Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

As much as I love cakes, I sometimes avoid making them. This is principally because I cannot always be bothered combining butter and sugar until they bond into a pale yellow cream, which, first of all, requires that butter be soft. When one bakes, sometimes it's on the spur of the moment, but with baking cakes, one has to be prepared. On account of more often making pastry dough for tarts and pies, I rely on the butter conditioner in the fridge to keep butter firm. Consequently, I actually have to plan ahead to soften butter. Yes, this is a minor matter, but if I want a cake within an hour of thinking about making one, then it is impossible to see this through without softened butter. So, what is a man to do? Well, I find a way around it, of course, and in doing so I often turn to desserts that use melted butter or that dispense of butter altogether.

Today's cake is in the vein of an ice cream cake. It is, in fact, a riff on a dessert that was popular in England from the Elizabethan era to the 19th Century and seems to have found mild resurrgence in current cookery books by British chefs and cooks: syllabub. Syllabub is cream that has been whipped, sweetened with sugar, spiced with nutmeg, soured with lemon juice, and fortified with alcohol, often wine or port. Mixed together, the boozy cream would be left to set up in a cold spot before serving. It is the simplest of desserts, and I am dumfounded that I never thought to freeze it before, like Philly ice cream, until I recently noticed Nigel Slater's recipe for Lemon ice-cream tart with gingernut crust in his inspiring The Kitchen Diaries, a book I've had since it was published in 2005, but, for some reason or another, had not previously registered the genius behind this particular recipe - it is funny how you can read something ten times and can still be surprised, isn't it? I guess with cooking, we're drawn to different flavours and ideas at different times...

Frozen Orange Syllabub Cake
(adapted from Nigel Slater's Lemon Ice-Cream Tart with Gingernut Crust in The Kitchen Diaries)

For the Crust:

400g/14 oz Gingernuts or other ginger cookies
120g/4 oz unsalted butter

1) Line the base of a loose-bottomed 25cm/10" cake tin with greaseproof paper.
2) Crush the ginger cookies to a coarse crumb or a fine powder, depending on the sort of crust you want for your cake.
3) Melt the butter, then stir in the crushed ginger cookies.
4) Pour the mixture into the cake tin, pushing it with your fingers to cover both the base and the sides of the tin - focus more on getting it properly covered than making sure the crust is equally level around the summit.
5) Put the tin in the freezer while you work on the filling.

For the Filling:

150ml white wine
2 tablespoons brandy
zest and juice of 2 oranges
zest of 1 lemon
4 tablespoons sugar
500ml cream

1) Put all ingredients into a bowl and beat slowly until thick, falling in soft folds.

For the Pie:

1) Pour the filling into the crust.
2) Freeze for at least four hours.
3) Remove from freezer 15-20 minutes before serving.

It is evident that this is not meant to be presented at a sophisticated affair, what with the crust being so free-form, but it is perfectly charming. The flavours, of course, are what matter, and they are as intense as the texture is dreamy, like eating sweet clouds.

It does seem too easy for words, but I ask that you try this recipe and adapt it at a whim. Swap out the orange for lime and brandy for midori or tequila, or use cherry juice and kirsh with a crust made with amaretti - the possibilities are endless and delightful. Nothing warms me more than a good dessert, and I will now count this as one of my very favourites. I wonder what other creams of old can be adapted in a similar way...

Labels: Brandy, Nigel Slater, Orange, Pie, Syllabub

The Auckland Fish Market is so close by that it would be wasteful not to take advantage of the freshest catch. My angelheart Eric has always been an avid lover of most seafood; I, on the other hand, require a bit of persuasion. I have been making a conscious effort to eat more fish, though, particularly the innocuous types, like terakihi and cod. Of all fish, monkfish is the most superior. It is often thought of as poor man's lobster - it is succulent and meaty. While not as sweet as lobster, it does have a high water content, lending to a perfect sauce at the end of roasting your monkfish tail, as my angelheart Eric and I sometimes make.

On account of its abundant meat and water content, monkfish does not really suffer from overcooking. In the worst case scenario, the texture might become raggedy, but one can live with that if that is the worst that could happen to it. If you want to prepare the monkfish tail into fillets for cooking, salt the fillets prior to pan frying so that the water can be drawn out; otherwise, your fillets may end up soggy.

The monkfish tail is a large piece of meat, lending to its nickname in Scotland as "gigot," as in a leg of lamb. Think of preparing it as you would lamb - it can be roasted, braised, breaded and fried. It also partners well with lamb's friends - herbs, orange, anchovies...

Roast Tail of Monkfish with Orange Sauce
(adapted from Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson's Gigot of Monkfish Romarin with Anchovies from Two Fat Ladies: Gastronomic Adventures)

For the Monkfish:

750 g/1.5 lb monkfish tail, butterflied and deboned
large handful of tarragon
1 orange
8 anchovy fillets
8 cloves garlic
olive oil
salt
pepper

1) Lay the butterflied monkfish in a baking dish.
2) Fill the inside of the monkfish with tarragon and slices from half of the orange, and season with salt and pepper.
3) Close up the monkfish by tying it up in three spots - either end and the middle.
4) Cut 8 slits into the monkfish tail with a sharp knife.
5) Insert one anchovy fillet and one garlic clove per slit.
6) Rub the monkfish with a bit of olive oil and the juice from the other half of the orange, and season with salt and pepper.
7) Place in the refrigerator to marinade - up to 2 hours.
8) Preheat oven to 180 C/350 F.
9) Bring monkfish out of the fridge for 20-30 minutes prior to roasting.
10) Roast monkfish for 35-45 minutes until cooked through.

For the Sauce:

30g/1 oz unsalted butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 onion, minced
salt
1/4 cup dry vermouth
liquor from the monkfish
rind and juice from half an orange
tarragon leaves, gently torn
pepper

1) When the monkfish is almost cooked through, melt butter with olive oil over medium heat in a saute pan.
2) Add onion and a pinch of salt.
3) When the onions are transluscent, add vermouth.
4) When the vermouth has evaporated, turn the heat up to medium high. Add the liquor from the monkfish (this will require that you pour the liquid from the baking dish - and then you can throw the monkfish into the oven, to finish cooking or to keep warm) and the orange juice.
5) Strew in the tarragon leaves.
6) Taste for seasoning.
7) Remove onions with slotted spoon and place on the monkfish, then pour sauce over the monkfish and serve.

Like a lot of large fish, monkfish stands up to heavy and punchy flavours as well as highly acidic or lowly nutty ones. Try it with romesco sauce or tomato vinaigrette, as Clarissa Dickson Wright does. It also goes well with thick mayonnaise.

This is wonderfully hearty without being too filling, an easy weeknight dish for two.

Labels: Clarissa Dickson Wright, Herbs, Jennifer Paterson, Monkfish, Orange

Berries, stone fruit, and ice cream are generally the chosen sweet treats for Summer. They are luscious and cooling, their juices or creaminess rehydrate the thirsty beings that we become. In the blogosphere, there have been so many great ice cream, sorbet and gelato posts over the Summer. The only one I have posted is by way of my book review of Nigella Lawson's How To Eat: The Pleasures and Principles of Good Food, from which I lifted Marcella Hazan's chocolate ice cream - or, quite simply, The World's Best Chocolate Ice Cream - which has caramel beaten into it, giving the ice cream heft and depth.

I'm surprised, actually, that I have not written more posts on ice cream, for my angelheart Eric and I eat it throughout the year. I don't think in all of my life there has been a time in which at least a quart of ice cream cannot be found in the freezer - except other than when I spent some months living in France back in 1997. New Zealanders are amongst the largest consumers of ice cream in the world, so it is no wonder, then, that ice cream is on the grocery list if I have not taken the little time needed to make it myself.

To understand better the method, I would prefer to devote time to the various techniques and what seems to be changing quantities of liquid. Time, however, is of the essence and is not something I presently have in surplus (and I won't have it until after mid-December, when my Master's thesis is due). In the course of some quick reading here and there, I have come across a method that I had forgotten about. This method involves stirring firm whipping/double cream into a cooled custard. You need the cream anyway (unless you're making ice cream from yoghurt), so it may as well be as luxurious as is possible. The custard is always the perplexing thing, for the number of egg yolks to whole/full fat milk and sugar always varies. Perhaps the only thing that ultimately changes is the volume that is produced at the end, and I have just to work out the formula. Again...next year. What also makes a difference to the volume, and the reason for which I make ice cream at home in the first place, is that too much air provides too light an ice cream, which is the problem I have with commercial ice creams, even the top-shelf kind, however velvety they are. An ice cream maker for home does the job beautifully, saving one on labour, but also ensuring not too much air is whipped into the product.

What should also be whipped into the product is something aromatic. Most of us lovingly use herbs and spices in the kitchen, and the more I spend time cooking, the more intimately I want to know how fragrant flora can be applied to various dishes. In fact, I almost always want to add at least one to any dish I make - even ice cream. The inspiration for today's ice cream comes from a couple of sources. The first is Diana Henry's enchanting Crazy Water, Pickled Lemons in which she offers a custard-base ice cream of Lemon and Basil. The combination of herb and citrus started me off quite squarely. I forgot I was making ice cream and just thought about the herb and citrus combinations I love best: tarragon and orange, sweet basil and lime, thyme and lemon, cilantro/corriander and grapefruit, bay leaf and kumquat. The second inspirational source is Jerry Traunfeld's
The Herbal Kitchen and his soft-set (that is to say, milk and cream-based ice cream) Strawberry Rose Geranium Ice Cream. This made me think to look outside in the garden and find what we have growing there now. How could I have forgotten rosemary? This is the herb that I loved most as a kid (well, that and marjoram, which features prominently in the potato salad that is on the family buffet table at every Christmas lunch). In retrospect, it seems so at odds with my mother's suburban garden of ferns, roses, Birds of Paradise. Perhaps that is why I liked it. Always fragrant and always available, it seemed other-worldly to me. Even now it has the power to transport. Rosemary also has the tendency to taste acrid once it hits hot liquid. The key is to allow it to steep in milk that has already been brought to the boiling point and to not use too much.

Making custard can be frightening all because once the egg yolk looks like it is curdling, one has to act promptly to save it. Either keep beside the stove a bowl of iced water large enough to hold your saucepan or have enough cold water and chunks of ice in a sink to come halfway up the side of your saucepan. Should the egg yolks look like they are curdling, lift your saucepan and place it in a vessel with iced-water and whisk like mad until it comes together again. You could also take the saucepan directly off the heat, dump in a few ice cubes, and, again, whisk furiously. Once stable, put back on the heat until the custard is finished. You may lose some volume because of this, but it is better than having no custard base at all. This stressful procedure can be circumvented altogether by making the custard in a bain marie or by setting the element to medium-low, as opposed to medium, which will mean it could take up to 30 minutes to complete. Remember, you are making a custard base, so it doesn't have to be set solid. A slightly thick set will suffice. The setting can be tested by running your finger down the back of the spoon. If the line left remains clear, like the parted Red Sea, then the custard base is done.

This ice cream recipe makes enough for 1 quart.

Orange and Rosemary Ice Cream

10 fl. oz/1 1/4 cups whole/full fat milk
3 sprigs rosemary, each approximately 15cm/7" long
rind of 1 orange, cut into strips, pith removed
5 1/2 oz/slightly more than 1/2 cup sugar
4 egg yolks
juice of 1 orange, strained
5oz/ 1/2 cup whipping/double cream

1) Bring milk to the boiling point, then take off the heat.
2) Add rosemary sprigs and orange rind to boiled milk. Cover and allow to steep for 40 minutes to one hour.
3) Beat sugar and egg yolks together until pale and fluffy.
4) Strain the rosemary and orange-infused milk into the sugar and yolk mixture. Stir to incorporate. Pour into a saucepan.
5) Make a custard by continuously whisking over medium heat until thickened, then stir with a wooden spoon until the back of it is well coated. Over a medium heat, this should not take much more than 10-15 minutes.
6) Pour into another bowl, cool, then refrigerate for 30 minutes.
7) Stir orange juice into the custard.
8) Lightly beat the whipping/double cream until gently thickened (no stiff peaks), then fold into the custard base.
9) Freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer's directions or still-freeze (whizz in a blender or use a hand-held beater once every hour for three hours to prevent ice crystals from forming).

This is an incredibly mellow, though tantalising ice cream. The rosemary is not at all overly pronounced - in fact, you might have to work at it to guess that it is there at all. One knows, though, that orange is not the sole flavour at work. You could, of course, be more daring and add a few more sprigs, but I personally prefer the rosemary lazing about in the background, letting the warming and zesty attributes of the orange take centre stage. This is dreamy, subtle, and somehow perfectly summery, despite the fact that orange is a Winter fruit.


Other ice cream posts:
Dried Fig and Coffee Ice Cream
Stem Ginger and Spice Ice Cream

Labels: Dessert, Diana Henry, Herbs, Ice cream, Jerry Traunfeld, Orange, Rosemary