IN THE EARLY NINETIES, I took my parents to Paris, their first trip.
But I made a mistake. Not the whole France vs. America thing. Instead, I’d crossed a barrier. Unbeknownst to me, I’d morphed from a backpack-toting college kid to a full-fledged, thirty-something tourist. I bought maps and packed deodorant.
Our first night in town, I took them to one of my old haunts, a down-and-dirty Lebanese-French place, hidden in the warren of twisty streets on the Left Bank. My mother’s heels clacked against the cobblestones. It wasn’t a good sign.
The restaurant was so old-school, it didn’t have menus. Or even a chalkboard. The waiter recited the night’s offerings with a Middle Eastern clack, French with thick gutturals. I suggested the lamb to my parents. Mostly because I couldn’t miss d’agneau in the spitfire but heavily accented list.
It was a marginal dinner—at best. I may have been well into my academic career, but I was already cooking my way through glossy food magazines every month. I knew the sauces were gelatinous with cornstarch. I could tell the difference between mutton and lamb.
When it came time for dessert, our menu-less waiter again rattled off a list. I heard chèvre. I suggested it all around.
My mother knew better. She crossed her arms and asked for a coffee.
But my father and I were game. We got bowls of soupy goat cheese, honey on the side.
One bite, and we asked for the check. It was horrid: a distinctly ammonia smell. Maybe it had gone off. I just wanted out.
The rest of the trip went fine. The next two decades, not so much. I never heard the end of it. “Does that have goat cheese in it?” my father asked whenever I brought something to the table, whenever anybody—except my mother, who knew better—brought something to the table.
Until Bruce brought the Chèvre Truffles (see this page) to the table.
“Do those have goat cheese in them?”
For once, we could give it a resounding yes.
My mother and I couldn’t give it much more. We were moaning in delight.
My father was glum. “I don’t want any of that,” he kept saying, although no one was listening. Kept saying it although we were already talking about something else. Kept saying it even after we cleared out and went into the kitchen.
When I glanced back into the dining room, to my utter shock, I saw him take a truffle and bite into it. A delicate nibble. But a bite, nonetheless.
He looked up and our eyes locked.
“Good?” I asked.
He thought about it. Gave it that trapped Michael Scott look. And grinned, knowing he was out of luck. Do you know how many years it takes to work up a good refrain?
Truffles are traditionally made with ganache, a chocolate and cream mixture. In this case, it’s a chocolate and chèvre mixture, a bit of goaty indulgence, sweetened with maple syrup, then rolled into balls and coated in tempered chocolate, all before being sprinkled with a few grains of coarse salt. No wonder my father had to get a new refrain.
1 pound plus 6 ounces (625 g) bittersweet chocolate (between 70% and 85% cocoa solids), chopped
6 ounces (170 g) fresh chèvre or soft goat cheese
2 tablespoons maple syrup
1 tablespoon coarse salt, such as coarse sea salt or kosher salt
1. To make the goat cheese ganache, first melt 6 ounces (170 g) chopped chocolate. You can do this in several ways:
Bring about an inch (2.5 cm) of water to a boil in the bottom of a double boiler, then set the top half of the double boiler in place, add the chocolate, drop the heat to low so the water simmers slowly, and stir until about two-thirds of the chocolate has melted. Remove the top half of the double boiler from over the simmering water and stir off the heat until all the chocolate has melted.
If you don’t have a double boiler, do this same operation, but use a medium saucepan and a heat-safe bowl that fits securely in the pan without its bottom touching the simmering water. In this case, make sure no steam can escape from between the pan and the bowl. Any steam that condenses into the chocolate can cause it to seize—that is, turn into little, hard threads with the chocolate liqueur having fallen out of suspension. If this happens, you can remove the bowl from the heat and stir in a tablespoon or two of heavy cream to try to get the whole thing to re-emulsify. It may not and then you’ll have to start over. Good luck.
Or you can melt the chocolate in the microwave. Put it in a microwave-safe bowl and heat on high in 6-second increments, stirring after each. Once about half the chocolate has melted, remove the bowl and continue stirring at room temperature until it has all melted.
In any case, cool the melted chocolate for 5 minutes at room temperature.
2. Crumble the fresh chèvre or soft goat cheese into the lukewarm chocolate, pour in the maple syrup, and stir until smooth. Set the bowl in the refrigerator and chill until the mixture is firm enough to form into balls, about 5 minutes.
3. Now the second batch of melting chocolate, the remaining pound—except this time, the whole operation has to be more precise because the chocolate has to be tempered to get the lovely shine of hardened chocolate on the truffles. Melt that remaining pound in any way you choose above, but use a chocolate thermometer to make sure the melting chocolate never gets above 130°F (54°C), no matter what. (If you’re using a microwave, you’ll have to put the thermometer in and out of the chocolate as the bowl keeps coming out of the oven.) If the temperature goes above that mark, the chocolate will lose its sheen. So you may have to melt it partially; let it cool a bit, stirring all the while; then continue melting more in whichever fashion you choose. Tedious, to be sure. Once about half of the chocolate has melted, continue stirring away from the heat until it’s all melted. Put the chocolate thermometer back in the mixture and wait until its temperature falls to about 105°F (41°C). When you drizzle a little chocolate off the tines of a fork and back into the mixture, those drizzled bits should hold their shape on top for a moment or two before melting into the batch.
4. Line a large baking sheet with wax paper. Roll the chilled goat cheese ganache into 1-inch balls. You’ll probably get about 18 from the batch. Stick a toothpick or thin, pointy bamboo skewer into one ball; then dip it into the chocolate, rolling it gently from side to side to coat. Lift it up to let some of the excess chocolate dribble back into the bowl or pan. Transfer the truffle to the prepared baking sheet and sprinkle a grain or two of coarse salt over it while the chocolate is still melty. Then continue to make more in the same way. You’ll know that you’re coating them too heavily if the chocolate puddles around their bottoms. It’s a little bit of trial and error at first, but soon enough you’ll be a whiz. If you really want to go over the top, you can skip the jury-rigged toothpicks or skewers and buy chocolate dipping rings and forks that allow you to hold the truffles up out of the tempered chocolate to let some of it run off before you transfer them to the prepared baking sheet.
5. Set the baking sheet with the dipped truffles in the refrigerator and chill until firm, about 30 minutes. After that, you can put them in a smaller container between sheets of wax paper and store them in the fridge for up to 1 week. However, let them come back to room temperature, setting them out on the counter for 15 to 20 minutes before serving.
MORE TO KNOW
Maple syrup is sold in various grades: usually three (A, B, and C, or 1, 2, and 3), with the first grade often divided into various subcategories (Grade A Light Amber, or Grade 1 Dark Amber, for example). As a match to goat cheese, choose the darkest grade from the first category—or even the second category altogether (B or 2). The higher grades are fine for pancakes, but their delicate flavors would be lost among the bold tastes of the cheese.
LESS TO DO
Do you have to temper the chocolate so obsessively in step 3? Well, probably not. You might still get the proper sheen and texture if you just melt half of the chocolate in a double boiler or the alternate saucepan-and-bowl contraption, then stir away from the heat until the chocolate has completely melted—and keep stirring until it develops a beautiful, shiny sheen. It won’t be perfect but it will also work. However, in no case should you melt the chocolate in the microwave without a chocolate thermometer at the ready. The chocolate can very easily overheat at the sides of the bowl, thereby bubbling, singeing, and turning bitter.
Maybe you want something simpler than the chèvre ganache delights on this page. Here you go! There’s no chocolate in the filling of these simple, goaty candies, so you’ll need to freeze the little cheese balls first to make sure they hold their shape without the melted chocolate’s adhesive properties.
10 ounces (280 g) fresh chèvre or soft goat cheese, at room temperature
¼ cup (55 g) sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
¼ teaspoon salt
1 pound (455 g) bittersweet chocolate (but a little sweeter than the chocolate in the Chèvre Truffles recipe on this page, between 60% and 65% cocoa solids)
1. Stir the fresh chèvre, sugar, vanilla, and salt in a large bowl until creamy. Use a rounded teaspoon or a very small ice cream scoop to make about 24 balls. Place these on a sheet tray and set them in the freezer for 2 hours.
2. Meanwhile, temper the chocolate. See step 3 on this page for exact instructions.
3. Line a large baking sheet with wax paper. Following the instructions on this page for using toothpicks, skewers, or more complicated professional tools, dip the frozen balls one by one into the tempered chocolate, setting them on the prepared baking sheet. Once done, store the baking sheet in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours to let the cheese inside thaw completely. After that, you can take the balls off the baking sheet and store them between sheets of wax paper in a sealable plastic container. They should last about a week—although I promise they won’t. For the best taste, let them sit out on the counter for 15 to 20 minutes to come closer to room temperature before eating. (As if anyone other than Job has such patience.)
Le Lingot du Quercy (luh-leen-GOAH-dwew-kvehr-SEE). It’s like a little brick from southwestern France, with a white, striped rind and a ridiculously runny, fruity, floral cheese inside. It is perhaps a goat version of the renowned stinky Époisses de Bourgogne. It should be served strictly at room temperature so the flavors pop at first bite, then linger in the nose.
Here’s the classic New York deli pastry, reinvented with goat cheese in the dough, rather than the usual cream cheese. When Bruce was testing this recipe, I inadvertently told my mother about them one day. She made me promise to put a bag in the freezer, in anticipation of their visit months away. From then on, every time she called, she asked if the bag was still there. Sheesh, it’s tough raising parents.
8 ounces (225 g) fresh chèvre or soft goat cheese
8 tablespoons (1 stick (115 g]) cool goat butter (or unsalted cow butter, if you must), cut into chunks
1⅔ cups (205 g) all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
¼ teaspoon salt
¾ cup (170 g) raspberry jam
1 cup (225 g) sliced almonds
1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon
1. Beat the goat cheese and the butter in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until fluffy and light, almost like beaten cream cheese, 4 to 5 minutes.
2. Pour in the flour and salt; continue mixing at low speed until a soft dough forms. Scrape down the inside of the bowl, mix a few seconds more just to make sure everything is incorporated and the flour has all dissolved, then divide this mixture into thirds and form them into three balls. Put 1 of the balls on a large sheet of wax paper, on your work surface. Spread it into a circle about 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick. Fold the wax paper around it and put it in the refrigerator. Repeat with the other 2 balls. Chill them for at least 3 hours or up to 3 days.
3. Position the rack in the center of the oven and preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone baking mat.
4. Dust a clean, dry work surface with flour, then place 1 of the chilled dough rounds on it. Roll into a 12-inch (30.5-cm) circle. Do it slowly and carefully, repositioning the rolling pin after each pass so that the circle is as even as you can make it.
5. Spread the circle with ¼ cup (55 g) of the raspberry jam; sprinkle ⅓ cup (76 g) of the sliced almonds and ½ teaspoon of the cinnamon over the top.
6. Cut the circle into 12 pie-piece wedges, like long, narrowing triangles. The best way to do this is to make 2 perpendicular cuts, 1 toward you and 1 parallel to where you’re standing. The circle is now in 4 quadrants. Cut each of these quadrants into 3 long, thin pie-wedge triangles. Separate the triangles from one another other a bit and then roll each of them up, starting at the pointy tip and rolling toward the curved back. Some of the jam will ooze out a little or just be exposed at the edges. Set the rugelach on the prepared baking sheet, spacing them about 1 inch apart.
7. Repeat steps 4 through 6 with the other 2 dough circles, re-dusting your work surface with flour each time and making sure there are no little bits of dough anywhere that can cause subsequent circles to stick. In fact, you can bake off 1 batch of rugelach and save the other 2 circles in the fridge for other times in the days ahead.
8. Once you’ve got all you want on the baking sheet, bake the rugelach until golden brown, about 30 minutes. Cool on the baking sheet for a couple of minutes before transferring to a wire rack and continuing to cool to room temperature, about 1 hour. Seal them up in a plastic bag and store them at room temperature for up to 3 days or in the freezer for God knows how long, until your mother comes to visit.
Mothais sur Feuille (moh-TAY-soor-fuh-EE). This is one of the most delicate goat cheeses, a bumpy mold-white round aged on a chestnut leaf, which holds in some of the moisture, keeping the white cheese soft and creamy. It’s subtle—don’t pair it with a blue or a runny, stinky cheese—but the firm texture yields the gentle flavors if you let a small piece dissolve on your tongue as you press it against your hard palate.
Majorero (mah-hah-RAY-roh). From the Canary Islands, this Spanish goat cheese is aged, dense, salty, a little sour, even a little drying in the mouth (flavors and textures brought on because the goats have to eat lichen off rocks on these hot, volcanic islands). It’s rubbed in lard before aging to give it a soft, sweet, umami-laced rind.
Monte Enebro. This Spanish goat cheese from west of Madrid is sold in flattened tubular logs. It’s not for the faint of heart. The rind is a brown-and-white mottle, bloomed blue in spots. The paste inside is dense, intense, goaty, sour, and aggressive.
