three bowls

Ever since I’ve decided that I have some kind of Uncanny Knack for awesome recipe selection, I’ve been happy to point that out as often as humanly possible.  This time, though, I must admit that Sarah, Longtime Friend of Blog, is solely responsible for tracking down this recipe for Plum Sherbet with Orange Juice and Plum Wine.

She found it on the day we were researching the possibility of orange blossom extract ice cream, and even went so far as to print it out and tuck it into my stack of recipes for the day. 

Sarah is normally loathe to push her taste or style on someone else, even in such a demure and restrained fashion.  She is in many ways the antithesis of my nature, which is to be forever exclaiming and collapsing and jumping up and down about how AWESOME EVERYTHING IS.  Ergo, when she does think something is awesome and actually calls your attention to it, it has infinitely more impact.   So I knew this recipe had to really seem exciting for her to go that far.  I took notice. 

(Plum Sherbet batter)

It took me a few weeks to finally get around to it, but luckily not so long as to miss out on the plum season entirely.  So I made it and I think it’s a great recipe with a couple of caveats/lessons learned:

• I think my plums were still a smidge underripe, so the plum flavor is not as pronounced as it could be, and because of this…
• My normal secret weapon – overzesting – actually turned out to be…well, not a problem per se, but the extra teaspoon or so of zest that I added became too prominent in comparison to the more subtle plum flavor.  Had I actually read the reviews – which already noted that the orange flavor was a bit strong even as the recipe is written – I could have avoided this.
• I am becoming more and more sensitive to overly-sweet desserts, but I think there is too much corn syrup in how the recipe is written and that sweetness also overwhelmed the plum flavor.  I don’t know how much you can reduce the corn syrup and still maintain the texture, but I would like to try it with about ¼ cup or 1/3 cup only.
• Because I did not formally “serve” this, I didn’t pour additional plum wine over the top.  Next time, I might add a bit more of the wine to the batter itself to increase the complexity of the flavor.
• The recipe calls for one teaspoon of lemon juice. I used the juice of one whole lemon and even then I think I might use a bit more, especially with plums that are a little less than perfectly ripe.
  
• The recipe doesn’t specify whether or not you peel the plums, so I didn’t and it didn’t turn out to be a problem.

So with those pointers in mind, I’d say this recipe is a keeper for its really gorgeous color, great creamy/chewy texture and a flavor that – while not quite what I was aiming for – was still delicious enough in its own right to win praise from my houseguest, the President of the Debate Club. Thanks, Sarah, for the excellent find!  I am saving you a taste.

Way back in the day, round about the early to mid-90's, I lived in New York and Heather alternated between Minnesota and Paris.  We wrote a lot of letters back and forth, and called when we could, but missed the more immediate, day-to-day knowledge you get when you live in the same town or (again, back in the 90's) could afford more long-distance phone calls than the average college student could back then.

We fantasized once about how some day in the future, we would have the lifestyle where we could be on two different continents and yet still be able to instantaneously share pictures of the boy with whom one of might be flirting (usually Heather, sometimes me) or the shoes the other might be contemplating buying (usually me, sometimes Heather). 

We were out of touch for a while, and there were 101 reasons to get back in touch, but one of the ones that spurred me on to do it was: We have the technology!  Intercontinental oversharing is now an inexpensive reality!

I would be completely satisfied if technology just facilitated mutual boy craziness and shopping, but the other day, it helped out something else nearly as fun: ice cream making.

The assignment: Vanilla ice cream.  The occasion: Birthday party.

(Vanilla guts)

Vanilla ice cream is a strangely high pressure thing to make, especially when specifically requested for a party.  With a novel flavor, you have the element of surprise with which to delight the eater.  With a traditional one...well, you just better get it right.

I knew where I would get the recipe: from the book (The Perfect Scoop) by the man (David Leibovitz).  But then I had a dilemma.

Personally, I prefer a Philadelphia style ice cream as opposed to the French custard base style.  Philadelphia doesn't contain egg yolks, so the flavor is a little simpler and less rich, and the texture isn't quite as chewy.

But would a Philadelphia style be, like, fancy-times enough to be party material? 

I was dithering between the two, and wondered if there was some kind of happy medium, something in between a Philadelphia and French style.  Something sort of like Heather herself!  (She was born either in or near Philly but has been in Paris for at least the past ten years.)   

I contemplated experimenting with the recipes in David's book, but since the party was that night, there was no time for error.  If only there was some way for me to actually ask David...like maybe through Heather herself!  (She's friends with him and had just told me in our daily catch-up call that she was going out to dinner with David the next day.) 

I checked the clock - it was still relatively early night time in Paris, maybe she would be around.

She was offline in both Google and Facebook chat, so I sent off an email asking her to give me a call if she got it.  Minutes later, the phone rings with the "Unknown" caller ID that is usually how her internet calls from Paris show up.

It was her.  "Are you on IM with David or could you text him?" I asked.  I explained my ice cream question.

No IM for the two of them, but she was happy to call and then text if she didn't catch him live. 

But she did and called me back on internet line with the answer: nope.  One style or the other, but reducing the yolks in his French style recipe would not result in a Philly-France hybrid, just a failed recipe.

Well, good thing I asked.  Armed with certainty, I committed to the French style and started cooking, following David's recipe almost exactly except I added an extra vanilla bean because I am like that.

Though it wasn't the answer I wanted, I was still totally tickled that Heather's and my vision from so long ago had panned out in this unexpected and useful way.  

(Steeping the cinnamon sticks)

In addition to the vanilla, I made a cinnamon ice cream, also from David book and also a French style.  The ice cream was to go on an apple pie and I thought cinnamon would be nice as well. 

(Finished product, right before it half-melted as I got stuck in game day traffic trying to leave the U-District.  Argh.  I do not heart traffic in any measure whatsoever.)

Today, the West Seattle Farmers Market has a tomato tasting.  Will and Carolyn, last year's apple tasting hosts, go to that market every weekend with their pretty adorable daughters Clara and Annabelle, so I invited myself along as I love both tomatoes and tastings.  A twofer!

But this report is mini because I must have used up all my boldness horning in on their errands.  I had a sudden shyness fit at the tasting and didn't really maximize my picture-taking and question-asking.  I did not, therefore, come away with as much information as I would have liked.  (This is the number one reason why I can't ever be an actual reporter: my inexplicable occassional terror of Being in the Way or Being a Bother.)

I did, though, get the most important thing: some tomato tips.

(This, though, is a totally unhelpful picture of a tomato I am not about to be talking about.)

My overall favorite was a lovely mottled purply one called "Japanese Truffle" from Billy's Organic Produce.  The flavor was the most well-balanced, in my opinion, with both tart brightness and sweet roundness. 

I also liked the Momotaro from Candles Produce, although the flavor was a bit almost ridiculous, like so sassy you couldn't use it as universally as I think you would with the Japanese Truffle. 

Will steered me to the Summer Gem, also from Billy's.  The tomato was so sweet, it actually tasted already cooked.  Carolyn was a fan of the Not Quite Brandywine, although Will and I found that one to be a little too mild.

While it seems like it's getting late in the season, these might be some interesting varieties to look out for when shopping at the farmers market.

I am continuing to slowly bake my way through the cookbook Dolce Italiano by Gina DePalma, Mario Batali's pastry chef.  I got a little hung up on the Lemony Semolina Cookies for a while, as I do with most anything that a) has the word "lemony" in it, b) uses zest and c) is a cookie, but I broke free of that citrus-induced trance and moved along to a new recipe.

And...(ominous old timey soap opera dun-dun-dun musical cue)...back to biscotti.

My ongoing biscotti failure has been previously documented here, so I'm not going to open up old wounds, except to open up the most painful old biscotti wound which is to say: it wasn't always like this.  I used to be able to make perfectly serviceable, not-shame-inducing biscotti. 

Whither my biscotti mojo?  Why have you forsaken me?  I feel like it's only been since I moved to Seattle, so I am going to blame the Pacific Northwest (shakes fist around at general surroundings).

But every once in a while I feel compelled to try try again.  Since I had a random surplus of hazelnuts, I decided to try the recipe for Mosaic Biscotti (link is to a modified version that halves the original quantities - not a bad idea; it makes a lot).

The recipe is called "Mosaic" Biscotti because of the pattern made by the nuts and chocolate.  The biscotti in the picture in the recipe link is more mosaic-like than mine turned out to be as I opted to not use the pistachios, and just make it with hazelnuts. I only used, though, the 2 cups of hazelnuts originally called for (i.e., did not replace the 2 cups of pistachios with an additional 2 cups of hazelnuts) and I am amazed that the recipe would work with twice as many nuts as the cookies seemed pretty chock-full as they were.

As to the taste...I mean, they weren't bad.  Okay, so they were good enough that though I truly intended to send to my grandmother the ones I didn't give away to the local folks, I sort of accidentally ate them all myself for breakfast over the next few days. 

But then again, they had a nice Guittard semi-sweet chocolate and some of the freakishly excellent hazelnuts from Holmquist, and so when you have so much of the cookie being two solidly delicious ingredients, it's hard for it to fail, really.

Ergo: I am still not satisfied. I feel like the texture and color was off (too soft despite what seemed to be adequate baking time).  I am starting to think that my oven is the problem, but what the actual problem is seems to require some sort of tedious common sense that I am blissfully free from.  

I will have to figure it out, as I now clearly owe my grandmother some biscotti and there are some birthdays coming up and biscotti's longer shelf life makes it a good cookie for gifts.

So this isn't over, biscotti.  You haven't beaten me. You can continue to disappoint me but I am going to bake you into submission at some point, just you wait.

This recipe was inspired by Sarah, who came over with Doggie to keep me company for day one of my Labor Day cook-a-thon.  

As I cooked, Sarah and I talked about growing up in Scottsdale, Arizona.  Truth be told, there’s not a lot to be nostalgic for when you come from a place that is like some lunar airport, all chain restaurants and climate-controlled denial of the natural world.

But despite the air-conditioning, there are some things about the natural environment that humans haven’t been totally able to cover up.  

For example, the million-degree heat.  No matter how well you try to organize your life to always be in air-conditioning and covered parking, at some point, you are going to have to park outside in the sunshine.  And when you get back into your car, you are going to be reminded that you have made your home in an hostile environment that doesn’t give a single care that you just got a second-degree burn from touching the metal of your seat belt.

Besides the summer, there is another time when the natural world makes itself known, and this one is infinitely more pleasant.  Springtime is orange blossom time, and if chipotle peppers inspire huffing, I don’t know how to label the sort of orgy of smelling I want to participate in when the scent of the blossoms is in the air.

(Thanks, Wikipedia!)

Sarah and I spent a lot of time riding our bikes during our adolescent and teen years, which gave us plenty of opportunities to encounter this otherworldly aroma.  I used to bike at night for exercise, sort of, but really more as an opportunity to escape the tedium of being a teenager in the suburbs.  I made mixtapes with songs that made me think of stories I wanted to write or movies I wanted to make, and would go biking with my walkman at night because the darkness made the blandness recede and gave my imagination more space.  Nighttime also made the suburbs more interesting; no matter how ordinary the activities might actually be, there is something about peeking into lighted windows as you floated by in the dark that made everybody’s house seem to have much more David Lynchian possibility (this, to me, was and probably still is a good thing).

So that was sort of magical enough in its own way, but in springtime, with the extra-added element of occasionally hitting a wall of delicious orange blossom smell, it could be quite a heady experience.

I’ll have to do more research, but I think nostalgia for this smell might be a common factor amongst former Scottsdale dwellers.  I know Heather and I have spoken about it too, and years ago, I was thrilled when Heather gave me a room perfume spray she found in France that smelled precisely like the blossoms.

As Sarah mentioned the smell, I remembered that in one of my last trips to PFI, I had actually picked up a bottle of orange blossom water. 

I twisted off the cap, and yep, there was the smell.  Sarah and I both thought at the same time: ice cream.

Sarah tracked down a few recipes online, including this one from Desert Candy, source of the Beet Ice Cream recipe and other interesting ones from her 30 days of ice cream experiment.  I liked the sound of it, but caught sight of a bottle of bitter almond extract in my cabinet and thought that the sweet roundness of that flavor might be a good counterpart to the floaty floral note of the orange blossom.

I also thought that the Middle Eastern origin of the flavors might make them a good match for the kind of whole milk yogurt-based recipe like the Lime-Yogurt Sherbet.  So I used that method as a starting point, and came up with a recipe myself.

I was really proud of how it turned out, telling Sarah this is one of the first things I made up that has the 1+1=3 alchemy that I love to taste in the dishes from my favorite teachers at the cooking school.  I gave some of the finished product to Sarah and to new parents Amy and Owen.  Both Sarah and Owen commented that they really enjoyed it so I think this may be a solid recipe.

Orange-Blossom Almond Frozen Yogurt

2 tsp cornstarch
1 ¼ C sugar
1 ½ C whole milk
2 tsp almond extract
1 lg egg yolk
1 to 1 ½ Tbls orange flower water (start with the lower amount first and taste to see how you like the floral note)
2 cup whole milk yogurt (like Greek God)
¾ C finely chopped blanched almonds

Whisk together cornstarch and 1 cup of the sugar in a heavy saucepan, then whisk in milk slowly.  Bring to a boil over moderate heat, continuing to whisk.  Add almond extract and simmer for 2 minutes, whisking occasionally.

Whisk the remaining ¼ cup of sugar into the egg yolk.  Add the milk to the yolk in a slow stream, whisking constantly.  Return the milk mixture to the saucepan, and cook over moderate heat, stirring constantly with a heatproof spatula, until the mixture thickens and coats the back of the spatula and/or a candy thermometer reaches 170 degrees.

Pour the custard through a mesh strainer into a clean bowl.  Add the orange flower water and yogurt and whisk to combine well.  Chill in refrigerate for several hours or overnight.

Freeze in ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions, adding in chopped almonds at the point at which they recommend adding mix-ins.