Cream

Nikki Duffy

MORE RECIPES

Runner beans with cream and tarragon; John Dory with creamed raddichio; Rabbit with anchovies, rosemary and cream; Lamb’s kidneys with mustard and cream; Creamy spelt and almond pudding; Gooseberry, cream and honey pudding; Roasted apricot Eton mess; Orange and ginger fool with coffee syrup; Mulberry and walnut cranachan; Basil pannacotta with minted raspberries; Rhubarb crème brûlée; Beer ice cream; Vanilla and rhubarb ice cream

Cream is milk’s rich soul: the sweet, luscious top-of-the-bottle treat. It was once skimmed off pans of milk with tin scoops. Now, we harness the power of the centrifuge: whole milk is rotated at speed in a drum, very quickly causing the fat globules to separate from the thinner, but heavier, milk. Cream collects at the centre of the vessel and is drawn off. This efficient process is made longer or shorter depending on the fat content required in the cream.

Before pasteurisation and mechanisation, cream, just like butter, had a slightly tangy taste, the result of bacteria working in it as it stood, sometimes for days, in the dairy. Modern cream – extracted from very fresh milk and then pasteurised – does not have a huge amount of flavour. But it is still immensely useful because of its incomparable texture and consistency. Its unique structure – lots of fat globules suspended within a small amount of liquid – coats the mouth without feeling greasy, making anything you add it to instantly more luxurious.

One of the joys of cream is that you don’t need very much of it to make a big difference. Cream-rammed cakes and big, blowsy sundaes are all well and good as occasional treats but it’s cream in small amounts – particularly in contrast to other ingredients – that I really find most heavenly. Pale, rich, bland and cool, cream dances a delicious counterpoint to the dark, the sharp, the earthy and the hot: the crisp crunch of meringue, the tartness of poached rhubarb, the heat of a bubbling apple crumble or the sweet, rooty mass of a roasted vegetable soup. Just a spoonful or two of cream turns meaty pan juices into a velvety sauce with which to ‘nap’ your chop or steak. And a little cream added to spicy curries or devilled sauces balances the heat without blanketing it.

Fresh cream is also legendarily delicious with fresh, raw fruit, of course – its mild sweetness balancing the acidity of strawberries, raspberries, peaches or blueberries to perfection. This is why ridiculously easy puds such as Eton mess and cranachan, which simply augment fruit and cream with something a little crisp or crunchy, are so much greater than the sum of their parts.

Cream is full of saturated fat, of course, and has long been demonised because of this. However, the perceived danger of saturated fats in the diet in relation to heart disease is now being questioned, and the potentially harmful role of other elements, such as excessive sugar and polyunsaturated fats, scrutinised. We cannot eat cream (and lard and butter) with impunity, not least because they are so rich in calories. But I for one would rather enjoy real organic cream in moderation than some ‘lite’ alternative, rammed with palm oil, emulsifiers and colouring. Calorific it may be, but cream is a deeply satisfying ingredient.

TYPES OF CREAM

Single cream With a mere 18 per cent minimum fat, this is the sort of cream you might pour into your coffee, and there is nothing better to cool your breakfast porridge. It’s not much thicker than milk, not rich enough to whip, and prone to curdling if boiled – but is a great way to enrich soups at the last minute or to use in pannacottas.

Whipping cream Cream needs at least 30 per cent fat to whip up satisfactorily. Whipping cream has a minimum of 35 per cent fat, making it lighter than double cream, but still nicely whipable. As with double cream, it fluffs up better when well chilled.

Double cream While rich, double cream retains a very good pouring consistency, making it perfect for draping over puddings. With a minimum 48 per cent fat, it whips up easily to a billowy mousse and is stable enough to boil with other ingredients without curdling – hence its use in rich, reduced savoury sauces. It is essential for a classic custard, whether crème anglaise or for crème brûlée, ice cream or tarte aux citron, as well as savoury quiche fillings. For a slightly lighter pudding-finisher, combine double cream with an equal quantity of wholemilk yoghurt and whip to soft peaks.

Soured cream Soured cream is to cream as yoghurt is to milk. A bacterial culture is introduced to single cream and allowed to go to work, producing lactic acid that thickens and sours it. Soured cream is light and sharp enough to work fantastically well in savoury dishes – superb alongside chillies, or stirred into stroganoffs. It’s great forked into mashed potato with chives or used to bind a rough and ready smoked mackerel pâté. Soured cream is used in cheesecakes to give that lovely, subtle tang, and is a fine baking ingredient, adding more richness than milk, and reacting with alkaline raising agents to produce great lift.

Crème fraîche Another form of cultured cream, this is hugely versatile. With 30–40 per cent fat, it is richer than soured cream, and not as sour. It is less rich than double cream but, with its glorious, thick texture (a result of the bacterial culturing), you’d never know it. Crème fraîche has great keeping properties too: a tub stored in the fridge at around 3°C will keep for a fortnight, making it very useful for impromptu additions to recipes. I also particularly love the slightly tangy flavour of crème fraîche, which cuts its richness beautifully. Crème fraîche d’Isigny, from northern France, is a particularly fine example.

Clotted cream A West Country speciality, this unctuous, golden-crusted delight is traditionally made by allowing cream to rise to the top of a shallow pan of milk (or, these days, pouring centrifuged cream on to a layer of milk), then heating to 80–90°C. Once cooled, the cream forms a splendid crust and develops a unique, thick, gloopy texture. Clotted cream boasts anything up to a luxurious 64 per cent fat content – it is by far the richest of all the creams, making it fit to take the place of butter in a cream tea with scones and jam. You can mix it into things – a sauce or a batch of fudge, say – but it is best enjoyed just as it comes.

Mascarpone This is actually a kind of unsalted cheese, made largely from cream, with a fat content of around 44 per cent. Its considerable richness is balanced by a delicate acidity, which makes it an excellent ingredient in cheesecakes. It can even be whipped like cream.

BAY SYLLABUB

The delicate flavour of bay perfumes this creamy pud beautifully. You can serve it with any soft fruit, but the sharp tang of blackcurrants pairs particularly well. Serves 4

100ml dry white wine

8 fresh bay leaves, torn

Finely grated zest of ½ lemon

300ml double cream

50g caster sugar, plus extra to serve

50g fresh blackcurrants, to serve (or other fresh fruit)

Put the wine, bay leaves and lemon zest into a small pan and bring to a gentle simmer. Allow the wine to bubble gently until reduced by about half. Remove from the heat and set aside to cool and infuse.

Whip the cream and sugar together until the cream is holding soft peaks. Pass the cooled wine through a sieve into the cream and whisk to incorporate.

Spoon the fragrant cream into glasses or bowls. If using blackcurrants, toss them in a little sugar, then scatter a few over each syllabub before bringing to the table.