Butter. Flour. Eggs.

Archive for the ‘Chocolate’ Category

Profiteroles

“One nice thing eez, the game of love eez never called on account of darkness.” – Pepe Le Pew

Pepe Le Pew: now there’s a true romantic. He never gives up on love. He approaches it with a single-mindedness that could almost be enviable. And yes, you may have noticed that he is as French as une baguette. The last bit makes sense, given that Parisians, indeed all French, have had a reputation for romance grafted onto their identities like a tattoo. (That Pepe Le Pew happens to be a cartoon skunk is irrelevant to my thesis.)

I have been trying to find out why Paris is considered the most romantic city in the world. No matter who I ask or where I look on the internet, the closest answer I can get is that “it just is.” Songs have been written about it, movies have been made, and books have been published. So who am I to argue?

Perhaps you are familiar with the famous “French Paradox.” This is the observation that the French suffer a relatively low incidence of heart disease, despite having a diet relatively rich in saturated fats.

Pepe Le Pew

But herein lies my French paradox: how can it be that a place and a people so famous for being romantic can also be famous for rudeness? (Not like New Yorkers, who are sooooo nice.) It reminds me somehow of what Socrates said about love, “The hottest love has the coldest end.” So perhaps my paradox is explained by twisting Socratic reason: French passion burns white hot, but is icy cold when you ask for your vin ordinaire to be refilled. They may be rude, but they’re rude with style.

(Quoting Pepe Le Pew and Socrates in the same story must be some kind of journalistic breakthrough.)

The following bit of news is unlikely to come as a surprise: for me all roads lead to food, and any place where your visit isn’t considered complete unless you’ve partaken of an éclair or two (or three) gets a gold star on my map. So if the people are rude, I figure I can always drown my sorrows at les patisseries, non?

Valentine’s Day is this weekend. Last week I described baking Valentine Heart cookies. They are a sweet and wonderful thing to make for your special someone, but if something more transcendent is called for then may I suggest a really cheap trip to romantic Paris?

No, I am not saying that you should fly to Paris for a day in the middle of winter (although if you want to that’s good too.) But the Butter Flour Eggs Travel Bureau would like you to know that Paris can be as close as your kitchen, and just as romantic as the real thing. All that is needed is a touch of atmosphere, and, yes, some butter, flour, and a few eggs. Oh, and a big hunk of chocolate. Okay, two big hunks of chocolate.

Here’s the bottom line: if Paris is the most romantic city in the world, then why not toss out the flowers and the candy, and instead serve something typically Parisian? Life may be a box of chocolates, but for me, Valentine’s Day is all about Profiteroles.

Profiteroles are a staple of Parisian patisseries. In simplest terms, they are small cream puffs filled with ice cream and drizzled with chocolate sauce. Such an underwhelming description, yes, but like Paris, it’s more about the experience and the sum of the parts than about the mere bricks and mortar.

I don’t remember the first time I had Profiteroles, but it wasn’t in Paris. I’ve had them through the years here in New York at the venerable Café Un Deux Trois. While I was preparing to write this article I Googled, “Who serves the best Profiteroles in Paris?” Number one on someone’s list was a patisserie named Carette. (Warning to office dwellers, their website site plays music.) If you’ve been to Paris it is likely you are familiar with Carette as it is hardly an undiscovered secret. For several days I have been fixated on their website, specifically the pictures. Looks like a place I could spend an afternoon, eating.

You may be thinking, “Are you crazy? You want me to make cream puffs?” I’m not crazy (at least not measurably), the effort is all in the name of romance, and cream puffs – Pâte à Choux – are ridiculously easy to make. Really. Meatloaf is harder, I swear.

There’s also a dirty little secret about Profiteroles: they can be made a day or two ahead and stashed in the freezer until you need them. Just thaw them for a fleeting twenty minutes or so – long enough to unwrap jewelry (hint hint) – glaze with the intense, oozing gloss of a special chocolate sauce and l’amour is alive in your kitchen. Feel free to eat them with a spoon, but they’re small, so why not pull a “Mickey Rourke” and feed each other with your hands? Messy? Ah, you’ll figure it out.

If your kitchen isn’t especially atmospheric, light a few candles and fire up some classic French love songs on your iPod; anything by Charles Aznavour, Edit Piaf, or Yves Montand will do the job, and they’re all available on iTunes.

As one of those songs says, “C’est si bon / Lovers say that in France / To the tune of romance / It means it’s oh so good.” I think that is as true for romance as it is for Profiteroles.

Of course on Valentine’s Day, I know a few folks who may prefer a little ditty sung by Beyoncé that beseeches the listener to, “put a ring on it.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Click here for my recipe for Profiteroles.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Write to me at the email address below with any thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

Valentine's Day Cookies

A couple of classmates from elementary school “friended” me recently on Facebook. To protect the innocent I won’t say how many years have gone by since I’ve seen them. As happy as I was to hear from them after all these years, I also found that it raised some strange emotions for me. I think the passage of time has always had an ineffable quality for me; I can count the time passed in numbers but I can’t quite wrap my head around what it means.

One of these long lost school mates reminded me that when we were kids I always gave everyone in our classroom a Valentine’s Day card. I admit I found this a bit disconcerting:  you mean everyone DIDN’T give everyone in class a Valentine’s Day card?? What was going on there? Were they raised by wolves?

I remember vividly that every year there was the ceremonial carving of the shoe box: everyone decorated a shoe box with a slot cut in the top. Everyone placed them on their desks to serve as a Valentine’s Day mailbox. I remember a flurry of activity as everyone ran around the classroom delivering their cards. I do not remember why I was so generous with my little paper hearts and cupids. Was I sentimental or romantic? Was my Mom teaching me some early lesson about etiquette and letter writing? Maybe it was the simple math of me observing that there were twenty-something cards in the pack, and assuming that I was supposed to use them all?

Whatever the reason, it is a relief to know that for once, I had it covered. Phew.

Living here in New York, I am a witness every year to the adult version of this ritual. I always get a laugh out of seeing the long line of quietly panicked men at the florist and at the Godiva store much too late on Valentine’s Day. I never see women in those lines. I’m not sure why, but I got a hint the other day when my Baby Niece (or “B.N.”) called me – more than two weeks before Valentine’s Day – and asked if I would help her make a special treat for her boyfriend (lower case.) I think she’s trying to make him her Boyfriend (upper case.)

She wants to surprise him with cookies (he doesn’t read this blog so this won’t ruin the surprise.) I think this is a great idea. Anyone can go out and buy chocolate, but the extra step of making something or planning something is what makes a gift romantic on Valentine’s Day. It says, “I was thinking of you, and you mean enough to me that I took the time and planned something special.” I am not advocating stalking, rather, I am merely suggesting consensual obsession.

Nor am I advocating that you should forego including jewelry as part of your Valentine’s Day gift. If I did that I would likely be disinherited by my Mother and have to endure the scorn of the other women in my family, as well as countless others. Jewelers everywhere can now breathe a sigh of relief.

I was more than willing to bake the cookies for her and let boyfriend (lower case) operate under the delusion that she baked them – the sugary equivalent of Cyrano de Bergerac. (How’s that for romantic?)

But no, B.N., an intrepid young woman, insisted that she needed to do it herself under my supervision. My only concern was that my kitchen is a bit snug for two adults to comfortably work. Also, we were planning on dipping the cookies in chocolate; to bake them, wait for them to cool, and then dip ‘n decorate (can I trademark that term?) would mean perhaps a longer day than either of us was willing to give to the project.

In the past I have described my usual division of labor for projects of this type. To be brief, I prefer to break the work into pieces. For these Valentine cookies I decided that the pieces should be: A) I’ll make the cookie dough B) I’ll bake the cookie dough C) B.N. will decorate the cookies.

That weighty decision done, I unearthed a very simple, not too sweet, shortbread recipe I had cobbled together. This is one of those “double duty” recipes I always like. You can use it for cookies, but if you omit the egg it makes a great crust for lemon bars, or pecan bars. As B.N.’s boyfriend (lower case) prefers milk chocolate (I approve!), I thought this humble cookie would be the best delivery system for the milk chocolate.

We had a bit of time between “cookie day” and Valentine’s Day, so I knew I needed to be extra careful with the chocolate. During that time the chocolate could become streaky or discolored – especially if refrigerated. Tempering chocolate is a process that allows you to melt it and let it set again without streaking or discoloring. Tempering chocolate requires raising it to a particular temperature, then cooling it slowly by folding it over on itself on a cool marble slab. It requires a bit of skill, patience, and space. I’m one for three. Barely.

Instead, I found a shortcut technique in a really beautiful book titled, “Baking At Home with The Culinary Institute of America.” Their shortcut involves simply melting two thirds of the chocolate on top of a double boiler, then adding the remaining un-melted chocolate and allowing it to melt while stirring until the chocolate reaches 84˚F to 87˚F. Sounds convoluted? The fault is in my description, it is really very simple.

B.N. and I had a blast. This is a really low stress project. One of the reasons for the lower stress is the sheer scale of the project: at Christmas you feel compelled to bake enough cookies to feed a small country. On Valentine’s Day you can get away with as few as three or four and as many as a dozen. Unless you’re baking enough for the whole class.

You can see samples of our collaboration in the picture above. The question remains: will boyfriend (lower case) be promoted to Boyfriend (uppercase)?

We’ll see. But for now I’ve got another Valentine’s Day covered. Phew.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Click here for my recipe for chocolate dipped shortbread cookies.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Write to me at the email address below with any thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

In glorious Technicolor, and Stereophonic Sound

Every time I watch a holiday movie, an angel gets its wings. I can’t help it. During the holiday season my fascination with food as it is portrayed on screen dovetails with an obsession I’ve long had with holiday-themed movies. Yes, I know everyone loves “It’s A Wonderful Life”—me too. But there are other movies I watch that are perennial favorites which also tickle my foodie-bone.

“Holiday Inn” is a veritable buffet. Most folks would be content with Fred Astaire dancing and Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas” beside a glowing hearth in an empty inn. Not me. I look for the scenes where Bing is in the kitchen plating New Year’s dinner to music, and later, lovesick over losing the girl (you know the formula: boy gets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back), he refuses to eat “Mr. Jones”, the Thanksgiving turkey, claiming he knew “Jonesey” too well. The Thanksgiving dinner he refuses always makes my mouth water – startling when you consider that the movie is in black and white.

Crosby is perhaps better known for singing “White Christmas” in a later movie named for the song itself. As much as I enjoy that movie, and in spite of the fact that it is also set at an inn, it doesn’t have the same culinary appeal as “Holiday Inn.” The most we get to see is a glass of Coke and the remains of a sandwich. But that’s okay, the movie has other charms.

This year though, my attention has been drawn to a lesser-known holiday movie, “Christmas in Connecticut.” I have been writing this blog for several months and writing about the charms and limitations of cooking in my small New York apartment is, I think, part of what makes the engine run. “Christmas in Connecticut” shares a similar theme, albeit with the conceit that in addition to working from a tiny New York City apartment, the protagonist, Elizabeth Lane, “America’s Best Cook” (played by Barbara Stanwyck), actually can’t cook. (I can!) But here’s a taste of what I mean, and why, this year, I am so tickled by this film:

The camera pans from a close up of a woman’s hands typing on a portable typewriter to a grimy window from which we can see the backs of several New York City buildings. In the foreground, waving in the wind, laundry is drying on the clothesline of a neighboring apartment.

Elizabeth: “From my living room window as I write, I can look out across the broad front lawns of our farm like a lovely picture postcard of wintery New England.”

The camera tilts down to a radiator, which is hissing loudly as steam escapes from a valve.

Elizabeth: “In my fireplace the good cedar logs are burning and crackling.”

The camera pans back to the desk to reveal Elizabeth Lane as she takes a bite of her breakfast: a plate of sardines.

Elizabeth: “I’m just about to go into my gleaming kitchen to test the crumbly brown goodness of the Toasted Veal Cutlets á la Connecticut in my oven. Cook these slowly…”

I’ll spare you the plot synopsis—rent the DVD from Netflix—but suffice it to say that Stanwyck finds herself in a bind and ends up having to go to great lengths to live up to the farm housewife image she has created. It’s a charming film, perhaps a bit old fashioned, but if you’re looking for lessons about life to reflect on during the holiday season, this is not the movie to screen. Stick to “It’s A Wonderful Life” for sermonizing; this flick is purely a romantic comedy.

But it’s that small patch of real estate that Elizabeth Lane and I share that makes me reflect on some of the hoops through which I must leap in my own cracker box-sized urban kitchen. The flip side is, of course, that I think I could teach a thing or two about project planning, including risks, milestones, and scope creep. Cooking or baking is the supreme exercise in organization. Start with a concept, make a list, end with a birthday cake; it’s not magic, it’s organization. (That thumping noise you hear is yours truly patting himself on the back.)

I always joke that if, someday, I am blessed to have a huge, fully tricked out kitchen, due to my experience in my itty-bitty kitchen, I will still use only a few square inches of space, and continue to balance all the bowls on the edge of the sink (uh, the huge, deep, white porcelain farmhouse-style sink.)

Ha ha ha.

The truth – hopefully—will likely find me luxuriously spread out around a marble-topped island while in the background, the oven of my six burner restaurant-grade stove is preheating. “Where did I leave those eggs? Uh-oh, they’re all the way over there.”And ‘round and ‘round that island I will trot, lap after lap, burning off the calories of the goodies I am preparing.

Ah, one can dream. Are you listening, Santa?

Many years ago I waited tables in a distinguished Manhattan restaurant run by an equally distinguished chef. The dirty little secret was that the kitchen was smaller (and hotter!) than most home kitchens, including some New York apartments. Yet, they turned out four-star cuisine (still do.)

I always consider eating to be one of life’s great pleasures. There’s a reason food tastes good. There’s a reason why food in every culture is an expression of love. Consider the word “feed.” We feed our stomachs. We feed our souls. Sometimes if we’re lucky we accomplish both in the same exercise. Food maintains us, helps us thrive and grow—sometimes to excess, yes, but you get the point.

So, it isn’t the size of the kitchen, is it? It’s the size of the heart.

(I’ll just keep repeating that over and over the next time I feel hemmed in by my kitchen.)

Okay, my holiday sermon is done. I’m hungry! Let’s eat!

You’re wondering: what is that big, fat, chocolaty concoction in the picture above? That’s the Buche de Noël I made for a friend’s Christmas party. Also known as a Yule Log Cake, it is not exactly subtle or delicate. Calling it sweet would be an understatement. While transporting it to the party I kept referring to it (in my mind) as “The Beast”—understandable, as it was large enough to serve at least fifteen people. What makes me laugh is that folks at the party were a bit intimidated by it. Someone had to drag me out of the kitchen (where all good parties end up) with the exhortation that, “Everyone wants to eat the Yule Log, but they’re afraid to touch it unless you make the first cut.”

Really? That wouldn’t have stopped me: I would have asked, “Hey, where’s the knife?”

Of course I also made cookies for the party, but I wanted some kind of special focal point on the dessert table, something epic. If I were in the movie business this would be my big holiday release. Consider it my “White Christmas in Connecticut at Holiday Inn.” It stars two flavors of buttercream (chocolate and coffee), with cocoa biscuit á roulade (jellyroll cake) in a supporting role. A chorus of beautiful meringue mushrooms rounds out the cast.

I hope you are duly entertained.

Happy Holidays to you and the ones you love! Don’t forget to leave cookies for Santa and the reindeer.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A few days ago I had the great pleasure of spending time with a wonderful woman named Helen Stafford of the Ronald McDonald House of New York. Helen gave me a tour of this amazing facility which provides a temporary “home-away-from-home” for pediatric cancer patients and their families. The Ronald McDonald House is supported entirely by private donations. Please read about this amazing place, and keep them in mind when considering your year-end charity donation.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Want to make your own Buche de Noël? Write to me at the email address below if you want the recipes and process for the Buche de Noël—or any other thoughts you may have. Thanks!

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

What happened to the turtledoves?

We’re in the thick of the holiday rush. That perplexing commercial for Elizabeth Taylor perfume (“…these have always brought me luck”) is on heavy TV rotation, the Food Network is re-running every holiday-related challenge, Iron Chef competition, or Rachael Ray special they ever produced, and I went to sleep last night unable to get the smell of sugar out of my nose.

Not that I mind, because I think all of this frantic activity is fun. However, my tiny kitchen is on the verge of tears. My kitchen need not fret: the bulk of its work is done, and now my attention has moved to my holiday card list. All any of this requires is a little organization and the right tools.

The latter reminds me of my Dad. When I was a little kid, we lived in an old two family house. I doubt that my Dad ever baked a cookie in his life, but off in the corner of the basement of that old house he had a workshop. I remember the basement as being a dark, kind of spooky place (although it couldn’t have been too bad: my Mom went down there every day to do the laundry) but I remember Dad’s workshop as being bright, clean, and well organized. In my memory, he had every tool needed for every “handy” job that might come up around that crumbling old house. No mere dabbler my Dad, no sir! He rebuilt our entire kitchen himself, including tearing out walls with just a hammer and his bare hands (okay, maybe he didn’t have the right tools for every job, but then he didn’t go around tearing down walls that often.) He was a real handyman. My brother and I have inherited those skills, albeit in a very watered-down form. (Very.)

What I got from watching my handyman Dad is a respect for tools, and this has served me well in the kitchen (ah! You were wondering when I would bring this back to cooking, weren’t you?) I think having the right tools in the kitchen is important if you enjoy cooking—and essential if you are a casual, infrequent, or unwilling cook. If this seems a touch counter-intuitive, keep in mind that the unwilling or unskilled cook can accomplish a lot more, and do it easier and faster with the right tool in hand.

I’m not advocating expensive machines or gadgets here, but merely the addition of a few simple implements. Let’s put it this way: if you’ve always been struggling to eat your eggs with a straw, wouldn’t you be happy if one day someone came along and introduced you to a fork?

Since we are on our final approach to Christmas, lets make sure our tray tables are in the upright position and I’ll introduce you to a few items and tips that could make holiday time in the kitchen easier and more fun. (It’s the holiday season, so yes, it’s supposed to be fun.) I’m going to use holiday cookies as my laboratory for this, but truth be told some of these ideas will serve you well in the kitchen at any time of the year.

The Butter Flour Eggs Cookies 101 Primer

Cookie sheets. Ideally you should get decent cookie sheets that are heavy enough that you feel some heft when you pick one up. The weight of the cookie sheet usually indicates the thickness of the metal. Too thin and the bottoms of your cookies will burn before the tops finish baking. If you can bend it don’t use it. The cookie sheets with the pocket of air between two pieces of metal are good in gas ovens, iffy in certain electric ovens. You can get decent cookie sheets for twelve to fifteen dollars. Be wary of the ones hanging above the eggs at the grocery store. If you’re sitting there thinking, “Hey, I promised to bake cookies for my kid’s class. I’ll do that and then never bake again—ever. I don’t want to spend that much money on cookie sheets.” Fair enough. Buy the disposable aluminum cookie sheets, but stack three together to get approximately the thickness you need to avoid bottom burn. I make no promises for this technique.

Non Stick Finish. Unnecessary. Walk over to the foil and plastic wrap department and buy parchment paper to line your cookie sheets. One roll will set you back less than five dollars and will likely last you a couple of Christmases or more. If you’re more committed to being a baker (in for the long run, eh?) you can invest in a Silpat. Silpats are reusable silicone liners that will last through hundreds of batches of cookies. They usually cost about fifteen dollars. I’ve used both and prefer the parchment paper. It is less friendly to the environment, yes, but I can cut parchment to fit any pan (including cake pans), and I never worry that the flavor of the spice cookies I made yesterday will somehow find its way into the chocolate chip cookies I’m baking today.

Frenchie and pin bands

Rolling pin. Optional. But again if you’re in for the long run, check out the different kinds before you buy. Go to Williams-Sonoma and take them for a test drive. I use what is called a French rolling pin: a simple straight cylinder of ash wood, I find that I have more control with this kind of pin. And it’ll make a good weapon if someone ever tries to attack me while I’m baking. If you don’t want to invest in a rolling pin, make slice and bake cookies, and using small cookie cutters (or freehand with a knife), cut the shapes out of the slices. (I’ll go into more detail about this with the recipe linked at the bottom of this posting.)

My dirty little secret about rolling out cookie dough is that I cheat and use rolling pin bands. These are color-coded elastic bands of varying thicknesses that slip onto each end of the rolling pin and limit how thin I can roll the dough, i.e., yellow equals ¼-inch. I use an Offset Spatula to transfer the cut out cookies to the cookie sheet. This tool’s angled blade lets you slide it under the cookies.

Offset Spatula

Space.Hey, I have a small kitchen too. But if you’re going to bake cookies you need to make a trade off: either lower your expectations about how many cookies you can make, and how fast, or clear the decks to make room for this project.

Stand mixer or bowls. I use a Kitchen-Aid, and am very spoiled by it. But a lot of cookies (and some cakes) can be made with a big bowl and a wooden spoon. Use a bigger bowl than you think you’ll need. You’ll go out of your mind trying to keep all of the batter in your cereal bowl.

Timer. C’mon. You know you’ll use this. Or you can use the clock on your cable box and burn your cookies. I have.

Organization. This is the biggie, the crucible, the scripture. Even if you have every piece of equipment and a gigantic kitchen, you need a game plan. Here’s what I do: I read the recipe through a couple of times to make sure I have all of the ingredients. Then I break the project into three milestones:

ONE: Mise en place: This is a term the pros use that I will translate as: pre-measure all of your ingredients before you start mixing. Pre-chop the walnuts, pre-grate the orange zest, and let the butter and eggs come up to room temperature. Cardinal rule: liquids are measured in a liquid measuring cup (usually made of glass by Pyrex) and dry ingredients are measured in a dry measuring cup (usually metal or plastic.)

TWO: Mix. Whether you use a wooden spoon or a Kitchen-Aid stand mixer, make your cookie dough, wrap it tightly and store it in the refrigerator. Then clean up. You’re done for the day.

THREE: Bake. The next day, bake your cookies, and you won’t have to worry about the space or time for cleaning dirty mixers, bowls, and counter tops while you bake. You’ll be much more relaxed, and most cookies taste better and the dough is easier to handle when it has been allowed to chill for at least a few hours.

Wet measuring cups

Dry measuring cups

My last piece of advice is to start small. Roll out just a little bit of dough until you get used to the feel of the dough, how much flour you need to use to keep the cookies from sticking to the board, and how cold the dough should be when you handle it.

Have fun. Remember no one expects you to be a pro; your family and friends will be delighted by your efforts. This is a great messy project to do with your kids. Mind my pearl of wisdom for baking with kids: keep them away from the hot stove, sharp knives, and whatever they do is the most beautiful and delicious cookie you’ve ever seen and tasted. Ever.

This is the stuff of which happy memories are made.

Click here for my Chocolate Pepper Cookie recipe (pictured above) and more holiday cookie baking suggestions.

Holiday cookie questions? Feel free to drop me an email at the address below. I’ll try to help.

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by clicking the biscotti at right or by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

Three martini lunch?

Here at Butter Flour Eggs, my mother is Executive Vice President of Food Nostalgia. Full disclosure: before she could be lured out of retirement to take the job, I was forced to sign a contract approximately the thickness of the Manhattan phonebook that contained a waiver forbidding me from referring to her age in any way. (So read on, and you do the math.)

Mom reminded me recently of a happy food memory she has carried with her for many years. Before my parents got married she worked for one of the high mucky mucks at the State House in Boston. On the days when she felt she could slip away without any risk that the wheels of state government would grind to a halt in her absence, she’d pop over to Schrafft’s for lunch.

Schrafft’s was before my time, but a couple of years ago I read a fun little book called When Everybody Ate at Schrafft’s by Joan Kanel Slomanson. More a reminiscence than a deep dive into the sociology behind the famous chain restaurant, I learned that in spite of Schrafft’s fame as a New York chain (they were almost as ubiquitous as Starbucks are now,) the company actually had deep New England roots. In fact, the Schrafft’s sign still hangs prominently on the Charlestown, Mass. landmark building that once served as the company’s candy factory.

My mom uses the same reverent tones when mentioning Schrafft’s Cottage Pudding that she uses when talking about some of the far-flung trips she and my Dad took.

I had no idea what Cottage Pudding was, and assumed it must have been something amazing. I grilled my mom: was it like bread pudding? No. Was it like those molten chocolate cakes that I just read have been declared old hat? No. Well, what was it then?

As she explained it, Cottage Pudding was a piece of plain white loaf cake served on a plate with warm chocolate sauce.

A piece of plain cake with chocolate sauce inspires a lifetime of reverent memories in a woman who is intelligent, cultured, and well travelled? Go figure, right? But that’s food: you never know what will grab you. And who knows what kind of emotions are tied up in the food we eat. With the weight of running the Commonwealth of Massachusetts practically resting on my Mom’s shoulders, maybe Cottage Pudding was some kind of soothing comfort food. Food is a primal urge. We can’t explain it.

Actually, a nice piece of cake with some warm chocolate sauce doesn’t sound too bad, does it?

But why is it called “pudding?”

I started with a little detective work. Cottage Pudding seems to have been around for a long time before my mother found it. There is a recipe for Cottage Pudding in the early Fannie Farmer cookbooks. A lot of people remember the name Fannie (or Fanny) Farmer from the chain of candy shops that disappeared a few years back, but actually she was a prominent New England cook and teacher, and wrote one of the first cookbooks that used standard measures (i.e., cups and teaspoons) in the recipes. The recipe for Cottage Pudding in the 1918 edition of her The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book (now available on line here) is clearly for a cake.

The umbrella word that the British use for most desserts is “pudding.” If you take this somewhat wider definition of the word “pudding” into consideration, and keep in mind that Farmer was a product of the late 19^th century when there was still a British colonial influence on American food you’ll see that it isn’t much of a stretch for this dessert to be called “pudding.”

I hear you: you don’t want a history lesson, you want cake and you want it NOW! Fine: class dismissed. I’m off to the kitchen. The Schrafft’s chain is long gone but Cottage Pudding lives. I’m performing CPR on it.

I have two tasks at hand. The first is to create a modern version of a “homely” old dessert. The second is to try to provide my mom with a little reunion with a consoling old friend.

The Schrafft’s book I mentioned above was a good source for the Hot Fudge Sauce recipe. It is a basic cream, butter, sugar, chocolate sauce. True to its Schrafft’s roots, the sugary sauce is very “candy-shoppe” in its influence and easy to prepare. But the book doesn’t mention Cottage Pudding, so for the cake I first considered Fannie Farmer’s recipe. It is also very basic, and is likely very simple to make. But it also seems plain to the point of being austere. I think a better challenge would be to bring a little vitality to this party while still staying within the confines of Schrafft’s reputation for plain, home-style cooking.

So I went to my old fallback recipe: Ina Garten’s Lemon Yogurt Pound Cake, which I mentioned in this space a few weeks ago. With a few changes, and perhaps a bit of cosmetic surgery, this would give me a foundation on which to build, and a chance to bring Cottage Pudding into the 21^st century.

I started by scrubbing all of the lemon out of the recipe (Lemon and chocolate never seem to go well together.) But I thought the cake needed some kind of quiet counterpoint to the sticky ooze of the chocolate sauce. Vanilla seemed like the obvious choice, but not just the perfume of vanilla extract: I thought adding vanilla bean would give the cake its own vibrant personality to stand up to its overbearing saucy sister.

But how much vanilla bean? The normal rule in cooking is to start with less, because you can always add more of something but you can’t remove it. But this seemed like one time when breaking that rule was appropriate. I wanted to see what too much vanilla would taste like, so I added the contents of a whole vanilla bean.  This gave the dough an intense vanilla scent and a picturesque speckle of the little black dots from the bean.

In a nod to the current obsession with cupcakes I thought it would be fun to leave the loaf pan on its shelf for now, and try baking the dough in a muffin tin. That would accomplish portion control, yes, but also awaken the primal childhood instinct of having your very own cake (and yes, eating it too.)

My first hint that I was on the right track was the heady vanilla cloud that enveloped me and my kitchen when I opened the oven door to remove the cakes. Don’t be afraid to serve this dessert warm from the oven! The combination of warm sauce and warm cake throwing off its breathy vanilla-ness is intense. The combination of warm sauce and cool cake is equally gratifying—when the warm sauce hits the cool cake you get a slightly less aggressive vanilla hit, more like a poke on the shoulder reminding you, “I’m here too!”

By the way, Fannie Farmer recommended that the cake be served with Vanilla or Hard Sauce. Somehow it ended up at Schrafft’s served with their famous chocolate sauce. I wonder if that was Schrafft’s twist or my Mom’s? She’s been known to ask for a dollop of hot fudge sauce on everything but french fries.

Either way, my first thought on my first bite was, “Ohhhh! Ice Cream Shop!” Eat this and you are taken back in time to the cool air of a marble-lined neighborhood confectionary. I get it now, Mom. You just earned your cushy corner office.

By the way: if you’re into fondue, bake the cake in a loaf pan, cut it into cubes and serve with the hot sauce. I know fondue normally has some alcohol added: might I recommend the merest tipple of Cointreau?

And Mom? Please get back to work. That reminds me: I asked Mom what she had for lunch besides the Cottage Pudding. The famous Schrafft’s Chicken Sandwich? No. Their celebrated Lobster Newburgh? No.

Just the Cottage Pudding. That’s my Mom.

Click here for the Cottage Pudding recipe.

Let me email you when the blog has been updated! Opt in by sending your email address to michael@butterfloureggs.com

Welcome to the USA!

A couple of years ago I noticed a disturbing trend: they tried to take my chocolate away from me.

No, there was no one riding up behind me on a Vespa trying to snatch the Hershey Bar with Almonds out of my hands as I walked along the sidewalk.

I’m talking about a subversive movement that seemed to be afoot to change us chocoholics into chocophiles. I think that sounds vaguely dirty, I resent it, and will not have any part of it.

They wanted us to have parties, and taste chocolate, like they do with wine! Can you imagine it? Melt a little square of chocolate in your mouth, trip the light fantastic with a few adjectives to describe it, spit it out, and then move on to the next. The whole affair just reeks of blue blazers and self control.

Thankfully, this trend has not taken hold. (Yet!) But the aftermath has not been pretty either: it seems that now there is a residual feeling that the only real chocolate is dark chocolate.

Oh, I so beg to differ.

I have a dirty little secret to reveal here: I think I have come to the conclusion that I prefer—dare I say it—milk chocolate.

Don’t misunderstand me: I love dark chocolate. I repeat: I love dark chocolate. 

The problem is that dark chocolate can be so intense. It requires a little bit of work, kind of like a friend who needs constant attention. But good milk chocolate is my friend who can sit with me in silence and neither of us feels conspicuous. We can sit and just “be.”

Before we proceed, you should know this about me: I am a sucker for a foreign wrapper. I once spent an entire afternoon in London roaming the aisles of the local Sainsbury’s (one of London’s grocery store chains.) Leave the famous Harrods’ food halls to the riff-raff; I had to see what Frosted Flakes looked like in London. Where others may bring back tchotchkes stamped, “London” on the side, I’ll bring back a bottle of dish detergent stamped, “By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen.”

Anyway, a few months ago I noticed a small pile of foreign-looking, block-shaped chocolate bars sitting by the checkout counter of Westside Market. The name, “Damak”, was indecipherable to me, which as you can guess only added to the allure, as did the fact that the only recognizable word amongst the Turkish on the wrapper was “Nestle.”

But ever since I got stung with a surprise $7.50 price tag for a chocolate bar at Whole Foods I have been reticent to experiment unless I know the price going in. The cashier told me they were only $2.49—a surprise nowadays when chocolate bars usually grab at least $3.50 from your pocket—but one that lowered my expectations. What the heck. I took a chance.

Is it great chocolate? How do you answer that question? Nowadays chocolate has become a numbers game, albeit a misleading one. Dark chocolate bars run anywhere from 50% to 70% or more cocoa. The fancy-schmancy Scharffen-Berger Milk Chocolate bar is 41% cocoa; the Damak, as far as I can gather, is 29% cocoa (the percentage is buried in the ingredients listing.)

But the numbers here lie, because the Damak bar also has 14% Antep pistachios. Buttery, slightly sweet Turkish pistachios. As you can see from the photo they aren’t ground up, but, true to the picture on the wrapper, left big and chunky. And this is where the magic starts.

It is smooth, lacking the graininess that seems to have afflicted Hershey Bars of late, and seemingly waiting to melt if you smile at it too broadly; to borrow an old advertising phrase, it melts in your mouth and in your hands. I pop a square or two on my tongue, let it melt a bit, then crunch down on the pistachios and let the whole jumble just kind of linger there for a while. I know this sounds like something that requires concentration, but trust me, I can multitask while melting, and that’s perhaps the advantage of the low melting point.

The chocolate has a friendly caramel tang that may remind some of Nutella, but without the suffocating, fatty, frosting heft.

I have no idea what country or genus of cocoa trees the pods came from. I can’t speak to the type of fermentation they use on the beans or the conching process or how the chocolate is tempered. I’m not even positive what “Damak” means. Google it yourself and take your pick.

Do you care about any of that stuff? Or once and for all do you just want me to answer the question, “Is it great chocolate?”

Yes, because I enjoy it. Period.