dessert, fall, jewish cuisine, recipes, spring

Healthy Spring (or fall) Dessert: Ashkenazic Charoset

At first, it might seem strange to have apples in a dish for a spring holiday. Passover, the most important holiday on the Hebrew calendar, celebrates the Israelites’ Exodus from Egypt. It always occurs in the spring (in the Northern Hemisphere), while apples are a symbol of fall. On further reflection, the use of apples actually does make sense.

Charoset is a blend of chopped fruit and nuts, representing the mortar enslaved Israelites used in Egypt, and is an essential element on the Passover Seder plate. Historically, most Ashkenazi Jews lived in Central and especially Eastern Europe. Not many fruits are in season there in March or April, but apples could be stored in a cold cellar over the winter. The only other option might be rhubarb, at least when there is plenty of sugar to counter the acid. Holiday food traditions seem to change more slowly than what people eat every day, so even with modern shipping and preservation, apples remain the base fruit.

There are many recipes out there, typically including walnuts, sugar, spices, and an acidic liquid to keep the apples from oxidizing and turning brown. Most common is sweet, kosher red wine. Not all kosher wines are sweet, but Manischewitz, the most common brand (for all sorts of kosher products, in fact), is. With at least 51% concord grapes and a bit of extra sweetener, it tastes exactly like the classic non-fermented grape juice, with the alcohol flavor only coming in at the end. Naturally, grape juice would be the perfect non-alcoholic substitute.

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If you’re wondering why wine isn’t all kosher (as I was), it’s because ancient pagan people often used it in their rituals. To ensure their wine hadn’t previously been used in these rituals, the production from picking to transportation to serving had to be done by kosher-observant Jews. Unless, if I understand things correctly, it gets heated, which renders it unsuitable for pagan rituals. Once that’s done, anyone can handle it.

Ashkenazi charoset is delicious, regardless of faith or season. It’s sweet, tart, two different kinds of crunchy, juicy, and especially tasty during the fall, when apples are freshest. Walnuts make the mix more substantial, and spices like cinnamon and ginger make it taste like crustless apple pie.

Ingredients:

4 medium sweet-tart apples (I used 2 cortlands and 2 zestars)
½ cup walnut pieces
A few drops of lemon juice, if desired
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon ground ginger
¼ cup (4 tablespoons) sweet kosher red wine or red concord grape juice
Sugar to taste

Directions:

Core the apples, slice, and mince as finely as you can with a knife. (One of those devices that cores an apple and cuts it into 8 or 10 slices works perfectly for the first part, and I don’t bother peeling. If using a food processor for the second part, be careful not to overprocess.) Place in a large bowl. Toss with a few drops of lemon juice if desired.
Mince the walnuts and stir in, distributing evenly. Add the spices and wine and stir again.
Taste for sweetness. Depending on the apples, you may or may not need sugar. If the mix needs it, add sugar a tablespoon at a time, tasting as you go.
Let rest in the refrigerator for 24 hours for the best flavor.

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food history, italian cuisine

Cook’s Tour of Italy Menu 32 (Pgs. 107 – 111): Menu for 4, Bergamo

Region: Lombardy

Menu: Bergamo-Style Ravioli, Rabbit Roasted in Red Wine, Bergamo-Style Polenta, Cheese with Mixed Salad, Sambuca-Flavored Cocoa Roll (orange flavor instead)

Recommended Wine: Spumante

Bergamo is in the northern Italian province of Lombardy, north of Milan. As in the rest of northern Italy, there is a lot of fresh pasta and polenta, butter often replaces olive oil, and there are plentiful cow’s milk cheeses like fontina, gorgonzola, parmesan, and mascarpone. While generally overshadowed by its larger neighbor, Bergamo has its own specialties. One of these is a unique ravioli, filled with a mix of chicken, pork, salami, vegetables, and a little cheese. They are dressed in melted butter and sage, parmesan cheese, and toasted bread crumbs.

This was my first attempt at making my own pasta, and it went surprisingly well. Since I don’t have a pasta roller, I rolled little pieces of dough into circles with a rolling pin and folded them around the filling in a half-moon shape. It was a slow process, but making the ravioli bigger sped things along. The meat-and-vegetable filling was deliciously different from the usual cheese-heavy varieties, though there’s nothing wrong with those.

The only thing I would change is to cook the larger ravioli for an extra minute or two. Having thicker pasta kept the ravioli from bursting open, but not factoring it into the cooking time left it a little tough. It was still delicious, and the extras are in the freezer for whenever a quick homemade dinner is desired.

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Another first for this menu was the rabbit. The idea was a little tough at first, until I reminded myself that this rabbit (which according to the package was a product of Spain) was bred and raised exclusively for food. It was never someone’s pet, or a former resident of the nearby farm/petting zoo. Besides, people have been eating rabbits for a lot longer than they’ve been keeping them as pets. They were a common protein into the 20^th Century, and one 1930s menu even had rabbit pot pie as an economical alternative to chicken.

Rabbit does, in fact, taste sort of like dark meat chicken, but a little different and very lean. The fact that chicken is easier to farm on an industrial scale probably explains why rabbit isn’t as popular as it used to be. Or maybe it’s just that people didn’t grow up with the Easter Chicken. Or the fact that chickens won’t stand on their hind legs like a prairie dog when offered a banana chip.

Black rabbit — *Not the second course…and I wasn’t rabbit sitting when I made this menu either.*

Regardless, most rabbit recipes seem to involve slow-cooking it in liquid and/or adding some extra fat. In this case, the fat came from a bit of Italian sausage, and the liquid was red wine. It did taste very good, though in the future I would probably just use chicken thighs, which are cheaper and easier to find. At least for this recipe.

Upon reading the recipe, I was surprised at how quickly the polenta cooked. Once the salted water was boiling, the corn grits/polenta only had to cook for about five minutes. It required frequent but not constant stirring, and didn’t get lumpy, which is a common problem. Was the addition of a little buckwheat flour the key to a good consistency? Perhaps, and either way, the addition of butter, sage, and fontina cheese gave the final mix a pleasant rich but mild flavor that contrasted well with the stronger flavors in the rest of the meal.

The salad was similar to many others in the book; a mix of greens dressed with a flavorful homemade dressing. The store didn’t have the endive called for in the recipe, so I just used the arugula and radicchio. Unlike other lemon juice and oil “vinaigrettes,” a little bit of orange zest and some minced shallots seemed to sweeten the mix, keeping it from becoming too sour and letting it balance the bitter radicchio. Don’t worry if the oil solidifies in the refrigerator. Fifteen to thirty minutes at room temperature will take care of that.

For the cheese, I used fresh mozzarella instead of taleggio because that’s what was available at the store. Even though it’s a southern Italian cheese not native to the Bergamo area, it went very well with the salad, especially when served on the dressed greens instead of next to them. The bitter arugula and radicchio, sour and slightly sweet dressing, and mild mozzarella all contrasted beautifully without clashing.

Dessert was one of the best things I’ve made in a while. The “cake” is a mix of egg yolks whipped with sugar, melted chocolate, a bit of flavoring, and separately whipped egg whites folded in at the end. The original recipe calls for three tablespoons of sambuca to be mixed in with the chocolate. Since I didn’t want to buy a whole bottle that I would be unlikely to drink or use in other recipes, I considered replacing it with a teaspoon of anise extract mixed into some cream, until I remembered that replacing wine with milk caused a previous attempt at zabaglione to fail. To keep the chemistry similar, I initially settled on a teaspoon of anise extract mixed into three tablespoons brandy.

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Then I considered that anise (the flavor of black licorice) is not generally my favorite flavoring. Trying a bit over a scoop of ice cream with a sprinkle of coffee granules is one thing. It’s a single serving that takes two minutes to make. Even though that turned out well, I was hesitant to put anise flavoring into an entire cake that was a bit fiddly to make. Other extract options were vanilla, almond, and orange. Since I was already making an almond cheesecake for a different event, I settled on orange for something different. A teaspoon went into the “cake,” and half a teaspoon went into the whipped cream filling.

The cake was spectacular. The texture ended up somewhere between a brownie and a mousse, intensely chocolate lightened with a touch of orange. While the cake did crack slightly as I rolled it up, the inside still formed a recognizable spiral. Not pastry shop window perfect, and it wouldn’t pass muster on the Great British Baking Show, but still a pretty special occasion dessert. And of course, it’s the taste that counts. From time to time it’s well worth the effort.

british cuisine, food history

Summer Pudding: Britain’s No-Bake Specialty (and let’s talk about currants)

No-bake desserts are great for special occasions during the summer. I’ve already discussed strawberry trifle, which uses frozen pound cake for beautiful and delicious results. Another showy use for berries and their juices is the British dessert summer pudding. It involves lining the bottom and sides of a bowl with white bread slices, filling the center with a mix of berries and sugar, covering the top with more bread, and pressing everything together with another bowl overnight. Excess juices are thus forced into the bread, coloring it a lovely hue between red, pink, and purple, depending on what fruit you use.

I was a little skeptical at first. It sounded like a recipe for soggy bread, but if summer pudding is popular in the British Isles, there had to be a reason. After finding red currants at the farmer’s market, I decided to give it a try. If the bread part wasn’t good, the berry filling could be scooped out and served on its own with whipped cream.

This turned out to be unnecessary. Odd as it sounded, the bread worked perfectly. Due to its gluten structure, it soaked up the juices like a sponge and held together even when fully saturated. Cake would typically fall apart in a similar situation. Beyond that, the bread balanced out the tart currants and raspberries very well. It was indeed soggy, but in a good way.

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Let’s pause here to talk about currants. The dried currants you can buy in boxes are not true currants at all. They are actually a type of small raisin. Most boxes now specifically refer to their contents as Zante currants to avoid confusion. These Zante currants are worth trying in their own right in scones, oatmeal, and the like. But they’re not what we’re talking about today.

True currants come in three common colors: red, white, and black. All are much more common in Europe than in the US, though the red kind is occasionally found fresh in farmers’ markets and backyard gardens. White currants are a mutant form of the red variety. Black currants are even harder to find, and were in fact banned for several decades because they could carry white pine blister rust, which threatened the US logging industry. Even with new disease-resistant varieties, black currants are still illegal to grow in several states. Which is a pity, because they make great jams and juices.

This history could explain the rarity of currants in the US. So too could be the fact that red currants, which were never banned, have to compete with native cranberries. Both are tart red fruits that make excellent juices and sauces, but cranberries are a lot cheaper and easier to store. And in the Midwest, where growing conditions are favorable for currant bushes, people prefer sour cherries in jams and desserts. Red and occasionally black currant jam can be found at stores and farmer’s markets, but beyond that, there are few traditional (or modern) American recipes for the fruit.

British cuisine, by contrast, has plenty of uses for currants, especially, it seems, for the black variety, which are in fact dark purple. Blackcurrant jam is one of the favorite varieties. Many candies use the flavor. A sweetened concentrate called Ribena (which is not uncommon in the international food aisles in the US, at least in big stores) makes what tastes like currant-flavored Kool-Aid. It would taste better with a little less sugar, but is enjoyable nonetheless. And of course, there are numerous desserts made with all varieties of currant.

One of the favorites is summer pudding, which Mimi Sheraton suggests is best made with a mix of red currants and raspberries. Taking the expert’s advice, I picked up some frozen raspberries, scaled down the recipe on pages 29 – 30 in 1000 Foods to Eat Before You Die by half, and got started. (Information about currants can be found on pages 12 – 13). Whether or not to cook the fruit or just briskly stir it with the sugar depends on how soft and/or ripe the fruit is. Since currants are firmer and tarter, even when ripe, I decided to cook them with the sugar for a few minutes, then stir in the raspberries, which are more prone to fall apart, after. This worked perfectly.

The biggest challenge turned out to be finding a bowl that would fit perfectly inside the bowl with the pudding. This is important because pressing down on the surface with adequate weight (provided by a few cans of food) is what forces the excess syrup into the bread. The other issue was unmolding. I’m not sure why the recipe called for buttering the main bowl, since the butter completely solidifies when everything is chilled, unless it’s for flavor. The now-solid butter stuck the bread to the bowl, making for a slightly messy presentation.

Messy or not, the juice-stained bread and red fruits were pretty in their own way, especially with a contrast of whipped cream. Brits often serve summer pudding with either clotted or whipped cream. I’m not sure how the former is, but the latter is perfect, especially if you make it yourself. Homemade whipped cream is super easy to make, and it makes the odd-sounding but delicious summer pudding even better. To be honest, it makes any dessert better.

dessert, food history, recipes

Medieval Fall Treat: Baked Apple Compote

Apples have been associated with fall and the harvest for thousands of years. Many varieties can be kept in a cool cellar over the winter, but they are at their best when fresh and crisp. In a historical fiction book I’m in the process of writing, Marguerite of France enjoys a variety of apple dishes when she arrives at the English court to marry King Edward I in September 1299. Apple pies already existed, but the pastry crust was not meant to be eaten. It was used as a vessel to cook and store the filling.

With that in mind, I opted to recreate the recipe in a covered ceramic dish. The apples steam just like they would in a pastry crust, with a lot less effort. Medieval cooks baked apples with cinnamon just like cooks do today, but it wasn’t the only spice. The 14^th Century cookbook The Forme of Cury features a recipe seasoned with cinnamon, sugar, ginger, and dates. Presumably the dates balanced the flavor at a time when apples were not as sweet and less sugar was used.

As strange as ginger and dates sound with baked apples, they’re actually delicious. Minced candied ginger is especially good, creating little bits of aromatic heat. It can be found in many grocery stores with the little bags of bulk spices.

Like with a pie, the apples take a while to bake, at least 45 minutes, but are worth the wait. They taste a lot like apple pie without the crust. And with only 1.5 teaspoons of sugar per apple, plus a little bit in the ginger, they are pretty healthy too. As far as peeling the apples, I prefer not to. The pectin in the peel helps thicken the syrup as the compote stands.

Ingredients:

4 large apples (I like Cortlands, but any relatively firm, not-too-sweet apple will do)
6 pitted dates, halved and chopped
2 tablespoons cinnamon sugar
4 pieces candied ginger, minced

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Peel the apples if desired, and cut into large cubes, about ¾ inch to 1 inch. If you have one of the tools that cores an apple and cuts it into wedges, that’s perfect. Cut each wedge into 3 or 4 pieces.
Place the chopped apples into an oven-proof ceramic dish. Sprinkle with the cinnamon sugar, dates, and ginger, and stir to combine.
Cover the dish with a glass cover or aluminum foil and bake for 45 minutes to an hour. For semi-authenticity, do not stir while baking.
When the apple mixture is soft and aromatic, remove from the oven. Carefully remove the lid. Stir to distribute the liquid collected at the bottom of the dish.

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