When dropped into a glass of cold water, sugar will simply dissolve. Starting at 230°F (110°C), sugar dropped into water will form a soft thread that will not hold a shape and will dissipate.
At these temperatures, syrups are formed, not tactile confections. In some instances, the syrup itself is the finished product. In other instances, the hot syrup is an integral element in the formation of a more complicated pastry component (macaron shell, pâte à bombe, Italian meringue). When combined with proteins (eggs and cream) in making a custard on the stovetop, such as crème anglaise or pastry cream, sugar delays the coagulation of the protein structures and allows the custard thicken properly. Sugar acts as crowd control, fanning out among the protein molecules that want to clump together and congeal. In meringues, sugar stabilizes the mixture by, again, dispersing the proteins and creating that signature shiny-white, stiff meringue.
At this stage of heating, sugar becomes the great enforcer, bullying ingredients into behaving deliciously when things start getting hot.
I love rock candy. It’s pure sugar. That’s it. It doesn’t pretend it’s anything more than an unadulterated cavity maker. Just look at it: Instead of itsy-bitsy granulated morsels that can easily hide, rock candy is a series of gigantic, in-your-face sugar crystals. It’s the badass of candies, and yet it’s beautiful, too. When I am reincarnated—and you know I’m coming back as something sweet—I want to come back as rock candy.
Approach making rock candy as a lab experiment; it’s kind of like shoving toothpicks into an avocado seed, setting it in a jar of water on your windowsill, and waiting months for it to sprout. Rock candy doesn’t take as long as the avocado but it is a week-long process—and well worth the time.
Makes 2 large rock candies or up to 20 miniature rock candies
Dissolve the sugar in the water by gently heating the two in a saucepan over medium-low heat. Once all the sugar has melted, take the syrup off the heat and allow to cool very slowly and completely. Alternatively, place the sugar and water in a microwave-safe container and stir, making sure to saturate the sugar with the water. Microwave for 3 minutes on high. Stir. Nuke for 3 more minutes and stir. The sugar has probably melted by now but make sure, and nuke for a few more minutes. Allow to cool completely. Run the solution through a fine sieve.
Divide the cooled syrup into two tall glasses. Cut two lengths of cotton or wool cooking string that are just a wee bit shorter than the height of the glasses and dip one into the mixture in each glass. Make sure the strings are saturated. Remove the strings, roll them in extra granulated sugar, and let them dry completely on a piece of wax or parchment paper, at least overnight and for up to 2 days, depending on the humidity. Alternatively, pour the entire batch of syrup in a large, shallow casserole dish and, depending on the size of the vessel, dip as many toothpicks as you can reasonably expect to fit into that surface, allowing for a 2-inch perimeter for each toothpick when it’s suspended in the drink. Remove the toothpicks and let them dry completely, as above, at least overnight and for up to 2 days.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: This is my first warning about sugar and moisture but certainly not my last. Moisture is the bane of sugar work—perfectly executed brittle on a rainy day can turn into a sticky, malleable mess in under an hour. The whole point of heating sugar is to evaporate the moisture hidden within the granules; the hotter the sugar gets, the more moisture is sloughed off. In the case of rock candy, we’re only heating the sugar to melt in water. Plenty of moisture there, right? So what’s the big deal about drying the sugar-saturated string before dipping it back into the drink? Well, it’s a big deal because no sugar granule wants to stick to a soggy string. And you’ll find it virtually impossible to dry your string on a humid day. But unlike brittle or caramel, you can do something to save the day when that sticky little string refuses to dry. Place your sugar-saturated string(s) on a parchment-lined sheet pan and let them dry out in a very low-heat oven, about 200°F (90°C) to 220°F (105°C), for about 20 minutes. Pinch the string with dry hands to make sure it’s no longer tacky to the touch before dipping it back into the sugar mixture. For more rock candy troubleshooting tips, go to www.sugarbabycookbook.com.
Resubmerge the now dry strings into the sugar water, weighing each end down with a non-lead fishing weight, a washer, or something equally heavy to keep the string straight. Tie the top end of each string to a pencil placed across the lip of the glass so that the string suspends gently in the liquid. If you’ve chosen the shallow-dish method, secure a piece of parchment or plastic wrap tautly across the top of the dish with a rubber band and poke the toothpicks through so they are suspended in the liquid and held tightly in place by the parchment or plastic.
No matter your method, let your experiment sit for at least 7 days. I usually keep my experiment going for a few weeks for maximum rock-candy goodness, and I’ve found the process is much speedier in the cool, dry winter months. It’s worth gently wiggling your strings or sticks every few days to keep the ends from adhering to the bottom of the glass or dish.
Remove the strings or sticks when you’re satisfied with the amount of crystal growth. Store in an airtight container for up to 1 month.
If you’re feeling particularly fancy, replace the 2 cups (480 ml) water with 2 cups (480 ml) coffee to produce java-infused bonbons.
GF: In the food world, it doesn’t stand for “girlfriend.” It means “gluten free,” girlfriend. And you’ll find that most of the recipes in this book are just that (gluten free, that is, not girlfriends—but if you’re in the market for a girlfriend, making something from this book for a nice lady person might get you closer).
Gluten allergies have become rampant. Allergies in general, for that matter. I can’t remember anyone in elementary school having any food ailment—or if they did, they suffered their gastrointestinal discomforts in silence. But once I started to bake professionally, the litany of allergies for young ones and older folks alike made for a long list of allergen-free treats I had to have on deck. Thankfully, I’ve always had a healthy arsenal of gluten-free desserts on call, not for any particular reason other than I liked them. So whether you’ve got a slight wheat aversion or full-blown celiac disease, know that this book is going to be a very handy guide to allergen-free treats.
How plain and simple is a plain simple syrup? Take a cup of sugar, pour it into a cup of water, heat the mixture until the sugar is dissolved, and voilà! Simple syrup. You may ask yourself, “Why bother?” Well, have you ever wondered how fancy pastry shops keep their cakes so moist? No? Okay, let’s try this: Have you ever wondered how to keep your own cakes moister, longer? If so, then simple syrup is the stuff for you. Once the syrup is cooled, simply brush a bit of it on top of each layer of cake. You don’t want to soak it through and make it soggy; just dip a pastry brush into the syrup and gently apply a small amount.
You may add extracts—lemon, ginger, peppermint, lavender, almond, and the like—to the simple syrup, not only to moisten your cakes but also to heighten their flavors. If you’re so inclined, you can also replace the water with coffee. I use coffee syrup on chocolate cakes, since coffee is a lovely enhancer for cocoa flavor. The list could go on, but you get the idea: This stuff is versatile.
And it’s not just for cakes. At Gesine Confectionary, my former pastry shop in Montpelier, Vermont, we always kept a bottle of simple syrup at the coffee station for sweetening iced coffees or fresh-brewed iced tea. No more stirring and stirring, waiting for those pesky granules to dissolve and infuse your icy drink with sweetness. A couple pumps of plain-and-simple and you’re ready to rumble.
Makes 2 cups (480 ml)
In a microwave-safe container, microwave the sugar and water for 5 minutes. Stir to make sure all the sugar is dissolved. Nuke for a few more minutes, until all the sugar is dissolved into the water. Allow to cool before using.
If you’re making this on your stovetop, simply heat the water and sugar in a heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar is dissolved. Again, cool before using.
The yield can easily be doubled, tripled, or quadrupled, as the ratio is always 1 cup (200 g) sugar to 1 cup (240 ml) liquid. Store in refrigerator until needed.
OPTION 1: COFFEE SIMPLE SYRUP
For a delicious variation, replace the water with an equal amount of coffee and follow instructions for simple syrup above.
OPTION 2: LEMON SIMPLE SYRUP
In the summertime, I’ll squeeze piles of lemons and make a pitcher of lemon simple syrup. The ratio remains the same: 1 cup (240 ml) lemon juice to 1 cup (200 g) sugar. One thing I add to the syrup is the rind of the lemon—the quality of the juice is deeply enhanced by cooking with the zest. Using a Microplane, zest the rind into the juice. Heat the zest along with the juice and the sugar according to the instructions for simple syrup above. Allow the zest to steep in the syrup until it’s completely cooled, pour the syrup through a fine sieve to remove any bits of zest, and refrigerate.
I whip out the lemon syrup to make homemade lemonade whenever the summer heat creeps into my bones. The syrup alone tends to be too sweet and concentrated, so I just add water and ice to taste. Often I add sparkling water for a nice fizz. Sometimes I’ll add a few sprigs of mint to jazz it up. And at cocktail hour, a generous splash of vodka will put some swagger into your sunset.
OPTION 3: LIME SIMPLE SYRUP
Follow instructions above for lemon simple syrup, replacing the lemon juice with an equal amount of lime juice and the lemon zest with lime zest. Great in spritzers and margaritas.
OPTION 4: LAVENDER SIMPLE SYRUP
Making lavender syrup is easy—what’s not so easy is keeping the stuff around. Lavender Italian sodas were so popular at our bakery in Montpelier that we had trouble matching supply to demand! Add 4 tablespoons (25 g) crumbled dried lavender to the pot before you start heating the water and sugar according to the instructions above for plain simple syrup. Allow the lavender to steep in the syrup until it’s completely cooled, pour the syrup through a fine sieve to remove any dried lavender bits, and refrigerate.
It takes very little of the syrup to animate a drink; lavender packs a potent punch. A few spoonfuls added to sparkling water make a lovely lavender spritzer that lends a whisper of Provence to my day. My friend Ann makes a sublime lavender martini by combining lavender syrup, lavender liqueur, and vodka. She even rims the glasses with lavender sugar (she mixes dried lavender and granulated sugar in an airtight container and waits patiently until the lavender has infused the sugar with its aromatics). And for a luxurious aperitif, add a squirt of lavender syrup to the bottom of a champagne glass and pour in some bubbly.
OPTION 5: A MELLOW JITTER
(COFFEE SYRUP WITH VODKA)
What we have here is essentially a homemade Kahlúa. This is a delightful way to mellow a caffeine buzz—or to put a little buzz into your vodka mellow. Combine ¼ cup (60 ml) coffee simple syrup with a shot (or two, or three—I’m not your keeper) of vanilla vodka, and pour over ice.
OPTION 6: DOMAINE DE CANTON GIN(GER) FIZZ
Domaine de Canton is a ginger liqueur, and it’s delicious. This is a lemony-sweet cocktail with just a hint of ginger. Warning: This isn’t for the hard-core martini drinker who can’t stand a froufrou libation, but the tonic water does give the drink a hint of bitter to make it an adult beverage built for fun. Into a cocktail shaker filled with ice, pour 2 ounces (60 ml) Hendrick’s Gin, 1 ounce (30 ml) Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur, and 1 ounce (30 ml) lemon simple syrup* (page 22), and shake shake shake! Pour into two Collins glasses filled with crushed ice. Pour 5 ounces (150 ml) tonic water into each glass, give a good stir, and add a lemon wedge to each glass. Cheers!
*If you want an extra ginger kick, add 1 teaspoon (2 g) grated ginger to infuse the lemon syrup while you cook it, and strain the ginger pieces out along with the lemon zest.
OPTION 7: MARGARITA
I don’t know why tequila gets such a bum hangover rap. It’s the nectar of the gods, in my book. A margarita on the rocks, with salt on the rim and a little tequila floater to give it that punch of extra goodness—there’s nothing better on a summer night. In a cocktail shaker filled with ice, combine 2 ounces (60 ml) tequila (Gold Patron, baby!), ½ ounce (15 ml) Cointreau, and 2 ounces (60 ml) lime simple syrup (page 22), and shake shake shake! Gently moisten the lips of two margarita glasses and dunk them, one at a time, in a saucer of coarse kosher salt. Fill each glass with ice and divide the contents of the shaker between them. Add a wedge of lime to each, and if you’re feeling a little racy, top each glass with an extra splash of tequila.
I’ve already told you that you need to get yourself a candy thermometer. Yes, you can do the water method, but I’m advising you: Go get a thermometer—now. There are plenty of options out there; that’s why I have a drawer full of them. There’s the flat, traditional Taylor thermometer with a trusty black handle and a clip on the back. This is the thermometer I use the most. I do have two problems with it, though. The first is that I use it so much that the writing wears off and I can barely read the numbers. The second is that it has a gap at the bottom to keep the working end of the gauge from touching the bottom of the pan. This is a handy feature, as you want to get the temperature reading from sugar itself and not the pot. But sometimes there’s so little sugar syrup in the pot that the wee nubbin that’s meant to be suspended in the drink is hovering just above it. That’s not going to help you. In those cases, I use a digital instant-read candy thermometer. Most are just a long spike with a bulb at one end (containing the working parts) and the temperature display on top. You’ll have to hold the thermometer in the sugar yourself to make sure it doesn’t rest on the bottom of the pot, unless you can find the kind that has a really convenient clip and an adjustable reading display. The good news is that since this is an instant-read, you don’t have to sit over a steaming cauldron and melt your hand off, because it’s pretty fast and usually comes with an alarm that starts beeping when you get close to temperature. I must warn you, though, that the “instant” part is a bit of a misnomer. While the digital does read temperature faster than a traditional candy thermometer, it still takes a few seconds to go through its paces and get to the right mark.
There’s a third option, but I would advise against it: the laser-gun thermometer. I have one of these. It looks like a phaser from a 1980s sci-fimovie. You even pull a trigger, and it has a little button that lets loose a red laser beam so you can see exactly where the temperature is being read on the surface. And therein lies the problem. It reads the surface temperature, and what we want is the temperature in the middle. Surface temperature can be considerably cooler than the interior, and that can throw you off quite a bit in the world of sugar. So save your money and get the old-fashioned kind for a couple of bucks.
I suggest you calibrate your new thermometer by putting it in boiling water—I always do. Boiling water temperature is 212°F (100°C) at sea level (this temp goes down as the elevation goes up). If your thermometer reads the temperature correctly, you’re golden. If it’s slightly off, just keep that in mind and do a little math when you’re working with it. I also check periodically to see if the thermometers I’ve been using for a while are still true. Harry Potter wouldn’t be bubkes without the right wand, and so it goes with the sugar wizard and the thermometer.
This sweet caramelized milk is a nutty-brown delicacy tailor-made for all lactose-tolerant sugar babies—it’s no surprise that many a culture has their own version of and name for the glorious goo. The French (of course!) have their confiture de lait, or “milk jam.” The Argentines have their “sweet milk,” dulce de leche. How the Argentines differ from the French is that they make life incredibly convenient by skipping the whole ingredients list, poking a few holes in a can of sweetened condensed milk, and simmering it over medium-low heat in a water bath for about 3 hours. The hardest parts about this recipe are (1) waiting, and (2) remembering to make sure the can stays submerged in simmering water almost to the top of the can—otherwise it will overheat and just might explode! Oh, and (3) not burning your hand on the can when you get around to opening it. But it’s the Norwegians who had me with their version, Hamar pålegg, or “cold cut from Hamar.” Any Norwegian municipality that considers a milk-caramel spread something akin to a cold cut is my kind of town. Where are my passport and my duffel? I think I’ve just found my new home.
Makes approximately 2 cups (480 ml)
Fill a large stockpot a little more than halfway with water.
In a very large heatproof bowl that’s still small enough to rest inside the stockpot, combine all the ingredients and whisk them together well.
Place the bowl gently in the stockpot so it is surrounded almost three-quarters up the sides by water. Place the stockpot over high heat, gently and constantly stirring the contents of the floating bowl until the sugar has dissolved. Reduce the heat to medium or medium-low until the water is barely simmering.
Cut a round of wax or parchment paper and place it directly on top of the simmering milk to keep a skin from forming.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: Yes, hot milk forms a skin. We’ve all seen it and wondered how the hell to avoid it. First, let me tell you why it happens. The skin is formed from solid proteins that have congealed as the milk evaporates over heat. This is true of milks with fat, but non-fat milk, since it contains no fat, will not form a skin. The skin won’t disintegrate back if you stir it; you’ll have to skim it off (though this can still leave small bits behind). Constantly stirring the milk keeps the proteins from binding together to form the skin, though in the case of confiture de lait, this would require you to stand over the stove for hours. The solution is to create what’s called a “cartouche,” a parchment cover that sits directly on top of the milk, which slows the evaporation and prevents that pesky lactose epidermis from forming.
Continue to simmer (the lower the heat the better) for a minimum of 3 hours and up to 7 hours, until the milk caramel reduces by half, thickens to the point that it coats the back of a spoon, and is a golden brown. This is an exceedingly long time, and you must monitor the water level in the stockpot, making sure it doesn’t dip below halfway down the bowl containing the evaporating milk. Try setting an alarm to go off every half hour, and check the water level, and let it take as long as it takes.
Transfer the mixture to a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan and simmer, stirring constantly, over medium-high heat. (I use a large, heatproof plastic spatula to stir this mixture—it has enough “give” to scrape along the edges, as the caramel thickens more along the sides than in the center.) Stir vigorously and constantly for 15 to 20 minutes, until the caramel thickens to the point that it “ribbons” (when you insert and remove a spoon, a ribbon of caramel appears on the surface and then disappears back into the mixture).
Allow the milk caramel to cool completely. Feel free to use it as a spread or a sauce on just about anything. Personally, I like to fill a pastry bag full of the stuff and squirt it into Salted Dulce de Leche Cupcakes (page 216). It can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.
OPTION 1: SWEETENED CONDENSED MILK (DULCE DE LECHE)
With a can opener, puncture two holes into a can of condensed milk, but do not take off the entire lid. You want air to flow freely so that the can doesn’t explode during cooking but you still want to take advantage of a secure lid to keep water from penetrating the caramel.
Place the can in a deep saucepan and fill the saucepan with enough water that it reaches three-quarters of the way up the side of the can.
Heat over medium-high heat until the water comes to a simmer.
For a pourable dulce de leche, cook for 2 hours. For a more firm dulce de leche, cook for at least 4 hours. Keep an eye on the water levels at all times, adding water about every half hour to insure that the can is submerged three-quarters of the way.
OPTION 2: GOAT’S MILK CONFITURE DE LAIT
You may replace the milk in the confiture de lait recipe above with an equal amount of goat’s milk. Aside from the fact that those suffering from lactose intolerance digest goat’s milk more easily, it’s available in both regular and sweetened condensed forms, so you have the choice of making this unsurpassed delicacy either way. Goat’s milk has a distinct musky flavor, and as it evaporates with the sugar, the caramel develops a darker caramel flavor. It’s divine.
A champagne gelée—ooh la la! Sounds so fancy! If it sounds too fancy for you, how about calling it a sparkling gelée shooter? Because that’s essentially what it is. To make this dessert a presentational triumph, suspend fruits inside the setting gelée. For a more homey kick, replace the champagne with hard apple cider. Either way, it’s a spirited dessert.
Makes 1 large gelée or 6 ramekins
In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine 1½ cups (360 ml) of the champagne and the sugar. Allow to simmer until the sugar has completely dissolved.
Pour the remaining champagne into a small bowl and sprinkle the gelatin evenly over the liquid. Allow the gelatin to bloom, which usually takes about 1 minute. It should look soggy.
Remove the champagne mixture from the heat, scrape the gelatin mixture into the still-hot champagne, and stir until the gelatin has completely melted.
Pour the liquid gelée mixture into a 6-cup (48 oz) gelatin mold or divide evenly into 8-ounce ramekins and tap the ramekins firmly on a tabletop to release any air bubbles.
If you are planning on suspending anything in your gelée such as a heavy fruit or fruit gummis, fill the gelatin mold or each ramekin halfway and allow to set in the refrigerator; this will take up to 1 hour. Leave the remaining gelatin at room temperature. If it solidifies, gently reheat over low heat until it becomes fluid, then cool completely (otherwise, it will melt the set gelatin when you pour it over the first layer). Place your desired ingredient(s) on top of the set gelée, pour the unset gelatin evenly over the suspended ingredient(s), and refrigerate until the second layer is set. If you wish to add something lighter, such as small berries, fill the dish or the ramekins halfway and add the ingredient(s)—they’ll float to the top. Refrigerate until the gelée is set, then fill with the remaining mixture and refrigerate overnight.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: I have one warning for you: Do not add fresh pineapple, kiwi, figs, guava, papaya, passion fruit, or ginger root to the gelée. All of these otherwise wonderful things contain the enzyme bromelain, which will break down the gelatin and turn the gelée runny. Cooking those fruits to 158°F (70°C) deactivates the bromelain, so canned pineapple and most commercial purées should be okay, since they are typically heat-pasteurized.
My mother was formidable. She was German and an opera singer, which translates into loud and occasionally scary—with an accent. So I was a kid who pretty much toed the line for fear of Helga’s wrath. With one exception: when I was in pain. And in the summer of 1981 I was in agony, reeling from the unbearable twinges of an almost-ready-to-drop-but-not-quite-there baby tooth. We were in Germany, visiting my aunt, and one of her neighbors just happened to be a dentist. I hated dentists more than I hated the nagging bicuspid torment—even Mom couldn’t begin to terrify me into the dentist’s chair. So she bribed me. With Italian gelato al limone. As many scoops as I wanted.
So I sat in Dr. Seitz’s pneumatic chair and let him manhandle my tooth. But the nanosecond he wiggled it from its perch, I demanded my gelato. Lemon. Seven scoops.
It was well worth the pain.
Makes 4 servings
In a large saucepan over medium-low heat, bring the half-and-half and salt to a simmer. Add the lemon zest. Turn off the heat and allow the zest to steep until the half-and-half has cooled completely.
Whisk the yogurt into the half-and-half mixture. Pour the mixture through a sieve into a clean bowl. Stir in the simple syrup and lemon juice. Cover and cool in the refrigerator overnight.
Process the mixture according to the instructions on your handy-dandy ice cream machine. Or to make this more of a granita (Italian-style flavored ice), after the mixture has refrigerated until cool, at least 2 hours or overnight, freeze it for 1 hour in a roasting pan or large bowl. Remove it from the freezer, and using two forks, scrape the mixture to break up the ice. Freeze for 3 to 4 hours longer, until completely frozen. Serve!
Crème anglaise is the mother of pastry sauces—if you know your anglaise, you’ve already got a handle on crème pâtissière (pastry cream), sabayon, ice cream, crème brûlée, and pot de crème. Use her as a sauce on a dessert or as the creamy sea in the buoyant beauty Île Flottante (page 174). Dredge slices of brioche in her and fry up the breakfast food that puts the French in toast, pain perdu (page 33). Or just dip a spoon into a bowl of this English cream and enjoy it as the sweetest, most sublime, and most arterially congestive soup you’ve ever savored. This recipe is easily doubled, tripled, or quadrupled. You simply need to find the corresponding pot large enough to hold your batch.
Makes 1¾ to 2 cups (420 to 480 ml)
In a large, heavy saucier over medium heat, bring the half-and-half to a simmer.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: For cream sauces like crème anglaise or pastry cream, I always use a saucier pan. The sloping sides allow for much easier whisking and help prevent the cream from thickening and hiding in the corners, thereby creating a more consistent sauce.
Meanwhile, in an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the egg yolks, sugar, vanilla paste, and salt until light and fluffy.
With the mixer running on medium speed (to reduce any splashing), slowly pour ¼ cup (60 ml) of the hot half-and-half mixture along the side of the bowl into the egg mixture, to temper the eggs. Mix for 30 seconds, then pour the remaining half-and-half mixture very slowly down the side of the bowl into the whisking egg mixture.
Beat until all the ingredients are well combined. The mixture won’t thicken much at this point; it will be quite watery and probably a little foamy. Transfer the liquid back into the saucier, taking care to scrape down the sides of the mixing bowl.
Place the saucier over medium-low heat. Whisk constantly and vigorously until the mixture thickens and coats the back of a spoon. You may attach a thermometer to the side of the pan to ensure that the temperature rises above 160°F (71°C) to kill all potential bacteria. However, the thermometer bulb will impede efficient whisking and will allow cream to thicken in that area. So if this allays your fears at all, know that I’ve taken the temperature of a finished anglaise 5 minutes after I’ve transferred it into a container for cooling and the temperature still read above 160°F (71°C).
Use immediately or store in an airtight container for up to 2 days.
OPTION 1: PAIN PERDU
As I said earlier, crème anglaise is the batter that makes pain perdu happen. Get your hands on a loaf of brioche or an equally luscious sweet bread, like challah. (Even better, bake some.) I’ve also used leftover Christmas Panettone (page 197) for the best French/Italian breakfast mash-up I’ve ever eaten.
Simply cut your bread into slices about 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick. Pour the crème anglaise into a shallow pan (I find a pie plate works beautifully). Lay the pieces in the sauce just long enough for the cream to soak in. Flip each slice so that both sides are coated.
Place 2 tablespoons (30 ml) butter in a hot pan and when the butter has melted, fry the cream-soaked pieces of bread over medium to medium-high heat until both sides are golden brown. Enjoy with luscious maple syrup or sprinkled with a touch of confectioners’ sugar for breakfast, or serve with a scoop of ice cream for a delectable dessert.
OPTION 2: FRENCH/AMERICAN BUTTERCREAM
I was teaching a class at King Arthur Flour, demonstrating how to make Italian buttercream, when one of my students asked me, “Have you ever made custard icing? It’s similar but less sweet.” I hadn’t. I’d never even heard of it. I, the woman-child who lives for creamy fillings, had gone my entire life without getting acquainted with what sounded like my frosting soulmate. Of course I made up for lost time by going home and experimenting immediately. And oh. My. Goodness. Where had this stuff been all my life? This is the cake filling I’d been longing for since I learned the word “cake” (in utero, of course). I use it in the Red Sox Nation Tortes (page 201), my alternative to Boston cream pie.
There are a few differences in the base cream from the crème anglaise. First, have 1 pound (455 g) unsalted butter ready at room temperature to transform this cream into a spreadable love fest. Then, replace the yolks with whole eggs and the half-and-half with whole milk, and add ¼ cup (30 g) of cornstarch to the eggs and sugar. Continue as you would with the anglaise: Whip the eggs, sugar, and cornstarch until fluffy, then add the hot milk.
Because we’ve added cornstarch to the mixture, it will thicken far more during the whisking than traditional crème anglaise. You’ll be looking for very thick, smooth custard. Once you’ve gotten the right consistency, transfer the finished custard back into the mixer and beat on high with a paddle attachment until the bowl is cool to the touch. Add your softened (not melted) butter a chunk at a time until it’s all incorporated. You’ll notice the mixture thickening considerably. If you add too soft a butter or you don’t let the cream cool enough, the icing won’t thicken. If you’ve gotten yourself in this situation, just place the bowl in the fridge for 10 to 15 minutes and start mixing again.
OPTION 3: POT DE CRÈME
Pot de crème has to be the most genteel comfort dessert known to humanity. It’s a warm, elegant pudding traditionally cooked and presented in an adorable little ceramic pot with a lid. As in the buttercream above, the egg yolks in the crème anglaise recipe are replaced by whole eggs; otherwise the ingredients remain the same. The difference is that after the crème is heated and thickened to the point of coating the back of your spoon, you divide the mixture among your little pots, making sure to skim off any foam that’s on the surface that might mar the finished product after it’s baked (it should be smooth and glossy when finished). I double the anglaise recipe for 4 portions.
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Fill your pot de crème pots (or ramekins, if you don’t have the sweet little things) halfway (using only half your anglaise) and place the pots in a large, high-walled, ovenproof pan. (A deep hotel pan is perfect; otherwise I use a large, oblong glass baking dish.) Carefully add hot water to the pan, so that the water reaches halfway up the pot de crème containers but none of the water sloshes into the pots de crème themselves.
Pull an oven rack out as far as it will safely go and still hold the weight of your baking pan, and carefully transfer the pan to the rack. (If you feel confident you can transfer the dish and your little pots into the oven once they are filled, be my guest. I know from experience and unsteady hands that I’ve never managed this without an accident.) Fill each pot de crème with the remaining crème mixture. If you have official pot de crème pots, put the lids on now. If you don’t, cover the entire pan with aluminum foil.
Bake for 25 minutes, or until the custard is set; the time will vary depending on the size of your containers. Serve immediately.
For chocolate pot de crème, add ¼ cup (60 ml) bittersweet chocolate morsels to the crème just as you’ve taken it off the heat. Let the mixture sit for 5 minutes, then whisk until the chocolate is completely melted and incorporated. Divide among the pots as you would for the standard version.
OPTION 4: CRÈME BRÛLÉE
The difference between the base cream in crème anglaise and crème brûlée is that whole eggs replace the yolks, just as in the American buttercream and the pot de crème. The initial procedure is also the same. Whisk until the mixture is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.
The baking procedure is exactly the same as for pot de crème, only using a shallow ramekin because you want that larger surface area to caramelize the sugar at the end. Bake at 350°F (175°C) for 25 minutes, or until the crème has set. Allow to cool to room temperature and then refrigerate until chilled.
To finish, sprinkle granulated sugar in an even layer over the entire surface of the custard. Caramelize the sugar by gently passing a kitchen torch over the sugar until it starts to brown and bubble, using even strokes and making sure not to burn the sugar, but melting it enough to form a hard outer layer that you have to break through to get to the creamy goodness within.
OPTION 5: OLIVE OIL CREEMEE
Ray and I spent Holy Saturday eating our way through Chicago. We stopped for lunch at the Purple Pig. We settled at the sumptuous marble bar and ordered wine while we perused the pork menu, rubbernecked as the waiters brought around splendid bacon-infused temptations. Despite all these glorious porky delights, it was a Taylor tabletop soft-serve machine that hypnotized me throughout the meal.
A Vermonter by choice, I’ve unabashedly adopted the local obsession with the seasonal soft-serve, the creemee. And most creemees of note are dispensed from a Taylor. The season wouldn’t hit Vermont for a few more months and yet here, sitting directly across from me and taking up a large portion of the bartender’s workstation, was a top-of-the-line and resplendently gleaming soft-serve delivery system. Pork-infused lunch be damned—I wanted dessert, stat.
While Vermont specializes in the delicious and very locally inspired maple creemee, the Purple Pig was feeling its influences from elsewhere: Italy, to be exact. And on that day, I sampled my very first olive oil ice cream. I resolved to bring this wonderful delight back to the Green Mountains and the creemee-loving masses.
For two generous servings of ice cream: Make a double batch of crème anglaise, but in the first step, add ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil to the half-and-half. Once the sauce has begun to thicken, set the saucepan in a large bowl of ice and continue whisking until the sauce has cooled completely. Add 1 cup (240 ml) whole milk and continue whisking.
Pour the cooled mixture into an ice cream maker and proceed per the manufacturer’s instructions. For a lovely dessert pairing, try a Strawberry Basil Napoleon (page 187)—it will mesh beautifully with the olive oil flavors.
For a chocolate ice cream variation, replace the olive oil with 1/2 cup (40 g) cocoa powder.
Crème caramel is a kissing cousin to crème anglaise, a sexy little custard cooked in a caramel bath and upended so that the amber syrup flows around it to form a pool of luscious sweetness. This dessert minx also goes by the alias “flan.”
Makes 4 servings
PROCEDURE FOR THE CARAMEL
In a heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat, combine the sugar, water, and lemon juice, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. The sugar will melt and caramelize quickly, so keep stirring and adjusting the heat; you want the sugar to melt evenly and to have a golden brown color. Make sure your lighting is very good, because it can be hard to see the exact hue of your caramel.
When the color reaches a dark amber, immediately remove the saucepan from the heat and gently place it over the ice water to stop the caramelization process. Take care not to splash any water into your caramel.
Immediately spoon a small amount of caramel into each of four 8-ounce ramekins and swirl to create an even layer. Set aside.
PROCEDURE FOR THE CUSTARD
Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
In a large saucepan over medium-low heat, bring the milk, salt, and vanilla paste just to a simmer.
In the bowl of an electric mixer on medium speed, beat the sugar and eggs.
Slowly pour the hot milk mixture along the side of the bowl and into the eggs. Whisk until well combined.
Return the sauce to the saucepan over medium heat and whisk until the mixture thickens to the point that it just coats the back of a spoon.
Strain the custard mixture. I prefer to strain the custard into a large measuring cup with a spout to make pouring easier.
Place the ramekins in a deep baking dish (I use a casserole dish or a deep brownie pan) and place the baking dish on a sheet pan. At this point you can proceed on a kitchen counter-top if you have steady hands, or you can choose to pull an oven rack out far enough to use that as a work surface. In the latter case, you have to work quickly to keep the temperature of the oven from dipping too low. If this is how you choose to proceed, increase the oven temperature to 375°F (190°C), and once you’re done filling the ramekins and the water bath, turn the temperature down to 350°F (175°C).
Pour the custard mixture evenly into the ramekins, to just below the tops.
Pour hot water in the baking dish to create a bath for the ramekins. The water should reach about three-quarters up the outside of the ramekins. Pour the water slowly so that it doesn’t splash into the custard. Carefully place the baking dish inside the oven.
Bake for 30 to 40 minutes, until set.
Remove from the oven and allow to cool completely at room temperature. You can keep the ramekins in the water bath—they will cool more slowly, but it’s safer than pulling hot ramekins from scalding water with clunky oven mitts. Transfer the ramekins to the refrigerator to chill for several hours.
To unmold the crème caramel, slowly and evenly run a very thin paring knife along the inside edge of each ramekin, keeping the knife flat against the edge to keep from cutting into the custard. Place a plate on top of each ramekin and invert the two together so that the ramekin is sitting upside down on the plate. Gently shake the ramekin, keeping it close to the plate, until it slides out.
Serve with berries and whipped cream.
Have you heard about the lady who married the Eiffel Tower? That’s just crazy, right? Everyone knows you don’t marry inanimate objects unless you can eat them. For instance, if I could marry pastry cream, I would. It’s delicious. It’s versatile. It’s gotten me out of baking jams. It’s opened up the world of pastry for me. If you learn one thing, learn to make pastry cream. And learn to make it well. You won’t be disappointed.
Makes approximately 2¼ cups (540 ml)
Place the egg yolks, sugar, cornstarch, vanilla extract, and salt in the bowl of an electric mixer with a whisk attachment. Beat the mixture on high until light and fluffy.
Meanwhile, in a heavy saucier, mix the milk and cream together. Place the saucier over medium-high heat and bring the mixture to a rolling boil.
Decrease the mixer speed to medium and carefully pour the hot milk mixture down the side of the bowl. You need to lower the speed to prevent splashing, but you must add the milk mixture while the egg mixture is in motion to prevent the hot liquid from scalding the eggs. (Note: Keep the saucier on hand—you’ll need it again. You want it perfectly clean when you transfer the unthickened pastry cream back into it—make sure there’s no browned milk sludge on the bottom of the pan.)
Once all the milk mixture is incorporated, slowly increase the mixer speed and let it run for about 1 minute. Stop the mixer, scrape down the sides and bottom of the bowl to ensure that all vestiges of egg, cornstarch, and sugar are completely incorporated, and transfer the contents of the mixing bowl to your clean saucier.
Before you take your liquidy pastry cream back to the stove to thicken, make sure you have a clean bowl and a fine sieve at the ready. You’re going to be pouring the finished mixture through the sieve and into the bowl the moment the mixture is done.
Return to the stove with your saucier. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the saucier if you’re anxious about the temperature reaching 160°F (71°C)—the official temperature for killing pesky bacteria—but I can assure you it will, and then some.
Over medium-high heat, vigorously whisk the mixture until it has thickened, 4 to 5 minutes. You may break a sweat, but don’t ever stop whisking, and make sure your whisk is getting to the bottom and along the sides of the saucepan—this stuff can burn easily.
You’ll notice that you’re stirring for an awful long time before you see much change. But I warn you, it will happen, and all at once. Most often the thickening begins in earnest at the edges of the pan; get to that thickening portion with your whisk and stir it into the thinner portion.
Once the pastry cream has thickened enough to coat the back of a spoon and then some—it should be the consistency of mayonnaise—take the saucier off the heat and pour the pastry cream through the sieve into a clean bowl. (You may get lucky and have smooth and luscious pastry cream—if so, feel free to forego the sieving. Otherwise, why not take every precaution to make it super smooth?) Use a rubber spatula to speed the process along by pressing the pastry cream through the sieve. Once you’ve got every last drop in your bowl, give a quick stir for good measure.
Take a piece of plastic wrap that’s larger in diameter than your bowl and place it directly on the surface of the pastry cream. Make sure that every last bit of pastry cream is touching the plastic; otherwise it will form a skin. Transfer the bowl to the refrigerator to cool completely. (While you wait, you can daydream about what you want to create with your gorgeous pastry cream. Pumpkin éclairs, anyone?)
Once your pastry cream is cool, you’ll notice that it’s considerably thicker than when you saw it last. This is normal. Pastry cream keeps for about 2 days in the refrigerator.
OPTION 1: FLAVORS
Pastry cream is unbelievable in its natural state. It’s a damn shame to mess with it—but I do! For an Asian-inspired delicacy, add 4 tablespoons (12 g) matcha (powdered green tea) just after you’ve sieved the stuff and right before you give it a final stir. For a coffee infusion, add 1 tablespoon (3 g) espresso powder to the milk and cream when you first heat it. Or add ½ cup (120 ml) ganache for a gorgeous chocolaty custard, ½ cup (120 ml) lemon curd for a citrus zing, or ½ cup (120 ml) pumpkin purée for a warm autumnal variation. For each of these, stir the flavor addition in during the last step.
You can also experiment with fruit purées and other fruit flavorings. I keep an array of Italian soda flavorings handy—especially banana—for those occasions when I need a splash of unusual yet natural flavor. Add ½ cup (120 ml) purée or Italian soda flavor to the pastry cream just before refrigerating, whisking briskly to distribute the flavor evenly.
OPTION 2: LIGHTENING
Pastry cream is often “lightened,” which is a circuitous way of saying “add whipped cream.” Per 1 cup (240 ml) chilled pastry cream, fold in ½ cup (120 ml) chilled whipped cream for a lighter, airier texture. Conversely, if you like to layer cakes with sweetened whipped cream, consider adding a touch of pastry cream.
OPTION 3: FILLING
Pastry cream is a workhorse. You can use if for so much more than the inside of a cream puff. (But goodness, it sure is tasty in a cream puff.) Take three layers of vanilla cake and smooth chilled pastry cream between them. Top with chocolate ganache, and you’ve made a Boston cream pie. Or fry up a Berliner doughnut and fill the inside with pastry cream. Add ganache to a pastry cream and you have a chocolaty filling for any cake.
Do you like banana cream pie? Coconut cream pie? Chocolate cream pie? Well, hell, any cream pie? Then go make a yummy pie shell and while it’s cooling, make some pastry cream. There are some wonderful flavored syrups: Fabri and Monin are both brands I love—they use natural flavors and their syrups taste phenomenal. Add just enough—about ¼ cup (60 ml)—banana- or coconut-flavored syrup to your pastry cream, and over a layer of bananas or toasted coconut, add 2 cups (480 ml) flavored pastry cream directly to your baked and cooled pie shell. Take an additional 2 cups (480 ml) pastry cream and fold in 1 cup (240 ml) whipped heavy cream; with this you can pipe lovely designs on top of the pastry cream layer. If you have puff pastry on hand, you can make Napoleons with your lightened pastry cream.
OPTION 4: FROZEN CUSTARD
If you want to make frozen custard, follow the instructions for Pastry Cream through step 9. Instead of step 10, pour the mixture through a sieve into a bowl that’s sitting atop another bowl filled with ice and stir until the pastry cream is completely cold. Add 1 cup (240 ml) whole milk and combine well. Transfer the mixture to an ice cream machine and process according to manufacturer’s instructions. Best vanilla-custard ice cream ever!
OPTION 5: BAKE!
That’s right—bake with pastry cream. I add ½ cup (120 ml) to my apple pie filling. Really! It’s phenomenal. If I’m making a strudel, 1 cup (240 ml) pastry cream added to the filling makes it creamy and luxurious. The great thing about pastry cream is that although you can’t use it after 2 days for applications like adding it to whipped cream or as a layer in a cake, you can bake with it for up to 1 week. It lends creaminess to pastries, it can elevate any humdrum pie filling, and it’s what makes bread pudding absolutely divine. So don’t despair if you’ve forgotten the pastry cream in the fridge; it’s got endless uses in your oven.
This is a lazy person’s Bavarian cream, using pastry cream that’s been in the fridge with no other use. This is also very close to something called “diplomat cream.” It’s a fantastic alternative for cake filling, or is delicious served by itself as a quasi-mousse dessert.
Makes 3½ cups (840 ml) filling or 6 dessert servings
Place the purée and water in a small microwavable bowl. Sprinkle the gelatin over the purée and allow it to bloom for several minutes (until it all looks soggy).
Microwave the gelatin for 20 seconds on high and then stir. Continue to microwave in 20-second intervals until the gelatin has dissolved completely.
Add a heaping spoon of the whipped cream to the gelatin mixture and stir to temper the gelatin. (Tempering simply means adjusting the gelatin to a cooler temperature so that it doesn’t seize when you add it to the final mixture.)
In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the pastry cream until it becomes loose and creamy.
Using a plastic spatula, fold the remaining whipped cream into the pastry cream. Quickly fold the gelatin mixture into the lightened pastry cream until it is evenly distributed. Use as a filling in a layer cake or divide among 6 serving glasses for individual mousses.
Chill individual mousses in the refrigerator overnight before serving. If you are using the Bavarian cream as a cake filling, place the finished product (the assembled cake) in the freezer for a few hours or overnight to allow the gelatin to set completely. Three hours before serving, place it in the refrigerator to thaw.
“Curd” is such an unfortunate word. It really does an incredibly delicious treat such a disservice. The English slather the citrusy stuff on scones. I love to add it in between layers of coconut cake, or I’ll fill a sweet tart shell with a few cups of it and top it with meringue for the best lemon tart you’ll ever taste. Another option is to eat it by the spoonful. I won’t judge.
Makes 2½ cups (600 ml)
In a heatproof metal bowl, combine the ½ cup (120 ml) lemon juice, agave nectar, and egg yolks.
In a separate bowl, sprinkle the gelatin on top of the remaining 2 tablespoons (30 ml) lemon juice until it blooms, or, in other words, looks soggy. Set aside.
Place the bowl with egg mixture over a simmering pot of water and whisk until it has thickened enough that it ribbons when you pull out the whisk. Remove from the heat; immediately add the gelatin and whisk until it’s completely melted. Add the butter and zest and whisk until fully incorporated. The temperature will have risen above 160°F (71°C) by this time—I’ve checked—but if you’re nervous, work with a thermometer for your own peace of mind.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: Like pastry cream, lemon curd takes a good long while to thicken. But it gives you some warning signs that it’s about to turn. First, it starts to get foamy and lightens in color from a deep, egg-yolk yellow to a light, butter yellow. Just keep whisking. Then the foam starts to dissipate. Keep whisking. Then it thickens. STOP!
Transfer the curd to a bowl. Take a piece of plastic wrap that’s larger in diameter than the bowl and place it directly on the surface of the curd. Make sure the plastic touches the entire surface of the exposed curd; otherwise a skin will form. Refrigerate for a few hours until it’s completely cool. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: You’ll notice I use gelatin, which isn’t a necessary addition to curd if you are planning to use it as a simple spread on scones. However, I like to use it as a filling in pastries, and the addition of gelatin gives me a measure of assurance that the curd will set up firmly so that it stays neatly within the confines of the pastry instead of oozing out.
Making maple syrup is more of a North Country adventure than an actual recipe.
First, get a giant maple tree. Second, tap the tree in April, just as the days get above 40°F (8°C) but making damn sure it falls below 32°F (0°C) at night. Third, hang buckets from the tap and collect sap. Fourth, boil your gallons of syrup down to a thimbleful of syrup and pray you don’t overheat the stuff or it’ll be useless.
That’s sugaring in a nutshell. “Sugaring” is the term used by insane Northern folk who, just as winter breaks, spend their days collecting gallons of sap and boiling those gallons down to just a few cups. To be exact, you need forty to fifty gallons of sap to make one measly gallon of syrup.
Let’s say you manage to collect that much sap. So your ingredients are:
50 gallons of sap
You’ll notice that in a lineup, sap could pass for water. It’s clear, it’s free flowing without a hint of syrupy thickness, and it’s barely sweet. Which leads me to wonder, as I so often do when I think about how food creations came to be, who the hell thought to boil down this innocuous stuff until it became liquid pancake gold?
You do get some sense of the impulse to do something when you first tap a maple in prime sugaring season. Drill a little pilot hole at a slight angle, and a good maple will instantly start oozing sap; you feel compelled to either plug the hole or find something in which to collect the bounty. So now you have to follow some procedure to transform what could very well be water into New England wine.
I was in this very position in the spring of 2010 when my husband, Ray, and I tapped our first maples. We have a handful of two-hundred-plus-year-old trees on our property and, being the good Vermonters we’re trying to be, we had to tap those puppies. The weather wasn’t complying with us when we first drilled our tap holes; it wasn’t warming up sufficiently in the afternoon to heat the tree “just so” in order to get her running. So we went on a short weekend trip and left our beloved friend and native Vermonter Agnes in charge of our peculiar pack of hounds and what seemed to be a dormant pack of maple trees. “Don’t worry much about the sap, Agnes. We’ve barely seen a few drops in the buckets.”
Naturally this kind of flippant statement could only lead to a perfect storm of sap weather, leaving Agnes on a desperate hunt for ever larger buckets in the barn, in the shed, in the stables, and, finally, in the bakery. When we returned to Vermont, and I swear we were only gone three days, Agnes introduced us to the new members of our family: fifty gallons of sap collected in all manner of containers waiting patiently in my bakery cooler. Presenting our liquid offspring, Agnes added, “And you have to boil it off right away because it sours fast. Like milk. Just worse.”
Here’s where the procedure comes in. The rule of thumb in sugaring is that you boil sap until you reach a temperature of exactly 7.1°F (3.9°C) over the boiling point at your particular elevation (or if you have a fancy-schmancy sugar-concentration reader, it’s 66–67 percent sugar concentration). You see, the temperature of boiling water is 212°F (100°C) at sea level; this temperature gets lower, however, as elevation increases and atmospheric pressure decreases. So you may think the correct temperature for perfect maple syrup is 219.1°F (103.9°C)—but where I live, it’s 217°F (102.8°C). I know this because I boiled my first batch to 219.1°F (103.9°C) and as it cooled, it started to form a mountain range of crystals perfectly suitable for a family of sea monkeys but not at all the stuff of maple syrup. Thankfully, I am the Sugar Baby that I am and I just made maple candy with the disaster (after I stopped crying).
In the end, after harvesting about a hundred gallons of sap, we were left with a Nutella jar full of maple syrup. But my oh my, what delicious maple syrup it was.
There’s no cake, no Parisian macaron complete without this luscious stuff, and the varieties are endless—vanilla bean, caramel, blackberry, maple, and more. There are two ways to make the real deal. This is the first way, the Swiss way. The second is the Italian way (page 63). Both results are wonderful—it’s simply a matter of procedural preference. I also believe that Swiss buttercream gives you a bit more assurance in terms of killing any food-borne buggers that could be hiding in your raw egg whites, since you heat the egg whites to 160°F (71°C).
Makes enough to fill and lightly cover 1 (10-inch/25-cm) cake
In the bowl of an electric mixer, add the egg whites, sugar, salt, vanilla bean seeds, and vanilla extract. Place the bowl over a bain-marie (a simmering saucepan of water). Clip on a candy thermometer and whisk constantly until the sugar has completely dissolved (I stick two fingers in and rub to see if I feel any granules) and the temperature has reached 160°F (71°C). Immediately transfer the bowl to the mixer and whisk on high until the mixture holds soft peaks and the bowl no longer feels hot to the touch.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: At the end of step 1, you’ve got meringue. The same holds true for Italian meringue, when you’re on the road to making buttercream but you’ve only reached the point of whipping the egg whites and the sugar together to form peaks. If you stopped right now, you could fill a pastry bag, pipe soft white mountains onto the top of a pie, and use a kitchen torch or your broiler to brown the edges of the fluffy cloud of sweet egg white. You can even forget the butter and ice the outside of your cake with this stuff. You can also bake the meringue at 250°F (120°C) for a few hours and come out with crunchy, chewy, airy baked sweetness. I just wanted you to know that you’ve officially made something at this point. This could be a destination, but really it’s only a stop on our journey.
Start adding bits of butter, a few tablespoons at a time. You may be thinking a pound of butter seems a bit excessive. And you’re right. Because there is a chance that this will come into its whipped glory without using all the butter. So add slowly. The buttercream will start to appear as if it’s separating; this is perfectly normal and is the stage before it transforms. Keep whipping and watching; before your very eyes, the buttercream will magically turn a perfect fluffy consistency. (If either the bowl or the buttercream still feels at all warm, put the bowl in the freezer for 2 minutes and then whip on high again. If it doesn’t come together, add a few more knobs of butter.)
Use buttercream immediately, or refrigerate for up to 1 week or freeze up to a month. If you refrigerate or freeze it, you’ll have to rewhip it before you use it because it will have hardened. You’ll notice that once you start whipping, it looks as if it’s fallen apart. It has. Just keep whipping until it gets back into shape. It’ll happen.
OPTION 1: MAPLE BUTTERCREAM
Replace the sugar with maple sugar and proceed exactly the same way with the recipe. Maple sugar is not the easiest thing to purchase—I live in maple country and it’s still not a breeze to find it. But if you can get your hands on a cup of maple in its granulated form, I heartily recommend giving this a try. And yes, you can substitute maple syrup for the sugar, but it’s not quite the same taste. Remember, though, maple is much sweeter than sugar cane. You’ll want to pair this with a cake that’s a little mellow.
OPTION 2: FLAVORS!
Add ½ cup (120 ml) fruit purée after you’ve reached fluffy perfection to add color and flavor. You can futz with the amount, but beware—adding too much will destroy the balance between sugars, proteins, and fats and will break down the buttercream.
Add an extract of any variety at any point in the process, or add 2 teaspoons (2 g) instant espresso or matcha (powdered green tea) for a delightful infusion.
Add ¼ cup (60 ml) lemon curd or ganache to bring a headier flavor to your buttercream. (But don’t overdo it or you’ll upset the balance.)
OPTION 3: PIPING
Buttercream is the cake decorator’s right-hand man. If you keep it at the perfect temperature—not warm and not cold, but just right—you’ll be piping roses and leaves and filigree all the live-long day.
When I was old enough to babysit, I didn’t do it for the money; I did it for the food. I’d get the little stinkers to bed by reading bedtime stories so fast you could hear a sonic boom, and then I’d eat that poor family out of house and home. I only babysat at homes with a guaranteed score, and I find it curious that I was ever asked to babysit more than once because I never left without demolishing every last edible morsel from inside the freezer. The Stewart family was especially hard hit, since they always carried the full line of Jell-O Pudding Pops and I had no problem polishing off every last box. I’d apologize for my foolish youthful behavior, but I cannot honestly say that I’m sorry. Or that I wouldn’t do it again now that I’m full-grown.
Makes approximately 2½ cups (570 g) pudding, 7 rocket pops, or 14 individual brûlées
A Note from the Sugar Baby: Agave nectar is a sweetener produced primarily in Mexico and is derived from the agave plant. Yup, the same plant that produces nature’s other sublime nectar—tequila!—yet the nectar tastes nothing like the liquor. As a matter of fact, light agave nectar has a rather neutral flavor, perhaps with just a hint of caramel, so it’s a perfect sweetener for both hot and cold beverages. Its consistency is very much like honey but not as viscous; it pours as quickly as Heinz 57. One benefit of agave nectar is that although it’s been found to be about one and a half times sweeter than table sugar, it has a much lower glycemic index. Be aware, however, that agave nectar isn’t a sweetener that can replace sugar or corn syrup in every recipe; its chemical composition doesn’t lend itself well to higher-temperature sugar work, but it can be useful at lower temperatures in baked goods.
In a medium saucepan over medium heat, whisk together the agave nectar, cocoa powder, heavy cream, and salt until the mixture comes to a simmer. Remove from the heat.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the coffee and cornstarch. While whisking constantly (especially if the coffee is still warm), add the egg yolks one at a time and then add the vanilla extract.
Return the pan containing the cocoa mixture to the stove. Pour the egg mixture into the cocoa mixture, whisking constantly over medium heat. Clip on a candy thermometer and whisk whisk whisk. In all likelihood, the temperature has already exceeded 160°F (71°C), so you’re safe, bacteria-wise. Now keep whisking for about 5 minutes, until the pudding thickens and the temperature reaches 200°F (93°C) to 210°F (100°C).
Transfer the pudding to a large bowl and serve family style, or use it in other crafty ways like a filling for a glorious crêpe cake (see page 238). Alternatively, pour the pudding into seven popsicle molds and freeze overnight for a luscious, chocolaty summertime treat. You can also pour the pudding into fourteen individual 2-ounce (60 ml) serving cups and cover each with plastic wrap, making sure that the wrap touches the entire surface of the pudding to prevent a skin from forming, and refrigerate for a few hours. You can serve the pudding straight from the fridge or with a dollop of whipped cream. However, I like to sprinkle a spoonful or two of sugar over the top and take a kitchen torch to the sugar to caramelize it into a brûlée crust.
In my shop, Gesine Confectionary in Montpelier, Vermont, I used to make this mousse in tall cylinder cake molds, metal rings that were only about 2 inches in diameter but 4 inches tall. They were beauties. I’d fill up a serving tray with them and I had to slide them into the pastry case ever so carefully. They were so damn tall that they could easily tip over, so any miscalculation on my part would result in severing the top half of the mousse. We called them chocolate towers, of course. This is the coveted recipe.
Makes 8 servings
In a saucepan over low heat or in a microwave, melt the butter, making sure not to let it brown.
Transfer the melted butter to a large metal bowl and place the bowl over a bain-marie (simmering water in a saucepan). Attach a candy thermometer. Making sure you have a whisk ready to go, add the egg yolks, 2 cups (480 ml) of the cream, ¼ cup (50 g) of the sugar, and the vanilla extract. Whisk like the dickens, checking to make sure the temperature has passed 160°F (71°C)—it will likely reach about 220°F (105°C) due to the constancy of the heat during whisking, but you want to make sure you get to at least 160°F (71°C) to kill any potential bacteria. Sometimes the custard mixture appears to be “breaking,” as if the butter is separating from the cream. Don’t panic; it’ll be fine. Keep whisking until the custard mixture thickens to the point that it coats the back of a spoon.
Take the custard off the heat and immediately add the chocolate pieces, making sure all the chocolate is coated with hot custard. Let the chocolate enjoy the warm bath for a few minutes; then, with a clean whisk or a wooden spoon, stir until the chocolate is completely melted and incorporated into the custard. If you weren’t able to chop the chocolate into small enough pieces, you might be left with some chunks. If so, transfer the custard back to the bain-marie and stir constantly until every last piece is melted. Set the custard aside. Keep the bain-marie going.
In the clean bowl of a stand mixer, combine the egg whites, the remaining ¼ cup (50 g) sugar, and the salt. Place the bowl over the bain-marie, with the candy thermometer attached (make sure you’ve cleaned it very well since you used it last—even a tiny amount of fat introduced into the egg whites will keep them from whipping). Whisk (with a clean whisk!) the egg whites constantly until the sugar is completely melted and the temperature reaches 160°F (71°C).
Immediately transfer the bowl to the stand mixer and, with the whisk attachment, beat the mixture on high until it achieves soft peaks. Don’t overbeat the egg whites. You don’t want lumpy and dry—you’re going for soft, shiny peaks.
With a rubber spatula, transfer about one quarter of the beaten egg whites into the chocolate custard and stir vigorously to combine the two. Transfer the remaining egg whites into the custard, and this time gently fold the egg whites into the custard, using the flat rubber spatula in sweeping motions like a gentle oar and turning the bowl as you go. This is to maintain as much of that airy texture in the egg whites as possible. At this stage, don’t be panicked if there are still bits of egg white not fully incorporated. Set the mixture aside.
Clean your mixing bowl and whisk attachment and add the remaining 2 cups (480 ml) cream. Whip until the cream is very stiff, but be careful not to overbeat—if the cream starts to churn, you get butter instead of fluffy whipped cream. (In the event you go overboard, all is not lost. You can save the day by adding about ¼ cup (60 ml) heavy cream and whisking gently. The hard knots of clotted cream will relax and you’ll be able to reverse the problem.)
Gently fold the whipped cream into the custard mixture until there are no white streaks of either egg white or whipped cream remaining.
Distribute the mousse evenly into 8 single-serving bowls to chill, for 4 hours or overnight, before serving. Or use the mousse as part of a beautiful finished dessert. I’ve got some ideas for you starting on page 176 with the I Heart Mousse Cake.
I’m never out of ideas when it comes to creating a new flavor of mousse. Of course it’s never really a new flavor—someone’s always tried it before. But once you get the hang of making the stuff, the options are endless. And once you realize that you can use mousse as a filling in a cake, in a pie, between macarons, or as individual cakes, you’ll be hard-pressed to tear yourself away from making a rainbow of fruity mousses.
Makes enough for 1 (10-inch/25-cm) cake or 12 individual servings
Place the gelatin in a microwave-safe bowl and cover it with ¼ cup (60 ml) water, making sure each particle of gelatin is saturated; it should look like wet sand. (If there are dry particles peeking through before you microwave the gelatin, you’ll scorch it.) Microwave the gelatin mixture on 50-percent power for 20 seconds at a time, swirling the bowl between each heating, until the gelatin is completely melted. Be careful not to overheat because this can kill the efficacy of the gelatin. You want to time the melting of the gelatin so that it is still liquid when you incorporate it into the cold whipped cream mixture; it’s tough to fold in gelatin that has already solidified. You’ll end up with chunks. Alternatively, heat the water just to boiling and pour it over the gelatin.
In a medium saucepan, gently heat the purée and stir in the gelatin mixture. Set aside.
In a heavy saucepan over low heat, combine the sugar and 
cup (75 ml) water. Stir until the sugar has completely dissolved. Wash down the sides of the pan with a damp pastry brush. Clip on a thermometer, stop stirring, and heat the syrup to 234°F (112°C).
Meanwhile, whisk the egg whites with the salt until foamy. When the sugar reaches the correct temperature, lower the speed of the mixer to medium and carefully pour the hot sugar syrup down the side of the bowl. Once all of the syrup has been added, increase the speed to high and whip until the meringue is a shiny, bright white and maintains a stiff peak when you lift the whisk attachment. Transfer the meringue to a metal bowl and set aside.
Using the same mixing bowl the meringue was in (you don’t have to clean it), add the heavy cream and mascarpone and whip until they achieve soft peaks.
Combine the whipped cream and meringue, gently folding the two together.
Add ½ cup of the cream-meringue mixture to the purée, and whisk to lighten.
Quickly add the gelatin-purée mixture; make sure the gelatin mixture isn’t too warm or the cream-meringue mixture will break and deflate. But also make sure that the gelatin hasn’t cooled so much that it’s begun to harden—it should be fluid so you’re not left with nibs of Jell-O in the mousse. Work quickly to ensure a smooth, silken texture.
Pour the mousse into a 10-inch (25-cm) cake pan or into 12 separate serving glasses and chill until set. You can also freeze the mousse; remove it from the freezer 2 hours before serving and allow it to thaw in the refrigerator. If you want to make something really beautiful and mangorific, try the Mango Mousse Cake on page 181 for a dessert even your tweener will remember.
This is a spreadable frosting when it gets to exactly the right temperature and consistency. Unfortunately, I tend to forget the frosting altogether while I’m running around the kitchen, and there’s a definite point beyond which the frosting just doesn’t want to be spread. But I’m not one to let a perfectly good fudge frosting go to waste. What I like to do is take a heaping spoonful of the frosting, roll it in a ball in my hands and then flatten it just enough to cover the top of a cupcake. Manhandling the frosting brings on a nice sheen, and by rolling and flattening as symmetrically as you can, you’ll have a very clean (and delicious) topping for your latest cupcake invention. Personally, I top my chocolate dulce de leche cupcakes with this shiny marvel. If you’d like to do the same, go to page 216 for further instructions.
Makes enough to frost 1 (10-inch/25-cm) round cake or 8 large cupcakes
Place all the ingredients except the vanilla paste in a heavy saucepan over low heat, stirring until the sugar has completely melted.
Clip on a candy thermometer, stop stirring, and heat to 234°F (112°C). Remove the pan from the heat and allow the frosting to cool slightly.
Add the vanilla paste and beat with a wooden spoon until the frosting thickens enough to spread on a cake. If the frosting becomes too thick, add 1 tablespoon (15 ml) of cream and stir.
One of our favorite customers at Gesine Confectionary, Dr. Carol, used to bring small batches of candied citrus to the bakery. You might think, “Coals to Newcastle” but not once did those precious crystallized bits get dismissed. When your day is filled with dark chocolate and heavy cream, a small bite of ever-so-vaguely sweet and tart can cut through the fat blob setting up camp in your stomach. Just what the doctor ordered.
Makes about 1 pound (455 g)
You’re thinking, “Citric acid? Sounds dangerous, as if it will cause grievous harm if ingested! Not to worry. Citric acid is merely a powder extracted from citrus fruits. It’s what makes the sour and bitter in lemons and oranges. I like to use it in citrusy confections to give them a little oomph, but you can just as easily leave it out. And since it’s a little hard to come by, I wouldn’t blame you if you never used it. But if you’re game, you can purchase it at baking supply shops or online.
There are other ingredients that you might not find at the corner store either. For instance, when I use chocolate, I use Callebaut or Valrhona. Those are my tried-and-true favorites. For cocoa powder, I use Callebaut Extra Brute or Valrhona. That’s it. Period. In larger cities, Whole Foods and other well-stocked stores will carry large hunks of those chocolates and will often carry the cocoa powders as well. Or perhaps you have a restaurant supply store nearby that also carries such ingredients, like the drool-worthy Surfas in Los Angeles. Otherwise, you’ll find the ingredients at www.pastrychef.com. They carry my chocolate and cocoa powder. They also have citric acid, glycerin, sugar gloves, glucose syrup, vanilla bean paste, and a host of other goodies. If you’re on the prowl for unusual (or usual) fruit purées, go to www.lepicerie.com. They have a rainbow of flavors to choose from.
For Italian soda flavors, I order from www.baristaproshop.com. For ingredients like almond flour, almond paste, coconut chips, and every nut on the planet, I depend on www.nutsonline.com. They off er both small-portion and bulk quantities and their customer service is unparalleled. For great spices and spice mixtures, like the Afrika line, I depend on the gorgeous selection at www.flavorbank.com.
Cut the lemons or oranges into quarters. Remove the fruit from the rind. Using a spoon, scrape the white pith off of each rind so you are left with a clean quarter-slice of peel. Cut each peel lengthwise into strips ¼ inch (6 mm) wide and set aside.
In a stockpot, blanch the peels by soaking them in simmering water for 40 minutes. Fish the peels out and place them in ice water. Blot the peels with a paper towel.
Pour the water out of the stockpot and refill it with 6 cups (1.5 L) water, 6 cups (1.2 kg) of the sugar, and the lemon juice. Place the pot over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has dissolved. Raise the heat to high and bring the syrup to a boil. Clip on a candy thermometer and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, until the temperature reaches 200°F (93°C), 20 to 30 minutes.
Add the peels and continue boiling for 40 minutes. Remove the pot from the heat but leave the peels in the syrup to rest overnight (8 hours). Don’t discard the syrup! Just leave the peels in until I tell you to take them out!
After the overnight soak, bring the mixture back to a boil until the temperature reaches 226°F (108°C). This can take half an hour! Remove the pot from the heat and let the peels and the poaching syrup soak overnight again (8 hours).
For the last time (I promise), bring the syrup and peels to a boil until the temperature reaches 230°F (110°C)—yup, it takes about half an hour. Let the concoction sit for 8 hours again. Here’s the thing: don’t take the peels out after the 8 hours until you …
… reheat the syrup until it liquefies. Then fish the peels out with a slotted spoon and allow them to dry on metal cooling racks set over parchment-lined sheet pans. This allows the excess moisture to drain off and the peels to dry evenly. Let the peels become dry but still slightly tacky, so that the remaining sugar crystals adhere to them. Again, this can take up to 8 hours, or considerably longer if you’re in a humid climate. You’ve been patient this long—just let the peels do their thing. Even if they take a whole day.
Spread the remaining 1 cup (200 g) sugar and the citric acid (if you’re using it) on a large plate, and give a good stir to make sure the citric acid is evenly distributed. Roll the peels in the sugar, making sure each strip is evenly coated. Place your finished beauties on a piece of parchment. Add more sugar and citric acid if you start running low. You may also want to sieve the sugar in the event you start to see clumps. Dry the peel for a few hours and then, at long last, you can take a bite! Store in an airtight container in a cool, dry place for up to a month.
A Note from the Sugar Baby: Under what circumstances, you ask yourself, would you go through all this trouble to make citrus peel? I understand it’s not often that you’ve found yourself in the deep throes of a citrus-peel craving, and that you identify it primarily with that red-headed stepchild of holiday confectionery, the fruitcake. But there are two things that wouldn’t be half as wonderful without it: panettone and stollen. (I’ll give you these recipes on pages 197 and 210, respectively, so you can appreciate the beauty of a homemade candied peel in a holiday staple.)
CANDIED GINGER
Candied ginger differs from candied citrus peel in that you want to candy the interior and not the exterior. So you peel 1 pound (455 g) of large, fresh ginger root, discard the peel, and cut the tender insides into ¼-inch (6-mm) cubes. Then proceed with the above instructions, exactly as you would with citrus peel. I use candied ginger in The Best Ginger Cookies Ever (page 230) and I like to have small uniform pieces, like a spicy alternative to chocolate chips. But that’s just me. Some people use a mandoline and thinly slice the ginger for candying. For another delicious way to bake with candied ginger, check out the Gingered Drop Scones on page 183.
Sachertorte is a magnificent layer cake that’s so damn good it has spawned a war between two pastry greats in Vienna since the 1800s: the Hotel Sacher and the confectionery haven Demel, who both claimed the dessert as their invention. Legal wrangling ensued as to who owned the rights to sell the “original” Sacher. Expert witnesses testified under oath that a second layer of apricot marmalade was never applied to the original two-layer chocolate sponge cake. And imagine the horror when it was revealed in court that margarine had been substituted for butter in one of the litigant’s cake recipes. Scandal!
Notice that all the wrangling was about the innards of the cake? If it were I, I’d have sued for the rights to the fabulous chocolate glaze and let those whiners keep their marmalade-encrusted interior, because it’s the chocolate glaze on a Sacher that is consistently sublime. It is shiny. It is decadent. It is fudgy. That’s right. The icing for a fancy-schmancy Austrian dessert, originally created for a prince, has the same culinary origins as down-home American fudge. No wonder it’s so tasty. Use it as a glaze on any cake you think could use a pretty sheen and a powerful chocolate punch. Just don’t get in a lawsuit over it.
Makes enough to cover 1 (10-inch/25-cm) torte
In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the sugar, water, and salt. Over medium heat, stir until the sugar has completely melted. Add the chocolate and stir until it is melted.
Clip on a candy thermometer, stop stirring, and raise the heat to medium-high. Heat to 234°F (112°C). Immediately remove from the heat and allow to cool, undisturbed, for about 5 minutes, to allow the glaze to thicken. Add the butter. Let sit for 3 to 5 seconds, then stir.
Pour the glaze over your layer cakes, dunk the tops of your cupcakes, or douse your petit fours. Just don’t scrape the bottom of the pan, to avoid any burnt bits from separating and marring the pristine sheen of your chocolate-covered delicacy. For more ideas, check out Nanny’s Torte on page 199.
When I was a kid, if we didn’t go to Germany to visit my grandmother in the summer, Omi came to these fair United States armed with one word of English vocabulary: “Wonderful!” Actually, it came off as “vunderfool” but we got her gist. Never did she put her single word to use as prolifically as she did at the Gifford’s ice cream parlor in Arlington, Virginia. Omi was partial to banana splits drizzled with rich fudge. After each bite she’d mutter “vunderfool.”
Makes approximately 3 cups (720 ml)
In a medium bowl, stir together the cocoa powder, brown sugar, and granulated sugar until they are well combined.
Place the cream, butter, and salt in a saucepan and heat on low until the butter is melted.
Carefully add the cocoa mixture to the cream mixture, whisking constantly until you’ve eradicated any lumps. Clip on a candy thermometer and continue whisking constantly over medium-low heat until the sugar dissolves, the mixture thickens and is smooth, and the temperature reaches 225°F (110°C).
Pour the fudgy sauce into a heatproof jar, taking care not to scrape the sides or the bottom of the pan in the event you dislodge burnt cream, and either allow to cool or serve immediately over some tasty vanilla ice cream. If you somehow manage not to consume the entire batch in one sitting, store the fudge in the refrigerator in a microwave-safe screw-top jar. When you plan on serving the fudge again, take the cap off and microwave on 50-percent power for 30 seconds at a time, gently stirring in between each blast until the mixture has reached the right ice-cream-topping consistency and is comfortably warm and cozy. Alternatively, place the jar, cap off, in a simmering pot of water, making sure the water only reaches halfway up the jar (because if you walk away and the water starts boiling, you don’t want hot water in your gorgeous fudge). Heat until you’re happy.
Gesine’s Damn Good Peanut Butter Fudge
