding salt to the topping. After my first test, I decided to toast the flaked almonds - I think the texture and flavour is better.

Toscakaka is essentially a simple whisked sponge topped with a gooey caramel almond topping that seeps into the cake and hardens on top to a crunchy praline. The edges, in particular, are irresistible. It reminds me of the famous Chez Panisse Almond Tart - and that's a very good thing.

The only difficult part is persuading yourself to leave the topping alone ~~instead of picking bits off and then, ashamed by your uncouth behaviour, trying to make it look like you didn't~~.

In Signe's book and my other book on Scandinavian baking, Puccini's opera 'Tosca' is suggested as a source for the name. You can watch the Royal Opera House's 2011 production online - I'm listening to it as I write.

The second half of the name also caught my eye. 'kaka' is the Swedish word for cake, which is the same as the original Old Norse word (Old Norse is the medieval ancestor of Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic and Danish). Though the etymology is still debated, it is thought that our word 'cake' was borrowed from Old Norse in the 13th century, like many other common words (medieval loanwords from French, Latin and Norse were my favourite part of my brief time studying the development of English).

At that time, cake would have meant a yeasted bread, not a light, fluffy sponge created by whipped eggs and baking powder, cloaked in buttery caramel and crisp nuts.

Finally, two things:

1/ My first ever proper recipe feature is out in the March Issue of Sainsbury's Magazine! I've known about this for about nine months so it's amazing to finally see it in print and get to show you. It's crazy to see my recipes in a magazine-style shoot, without the context of my writing and photography. You'll find the feature on pages 68-70 and there's another little bit with me on page 7. The are three recipes: pecan sticky buns, cocoa-rolled passionfruit truffles and proper caramel popcorn.

2/ I've been reading and revisiting a lot of my food books recently. I thought it'd be good to collect my favourites somewhere. In the end I made a Pinterest board (it's easy to keep adding to and links to amazon). You can find it through the photo link on the sidebar (the photo is of some of my food bookshelves) or here. I'm including recipe-based, memoir, history and reference books.

Toscakaka (Swedish Caramel Almond Cake)
(adapted from Signe Johansen's Scandilicious Baking)

For the cake:
70ml milk
1 tsp lemon juice
75g unsalted butter
3 eggs
150g caster sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
150g plain flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp fine sea salt

For the topping:
150g flaked almonds
125g butter
125g light brown sugar
50ml milk
1/2 tsp sea salt
1/2 tsp espresso powder (optional, could replace with vanilla)*

Preheat oven to 160C/320F. Grease a deep 9" round tin (preferably with a removable bottom) and line the bottom with baking parchment. Stir the lemon juice into the milk and leave to sit (to make buttermilk, you can replace with 75ml if you have it on hand). Toast the almond flakes in a oven tray for 5-7 minutes until they're a light golden brown, then set aside. Melt the butter in a saucepan then pour into a bowl and leave to cool (keep the pan to use later).

Whip the eggs, sugar and vanilla together on medium-high for 5 minutes, until the mixture is a yellowy-cream colour and very thick. While it whisks, sieve the flour, baking powder and salt together. Sieve 1/3 of the flour mixture over the egg bowl then gently fold in with a big metal spoon or large spatula. Drizzle half of the milk over the top and fold in. Repeat with the next 1/3 of flour, the rest of the milk, then the rest of the flour. Finally drizzle half of the butter over the top, fold in, then repeat with the remaining butter. Be gentle but thorough, scraping the bottom - it's easy to get little pockets of flour. Carefully transfer to the tin. Tap on the counter once to remove any big air bubbles.

Bake for 25-30 minutes until golden and set - when 15 minutes have gone, start making the topping. Place the toasted almonds, butter, sugar, milk, salt and espresso powder into the saucepan and stir as the butter melts. Keep heating for a few minutes - it should bubble and thicken slightly. Turn the oven up to 200C/390F, then remove the cake to a rack and pour the glaze over the top. Spread the almonds out into an even layer. Place in the top of the oven and bake for 8-10 minutes until the glaze is dark brown and bubbling. Cool for a few minutes then slide a knife around the edge of the tin to loosen it and remove the cake to a rack.

Best eaten once it's cooled to room temperature, though I have to admit to trying a warm slice with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. It keeps well in an airtight tin for two days and is still alright on the third.

(Makes about 8-10 slices)

*Coffee isn't a traditional addition but I think it's delicious. Up to you.

A few more almond posts:
2012: Chez Panisse Almond Tart
2010: Raspberry and Almond Layer Cake
2009: Lemon and Almond Cake

Champagne Truffles

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 24 Jan 2013 23:32:00 +0000

Last weekend, I gave a friend a box of Baileys truffles for her birthday. I've made them a few times - I adapt my favourite Muscovado Truffles recipe by using 190g double cream with 75ml Baileys and light brown sugar. They're a tad softer than the usual ones and melt the moment you bite into them.

As I was rolling them between my cocoa-stained hands, I started thinking about other types of truffle I could make. I want to try some white chocolate and raspberry truffles using the freeze dried raspberries I bought recently.

But first - champagne truffles. The milk chocolate ones, cloaked in a crisp shell with a dusting of icing sugar. I'm particularly fond of them.

After some experimenting, I discovered that you need a champagne/cream ganache filling, rather than a champagne/water one. I thought that the cream might be obscuring the flavour of the champagne - and milk chocolate is already creamy - but it tasted weak without. Champagne truffles need to be rich and luxurious.

I don't drink much these days, so I use alcohol sparingly in desserts. The key is to use enough so you can recognise the flavour but not so much that the alcohol overpowers everything else. If you want a stronger punch you could try replacing some more of the cream with champagne or even add a touch of cognac or brandy.

I also tested the shell with tempered and untempered chocolate. The tempered ones did crackle beautifully when you bit into them but I don't think it's crucial. If you know how then go for it but I don't think it's worth learning just for this. The icing sugar coating means you're not looking for a shiny or streak-free finish anyway.

The truffles are at their best the day they're made. If the chocolate is tempered, they keep in a container at room temperature for about a week (though I've never managed to keep them that long...) and if not, they'll last in an airtight container in the fridge for a few days.

Finally, I know of two methods for dipping truffles.

You can use a fork to lower the truffle into the chocolate, push it around until it's covered, then tap the fork to remove excess. The fancy forks you can buy have fine prongs so the chocolate drips off easily. You can also improvise and bend a few spokes back on an old, cheap table fork or snap them off a plastic one. I find with truffles like these where the filling is quite soft the fork can dig in and ruin the shape.

In the second method, you smear a tablespoon or so of melted chocolate on both of your palms, then swirl the shaped truffle around until it's fully covered. You usually need to do this twice, as it can create a thin coating. But you get to smother your hands in melted chocolate. It's quite a feeling. Need I say more?

Champagne Truffles
(created with the basic truffle ganache ratio in Paul A Young's Adventures with Chocolate)

For the ganache filling:
100g high quality milk chocolate (34-40%)
70g double cream
pinch of fine sea salt
2 tbsp (30 ml) champagne*

To coat and finish:
few tsps of unsweetened cocoa powder
100g high quality milk chocolate (34-40%)
1-2 tbsp icing sugar

Chop the chocolate for the ganache into very small chunks and place into a small bowl (if you're nervous about ganache or have some trouble, look at the ganache foundation post). Weigh the cream in a small saucepan and add the salt. Place over a medium heat and keep an eye on it until it starts steaming. Pour the cream over the chocolate and leave to sit for a minute. Stir until you have a thick, smooth ganache with no lumps of chocolate left. Add one tablespoon of champagne and stir it in as it fizzles, then repeat with the other tablespoon. Cover and chill in the fridge for three hours until set.

When it has set, tip the cocoa powder into a bowl and dust your palms. Take a heaped teaspoon of the ganache and toss it lightly in the cocoa to stop it sticking, then form it into a sphere with your palms (don't worry if it's not perfect). Place onto a plate. Repeat for the rest of the mixture. Place back in the fridge to firm up for at least 30 minutes.

When you're ready to dip, place some baking parchment on a plate and sift the icing sugar into a shallow bowl. Roughly chop the chocolate and place in a bowl set over a pan of barely simmering water. Heat, stirring occasionally, until fully melted. Temper if desired. If not, let it cool anyway - if it's too hot, it'll melt the filling. When it's room temperature, dip the truffles one by one - either by the palm rolling method or with a dipping fork (if doing two coats, set onto the paper then dip again once set - in a cool kitchen they'll be ready by the time you've done the rest). When coated, drop into the icing sugar bowl and roll around until fully covered. Once the chocolate has set up a bit, transfer to the plate. Continue until you've coated all the truffles - if the chocolate starts to solidify, briefly warm it up over the pan of water. If the chocolate isn't tempered, chill in the fridge for 30 minutes or so to fully set. Eat at room temperature.

You will have a little bit of dipping chocolate left (as you need plenty to coat them) - scrape it onto a bit of baking parchment (if it's started to set, warm the chocolate up a bit first) and leave it to cool so you can use it for another recipe.

*I know it's a small amount to open a bottle for. I bought one of those mini bottles so I only had a little left to share. Or you could open a big one and have a party.

(Makes 16-20, depending on size)

A few related posts (the only three I can think of with alcohol in them):
Ginger Bourbon Pecan Pie
Cider Caramel, Sautéed Apples and Cinnamon Ice Cream
Whisky and Dark Chocolate 'The Beautiful and the Damned' Cake

Brown Butter Pound Cake

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Fri, 18 Jan 2013 23:54:00 +0000

It's been snowing all day in Oxford. I spent most of the day in the kitchen, watching the flakes fall and gather outside.

I've made this pound cake four times in two weeks. It's simple but shockingly good. Brown butter usually ends up as a background to other flavours, which is a shame (though I'm guilty of using it in all sorts of recipes). This cake keeps really well in a tin and freezes beautifully, as well as being both robust and fluffy.

When I first set about converting this cake from the original olive oil version to butter, I realised I had no way of working out how much solid butter I needed to create the required volume of liquid brown butter. Guessing seemed a bit... boring. Guessing also wouldn't help me the next time I needed to do it. So I spent my Sunday afternoon browning most of the butter in our fridge, armed with a calculator and the scales.

On the butter packet it should tell you the % of fat, protein and so on. The fat is usually around 82% (I believe it has to be 80% to be classed as butter) and the others total about 1%. This is what will be left when you've browned the butter and the water has evaporated - so for 100g of solid butter you'll get 83g of brown butter.

After experimenting, I worked out that the density of brown butter is 0.93 g/ml (mass/volume, 93g of brown butter is 100ml).

To work out how much solid butter you'll need, you first calculate the weight of brown butter you'll need to get the correct volume by rearranging the density formula (this recipe is the example in bold):

required volume (165, ml) x 0.93 (density) = mass of brown butter (153, g)

Then work out the amount of solid butter needed to create that mass of brown butter, using the package percentages:

mass of brown butter (153, g) / 0.83 (% of fat + others in butter) = mass of solid butter (185g, rounded up to nearest workable weight from 184.3)

I've tried it out a few times and it's always worked. So, erm... yes. For those of you who want to try swapping brown butter for oils in recipes, no need to guess.

[/baking geekery] (Does it make it worse that I just spent a good ten minutes looking up the etymology of 'geek', 'nerd', 'boffin' etc on the OED? Probably.)

Brown Butter Pound Cake
(adapted from Cardamon Orange Pound Cake, which was adapted from the Olive Oil Pound Cake in Alice Medrich's Sinfully Easy Delicious Desserts)

185g unsalted butter
200g caster sugar
pinch of fine sea salt
3 eggs, cold from the fridge
200g plain flour
1 and 1/4 tsp baking powder
165ml whole milk
1 tsp vanilla paste (or extract)

Place the butter into a big pan and set over medium heat. Keep heating until you have brown butter (see this post for more detail/a step-by-step). Pour into a bowl and leave to cool - it needs to be room temperature. If there's any foam still lingering, spoon it off.

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Either line a loaf tin (around 9"/23cm long) or carefully grease a round/decorated tin (the one shown is about 8.5"/21cm across). Scrape the cooled butter into a stand mixer bowl and add the sugar and salt. Beat together until creamy, then add the eggs one by one, beating in between. If it curdles, don't worry - that's normal. Beat on medium-high for 5 minutes (do time this, it makes a difference) until pale and thick.

Sieve the flour and baking powder together. Tip a third into the mix and stir together on low. Slowly add half of the milk and briefly beat. Add another 1/3 of the flour, the rest of the milk, then the rest of the flour, combining in between. Add the vanilla and beat together one last time. Scoop into the tin and spread out.

Bake for 45-50 minutes until a toothpick comes out clean and the cake is a deep brown. Leave to cool in the tin for 5 minutes then turn out onto a rack. Best eaten once cooled. Keeps well in a tin for a few days and freezes extremely well.

(Makes one cake, about 16 slices)

A few related posts:
Old Fashioned Sponge Cake
Ginger Root Bundt Cake
Cardamon Orange Pound Cake

Apricot & Fig Tea Loaf

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 22:36:00 +0000

In December, at the end of a roller coaster year, I made one last decision.

The more I found out about the current state of academia in the UK, the more I realised that if I wanted to follow that path, I'd have to give it 100% of my time and energy to stand a chance. I couldn't do it while giving half - or even a quarter - of myself to food and to this blog.

When I decided to go back to Oxford, I thought I'd be able to balance both, as I had as an undergraduate. But it was far more of a strain than the first time. I struggled to make it work and it became clear that I couldn't keep doing it forever. Uncomfortably familiar essay writing demons came back to haunt me and I spent entire days silently fighting them. Despite the fact I love the subject and enjoyed my tutes and classes, apart from two weeks in the middle of term, I wasn't very happy.

First, I decided that I didn't want to apply for a PhD. Then, a few weeks later, after lots of thinking and talking, I left the masters. I was self-funding and living out of college so it was almost absurdly easy to stop.

It feels like I've made a ridiculous amount of decisions in the last year. I get nervous and a bit embarrassed every time I have to tell people about a change. I guess I think they'll laugh or think less of me. Yet I have no regrets. I had to try postgraduate study to see what it was like - it felt like I couldn't go forward without experiencing it. But in the end, blogging is non-negotiable. I won't give it up.

One of the other reasons I left was that I had an attractive alternative plan.

My mum is a one-on-one private tutor in maths, sciences and various other subjects for an international mix of students. Some come for a handful of hours, some come out of school to be taught solely by her for a term or two. Most are on holiday in Verbier anyway but a few fly out just to see her. She's a gifted teacher. As I've grown up, I've been tutoring too - it's been eight years now, on and off.

The plan is to spend a few months of the year in Switzerland, mainly in the school holidays, working alongside mum. I'm taking on some of her waiting list and adding extras for literature. Between us, we can teach almost any school subject. Family businesses don't seem very fashionable these days but I like being part of a team. It's rewarding work and it means I can stand on my own two feet.

I've just finished two busy weeks of work. The majority of my hours were spent teaching A Level English Literature (in the UK you usually choose three subjects to study in detail in your last year of school, age 18). I hadn't done a huge amount of that level before and I've enjoyed it so much that it's already justified my choice.

Tutoring takes two of my favourite parts of studying - reading and talking about literature - and combines them with teaching, which I've always enjoyed. Watching the confusion fade and the text open up for someone is wonderful and there's nothing better than when they start getting excited by it and begin to trust their ideas and thoughts.

And after all, being paid to talk about Shakespeare and Milton is pretty dreamy.

The best bit is that I'm then free to spend the rest of the year in Oxford working on food projects. The tutoring will take the pressure off the food by paying the bills. I'm looking into more freelance magazine work and I'm mulling over new book proposal ideas. This time I'm going to take things slowly.

Someone once described my life as a pendulum swinging between academic and creative dreams. It
swings hard and high in one direction - sometimes wildly, at speed - yet the moment it peaks it inevitably starts moving back down the curve again and more and more of the other side creeps in. I'm hoping that my plan will take advantage of the momentum and harness the periods of alternating inspiration - and in doing so, give me some peace and control.

This loaf is mum's creation. We had some dried figs and apricots that I'd stewed with vanilla sitting neglected in the fridge. She was making our old favourite Irish Tea Loaf and decided to toss the stewed fruit in. It took me several attempts to recreate that original chucked-together loaf as she isn't the best at writing things down and will happy double or treble things like pecans if she wants more nuts and then promptly forget how many she put in.

It's something to bake on a quiet day at home - a Sunday, perhaps. None of the steps are complicated but it does take a bit of time to simmer, cool and bake. It makes up for this by keeping for ages and being really easy to tuck into a pocket or bag for a satisfying snack. I took some for the plane yesterday (from the loaf before this loaf) and it gave me plenty of energy to get through the journey.

I can't put my finger on why I love this recipe so much. It's a bit odd and doesn't fit. It's not really cake but it's not bread either. It's much better than normal fruit cakes (and I like fruit cake). It's loaded with tea-soaked fruits and toasted pecans. It has this sweet, crunchy outside that's almost shiny - I reckon it's because you make the sugar into a syrup.

We eat it in thin slices with curls of cold salted butter and cups of steaming Earl Grey.

P.S. I had a photography issue which meant I couldn't post until I got back to the UK - apologies for the delay.

Apricot & Fig Tea Loaf
(adapted from the Irish Tea Cake in Delia's Book of Cakes)

125g dried apricots
125g dried figs
100g sultanas (I used golden)
1/2 a vanilla pod
200ml Earl Grey tea
150g pecan halves
100g light brown sugar
pinch of fine sea salt
1 egg
225g plain flour
1 and 1/2 tsp baking powder
2 tbsp milk

Tip the apricots, figs and sultanas into a saucepan. Split and scrape the piece of vanilla pod and add the pod and seeds to the pan. Stew the tea until it's a deep reddish-amber then pour over the fruit. Place over a very low heat, cover and cook for 1 hour until plump and soft - stir occasionally. Leave covered to cool.

Preheat the oven to 170C. Line a 9x5" (or similar size) loaf tin with baking parchment or lightly greased foil. Place the pecan halves on a tray and toast in the oven for about 5 minutes until they smell good and darken slightly. Chop the pecans into small chunks and leave to cool. Drain the fruit, saving the little bit of liquid left - I usually have about 50ml. Top up to 80ml with water and tip back into the pan. Add the sugar and salt and place back over the heat. Stir until the sugar has dissolved then pour into a big mixing bowl. Cut the apricots and figs up into small chunks.

Stir the fruit and nuts into the sugar syrup. Beat the egg then add to the bowl and mix in. Sift the flour and baking powder over the top then stir in - it will be pretty stiff. Add the milk and stir until all the milk and flour is combined. Scoop into the loaf tin and smooth out. Place in the oven and bake for an hour until a toothpick inserted into the middle of the loaf comes out clean. After 40 minutes you may need to cover the loaf with a bit of foil to stop it browning too much. Cool for a minute then remove from the tin and lining and leave to fully cool on a rack. Keeps very well in a tin - at least a week.

(Makes 1 loaf)

A few related posts:
Fig & Hazelnut Crumble Bars
Chocolate Pecan Krantz Cake
Pear and Chocolate Loaf 2.0

Hazelnut Praline Bombe

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 03 Jan 2013 23:09:00 +0000

Happy New Year!

I served slices of this bombe with a hot chocolate sauce on New Year's Eve, but after seconds and thirds (just to make sure...), we decided that it drowned out the flavour of the ice cream.

It's best served alone, so you can give the nutty caramel flavour and the creamy but slightly grainy texture - contrasted with the outer crunch - your full attention.

Hazelnut Praline Bombe
(Ice cream base adapted from David Lebovitz's Vanilla Ice Cream)

For the praline:
160g whole hazelnuts
125g granulated sugar

For the ice cream base:
330ml double cream
170ml whole milk
50g granulated sugar
big pinch of salt
4 egg yolks

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Tip the hazelnuts onto a tray and place into the oven. Toast for 4-5 minutes - they should smell good and might look a bit oily. Lie a sheet of parchment paper flat on your worktop. Sprinkle the sugar for the praline into a heavy-bottomed medium pan and shake into an even layer (if possible use a frying pan or one that's not too deep - the cold sides will harden the caramel when you scrape it out, so the higher the side the more caramel you'll lose).

Place the pan over a medium heat - it will take a few minutes for the sugar to start to melt but keep an eye on it. Don't stir the sugar, though you can gently move/flick the unmelted sugar with a heatproof spatula into the patches that have melted. It may start to colour in patches - keep heating until it has all melted and is a uniform deep bronze colour. Quickly add the hazelnuts and stir, then immediately scrape out onto the parchment paper. Leave to harden.

When the praline is cool, cut off 60g and set it aside. Place the rest in a food processor and keep blending until you have a paste.

To make the ice cream base, pour 200ml of the cream into a medium saucepan along with the milk, sugar and salt. Pour the remaining 130ml of cream into a jug or bowl and place a metal sieve over the top. Put the egg yolks into a small bowl, break them up with a whisk, and place near the stove. Heat the cream/milk on medium-high until it starts to steam, then pour about about a third into the yolks, whisking the yolks as you pour. Scrape the yolk mixture back into the pan and whisk briefly to combine. Place back over the heat and use a wooden spoon to stir until the custard thickens so that it covers the back of the spoon (see here for help on making custard and consistency). Pour through the sieve into the cream bowl. Add the praline paste and stir until the mixture is uniform. Cover with cling film and chill overnight.

The next day, line a 3/4 litre pudding bowl (or similar sized bowl) with cling film, leaving enough overhang to fold in and cover the top. Churn the ice cream according to the instructions for your ice cream maker. Scoop the ice cream into the pudding bowl, pressing down as you go so there are no bubbles or gaps. Level off, fold the cling film over the top and place in the freezer to firm up for at least 3 hours.

Bash up the remaining praline - either in a pestle and mortar, the processor or by placing it in a bag and bashing it with a rolling pin. The pieces need to be fairly small but not powder. Remove the bombe from the freezer and use the cling film to ease it out of the bowl. Turn out onto a serving plate. Leave it to soften for 5 minutes then press the praline into the sides and top. Serve, then cut into slices.

(Serves 6-8)

EDIT: I'm thinking of testing this again soon to see if it's nicer if you strain the custard before churning the ice cream - I can't decide if I like the slightly grainy texture or not. It keeps coming back to haunt me - until I manage to try it again, it's up to you if you want to strain it to make a smoother ice cream or leave it as it is.

Best of 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 27 Dec 2012 22:39:00 +0000

Every year, on New Year's Eve, I write a letter to myself. I scrawl all of the most important moments, feelings and choices of the past year onto paper, without jumping back to edit or read. I add on my hopes and plans for the year to come. Then I seal it up and put it away, ready to be opened a year later. It's my way of concluding the year and turning towards the next.

My other tradition is to post about five recipes from the passing year that I think deserve the spotlight (but haven't featured on my sidebar or had much attention). This year I've added text to the images, so click on the photo to see the post.

Which is your favourite?

You can also look at the:
Best of 2010
Best of 2011

Toasted Cinnamon Marshmallows

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 20 Dec 2012 23:59:00 +0000

8 firemen. 2 enormous fire engines. 2 hours until twenty guests arrived. 1 embarrassed, tearstained cook.

I'd been searing the chicken pieces, mushrooms and onions in small batches for about 40 minutes. I sloshed brandy into the pan to deglaze it and multiplied the quantity by ten for my huge batch. I wasn't surprised when the pan burst into flames but I was surprised by the rather large ball of fire in front of me and the way it wasn't going out, choosing to burn into the fan hood above the hobs and lick around the cupboards. I panicked, worried that the electrics in the fan were going to catch, grabbed my electric/liquid fire extinguisher, flung the tab to the floor and pressed the button.

Hunched over, with my apron clenched to my mouth, I ran around opening windows as the house filled with a fog of white powder, reaching from the ceiling down to my waist. The smoke alarm kept ringing as the dust clouds bellowed out of the windows. My friend E, who lives across the street, let herself in and found me sitting on the gravel in the garden in tears, jabbing at my phone with a shaky finger.

Four minutes later, the flashing blue lights of two huge fire engines turned down my road, their sirens coming to a stop as the men jogged down the road in full kit. They were so lovely, insisting that they checked everything while calming me down and assuring me it was better to overreact and be careful. They found my concern for the ruined food highly amusing and joked that I should call the local Indian for takeaway.

[For reference for those in the UK, I called 101 as I'd put the fire out and wanted advice - they put me through to the fire service (and said I could have called 999 if I wanted). The fire people insisted on coming to check everything - I was very embarrassed when I realised they'd sent so many men but they were so charming and really didn't seem to mind. I was pleased that I had a fire extinguisher and blanket easily accessible on top of my kitchen counter and had installed smoke alarms in my house - it really does make a difference in an emergency, even if this was a small one.]

Thankfully the only damage was the fan hood (it turns on but makes a horrible noise), the pan and some of the food and drink I'd prepared. Luckily I hadn't set out all the food on plates - that was my next job. One of the casualties was a big tray of these marshmallows that I'd prepared so we could roast them in the fireplace. They looked so normal with their extra layer of white powder.

I still had vanilla shortbread and mince pies waiting to be baked in the fridge. I had a few nets of clementines and the remnants of the gingerbread (one tin had been knocked to the floor in the chaos - many reindeer lost their heads and limbs). The cheese (an oozing slice of unpasturised Swiss vacherin, a hunk of manchego and a lovely goat cheese) was well wrapped and the crackers and little squares of quince membrillo I'd made were safe. I still had potatoes to bake, herby salad and some burnt and peeled peppers, along with strong cheddar and some tuna from the cupboard. Sadly I completely forgot to serve the tiny slices of salted caramel and cocoa nib brownie I had stashed in the freezer (though now I get to eat them...). We had enough.

It wasn't perfect. I didn't have time to shower and change, so I spent the party in the old clothes I'd thrown on to clean that morning. The house wasn't too dirty but I hadn't had time to clean properly as we'd been frantically cleaning every single thing in the kitchen to get rid of the powder (which, miraculously, didn't seem to settle elsewhere). The food wasn't as I'd imagined it. But I was safe, as was the house. I made new batches of mulled wine and mulled cider, cracked open some champagne and relaxed. Nobody cared about the details. It was a wonderful, warm evening filled with friends I don't get to see enough - of course it was perfect, in its own memorable way.

My marshmallows always weep. I've tried different recipes, added and subtracted ingredients, but the effect is always the same. I thought I'd nailed it yesterday but low and behold, they wept overnight. You can solve it by dabbing with kitchen paper and letting the cubes dry again on a rack, but it's such a faff and I'm sure there's something I'm not doing right, even though I love the taste and texture.

I haven't included the recipe (just like the first time I made marshmallows) but I'll definitely keep trying and be back soon with a solution. I don't want you to try a recipe I'm not confident about (the archives sometimes keep me awake at night, but that's another story).

I tried steeping crushed cinnamon sticks in the water I used for the syrup. I concentrated it by boiling some of the water off before using it but I still lost the flavour once it had been made into marshmallow. In the end I settled for adding normal ground cinnamon at the end.

They toast beautifully, browning and burning on the outside and liquifying on the inside - so much so that the one above slid the whole way down the stick. They're sticky, satisfying and warm with spice - do try adding cinnamon to your favourite marshmallow recipe. Even if I can't get them just right (yet), homemade marshmallows are always joyful (a bit like parties with good friends).

(And, finally, I quickly whipped the fire guard out for the first and third photos but I usually use it - fire safety!)

A few related posts:
Pomegranate and Berry Pavlova
Almond Brandy Butter
Baked Oatmeal

Father Christmas Gingerbread Cookies

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 13 Dec 2012 23:55:00 +0000

Last Thursday my fridge/freezer died.

This was not appreciated.

It did make me appreciate the cold weather, as the garden became our fridge. As the weather turned even colder a few days ago, it even became a freezer - but sadly not in time to save our frozen food, which, after one last feast, went down with the leaking ship.

The timing wasn't exactly perfect as I'd wanted to make and freeze some things for the the Christmas/Housewarming party I'm throwing on Saturday. I've been overexcited about the party for months - I started a Pinterest board of inspiration a mortifying eleven weeks ago.

Thankfully these gingerbread cookies can be stored at room temperature. However, the dough does needs to be chilled overnight first. I made a second batch of these on the day it broke, so I tucked the wrapped dough into a snap-down Greg-the-squirrel-proof box and put it outside with the milk. The salvageable fridge items followed it outside the next morning and lived there for five days until I finally received the replacement yesterday. I think the delivery men thought I was a bit weird - I guess white goods don't usually inspire such joy.

I first came across moulds like this on Dolcetto Confections. I followed her link and bought this mould from House on the Hill. They're expensive but I fell in love with the idea and figured that it would last for many years to come. (They'd make a great gift for a keen baker if you're looking.)

I like that each print is slightly different - each cookie, especially each face, has its own character.

(When I put these photos through iPhoto, it tried to tag the faces on the cookies. I found this hilarious so I thought I'd share - though it may well be one of those things where you had to be there...)

You can also use this dough to make cookies with a cutter. I used some of this batch of dough to make prints and then stamped out smaller ones from the rest. I rolled them quite thin, so they came out hard. If you prefer soft gingerbread (like the moulded ones) you can roll it thicker.

I really like this recipe - which should come as no surprise, since it's adapted from Tartine. I like that you can use one dough for both hard and soft cookies. I like that they keep very well - I baked these last Friday and they'll still be lovely for the party, eight days later. I like how spicy the dough is, stuffed with ginger, cinnamon, black pepper and cloves, all rounded out by a touch of cocoa powder.

It's my favourite type of Christmas recipe: one I know I will make for years to come.

Moulded Gingerbread Cookies
(Adapted from Tartine by Elizabeth Prueitt and Chad Robertson)

For the cookies:
520g plain flour
4 tsp ground ginger
3 tsp cocoa powder
2 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground cloves
1 tsp finely ground black pepper
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2 tsp fine sea salt
225g unsalted butter
190g caster sugar
1 egg
200g black treacle
100g golden syrup

For the glaze:
115g icing sugar
2 tbsp water

In a big bowl, weigh out the flour, ginger, cocoa, cinnamon, cloves, pepper, bicarb and sea salt. Use a whisk to stir until the spices are evenly distributed. In a mixer, beat the butter until it is soft and creamy. Add the sugar and cream until smooth and fluffy. Beat the egg lightly then add half to the bowl. Scrape down then beat until combined. Add the other half of the egg and beat again. Scrape down again and add the treacle and golden syrup (I took the bowl off the mixer and placed it on the scales, then weighed in the syrups - much less mess). Beat until uniform and scrape down. Add the flour mixture and turn the mixer onto its lowest setting until the mixture comes together. Scrape the dough onto a sheet of cling film then wrap tightly and chill overnight.

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F. Take half the dough and roll it out on a well floured surface to a thickness of about a cm. Dust the surface of the dough and the inside of the mould with flour. Place the mould on the dough then press very hard (I stood on a stool to get my body weight behind it). It can help to press the bottom, then middle, then top (or any other series of sections). Carefully lift the mould off the dough. If it hasn't printed all of the details, put the mould back down and press harder. If it rips as you pull it up, place another bit of dough over the rip, dust with flour and print again. Slide a palette knife under the print then use a knife to cut it out. Transfer to a sheet. Repeat until you've finished the dough, re-rolling as needed. You can very gently dust excess flour off the prints with a soft pastry brush if needed.

Place the tray into the oven and bake for 7-12 minutes, depending on the size and thickness. They should start to brown around the edges but still be soft to touch in the middle. While they bake, whisk together the icing sugar and water. Once the cookies have cooled for 2 or 3 minutes on the sheet, carefully transfer them to a wire rack and gently but confidently brush the surface with the glaze. Repeat with any other trays. Leave to cool on the rack then keep in an airtight box for up to 2 weeks.

(Makes different amounts of different sizes... I made 8 big prints then about 35 small thin shapes)

Mince Pies v.2

noreply@blogger.com (Emma Gardner) — Thu, 06 Dec 2012 22:56:00 +0000

A few weeks ago I was asked by The Everygirl if I'd like to write a piece about one of my favourite festive recipes. Without a moment of hesitation, I chose mince pies.

Back in 2010, I posted recipes for our mincemeat and mince pies. Homemade mincemeat is genuinely one of my favourite things to eat. In a pie, on a spoon - I don't care. It's completely different from the stuff you can buy. For the piece I reshot the photos and adapted the recipes into cups. Other than that I didn't change too many things, so the original posts still stand for gram measurements (though the mincemeat is a half batch in the feature, I used a few dried cranberries and I added the brandy at the beginning).

You can read the feature here - it also includes recipes from the lovely ladies at Sprinkle Bakes, Butter me up, Brooklyn!, Channeling Contessa and Ever Hungry.

While I was writing up the recipe, an idea kept niggling at me: shortbread instead of pastry. After I'd sent it in, I adapted my Whole Vanilla Bean Shortbread recipe and gave it a go. It was such a success that I wandered around the house for about an hour with a big grin on my face. I used to think that a rich pastry would be too much. It's not.

Of course, when I googled it, I discovered that it's a totally normal variation. But still. Best mince pies I've ever made.

Shortbread Mince Pies

50g cold unsalted butter
25g caster sugar
65g plain flour
pinch of sea salt
Approx 5 tbsp homemade mincemeat

Cut four thin strips of baking parchment and place them across the bottom of four cups in a muffin tin, making sure the ends reach up to the top of the sides (like a ribbon to take out a battery). Place the butter and sugar into a food processor and blend until you have a paste (you could also beat it in a stand mixer, but be careful not to overwork it). Add the flour and pinch of salt and pulse until the mixture has combined and starts to form tiny clumps. Divide the mixture between the cups then press into the walls and bottom as evenly as you can. Neaten up the top with a knife if you like - you can use any extra to make decorations. Place in the fridge and chill for at least 30 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 160C/320F. Spoon about 3-4 teaspoons of mincemeat into each cup. Bake for 16-18 minutes until the shortbread is golden brown and the mincemeat is bubbling. Leave in the tin to cool for five minutes them use the strips to pull them out of the tin. Serve warm with plenty of cream.

(Makes 4, easily scaled up)

A few related posts:
Bûche de Noël
Quick Christmas Fruit Cake
Stollen Wreaths