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Archive for the ‘Chocolate’ Category

Cupcakes and ocean liners

Here’s a startling revelation: I am a soap opera fan. Some years ago my brother came home from college for winter break and stopped everything to watch “All My Children.” Those were the days when soaps were big on college campuses. I was hooked.

Maybe it’s in the blood: family legend has it that in the days before the invention of the VCR, a late Aunt stopped a Passover Seder between the third and the fourth questions so she could watch “Peyton Place”.

By the time I got to college the shared obsession was “One Life To Live” and I have followed that show, a/k/a, “my stories” on and off since then. (Mostly “on” since the invention of the DVR.)

It was recently announced that ABC has decided to cancel “All My Children” and “One Life To Live” and I’ll admit that the announcement made me a bit emotional. Not many folks watch the soaps anymore, so these shows, which used to be cash cows, have become drains on the network’s bottom line. I’m not here to complain or demonize anyone for this decision, after all, that’s show biz. They say that the soaps are dead. Really? Wait until their long lost “twin” shows up.

Supposedly reality TV has supplanted the soaps in the hearts and minds of the audience advertisers most want to reach. If my Baby Niece is any indication, that may be true. Folks have always criticized the soaps for outlandish storylines and silly plot devices. Guilty, but I say therein lies their charm, buffed to a sometimes uneven gloss by actors of varying talents reading from a script.

Reality shows? We are told we are seeing genuine outlandish behavior. Often though, reality TV feels like video of people who waited to misbehave until they saw the red light of the camera. You are left to wonder if they’d be flipping tables or throwing glasses of wine at each other even if the cameras weren’t there. Some great actors got their start on the soaps. Where will Snooki be in thirty years?

In the meantime, this has gotten me thinking about a rapidly changing world. I think a combination of technology and the ticking clock is at play. Nothing new here. Fifty years ago the Boeing 707 rendered the ocean liner obsolete. Yes, we still have cruise ships, but it is not quite the same experience. The s.s. United States was launched in 1952 and was the most technologically advanced liner in the world. She still holds the records for the fastest east and west transatlantic crossings, and it was widely advertised that the only wood on board was in the grand pianos. Yet, she has sat rusting and abandoned since 1969. Even her sleek mid-century interiors have been stripped away: they were loaded with asbestos. But she was—is—defiantly, a ship. In 2011, the largest cruise ship afloat, the “Allure of The Seas” features a tree-lined park, a Starbucks, and a 3-D theater. After all these years the good news is that the s.s. United States may become a fixed attraction on the New York waterfront, but her silent engines will likely bear witness to countless charity dinners, antiques shows, and Martha Stewart craft events.

No Luddite, I, the very fact that I write a blog—new media—is my testimony to that fact. I am a proud member of the digital / social media age, and I think it is all miraculous. Admittedly, I am conflicted about the BlackBerry and the iPhone, but that has more to do with living in a big city and having to constantly dodge people who walk the sidewalks of the city with their heads down, and of being subjected to them singing loudly in the gym to their “headphoned” music. (They hear Pavarotti. We hear the braying of a donkey.)

I was born too late to sail across the Atlantic on the s.s. United States, to see Olivier on stage as Hamlet, or to drive my Mom’s Rambler convertible. These things were meant to exist in their time and then leave behind only rapidly fading evidence of their existence—like paper streamers stretched between those departing on the ocean liner, and those back on the pier.

You assume things will be around forever. They won’t. That’s life.

I’d hate for you to think that I am a Gloomy Gus. No. There’s too much that’s great about the here and now. Someday we’ll be nostalgic for these “simple” times—a chilling thought.

Life is cyclical. The old maxim, “here today, gone tomorrow” should actually read, “here today, gone tomorrow, and then back again.” And look at all the stuff that has been rendered permanent by technology. Start with the written word and climb the ladder to “You Tube”.

Using a bit of old technology, you can even recreate childhood memories. When I was a little kid there was a bakery in Newton Centre, Massachusetts named Bob Ware’s Yum-Yum Shop. Bob Ware’s closed when I was a little kid –seemingly without an internet trace. Google it and you’ll find…me, or actually, my previous mention of the place. But to this day a certain cupcake my Mom used to bring home from Bob Ware’s (probably in her Rambler) has remained etched indelibly in my memory.

So using the aforementioned old technology called “baking”, I have resurrected this old favorite. And as I was leaning over the sink eating my chocolate cupcake (that’s where my Mother always ate them) I thought they were just as I remembered.

Cupcakes like these were likely a staple in neighborhood bakeries: nothing earth shattering, nothing revolutionary.  Their magic was in their subtlety. It wasn’t all about the big pile of frosting on top. I know that there are folks who insist that cupcakes are merely “delivery systems” for the frosting. This cupcake was a bit different and was more a tribute to balance and harmony…and there was not one ounce of buttercream. The cake was really good on its own (very dunkable), the chocolate glaze added a cap that could be peeled off and eaten separately. The ring of boiled frosting on top was as much a textural accent as a visual one. My Mom could linger over it a bit at the sink, one eye on “Love of Life” or “Secret Storm.”

A quiet moment before all hell would break loose: my brother and I coming home from school.

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Click here for my recipe for “Newton Centre Cupcakes.”

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Hot Cross Buns

The last stop before Grand Central Station on the Metro-North commuter train is 125th Street. Once passed, there is a sense of relief and anticipation that you’re almost “there” (that’s the relief)—but that “there” is our jumping, jiving city (that’s the anticipation).

In the case of the Easter and Good Friday holidays, the relief and anticipation are all about spring and summer and nice weather – an all too important consideration after the rough winter we’ve had this year.

Of course, at this time of year it is easy to get over confident about the weather, but Mother Nature tends to be a tricky, moody, old biddy, so we really don’t know what she has in store, but the days are just that much longer, and even the coldest mornings are just that much warmer.

Alongside seasonal weather changes are seasonal supermarket changes, for the spring heralds the arrival of the Passover food on your grocer’s doily-lined shelves, and Hot Cross Buns in the bakery section. The latter were always a curiosity to me. I had tried them and found that their spiced- icky, sticky bun-candied fruit allures held no sway over me. They always struck me as sticky buns gone wrong; bread that wanted to be fruitcake, but realized it had arrived four or five months too late and missed Christmas; dough that took the wrong path. (Has this gotten a bit film noir? Sorry.)

Purely out of a sense of duty then, I felt compelled to make Hot Cross Buns for this blog. My conscience was bothering me: can one write a baking-centric blog and ignore Hot Cross Buns? I think not.

So with that great burden weighing on me (heavy sigh), I started researching them. The great thing about the internet is that if you think it, someone, somewhere, has, at some point in time, written about it. I had an art professor in college – a tough cookie—who liked to say, “There truly is nothing new under the sun.” Surely he was talking about the internet too.

What the internet revealed to me filled me with a great deal of relief. I had expected the basic flavors and ingredients of Hot Cross Buns to be as tightly proscribed as the placement of medals on a military uniform. Turns out I was wrong. The only constants I found amongst all the variations were 1.) duh: there’s always a cross on the top (although not always sweet) and 2.) Hot Cross Buns are sweet.

While Hot Cross Buns may traditionally have been a Good Friday treat, in recent years they have broken off from their niche purpose and become a year-round bakery staple. If I ever needed an excuse to make the long trip down under to Australia (I didn’t), the revelation that the Aussies add chocolate chips to their Hot Cross Buns could certainly have been one. Bravo, Aussies, for that was the inspiration I needed to bring some enthusiasm to the project.

While the Aussies add more than just chocolate chips to their Hot Cross Buns, the allure of chocolate cannot be overstated. After reading this blog each week, my sister-in-law will often write me a short email consisting solely of the words, “Can I put chocolate on that?” I could write about sauerkraut and she would likely ask the same question, for, like me, chocolate is her cure-all. (I even crave it when I have, uh…digestive distress.) This week, the answer is a happy, “Yes, but there’s already chocolate there.”

The internet also revealed a bit of discussion about the texture of the buns. Should they be hearty and dense, or light and puffy? I have come down clearly on the side of light and puffy, and this dictated a lot of technical issues about the recipe. Light and puffy means two rises, and, because we want something just slightly sweet, a little richness in the ingredients is called for. While some bread doughs get by with only water and oil or butter, a whole egg plus a little milk and butter will give our Hot Cross Buns a supple richness that will support the sugar without making the gentle sweetness seem “thin.”

The result reminds me of the wonderful Parisian-inspired subtly sweet rolls they sell at the extraordinary Silver Moon Bakery on New York’s Upper West Side.

The process of baking bread seems intimidating to some, but the truth is, if you can plug in a Kitchen-Aid stand mixer you can bake bread. (Sounds like a sales pitch, no?) Measure a few ingredients, turn on the mixer, then leave the dough to rise. Yes, it can be three or four hours from plugging in the mixer to taking the Hot Cross Buns out of the oven. But you only work for about a half an hour. The rest of the time the yeast and your oven are doing the work. (Sorry, I shout this every time I bake any form of bread.)

I love a recipe that serves more than one purpose. It is a perverse form of recycling, but next week’s Hot Cross Buns could show up at a special holiday weekend breakfast next fall. (Well, not the same actual rolls. I’ll make a fresh batch.) All I have to do is make a squiggle with the icing instead of a cross.

But even that amount of change isn’t needed.

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Click here for my recipe for Hot Cross Buns.

…and don’t miss these great Passover recipes (they’re great any time of the year):

Coconut Macaroons

Passover Honey Cake

Torta di Mandorla per la Pasqua. (A very light Passover chocolate – almond torte)

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Bad guy / Good hat

Frankly, I don’t know why the movie has never been made. The story has all the hallmarks of a great action film. Not to mention that there’s strong woman at the core of the story who saves the day—a great role for a young(ish) actress. Even the advertising slogan practically writes itself: “Haman. Bad guy. Nice hat.”

What follows is my “treatment” of the story of Purim. Working title, “Book of Esther: the Whole Megilla.”

Please note the following: 1.) this means I can now say that I have a movie in development. 2.) Regrettably, none of the stars mentioned are actually attached to the project—yet. 3.) Also, some events have been condensed, changed, or otherwise fabricated to serve the story arch. (Hey, it’s a movie. I’m allowed a little cinematic license.)

We open at a vast banquet in the ancient Persian capital of Shushan. The action starts with the refusal of Vashti (Megan Fox), the wife of King Ahasuerus (Jude Law) to be seen in front of people—as the King has requested– without her veil. For her refusal she is banished. (Hopefully with a good pre-nup in tow.) The King decides to have a competition to find the new Queen. First, they will spend a year in his harem, all expenses paid, being groomed for the role.

Hadassah, (Anne Hathaway? Natalie Portman? Drew Barrymore?) a Jewish orphan raised by her cousin Mordechai (Mark Ruffalo), is helping a friend (not a starring role) prepare to compete for a chance to be in the King’s harem. While retrieving a piece of forgotten luggage from her friend’s cart, a gust of wind blows the contents of the luggage into the street. The task of retrieving the wind-blown clothes is made easier by the assistance of a handsome, yet intimidating stranger in a three-cornered hat (Leonardo diCaprio.) A protective Mordechai is suspicious of the handsome stranger’s attentions to Hadassah.

Cut to the group of harem-wannabes who have now finished competing. Hadassah stands off to the side, but notices that the people who are in charge of the competition are looking at her and nodding in agreement to something the stranger in the three-cornered hat has told them. Much to her surprise, they announce that Hadassah has been chosen for the harem. She glances at the handsome stranger in the three-cornered hat. He nods at her and smiles. (Please note: I created this “meet-cute” plot device. Hey, it’s a movie.)

Hadassah is reluctant, but Mordecai admonishes her to join the harem yet warns her to conceal her Jewish identity. She assumes the typically Persian name Esther, and enters the harem where the King chooses her as his new Queen.

Soon after, a now somewhat lonely Mordechai is drowning his sorrows at bar not far from the palace gates. He overhears two members of the King’s court planning to assassinate the King. Mordechai relays the information to Esther who tells the King. The plotters are caught and executed.

The King (now suffering from insomnia – no doubt brought on by all that stress) then names a new Prime Minister to his court: the stranger in the three-cornered hat enters and is introduced to the court: Haman. The court bows to the new man in charge.

The King orders a parade in Haman’s honor. As the procession makes its way around Shushan, everyone bows to Haman except Mordechai who insists that as a Jew he bows only to God. Haman is not pleased.

In the meantime the insomniac King is reading court documents in the middle of the night when he comes across records that indicate that Mordechai was the one responsible for uncovering the assassination plot against him. He asks Haman how he should honor a man who has been so loyal to the king. Thinking the king is referring to him, Haman replies that a full dress parade is in order.

When Haman finds out that the parade is for Mordechai he is enraged, and, egged on by Mrs. Haman (Keira Knightly?), makes a monetary deal with the sleep-deprived and unwitting King to kill all the Jews in Persia. He and his wife draw lots (“purim”) to decide the date of the massacre. On that date Persians will be free to kill Jews and steal their property. The Jews will not be allowed to defend themselves.

Mordechai begs Esther to talk to the King about this. Problem: if she tries to speak to the King without being summoned she could be put to death. In a courageous move, she seeks out the King who agrees to see her. She asks if she can have dinner with the King and Haman. The meal is arranged during which Haman’s evil plans are revealed and that Esther is Jewish, and therefore, one of his targets. The King orders Haman’s execution, but he escapes and leads the plot against the Jews, although now the Jews have the King’s permission to defend themselves. Our movie climaxes with Esther defeating Haman in a thrilling sword fight. (Outcome? Esther and the Jews 1, Haman and the bad guys 0. However, we reserve the right to be ambiguous about whether or not Haman meets his maker, leaving the door open for sequels.)

Thrilling, no? A total girl-power flick. And high-concept too. How great is it that we have a head start on the merchandising and tie-ins? For hundreds of years little children have been celebrating Purim by dressing as Queen Esther or Haman, and making loud noises whenever Haman’s name is mentioned. It should not come as a surprise that my favorite part of the celebration was always eating  Hamantaschen, the little pastry shaped to echo Haman’s three-cornered hat. Holiday-themed food seems to have always been my raison d’etre.

Growing up I always found Hamantaschen suspiciously close to Danish pastry; in fact there was one very cakey variety (that I haven’t seen since I was a kid) that would be perfect in the morning with a little coffee. Hamantaschen have traditionally been filled with jams, and prune, or poppy fillings—the latter was always my preference.

As an adult I question the absence of chocolate in this equation. Thousands of years of Purim celebrations and we’re still stuffing our faces with the equivalent of a prune Danish? This is something I must fix.

The result is the crunchy shortbread brim filled with a slightly chewy chocolate crown seen in the photo above. The filling isn’t terribly gooey, so your little Queen Esther won’t get her gown dirty. If you’re like me and believe chocolate goes with everything, these should make you happy.

By the way if you think my story treatment is too heavy, I have a lighter version that might make a good Disney animated musical. (Esther would be the first Jewish princess. Okay, the first Jewish Disney princess.)

Working title?  “I’ll Eat My Hat” Cute, huh?

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Click here for the recipe for Hamantaschen.

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Technique!

The actress Melissa Leo dropped “the “F” bomb” in her Oscar acceptance speech the other night. Personally I find this endearing and ironic. Endearing because it was a “real” moment—I place “real” in quotation marks because, let’s face it, it was an Academy Awards acceptance speech; how real could it be? It’s not like they pulled someone in off the street, stuck a statue in her hands and told her to give a speech. Nevertheless there was something genuine about the moment.

I find it ironic because she won the award for playing a rather foul-mouthed character. Or am I simply projecting a self-created veneer on this character? The movie for which she won, “The Fighter”, is a true story set in Lowell, Massachusetts, not all that far from where I grew up. I knew dozens of women like her. To be honest, I was more struck by the hair and makeup in the movie. They nailed it—that’s what those women really looked like.

Like another recent movie, “The Town”, I may have had moments where the accents let me down—the Boston accent is deceivingly difficult to do, and on film is more often done wrong than right. Pahkin ya cahr in Hahvid Yahd (trans: Parking your car in Harvard Yard) is not as easy as it seems. For that matter, I’d be willing to bet that Harvard Yard has a strict no parking policy.

While we’re on the subject of my heavily Irish-influenced home town, I’m reminded that St. Patrick’s Day isn’t far off. Pity the poor foodie on this day. Would it be terribly snarky to suggest that, food-wise, St. Patrick’s Day lacks subtlety? St. Patty’s day is usually celebrated with all things green, including beer and bagels. (I shouldn’t complain: in Chicago they tint the entire Chicago River green.) Irish Soda Bread? I did that last year. Corned Beef and Cabbage? It’s not calling my name.

Ah, but what about dessert? Some of us need a dessert that isn’t mugged and foamy after the Corned Beef and Cabbage. Don’t worry, I practice a strict “No Green Cake” policy.

First, pupils, here is this week’s history lesson. During the years I was growing up in Boston, the Ritz-Carlton was considered the city’s most luxurious hotel. That may or may not still be true, but it was the dowdier Parker House Hotel that was the backdrop against which quite a bit of history was played. The Parker House Hotel has been around in one form or another since 1847, the current building dating back to 1927. Aside from being the first Boston hotel to have hot and cold running water and an elevator, it is also where JFK announced he was running for the Senate, where he proposed to Jackie, and where he held his bachelor party. (We’ll let that last item slide.)

Authors like Edith Wharton and Stephen King wove portions of their stories through the Parker House (although in King’s short story “1408” he names the hotel “The Dolphin.”) Even more interesting is the parade of world-changers like Ho Chi Minh and Malcolm X who walked its halls—as employees. (According to Wikipedia, Ho Chi Minh was a baker. Who knew?)

Naturally the most interesting part of the hotel’s history—to me—is that it is the birthplace of the Boston Cream Pie, and, of course, the Parker House roll.

Boston Cream Pie is one of those old-fashioned diner desserts that we take for granted. For the uninitiated, it is not a pie, it is a cake. It is easy to take it for granted because by modern standards it is—like the Parker House was for many years—dowdy, or plain. Keep in mind that it wasn’t created to be dowdy or plain. It was created to be cutting edge; it is only the passage of time that has dulled that edge.

To make a Boston Cream Pie is to appreciate the tradition and the art that went into its creation. Let me explain it this way: making a Boston Cream Pie is like dancing an old but well choreographed ballet: it’s all about classic technique and basic steps.

In this case the basic steps are chiffon cake, pastry cream, and ganache. Don’t be fooled. While it is only three steps, you must dance each of them perfectly.

The chiffon cake may actually be the easiest. The original recipe likely used genoise, but I like the fragrant, sugary, yolkiness of a chiffon cake better. The vanilla pastry cream just requires a bit of patience and a good whisking arm, but learn to do this step well and you’ve conquered Éclair filling, and perfect, silky, pudding. Ganache requires a good eye for texture: your eyes tell you when it is ready, although there is a bit of leeway here in the definition of “ready.”

The result is like a step back into a scene from “The Age of Innocence.” Or in the case of me and my friends, an Oscar party where it earned very positive notices. The fragrant, eggy chiffon cake blends with the intense vanilla of the pastry cream (which I blended with whipped cream) to make an almost lemony sweetness. I used a whipped ganache on top, although to tell the truth, next time I’ll skip that step and drizzle warm ganache over the top. That will result in a lighter touch with a more intense chocolate hit.

Meanwhile, I wonder what Ho Chi Minh’s Boston Cream Pie was like?

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Drop me a note if you want the recipes for Boston Cream Pie.

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Write to me at the email address below with any questions or 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

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Hey, Scooter Pie!

I remember once being interviewed by a chef for a job as a waiter in his restaurant. He wanted to impress on me that his establishment was a serious place for people serious about food.

Oh, please. I write a blog about food, so I think my love of food and cooking is fairly obvious.  But I have a hard time taking food seriously. I think we need to laugh at it more. About that, I am serious. (Ironic, no?)

For instance, I laughed at a recent article in the New York Times that described the careful process by which many Tokyo coffee houses make their brew. This includes a careful technique for pouring the water over the grounds.

I use a Melitta filter coffee maker to brew coffee at home. I boil the water and then dump it over the grounds. When I no longer hear the “tinkling” sound I know the coffee is ready. I consider this to be the very height of manual work for my coffee because the Melitta replaced one of those machines that ground the beans and then brewed them at the behest of an electric timer. Do I seem like the type of guy who could ever use a special kettle to boil the water and then stand there pouring said water from said kettle over the grounds just so? No sir! (Or Ma’am.)

Obviously my standards for coffee are lowbrow: I like Dunkin’ Donuts Hazelnut coffee. Apologies. As far as the brewing process is concerned all I ask is that my coffee tastes like coffee and that it not have any grounds at the bottom of the cup. Other than that I’m good, thanks.

Another thing about food that always makes me laugh is when I think back to some of the juvenile delinquents, a/k/a Sous Chefs with whom I worked. Some of these folks spoke like “Dog the Bounty Hunter” while describing that night’s special delicately French-inspired meals. And I was expected to not laugh? Really?

Perhaps the silliest aspect of “foodie-land” is the preciousness of food trends. Back in the nineties it seemed like every chef was stacking things in little ring molds. Nowadays sauce is swiped or painted on the plate, usually a fair distance from the item it is supposed to be accompanying.

I appreciate the commitment, skill, and technique these folks bring to their work. But sometimes I think they are cooking for them and not for me.

Even plain ol’ desserts are not immune. Cupcakes have been huge for a while now. Indeed, little stand-alone joints like Magnolia Bakery or Crumbs have become big chains – I think Crumbs even had an IPO a while back. I’m told you can’t swing a dead cat in Los Angeles without hitting a cupcake store. Saturation, anyone?

Just in time for the growth of the cupcake business comes news that cupcakes are on their way out, and are being pushed aside in favor of pie.

PIE??  Okay, now I know someone is playing me for a laugh. The cupcake thing I totally understand. But pie? Here’s the problem: pie needs a plate and a fork. And ice cream. Even if you make a little pie-for-one, the situation is fraught with danger. You want a laugh? Follow me down the street as I eat a pie. PS: Bring a shovel.

It is interesting to note that while the press says “pie”, the food trucks here in New York are saying, “Whoopie.” As in “Whoopie Pie.”

I love Whoopie Pies, but really, aren’t they are just cupcakes turned inside out? (Or are they cupcakes turned outside in? Ah, no matter.) No complaints from me—they’re yummy—but if we’re really moving on from cupcakes, shouldn’t the departure be a bit more drastic?

So, for the next big street dessert, I hereby nominate an item my Mom used to pack in my lunch box. (For the record, no, I don’t remember what was on the outside of my lunch box. Even if I did I wouldn’t reveal it here for fear of pinpointing my age. Let’s just say it was…um…Justin Bieber.)

The item my Mom used to pack in my lunch box was called a “Scooter Pie.” Scooter Pies were called Moon Pies in other parts of the US, Wagon Wheels in Canada and the UK. A close relative of the Mallowmar, Scooter Pies were a chocolate-covered sandwich of two crunchy cookies with marshmallow in the middle.

Granted, I’m sure you can still find the old fashioned crinkly cellophane-wrapped kind if you look hard enough. But my proposal for making these the next big street food is that they should be taken out of the realm of “Hostess” and into the realm of the artisanal or house made.

This is a task made fairly easy by the fact that the packaged Scooter Pies of my childhood lacked three things: freshness, good chocolate, and a certain delicacy.

I’ll admit this was a bit of a project. After all, I needed to make the marshmallow, the cookies, and then assemble the pies and dip them in the chocolate. But be warned: if you invite me to a Barbecue or picnic this coming summer I will show up with these. A bit of work and time, but the result is so worth it.

For the cookies I borrowed a page from an old “alfajores” recipe, the South American sandwich cookie. It is a very plain, almost dusty, vanilla cookie—actually closer to a sweet cracker. (This cookie recipe would also be great for animal crackers.)

Marshmallow? Make your own once and you’ll never look at a “Campfire” bag the same way again. Homemade has a much more delicate flavor, along with the potential for adding flavors beyond just vanilla.

As for delicacy, you can see from the picture that I only dipped my Scooter Pies in the chocolate half way. I had three reasons for this: the pies would be less cloyingly sweet, I wanted to show off my beautiful, flabby marshmallow, and I had less chance of making a holy mess when I ate my Scooter Pie.

So, what do you think? Have we found the next cupcake?

Please say yes. Or get the shovels ready.

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Click here for the recipe for Scooter Pies.

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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

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Le ricette della mamma...

There is a paper flour bag that has been sitting on my pantry shelf for months. This is not a typo: I meant to write paper flour bag, not bag of flour. That’s because the paper bag is empty, the flour having long ago given its life in the cause of pizza.

I have the unfortunate habit of holding on to stuff like this, usually because a recipe is printed somewhere on the side. I think I’ve been intrigued by these side-of-the-box recipes ever since I was a kid and saw the famous “Mock Apple Pie” recipe printed on the Ritz Cracker box. I never understood why anyone would make a fake apple pie when the real one was so easy. Yes, the thought of wet, sugary, Ritz Crackers cooked in lemon juice is intriguing, but we’ll save that for another day.

There are times when there is no recipe on the package, but I may have found the shape or flavor of the cookie or cracker pictured inspiring. In those cases I will cut out the picture and add it to a growing but rather random file of similar items. Often these bits of inspiration find their way into recipes, although sometimes it is the “feeling” of the item rather than the actual flavors that makes its way into something I bake. “Homey” or “farmhouse” are adjectives that I may take away from a session of flipping through the file that contains these bits of cardboard.

How often do I actually make any of these recipes? Uhhhhh…I’m not sure that I ever have. Even more remarkable in the specific case of the paper flour bag, is the fact that the printing on the flour bag in question was in Italian, a language with which I have—at best—a nodding acquaintance.

Still, there was enough there that I could decipher, so I neatly folded the empty bag and stuck it in a place where it could occasionally wave, “Hello” to me and remind me of its existence.

Okay, the latter is a very passive explanation of what happened. Here’s what really happened: I am endlessly intrigued with anything that smacks of simple Italian cooking. The recipe on the bag begins with the title, “Le ricette della mamma,” or in English, “Mom’s recipe.”  I was hooked.

I know enough Italian that I could further identify cocoa and orange zest amongst the ingredients; this begs the question, “Why did I wait so long to make this recipe?” Dunno, but clearly its time has come. Hey, I never write about making other folks’ recipes. Leave it to me to choose one that I can barely understand.

Thank you, internet. If it weren’t for you I would have had to dig deep to find someone to patiently translate the recipe. But you did it quickly, and in the comfort of my own home. Very accommodating. And I was truly charmed by your word-for-word translation. Yes, I will “…ascend well the egg whites”, I promise.

The name, “Torta Nera” bodes well. It translates as “Black Cake.” If you love chocolate (ME!, ME!) that sounds mighty good. The recipe was written in metric weight? No problem. I have a scale which will translate into ounces and cups. (PS: I think electronic scales are indispensible for bakers.) Most of the ingredients are your cake-baking basics like milk, flour, butter.

But one ingredient translated poorly: “una bustina di lievito vanigliato.” This translated as, “a sachet of vanilla yeast.” Wha??

Because in my simple mind and imagination all Italians spring from the womb with innately superior cooking skills, my first assumption was, “Good god, these folks are so clever! They even have vanilla-flavored yeast!”

Alas, this is not the case. There’s no such thing as vanilla-flavored yeast. That would be your ultimate niche market item, after all how much Panettone can you make? In the meantime I was puzzled: Did they mean a packet of vanilla? A packet of yeast? Maybe the internet translator meant plain yeast instead of vanilla yeast?

The answer was found via just a bit more internet digging. What the recipe meant for me to use was vanilla-flavored baking powder, a common convenience ingredient used by Italian housewives. An “Aha!” moment, but I couldn’t find that product in New York City, so a bit of plain baking powder and vanilla extract would substitute.

I carefully weighed and measured each ingredient before moving on to the mixing instructions where I encountered a small glitch. Turns out Mamma must have been nipping at the vino. She listed 100 ml of milk as an ingredient, but then neglected to mention when to add it and / or how. That’s okay. I’ve made a cake or two in my time and was able to channel Mamma and figure it out.

A bit of background: in setting out to translate this recipe I was hoping for a cake that would simultaneously be a bit simple and rustic, yet have an unusual mix of flavors and textures. If not, why bother? I already have a chocolate cake recipe, who needs yet another? The fact that the recipe calls for type “00” flour, a finely-milled flour usually used in pizza dough or bread gave me hope for something a bit denser than the springy Hershey’s One-Bowl cake or Duncan Hines’ mix many are used to.

Mamma didn’t disappoint. The cake was dense and dark, with a crust that gives a soft but gratifying crunch when chewed. While she didn’t specify in her recipe how much grated orange zest to add, I assumed that she would prefer the cake to be well perfumed by the citrus and so I used a generous hand.

Since it is not as aggressively sweet as an American-style chocolate cake, I found that it would be eminently dunkable with a spot of Earl Grey or a spirited companion with a bit of Moscato di Asti.

Grazie Mamma!

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Click here for the recipe for Torta Nera.

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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

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Messy? If you want...

I am terribly vain. My vanity is, however, at cross purposes with my manner of eating, which I self-consciously categorize as “voracious.” A friend has observed that when I eat, the rest of the world disappears. The problem with simultaneously being vain and Hoover-esque when one eats is that invariably one’s clothes suffer. I’m working on it.

It’s not that I’m a drooling mess; it’s not that you can look at my shirt and deduce what I had for lunch; no, it is far more subtle. The usual scenario plays out like this: I do my laundry. I iron a shirt. The shirt looks crisp and clean. I then don the shirt and look in the mirror only to spy a small oil stain (last Tuesday’s lemon vinaigrette perhaps?). My spotty history (as it were).

Yes, the obvious answer would be to either disrobe while I eat (frowned upon in public), or to wear a bib (frowned  upon. Period.) The latter reminds me of a middle aged couple I waited on in a hotel restaurant many-something years ago. Mrs. was clothed (amply) in a gold metallic fabric. When her entrée arrived she reached into her (ample) handbag and withdrew a matching gold metallic bib. That picture burned into my vulnerable mind strikes bibs and metallic fabrics off the list of options. Aside from my spotty shirts, I have also become self-conscious (as any truly vain person would be) that I must look like a woodchuck gnawing at a tree when I eat. Again, I’m working on it: my pinkies are up.

Chocolate and roses are the old standbys of Valentine’s Day. Chocolate is dangerous enough, but dip a strawberry or two in it and my white shirts will cower at the back of the closet.

Good news fellow slobs enthusiastic eaters, Valentine’s Day is an occasion when messy food is welcome; you’re consuming it with someone who knows all your flaws, and still loves you anyway. If you get a little chocolate on your face, someone is there to help you figure out how to clean it off (ahem, this is a family blog.)

Yet, it occurs to me that there are a great many folks on whom these gifts would be lost. Countless women in my life have professed over the years to preferring daisies over roses. Another friend says she loves chocolate but it gives her a headache.

This begs the question: if you’ve been told that someone prefers daisies, but the tradition of the day calls for roses, what do you do? I consulted with a friend and fellow blogger, Jenny Beaudry, founder of the global lifestyle brand GiftLoveCharm.com. Very much an arbiter of trends, tastes, and proper gift giving, Jenny assured me in a flutter of tweets that tradition has its place, but if the gift recipient has expressed a preference, then that preference trumps all. Phew, that’s a relief.

By the way, if you’re wondering where all this discussion of my vanity and being a messy eater came from, I can lay the blame on Valentine’s Day. My plan was to write about Warm Chocolate Soufflé. It is the perfect romantic dessert: gooey, warm, and chocolate. I am a huge fan of all soufflé and I think they have gotten a bad rap. The truth is that they are easy to make, dramatic, yadda yadda yadda.

Alas, I’ll have to save Warm Chocolate Soufflé and the yadda yadda yadda for another day. I have been reminded that on Valentine’s Day many people eat out. Therefore I thought it would be a fun (and better) idea to create a little something that can be waiting at home, no oven required.

That’s not to say that the idea of soufflé has been banished. I have simply turned the temperature down. Way down. Cross out the word “Warm” and scribble in the word “Frozen.” While it seems a touch counterintuitive to make something frozen in the middle of winter, in actuality the frozen part is more about preparation than about temperature. Give me a minute and this will make sense.

Frozen soufflé is usually served in the summer, and is usually flavored with lemon or berries—the better to refresh you with a light touch, my dear. The dessert isn’t really served frozen, it is best when allowed to sit for a few minutes so that some of the chill dissipates. This is a preference that sits especially well with me—I don’t like food at either extreme: too hot or too cold. This is especially true of chocolate. I’ve been known to let chocolate ice cream sit out to the point I call “pre-soup.” I think any chocolate just tastes better closer to room temperature. For frozen soufflé the freezer takes the place of the oven; it is the mode of cooking. You’ll let the soufflé sit for a while, and the result will be supple, rich, très chocolat, and potentially très messy.

Fruit-based frozen soufflé often employ a bit of gelatin to pull everything together. I’m not a fan; I think that gelatin can lend a rubbery texture. This is especially out of place with chocolate. Instead, this recipe is based on a sturdy Italian meringue in which the sugar is cooked to the soft ball stage. The foamy meringue gives the whole package its rich airiness.

Yes, a touch of work is required, but the work can be done several days in advance and the result stashed lovingly in the freezer. You can dine out on the big day smirking with the self satisfied knowledge that something good is waiting at home.

Double entendre anyone?

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Click here for the recipe for Frozen Chocolate Soufflé.

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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

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How many hearts are too many?

As if I needed an excuse. February is here and that means Valentine’s Day is barreling down the road towards us; while many folks associate that with roses, for me it’s all about the chocolate.

I love tradition, and if the old fashioned heart-shaped box of chocolates is your preference, then I won’t quarrel with that.

Me? I think I straddle the fence between easygoing and annoyingly precise. My favorite chocolate (at the moment) is a simple, humble, chocolate bar. Tie two or three blocks of my beloved (and cheap) Damak chocolate together with a ribbon and I’m perfectly happy. Easy? Well, yes, except that Damak is imported from Turkey, is only available in a handful stores here in New York, and can be hard to find because it flies off the shelves. Weeks go by, and (poor me) there’s no Damak Chocolate to be found. (Hear me Nestlè?)

For those who want to shake things up a bit, there are other paths to follow. Last year my Baby Niece hand decorated chocolate-dipped shortbread cookies for her young gentleman. (Okay, yes, I helped.) For others, Valentine’s Day can be symbolized by a special meal. I know one rather zesty young woman whose husband has been well trained: for her the hearts and flowers of Valentine’s Day are perfectly embodied in the guise of sliced filet mignon at Ben Benson’s Steakhouse. Rare please.

My Baby Niece, for one, is indifferent to flowers. Yeah, she likes chocolate—kinda, sorta, I guess. But if you really want to make her happy, something twinkly in a light blue box from the store where Holly Golightly ate breakfast is your best bet. I hate to be crass, but the price of roses on Valentine’s Day makes her preference a good deal. And it won’t wilt after a week.

If there is ever an occasion when it is the thought that counts, when you need to show someone that you’ve been listening, it is Valentine’s Day. The really important ingredient is to know your audience.

Sometimes just a little bit of fuss is all you need.

And if it’s fuss you want, my little Tulipe Paste hearts in the picture above are for you. These will dress up anything—even a Tofutti Cutie— on Valentine’s Day and make it something special. (Apologies to you if think Tofutti Cuties are already something special.)

Unfamiliar with Tulipe Paste? I understand. But if you’ve ever been given a can of those little rolled “cigarette” cookies (usually filled with chocolate cream), you’ve had Tulipe Paste. Pepperidge Farm sells them under the name “Pirouette.” Some pastry chefs refer to these as Tuile cookies.

Are they easy to make at home? Let me put it this way: if you can spackle a wall, you can make Tulipe Paste cookies. (That’s a “yes.”) The good news? The batter has only six ingredients. The bad news? You’ll need couple of items of easily obtained special equipment—some of which you can easily make yourself. (I did.) Hint: it’s worth the trouble.

Tuile Cookies are one of those things like blackened redfish: about fifteen or twenty years ago they were everywhere. Then they were heaped on the junk pile of culinary trendiness; the shag haircut of the pastry kitchen. Okay, maybe not that bad. They still show up swirling around a pile of mousse every now and then. You get my point though.

I like them, and they’re fun, so I’m putting on my rubber gloves and fishing them out of the junk pile. Conniving blogger that I am, I have an ulterior motive: they’re crunchy. But before they are crunchy, they are soft and mold-able—and I think this makes them an invaluable tool in the home baker’s…uh…tool belt. (I myself do not wear a tool belt when baking.)

The most common way 1990’s chefs used the latter phenomenon was to drape the hot-from-the-oven cookies over a bowl. As the cookies cooled they hardened into the shape of the bowl and were served filled with fresh berries and whipped cream—actually, not a bad idea for Valentine’s Day. Make a couple of Tuile Bowls, fill them with a few chocolate-dipped strawberries (make ‘em or buy ‘em at the Godiva store) and you’ve got something special.

Tulipe hearts and Chocolate Gelato

I mentioned that you’ll need a couple of pieces of special equipment to make these cookies. The first is a little offset spatula to spread the batter. The second is a stencil because the basic technique is that the Tulipe Paste is spread into a stencil secured firmly to a baking sheet. To make the bowls you’ll need a round stencil measuring approximately six to eight inches, or you can try making free hand rectangles without a stencil. This is actually a really great technique to get the feel of working with the paste. For my little heart shaped cookies, I made a heart-shaped stencil from the plastic top of a tub of almonds. Take that, Martha Stewart. (The hearts in the picture above are approximately actual size.)

The little heart cookies have approximately the same crunch as potato chips, so add these to some melting dark chocolate gelato or mousse and you get the happy play of sweet, chocolately, and crunchy.

Now, that’s something I can fall in love with.

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Click here for the recipe for Tulipe Heart Cookies and some tips on working with Tulipe Paste .

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thuuuurrrpp!

I have a theory: if you’ve lived in your home for more than five years, chances are your kitchen and closets have become the house wares equivalent of an archeological dig. The other day I decided that I needed to sort through a few things in my kitchen. That’s my euphemism for “it was a mess and I needed to get rid of stuff.”

I should preface this by explaining that–ice cream maker aside–I never think of myself as a gadget person. I don’t even have a microwave oven, although that has as much to do with being unwilling to surrender counter space as it has to do with function. I know me: I would never cook with the thing and would likely use it for storage. (Like my regular oven, which my sheet pans call home.)

I have a Kitchen Aid mixer–universally accepted as indispensible for bakers–two good sauté pans, two cheap but sturdy saucepans, a rolling pin that could double as a self defense tool, and a huge number of cookie cutters. (Cookie cutters don’t count.) I don’t even have an electric coffee maker or toaster.

Therefore, it was eye opening to “sort through a few things” and find gadgets that I must at one time have considered vital, but that now seem — and this is me being polite — extraneous. Case in point: I have an immersion blender. Please tell me why. I cannot remember the last time I used it or what I made with it. On the other hand the box says it is ideal for making creamy soups right in the pot. Hmmm. I think I’ll hold onto it. For now. Just in case I decide to make creamy soups.

I tossed a coffee grinder. It worked fine, but reeked of some flavored coffee that I can’t seem to stomach. Word of caution about coffee grinders: one mistake and they’re toast. Yeah, I know “they” say you can use them to grind spices, but once you’ve done so they wear their musk like a scarlet letter and their coffee days are history.

I have a rice cooker which I actually do use…once a year. But I have an excuse: I inherited it from a friend who was moving. It’s a keeper. Hey, I may want to make sushi. It could happen.

I have two vegetable peelers. One is made by OXO and I use it frequently for everything from cheese to chocolate, and yes, vegetables. The other peeler I bought from Joseph Ades, New York’s best known street peddler (he was profiled in Vanity Fair ),who was selling them on the street one day. You could say I got caught up in the glamour of that peeler. I use the OXO because it is more comfortable.

Then I came across my old whipped cream dispenser — the kind that you charge with little cylinders of gas. I’m sure I bought this during a long ago foray into the land of the Atkins diet. And not unlike rummaging through an old garage and finding a classic MG roadster hiding under a tarp, I couldn’t resist taking the old girl out for a spin.

She still foamed beautifully, and the roar of her nozzle as she spat out whipped cream was still impressive, so I couldn’t help but wonder if the old gal had some life — and relevance– left in her yet. Is there life after whipped cream? If you follow the intense world of molecular gastronomy, and talented guys like José Andrés and Ferran Adrià then the answer is yes. If you are a home cook like me then the answer is maybe.

As much as I would like to publish a recipe for Asparagus Espuma, I’m afraid my work was much more prosaic: I made Chocolate Mousse. Sounds good, yes? What a dumb idea.

I followed a recipe that I found on line that was created by isi, the manufacturer of the whipped cream canister. The ingredients are fairly straightforward, heavy cream, instant coffee granules, cocoa powder, sugar, and vanilla or your preferred alcoholic addition. Here’s my first complaint: this isn’t Chocolate Mousse, this is chocolate flavored whipped cream.

Here’s my second complaint: it didn’t work. Lots of gas rushed out, but not much mousse. Clearly the mousse was too heavy for the gas. I’m happy to report that the mousse that did come out was good. It had a nice chocolate / coffee bite, and quite a bit of the little bubbles that are usually featured in mousse courtesy of whipped egg whites. But after the mousse stopped the rush of the gas sounded more like the canister was giving me “the raspberry.” While I avoided taking its comment personally, I’ll admit I prefer it when my utensils keep their opinions of me to themselves.

If at first you don’t succeed, use the rest of the heavy cream to try again. My second attempt was better, and yielded more mousse, but featured the same unfortunate comment coda by the canister, which, as a bonus, spat some mousse at me when I opened it for cleaning. Clearly this canister missed its calling and would have been much more at home on the set of “I Love Lucy.”

Alas, the true problem lies with the operator of the canister, not the canister itself (surprise!). I was using heavy cream, which (in the Northeast) weighs in with an average of 40+% butterfat. I should have used Whipping Cream (duh!) which weighs in with an average 36% to 40% butterfat. This would have produced a lighter cream which the gas would likely have been able to push with greater success.

In the meantime, I think I’ll stick to making Chocolate Mousse the old fashioned way: with my MousseMaster 5000!

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Chocolate Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Meringue

Like many New Yorkers, my kitchen is air conditioned only on special occasions. As luck would have it, I have several friends and family members whose birthdays fall during the summer. I grew up in a house where birthdays were always marked by a cake, so as an adult I feel compelled to extend the courtesy by baking birthday cakes for my friends. Those are the special occasions when I crank the kitchen a/c to its chilliest setting, which, to my liking, is just short of snowfall.

This weekend as our nation celebrates its birthday (“234?? You don’t look a day over…”) I’m lucky enough to have a friend who has invited me to watch the big fireworks display from her rooftop aerie. I’m using the description “rooftop aerie” more for fun than for accuracy. The truth is, her apartment is relatively modest, although she does have a postcard view of the Empire State Building and shared use of the roof. I’m not sure if her kitchen is air conditioned, even on special occasions. I’m too shy to ask. The question “Is your kitchen air conditioned?” seems a tad too close to “Is your refrigerator running?” for my comfort. I’m a little long in the tooth for what we used to refer to as “chicken calls.”

(You don’t remember “chicken calls?” When we were kids we’d pick folks at random from the phone book, call them, ask, “Is your refrigerator running?” and when they’d say, “Yes” we’d say, “Well you better run and catch it!” and then hang up.)

(Yes, I know it’s not funny. But I was – what – 8 or 9 years old? Where I grew up this was practically considered gang warfare.)

(No, I didn’t learn to cook at the reformatory.)

My second favorite modern convenience, after air conditioning – caller ID – has all but eliminated the scourge of chicken calls.

I am worried about the relative coolness of her kitchen because of the all American menu that has been planned — take out Chinese food and my cupcakes. The Chinese food can take care of itself: I’m worried about the cupcakes. If her kitchen is hot I’ll worry about them sitting out on the counter too long (The frosting will melt.) I also have what they refer to as a scheduling problem, that is, I don’t really have time Saturday or Sunday to bake and frost cupcakes. My only choice is to make them a few days ahead, and then stare fear in the eye by calling ahead to reserve fridge space.

Unlike Mrs. Weasley in the “Harry Potter” books, I don’t have the skills to wave a magic wand and make food appear. So, instead of magic, I’ll let chemistry do the work. I know that many folks insist that you can only bake cookies and cakes with butter. I, however, do not subscribe to such absolutes in baking (or in much else, to be honest.)

Bakers down south have agreed with this tenet for years. True Southern Red Velvet Cake is made with oil, not butter. Aside from making a lighter, springier, cake, oil has the further advantage of solidifying at a lower temperature than butter. What this means for me and you is that we can bake cakes with oil, store them in the refrigerator, and they’ll be light and springy right out of the fridge, unlike butter cakes which need some time to come up to room temperature. In addition, cakes made with oil freeze and thaw beautifully.

All of this got me to thinking about my sister-in-law. One of the “givens” of any chocolate cake made within my family is that it must be large enough for left-overs. After the stress of a long day’s work my sister-in-law eats forks-full right out the box without even removing it from the refrigerator. (And she’s what my Auntie used to refer to as a “mere slip of a thing.”) The point is, sometimes chocolate cake tastes better on the cool side.

On a warm summer Fourth of July night under the stars a nice cool piece of cake would be yummy. Frosting and fireworks. That’s my kind of holiday. Chocolate frosting is okay cold, although I admit it is better when the chill is off. There must be a frosting that tastes good and is the perfect consistency right from the fridge. (Not to mention saving me the round trip down stairs from my friend’s rooftop aerie to take the cupcakes out of the fridge to warm up.) Clearly it was time to get to work in the Butter Flour Eggs Frosting Lab.

I had already decided to bake Chocolate Red Velvet Cupcakes, an oil-based recipe. Red Velvet Cake is usually frosted with a cream cheese frosting but I usually frost Chocolate Cake with Italian Buttercream, which is a cooked meringue beaten with butter. It is smooth and fluffy. Splitting the difference seemed to be the obvious answer, as in Cream Cheese Meringue. I made the meringue as usual, and then beat in the cream cheese. The result was a bit loose, but the advantage of that was that instead of standing frosting cupcakes I merely dipped the tops of the cupcakes in the frosting. Each one came out smooth and perfect, with a little “Dairy Queen” swirly top that drooped as the cupcakes sat a while which lessened the cupcakes’ appeal not a bit.

Yes, yes, I know, Italian Meringue requires you to cook sugar to a specific temperature, and by extension requires the use of a candy thermometer. Never fear. You can substitute a jar or two of Marshmallow Fluff and beat that together with the cream cheese. The result will be a bit sweeter, and perhaps slightly overpower the delicate Chocolate Red Velvet cake, but that fear may be a reflection of my own preference for making things from scratch. Short of a blind side-by-side taste test who’s gonna know?

Either way, they’re Yankee Doodle dandy.

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Click here for the recipe for Chocolate Red Velvet Cupcakes with Cream Cheese Meringue.

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