The Cookbook:

Textbooks can be a delicate subject to bring up with current college students, or even recent graduates. Some of them seem to cost their own weight in gold, and editions come and go so fast they’re tricky to resell once you’re done with them. Fortunately for me, many of my culinary course textbooks were also cookbooks, which I am happy to accumulate. This week’s book covers one of my favorite kitchen stations, Garde Manger. Otherwise known as the Pantry Station, the slangily abbreviated Garmos who work in this position are in charge of cold food presentation, as well as many of the fiddly little appetizers, pates, and preserved foods you encounter in the restaurant world.

I adore fiddly food, so this book and I are good friends, even if the passed appetizer cocktail party has mostly gone out of style except for special events. And I initially picked a food that I remembered fondly from school experiment days – mascarpone cheese. Which I dutifully made, took pictures of, and even served to other people at a game night party as part of a snack tray. But I found the recipe to be lacking in a few details, rushed the setting time, and otherwise ran into some snarls. I do plan to try cheese again soon (my little jar of tartaric acid is waiting in the cupboard), but I shifted gears for this post. Rather than taking a second run at soft cheese, I mixed up a wet rub Jamaican Jerk seasoning.

The Recipe:

Jamaican Jerk Marinade

1 yellow onion
1/2 cup green onion
4 tsp fresh thyme
4 tsp salt
2 tsp ground allspice
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 tsp sugar
2 tsp ground black pepper
2 tsp ground Cayenne pepper
3 TBSP soy sauce
1 TBSP vegetable oil
1 TBSP rum

Using a blender or food processor, blend all ingredients together into a rough paste. Coat your protein of choice with the jerk mixture and marinate for at least an hour, preferably more (the original recipe recommends 24 hours). Barbecue or roast the meat until cooked to your preferred temperature. I used skin on, bone in chicken thighs and baked them for about 45 minutes at 400 degrees. Excess marinade can be stored in an airtight jar.

The Verdict:

Apart from me spending thirty minutes in the liquor store debating which bottle of island rum I wanted to bring home (the seal logo on the Bermuda won out in the end), this was a simple combine-and-blend recipe. I tacked the prep on to the end of my lunch making and let the chicken marinate until evening. Some leftover rice reheated in coconut milk, a handful of green beans thrown onto the sheet pan with the chicken, and hey, presto, dinner! The chicken turned out moist and well-seasoned, if not quite as vibrantly spiced as I had been expecting. My favorite part of this dish, though, was the quesadillas I made with the leftover jerk chicken the next night. They may not have looked terribly exotic, but Jamaican Jerk Quesadillas are an intriguing and simple weeknight dinner that I can get excited about.

That’s when my birthday stepped in to save the day. When I was a kid, my dad would wake me up before dawn on the day of my birthday to go to the store and pick out a box of doughnuts for breakfast. I usually still manage to feed myself doughnuts during the week of my birthday celebrations, although sometimes these days they happen after the sun is up – and sometimes I make them from scratch.

What matters in this case, though, is that while I was happily pondering what types of doughnuts to make I realized that a jelly filled option was the perfect opportunity to squeeze in the experiment from this week’s cookbook.

The Cookbook:

How Baking Works is another textbook I debated about including in my cookbook list, since it lacks typical recipes. Instead, its chapters are scientific discussions of common baking components (Eggs, Gluten, Sugars & Other Sweeteners, etc.), followed by a series of experimental recipes to help students see how adjusting the basic ingredients ends up impacting the final product. My most vivid memory of the textbook in school was the week that my team made exploding cupcakes. Yes, if you put too much sugar in cupcakes, they will explode while baking. While this is valuable knowledge and I appreciate a hands on lesson as much as the next girl, I tried to select a roulette project that would yield a more usable end product. I ended up picking an experiment from the Thickening and Gelling Agents chapter.

The Recipe:

Or, if you prefer, The Experiment. I used the same weights of fruit juice, starch, and sugar for three different thickeners to see how I felt about their final results. I’d used two of them previously, but this was my first tentative use of tapioca granules. Of course I now have a box of them that I will either get through somehow or have to explain to my descendants in twenty-five years as we’re deep cleaning the pantry. I executed the following procedure three times, using arrowroot, then cornstarch, and then tapioca as my starch ingredient.

Method: Combine 15 grams granulated sugar with 11 ounces of starch, 1/8 tsp cinnamon, 1/8 tsp allspice, and 1/8 tsp cloves, then whisk in 75 grams clear apple juice. Bring another 150 grams of apple juice to a boil. Add the starch/juice mixture to the boiling liquid, stirring constantly. Boil for two minutes, then remove from heat. Test consistency while hot, then cool and test consistency when chilled.

The Verdict:

Arrowroot is seriously weird. But so is cinnamon, which is probably part of the reason why the original experiment left it out. Still, in comparison to cornstarch and tapioca, the arrowroot was a much less palatable texture, becoming a mucous or faux ectoplasmic substance that stretched like slime and refused to dissolve smoothly on the tongue. The cornstarch version was smooth and fully set, with perhaps a bit too much thickening agent for the volume of liquid, while the tapioca reminded me of bubble tea with its little pops of texture. The tapioca was also the runniest of the three, seeming more like a thick sauce than a filling in consistency. And for some reason which I cannot explain, the tapioca seemed to end up sweeter than the other two versions, even though I strictly measured and weighed every ingredient.

After judging the results individually, I tossed them all together in a bowl and mixed in an apple than I had sauteed in butter and sugar to turn my experiment of the week into a quite functional doughnut filling. It also made good Greek yogurt smoothies with a bit of milk and oats added in. And I turned a bit more into apple crisps for a quick breakfast last week. As far as experimental food goes, it’s been a handy pantry ingredient over the last few days. Overall, that’s a mission accomplished, but I think this book might belong in the general library rather than specifically on the cookbook shelf.

The Cookbook:

Does anyone else find themselves buying random cookbooks while perusing thrift shops for Christmas gift opportunities? That’s how I added this week’s book and its sister volume to my shelf. A compilation published by the late Gourmet magazine, its full and official title is The Best of Gourmet 1988. The first half is given over to a combination of menu plans for unique events, like Pre-Theater Dinner or Luncheon Among the Violets, complete with lavish photo spreads. The second half is a typical cookbook, though the ingredients occasionally make me raise my eyebrows. And I got a good giggle out of the paragraphs on how they catered to ‘the trend toward healthful lighter eating’ by including extra pasta and grain recipes. How times, and diet advice, change!

The Recipe:

Greek-Style Pot Roast

1/2 cup flour
4 tsp dried oregano
3 tsp salt
2 tsp black pepper
5 lbs beef chuck steak
3 TBSP vegetable oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1 cup beef broth
1 tsp garlic paste
1 tsp cornstarch
1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
1 1/2 cups orzo
1 TBSP fresh dill

Mix together the flour, oregano, salt, and pepper and use this mixture to liberally coat your steak. Heat the oil in a skillet over high heat. Once the pan is hot, sear both sides of the steak until a dark brown crust forms. Remove the steak from the skillet and place in a crock pot. Deglaze the skillet by pouring the red wine vinegar over it and stirring to loosen any stuck on bits. Scrape the contents of the skillet into the crock pot. Add the beef broth, garlic paste, and Worcestershire sauce, then cover and cook until tender, 3-4 hours. Remove the steak and set it aside. Transfer the broth to a pot, mixing 1 tsp of broth with the cornstarch and then adding it back in. Bring the broth to a boil and let thicken (I found the amount of cornstarch to sauce to be very far from my ideal sauce viscosity, so I used my leftover flour/seasoning mix to make it full on gravy. If you want to do the same, just slowly sprinkle about 1/4 cup of flour into the mixture while whisking vigorously.) Let the gravy continue to cook for several minutes after adding the last of the flour to cook the starch flavor out, then shut off the heat. When you’re ready to put the meal on the table, bring a pot of salted water to a boil and cook the orzo for 8-10 minutes. Drain and toss with the fresh dill. Serve the meat and gravy over the pasta.

The Verdict:

Does adding oregano to a crock pot braised steak turn it Greek? I didn’t think that the criteria were quite that loose. The end results were perfectly satisfying and I quite enjoyed the light touch of dill in the orzo under the hearty steak and gravy topper, but Greek was not a descriptor that would have leaped to my mind if I had been assigned the naming of this recipe. On the other hand, in a cookbook that refers the user to specialty food shops for many ingredients that are now commonly seen in my neighborhood grocery stores, perhaps this combination did seem more exotic and boundary pushing. Final verdict? Tasty, but not unique enough to dig up the recipe again. 10/10 for cookbook photo elegance and overall browsability, though!

The Cookbook:

This week’s cookbook is simply titled Chocolate. Which made it a highly appealing volume when I was thirteen and spotted it on a bookstore shelf. It was chock full of pictures, exotic sounding desserts, and a couple of intriguing savory dishes. The difficulty ratings and time estimates listed with each recipe are probably one of the reasons my mother OK’ed it and for a few years it was a go-to when I wanted to make something interesting and exciting for company coming over or a potluck gathering. But I found over time that while the descriptions of the recipes were great, the final products had a tendency to be disappointing. “Dry”, “not much flavor”, and “OK, but not a favorite” are a few of the notes penciled in the margins. I cringe every time I page past the Devil’s Food Cake photo, with the palest of brown cakes sandwiched in white frosting, as if to highlight the lack of chocolate involved. I paged through the book a few times before I settled on this week’s test of choice, not noticing until I started taking process photos that I had chosen the cover recipe!

The Recipe:

Blackberry Chocolate Flan

Tart Crust:
2 cups flour
1/2 cup cocoa powder
1 cup powdered sugar
pinch salt
1 cup cold butter, grated
1 egg yolk

Combine the dry ingredients together, then mix in the butter and yolk until the dough is just combined. The original recipe calls for an hour of refrigeration, but I found the dough very hard and crumbly when fully chilled. Since it is a stiff mixture, I might try adding a bit more liquid, or working with the dough at a higher temperature if I use this pastry recipe again. Alternatively, use any sweet chocolate shortcrust pastry you’ve had success with in the past.

Once the dough is mixed, roll it into a thin sheet and line your tart pans. I used ten 4″ mini-tart dishes, and ended up patting the pastry in, rather than rolling it out. Bake the shells in a 350 oven for about 15 minutes, until they are firm and look dry. I used weights in half of my crusts and found I had more difficulty for no real difference in results. The unweighted crust kept its shape fine, while the weighted didn’t cook as evenly and I had issues with it sticking to the weights. Once your tart shells are cooked, set them aside to cool while you mix the filling.

Blackberry Ganache:
1 1/4 cups heavy cream
2/3 cup blackberry jelly
8 oz semi-sweet chocolate, finely chopped
1/4 cup butter

Warm the cream and jelly together on the stove, until the jelly is fully dissolved. If there’s anyone in your life who likes pink, call them over to admire the lovely pale shade of rose the cream takes on as the jelly incorporates. Pour the hot cream mixture over the chocolate and butter and whisk until fully combined. Divide the ganache equally among your tart shells and let cool. I cooled them down to room temperature and then popped them in the fridge to finish firming up.

Blackberry Syrup:
1 1/3 cups blackberries + more to garnish
1 TBSP lemon juice
2 TBSP sugar
2 TBSP creme de cassis

Super simple sauce recipe – throw everything in the blender and whiz it together until smooth. This makes a loose sauce which I thought worked well with the firm textured ganache, but if you’re looking to reduce the messiness a little, you could always simmer it down into a thicker syrup.

To serve the tarts, unmold them from the pans, pour some blackberry syrup over the top, and throw a few fresh blackberries over the whole affair.

The Verdict:

This was a fun recipe just because it provides the full set of dessert, sauce, and garnish, making it seem just that touch fancier. Blackberry and chocolate is a lovely combination and I got to use up some of the fresh blackberries that our garden is happily producing this month. I had difficulty working with the dough and a couple of my shells broke when I was unmolding them, but I can’t fault its flavor. My only real complaint is that the filling had a graininess to it that you don’t usually want in a ganache. I think this issue could probably be eliminated if I took the time to sieve the warm jelly mixture. We shared a couple of the tarts with my mother and she credits them with helping her recover from a bout of West Nile Virus, so Chocolate might get another shot at joining my more regular cookbook rota.

Normally, there’d be no complaint about spending time baking, since I find it the most soothing and rewarding of kitchen activities. Unfortunately, this spate of blog driven baking came right on the heels of my resolving to try to have fewer sugary baked goods just laying around the house for no reason. But if the internet says I have to, I suppose there’s no real counter-argument to be made.

The Cookbook:

This week’s baking project was from a tiny cookbook that my oldest brother gave me years ago and it was published back before scones became the ubiquitous coffee shop pastry that they are today. Judging by the comments in the essay introduction, though, the same factors that can make scones polarizing today have always been an issue. Drier than muffins and certainly less cakey, I enjoy scones for their simplicity and the lack of need for special baking tins, liners, or shaping tools. This Simply Scones cookbook has a variety of sweet and savory varieties, and at this point, many penciled notes in the margins from previous recipe tests.

I elected to make citrus and poppy seed mini drop-scones. I didn’t follow the recipe to the letter, partly on purpose and partly as a consequence of absentminded baking conversions. If I’m channeling my full OCD potential, I will write out a fresh copy of the recipe with the converted ingredient values down to two decimals, but if I’m being off-the-cuff about it, I’ll keep the whole thing in my head. This approach worked right up until the moment when I neglected to halve one of the ingredients and completely changed the consistency of the dough mixture. Fortunately, scone batter can function through a range of thicknesses, so I just shook my head and carried on with the unplanned adjustment. Here’s the recipe as I ended up making it –

The Recipe:

Citrus Poppy Seed Scones (makes about 15 small scones)

1 1/8 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 egg, whisked and divided
2 TBSP poppy seeds
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
3/8 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/3 cup cold butter
1/4 cup orange juice
1/4 tsp lemon zest

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix together the flour, sugar, poppy seeds, cream of tartar, baking soda, and salt. Cut in the butter until the largest chunks are the size of small peas. In a separate bowl, mix the orange juice, lemon zest, and 1/2 of the whisked egg. Pour the liquid ingredients in and stir gently until the dough is just combined. Drop the batter by rounded tablespoon fulls onto a lined cookie sheet. I used a dough portioning scoop, which worked well, since the mixture is quite wet and sticky. Flatten the scones with the tines of a fork dipped in sugar, then brush the tops with the remaining whisked egg. Bake until golden brown and set, about 15 minutes.

The Verdict:

The scones came out light and moist, with a nice crunch from the poppy seeds. As with many lemon-poppy baked goods, I found the citrus to be a nigh invisible flavoring. It would have been nice to actually taste some of that orange or lemon. Considering that the zest and juice were the ingredients I inadvertently doubled, this might require some reduced citrus syrups or extracts. I was admittedly delighted with the way my fork pressing caused them to have madeline-like ridges and I might have to experiment more with that technique. I’m gradually nibbling my way through the batch, eating some as afternoon snacks and some as my weekday breakfasts and I can’t fault them as a tea-tray addition.

The Cookbook:

I’ve been receiving cooking magazines for many years, both in subscriptions gifted by my grandmothers and from free access to their own collections of years worth of Gourmet, Bon Appetit, Saveur, Cooking Illustrated, La Cucina Italiana, and more. While I was staying put in one place, so did the stacks of magazines, growing fatter and fatter each month. Once I started having to sort through and pack up all my things on a regular basis for seasonal jobs, I grew tired of the real estate and weight dedicated to items that were only partially useful. So I plunked myself down at the expansive kitchen table where my mother regularly fed our family of nine and began sorting. And sorting, and sorting, and sorting. When I finished up the project a few days later, I had a great heap of magazine husks and a three ring binder stuffed with recipe clippings organized into sheet protectors by category, with subcategories listed on the small sheets of notebook paper that I tucked in front of each category. I already knew what I wanted to make for the second cake, and when I saw that my magazine “cookbook” had turned up on the roulette chart, I knew what my recipe would be this week.

The Recipe:

Lime and Pistachio Angel Food Cake

1 cup flour
2 cups granulated sugar
1/4 tsp salt
10 egg whites
zest of 2 limes
4 TBSP lime juice (about 3 limes worth)
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp cream of tartar
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/2 cup finely chopped pistachios

Preheat the oven to 350 and make sure your rack is centered, since juggling hot racks once you realize your cake pan doesn’t fit in the oven is never fun. Then begin on the cake by organizing your dry ingredients. Measure out the flour, 1/2 c. sugar, and the salt, then sift them three times. Normally I don’t make much fuss over sifting flour, but angel food cake is all about the texture for me, so in this case I do put it through the triple pass. Set this aside. Next, whisk the egg whites, vanilla, and lime zest until foamy, then add the cream of tartar. Beat this mixture until soft peaks form. With the mixer on a medium low speed, slowly shake in 1 cup of granulated sugar. You want to give the sugar plenty of time to incorporate into the egg whites. I usually put my sugar in a small bowl and gently tap it against the side of the mixer bowl to spill the grains out a few at a time. Once the cup of sugar is mixed in, bring the egg whites to stiff peaks. This is where all the lift and texture of the angel food come from, so don’t shortchange the whipping time.

Sift a third of your flour mixture over the stiff egg whites and gently fold until just incorporated. Repeat with twice more, until all the dry ingredients have been folded into the egg whites. Be gentle, and try to keep as much air as possible in the batter. Gently spoon the batter into a ungreased, unlined tube pan, smoothing the top with an offset spatula for even baking. (Part of the magic of angel food is how delicate its structure is. Any grease will keep it from getting support from the pan sides and it will eventually fall down under its own weight).

Place the cake on the middle rack of your oven and let it bake until light golden brown, between 30 and 40 minutes. When it has the gorgeous color you want, pull it out and invert the pan onto the counter (if your pan has those handy little legs along its top edge. If it doesn’t, you can flip it onto anything heat resistant that will support the tube, like a small can or bottle). Let the cake cool completely while hanging upside down. This allows the structure to set up before it has to fight gravity.

Next, let’s get the garnishes ready. Mix the remaining 1/2 cup granulated sugar with 3 TBSP of lime juice until the sugar is dissolved. In a separate bowl, combine the 1/2 cup powdered sugar with 1 TBSP lime juice to make a glaze icing.

Once the cake is cool, run a thin bladed knife along the inside edge of the pan and around the inner tube to loosen the cake. If you want a clean presentation and don’t mind extra clean up to get it, invert it onto a rack. Otherwise, go straight onto the plate you plan to serve from. Next up is the application of the garnish. Take the lime and sugar syrup that you made and brush it generously over every exposed surface on the cake until everything is a sticky sweet mess. Then, grab handfuls of your chopped pistachios and press them over the sugar glue you just applied. When the cake is wearing a lovely fuzzy green jacket drizzle the lime and powdered sugar glaze over the top in whatever pattern suits your fancy. I found the glaze to be a bit difficult to work with – you might have more decorating luck making it thicker and actually piping it out, but I just flung it out over the cake with a spoon this time.

The Verdict:

Approval all around for this one, except for from my poor brother who has never liked the tarter citrus fruits. I forgot to warn him when he decided to sample it, something he immediately admonished me for. His daughters, on the other hand, charmed me by leaving out the middle portion of its name and begging for “angel cake” on their plates. It was nice to have this bright and light alternative to the densely decadent chocolate cake and we actually polished it off first. If you ever have any extra egg whites hanging around, just making it is a fun example of the transformative effects of sugar and air. Though you probably won’t mind sitting down with a slice of your experiment afterward.

The Cookbook:

Apparently, I haven’t been particularly shy about my enthusiasm for the show, because last year’s Christmas gifts from my parents included a copy of The Great British Bake Off Big Book of Baking. Which is a mouthful to say and accurately describes this delightfully hefty book of detailed, chummily written recipes.

I had no qualms about testing a couple of the recipes when I was busily baking off 100 mini loaves of bread for my wedding picnic earlier this year and I was happy to page through it again when its number came up on the random number generator last week. I stop and drool over the full page spread picture of chocolate frosting every time, but since my husband’s birthday is coming up soon, I decided to leave the cakes alone for now and go in for a more savory bake.

The Recipe:

Individual Crab Souffles

2 eggs, separated
1 egg white
15 grams butter
15 grams flour
1/2 TBSP lemon juice
1/2 tsp paprika
1/8 tsp cayenne
150 ml half-and-half
150 grams cooked crab meat (drained weight)
1/2 TBSP whiskey
salt
black pepper

Begin by greasing your souffle dishes. I used four 200ml ramekins, while the original recipe called for using three 250ml dishes, so there’s some leeway based on what size of dishes you have handy. You’ll also want to preheat your oven to 400 degrees – the mixture comes together quickly and you don’t want it to sit around and deflate while you wait on the oven to come up to temp.

Next up, our old friend the basic white sauce, made from a roux blended with half-and-half. Melt down the butter and whisk in the flour, then simmer the mixture for a few minutes. Slowly whisk in the half-and-half until you have a thick cream sauce. Remove from heat and stir in the whiskey, lemon juice, paprika, cayenne, salt, and pepper. Stir in the crab meat and sample the mixture. If it seems at all bland, boost your seasonings. You’re about to dilute this with your eggs, so you’ll want the seasoning to be on the strong side.

Whisk the two egg yolks into your crab cream sauce, keeping your whites separate. In another bowl, beat the three egg whites with a pinch of salt until you have stiff peaks. Fold a third of the beaten egg whites into the cream sauce to loosen it, and then gently fold the cream sauce into the remaining whites. Use gentle scooping motions to combine the two, trying to keep as much air trapped as possible for the lightest final souffles. Divide the mixture into your ramekins, filling them to just below the rim. Run a knife tip around the inside edge of each dish and place them on a baking sheet. Place the sheet in the oven and tiptoe around the kitchen for 12-14 minutes, until the souffles are crispy and golden. Their interior should still be moist and slightly wobbly. Sprinkle with paprika, if you want an extra touch of fancy garnish, and serve immediately.

The Verdict:

My souffles turned out puffy and light, with enough spice and flavor to hold up their side of the dinner plate. I started by sampling a nibble-sized bite with the tip of my fork, and continued to nibble down the contents of an entire ramekin without bothering to stop. Husband says he hasn’t liked souffle in the past, but enjoyed these just fine – despite their unfortunate similarities to his most loathed meal (quiche). For someone who requests eggs for breakfast daily, he has some odd qualms. As for me, these souffles sit lightly on the stomach and only require a short burst of time in the oven, which certainly fits my definition of a pleasant summer menu item.

The Cookbook:

Between the oxtail and the squid, you might be wondering what kind of cooking we’re dealing with this week. And the answer is – Spanish! Namely the World Market Spanish book. I’ll probably be corrected if I’m wrong, but I believe it was a gift from my youngest sister. Contrary to family tradition, she didn’t write any notes on the fly leaf, so I can’t place the exact occasion for the gift. I can shamefacedly admit that I hadn’t ventured to try any of the recipes previously. Once I settled on squid, I was still debating between the appetizer fried version, the Squid with Peas, or Squid on the Grill. But by the time the dinner hour rolled around on Wednesday, my already hot kitchen easily convinced me to take my cooking outside. ‘

The Recipe:

9 ounces squid (I used a mix of tentacles and tubes)
1 TBSP olive oil
1 1/2 TBSP lemon juice
1 TBSP lemon zest
2 cloves of garlic, crushed
2 TBSP chopped parsley
salt and pepper

My squid came already broken down into rings, which was actually unfortunate, as I think it would have been easier to work with in slightly larger pieces. If you have whole squid, break it down into slices about two inches long, rinse them, and pat dry.

Mix the oil, juice, zest, garlic, and parsley together and toss with the prepared squid. Add salt and pepper to taste – I used a scant amount and later regretted it, so I don’t recommend being too shy here. Leave the mixture to marinate for about thirty minutes. (This was the perfect amount of time for me to prep the potato planks and sweet peppers that rounded out our meal.)

Preheat your grill, or a griddle, until very hot. Brush with a bit more olive oil and then drop your squid on. It cooks quite quickly and will turn rubbery if overdone, so keep a close eye on it. One to two minutes should be enough, with a single turn so that both sides are evenly cooked.

The Verdict:

Don’t put too much blame on the squid for this verdict. I’ve eaten it in the past without the reaction I managed this time around. Mostly in deep fried calamari form, it’s true, but I’ve also had baby octopus without a fuss, so it wasn’t just the legs getting to me. I think, in the end, it was a combination of feeling unsure about my cooking times, a lack of flavor to the final product, and watching the little tentacles spring back off the grill as I flipped them over that made me face this bowl with so much trepidation. I’m no expert on squid, but they came out tasting vaguely of lemon and not much else, which was not what I had in mind at the beginning of the project. I’ll probably never embrace squid with the enthusiasm of someone who didn’t grow up in a landlocked state, but I am still willing to give the rest of the bag of squid meat another try with a different recipe – perhaps that tried and true breaded and fried version?

The Cookbook:

If ever there was a collection of recipes that represented planning ahead, organization, and the scientific approach, it’s this one.

Baking Illustrated was written by a test kitchen crew that has not only tested multiple variations on each recipe to narrow down the best approach, but has included pages and pages of lab reports detailing what initially went wrong and how the final conclusion was reached. This book is an excellent resource for developing the baking knowledge that can help you know how to overcome setbacks and issues in your own recipes. I still remember kneeling on the bookstore floor, flipping back and forth between this hefty volume and another, unremembered, cookbook, choosing which one was going to be my birthday book. I managed to settle on this one and haven’t regretted the choice for an instant. It can be read as a collection of essays, or a guidebook for navigating new techniques, and sometimes I just flip through the glossy, full page photo section and sigh over the lovingly staged cakes, breads, and cookies.

The Recipe:

Bear with me here, because we’re going full French pastry this week. Eclairs aren’t hard to make, but they do have multiple components, so the recipe section might look daunting. Stick with me and we’ll break them down into their basic building blocks.

Pâte à Choux (literally ‘cabbage dough’, commonly known as ‘cream puff pastry’)

This is the dough for the eclair shells. It’s known in the pastry world for being ‘twice-cooked’, once on the stovetop and once in the oven. I have vivid memories of my chef-instructor saying “stir like a mad-woman!” while my class was learning how to mix the paste, and of pulling out little wads of dough to see if it would pass the “tacky test” and be ready to pipe out. I still use the tacky test, but more commonly pour the paste into a Kitchen-Aid mixer for beating.

2 eggs
1 egg white
5 TBSP butter
2 TBSP milk
6 TBSP water
1 1/2 tsp sugar
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup flour

To make your own shells, first beat together the eggs and egg white and measure out half a cup. Consistency is very important to this dough, since it doesn’t have any chemical leaveners, so you’ll want to set aside any excess for some other project. Then, bring your butter, milk, water, sugar, and salt to a boil in a small saucepan. When the butter is fully melted, dump in your flour all at once and start stirring. The mixture will come together in a clump fairly quickly, but keep it over the heat until it’s glossy and leaving a film behind on the bottom of the pan. Dump the contents of your saucepan into a mixer bowl and beat it for a minute or two until it’s lost some of its heat (we don’t want to scramble the eggs as we add them). Then, while the mixer is running on low speed, gradually pour in your eggs. Once they’re not splashy, you can crank up the speed until the paste is thick, glossy, and uniform in texture. Check the hydration by taking a pinch off with your thumb and forefinger and then stretching your fingers apart from each other. The dough should be thin enough to stretch out, but thick enough to hold its shape as it does. Too thin and you won’t be able to pipe it, too thick and it will turn out dense and wet.

The easiest way to form the shells is to pipe long logs of dough – I used a large star tip, because I like the little ridges it makes, but a plain round tip is the norm. I also pipe my dough just two to three inches long, because I prefer fun-sized eclairs. Pipe onto a parchment lined baking sheet, being sure to allow at least an inch of space between eclairs. Pop the sheet into a 425 degree oven for 15 minutes. They should expand dramatically and start to take on color, but if you open the oven to peek, you could ruin them, so resist the urge. Once the 15 minutes are up, leave the oven closed and drop the temperature to 375. Bake another 8 minutes to give them a final crisp and deepen up their color. Make sure you turn off the oven at this point – you’ll need it to cool down for the next step.

You’re still not quite done, because these crispy little shells are full of steam that will make them sag and sog if you don’t give it a way out. Flip them all over and slit the bottom with a paring knife. Once you’ve given them all steam vents, put the tray back into the (turned-off) oven and let them dry out for half an hour. Congratulations, you’ve made eclair shells!

Mocha Creme Patissiere (Pastry Cream)

Basically really, really, good pudding, pastry cream is probably my favorite of the pastry chef’s building blocks. This version of it is technically diplomat creme, since I fold in whipped cream to lighten the texture. If you want to turn it into a pure chocolate version or a pure coffee version, just drop the unwanted flavoring.

6.5 ounces half and half
1.5 oz sugar
2 egg yolks
pinch salt
3 1/2 tsp cornstarch
.75 oz butter
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate
1 tsp espresso powder
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream

Warm the half-and-half in a small saucepan, with .5 oz of sugar, until it just comes to a simmer. Meanwhile, whisk together the yolks, salt, cornstarch, and remaining 1 oz of sugar until pale and fluffy. You want to be able to leave a ribbon trail with the whisk that will sit on top of the mixture for a few seconds before fading back in.

Slowly, slowly, start pouring the warm half-and-half into the eggs, whisking constantly. Once you’ve gotten started, you can increase your speed, but the goal here is to incorporate the eggs without curdling the yolks. When that’s done, pour the mixture back into the saucepan and stir it constantly over low heat until it just starts bubbling and thickening. Pull it off of the heat and stir in the butter, vanilla, chocolate, and espresso powder until the mixture is thick and smooth. Like pudding, pastry cream will form a skin if you leave it uncovered, so place it in the fridge with a layer of plastic wrap on top so that it can cool.

At this point, you technically have pastry cream, which is the traditional filling for eclairs, so you could stop here. But my family has always preferred diplomat cream for fillings, which is lighter and more mousse-like. To turn your pastry cream into diplomat cream, simply whip the 1/2 cup cream to medium peaks and gradually fold it into the pastry cream (I recommend folding in about 1/3 of the whipped cream at a time).

Chocolate Glaze

Your basic glossy frosting for finishing the tops of the shells. It will turn into a hard coat as it cools, so don’t make it until you’re ready to start dipping your eclairs.

1.5 TBSP half-and-half
1 oz chopped bittersweet chocolate
1/3 cup powdered sugar, sifted

Pour the half-and-half over the chocolate in a microwave safe container and zap them until they’re warm enough to stir together (about 30 seconds). Whisk them into a ganache and then beat in the powdered sugar.

Final Assembly

Take the tops off of your eclair shells and dip them into the chocolate frosting. (They can be shatter prone, so dipping is easier than trying to frost them with a knife.) Spoon or pipe your cream filling into the bottom halves of the shells, which have hopefully puffed up enough to act as little pudding boats. Drop the tops back on and gently press down to glue the pieces together. Eat with enthusiasm. Sadly, eclairs don’t hold up well once assembled, so eat them within a few hours to enjoy them at their best.

The Verdict:

They’re eclairs, they’re delicious, and everyone should go make some right now.

Okay, that’s not quite the totality of the verdict. I love making pâte à choux and I have a fond spot for any recipe that lets me use a piping bag. There’s also my irrational love of creating miniature food and my excitement over traditional pastries to take into account. That is to say, I make eclairs because I like making eclairs more than I do because they’re my favorite dessert ever. While the shell does provide some crisp contrast to the filling and is a fun way to turn pudding into finger food, I don’t think it’s anyone’s favorite part of an eclair. Which explains why, once I looked at the schedule more closely and realized that I wasn’t making eclairs to share at a party, we just inhaled the diplomat cream straight out of the bowl.

So if you’re in this for the fun of making and sharing eclairs, go ahead and make all of the components. But if you’re just looking for something simple and delicious, feel free to make the filling and eat it with a spoon, like we did.

The Cookbook:

Which explains how I happen to own the book of the week, Tom Kerridge’s Proper Pub Food. It seems fitting that my honeymoon souvenir should be a book allowing me to recreate some of the food types that we dined upon in the highlands. This book is also the newest addition to my collection, which made it harder to choose between several of the most intriguing recipes. Ultimately, I selected his version of fish pie. Of all the foods we sampled throughout our meanderings, I think smoked fish was the most fondly remembered by Shane. It features prominently in this dish, along with prawns and fresh salmon.

The Recipe:

Lattice-topped fish pie

100g softened butter
1 leek, thinly sliced
400ml chicken stock
200ml whole milk
40g flour
zest of 1 lemon
1/2 tsp nutmeg
2 TBSP chopped parsley
1 TBSP chopped tarragon
300g salmon, medium dice
225g smoked salmon, medium dice
200g raw shrimp, peeled
500g pie crust
salt and pepper to taste

If you don’t have a piecrust already made, start with mixing up your pastry and popping it in the fridge to rest. Then, put your sliced leeks in a saucepan with half of the butter and cook them over low heat until they are soft and aromatic. Meanwhile, use a dab of your remaining butter to grease a 1.5 litre pie dish (I don’t have a proper pie dish this size, so I used my two quart Le Cruset pot, which worked quite nicely). Once the leeks are cooked, tip them out into the buttered dish. Scatter your salmon, smoked salmon, and prawns evenly over the leeks and set the dish aside for now. Next, start warming your milk, stock, nutmeg, and lemon zest. You’ll want to bring this mixture to a low simmer. In another, broad-bottomed pan, melt your remaining butter with the flour and cook on low heat until it comes together into a paste (also known as a roux in kitchen vernacular). Let it cook for a few more minutes and then start slowing whisking in your milk/stock mixture. As with many combinations, you’ll want to start off very slowly, but you can increase the volume of your additions as you get closer to having a sauce instead of a paste. Add salt and pepper to taste, and then set the sauce aside to cool.

I found this to be a good time to roll and cut my pastry. The recipe gives instructions for adding a lattice top directly onto the pie, which I did, but I also cut out several rectangles of pastry to cook separately. I was much better pleased with the pastry that cooked on its own, as it took on better color and retained crunch and flakiness. The lattice top ended up rather soggy, which isn’t my preference, but if you’re alright with that, go ahead with the one-dish cooking method.

Once your sauce is cool, stir in your chopped herbs and pour the whole shebang over the fish and leeks. If you’re using a lattice top, weave it on now, and then chill the pie until the pastry is nice and cold again.

Bake the pie in a 400 degree oven for about half an hour, until the fish is cooked through, sauce is bubbling, and pastry is golden. Enjoy it piping hot.

Since this is a proper English recipe, I pulled out my kitchen scale, which saved me the effort of converting from grams into American style measurements, though I did ask Google what preheating to ‘Gas Mark 6’ would look like on my oven. Weighing everything out is actually often easier than juggling measuring cups, since I can just zero out the scale before adding the next ingredient onto the pile. All of the techniques were things I’ve messed with before, which made this simple to throw together (I even managed to squeeze in a few minutes of cleaning, between tasks).

My salmon fillet came skin-on, which let me pull out my shiny skinning knife and engage in one of my favorite activities. There’s something very satisfying about cleanly separating the skin from a side of fish. Then, I trimmed up the scrappier edges and used those bits for the pie. I could see this recipe being very useful for dealing with fish scraps in a restaurant, where large pieces are constantly being broken down into more uniform portion sizes. I went the other way, cutting two portions of salmon to freeze after weighing off my 300g, but I might be tucking away small bits of un-grillable fish in the future to save up for more fish pies.

The Verdict:

This meal was a solid winner. The lemon and nutmeg were tempered by the cream sauce and set the fish off nicely. As I mentioned above, I was disappointed by the crust that cooked on the pie, but since I had back-up pastry ready, it didn’t have long term effects. I completed the meal by serving a simple garden salad while the pie was toasting up. I’m tempted to say this is the first of the roulette recipes that I would make again exactly as before.