Palate-to-Pen

toffee timidity

March 10th, 2010 § 0

Toffee. What do you imagine when you see mention of this treat?

Before last Sunday, I held too close the cautious telling of an aunt. One day I’ll post the specifics. For now, with buckled fingers and a cringe in mind, I’ll whisper: burned finger, lips scalded to pouting, and bubbly bursts onto unsuspecting arms.

For years, I strayed from toffee recipes, despite loving it so. Fixes were found in random candy bars and pints of froyo with toffee bits freshly blended throughout.

After all of this time, what led me to stray from apprehension? Sometimes, all I need is a bump of encouragement from a darling cookbook and Sunday morning chockfull of sunshine and warmth.

Last Sunday was such a day. Apples for Jam is such a cookbook. Both coaxed my optimism to rise hazily (as did most of our neighbors) from out of the shadows, with my want of toffee in tow. I’d simply been coddling this fear long enough. Tessa Kiros’s recipe for Chocolate toffee nut squares promised to liberate me from the stronghold of my toffee timidity.

This is a consummate recipe for a Sunday morning. When an open-ended day lies in wait and vigor gets its hold on you. A batch yields enough to fill my cookie jar and two giftys for well-deserved friends and family. A candied delight whose making is just shy of 30 minutes.

Toffee is a lesson in patience. And, confidence. While the butter mixture gurgles, my overzealous watch is met with a stinging steam. Step back, it warns, or your worst toffee fears will be realized.

Doubt about the timing of the color change creeps along the crevices of my inexperience.

Lemon yellow settles to a furious pale yellow.

Then, finally, light brown smothers the spurting bubbles to a luscious and smooth tawny which is soon poured prudently around the baking sheet layered with parchment paper and a mix of chopped nuts.

A layer of chocolate chips melt fondly before their kissy shape is polished smooth with a snappy spatula.

I also sneak a swirl of the spatula, glistening with a chocolate glaze, through my coffee cup.

And, for the sake of frippery, scatter a sprinkle mix of chocolate jimmies and hearts.

My wanton impatience is eager for a taste. But, wait I must. I rest the sheet in the fridge. Distract with a mingle in the sunshine while stacking the moisture-rich firewood strewn about the yard.

Hours later, I break the wholesome sheet of toffee into triangular shards. After I ration out three shares, I gnaw on a morsel.

Thick toffee glides away from itself, like melting ice upon a frozen lake. Crackle, crackle. Remnants dwadle, encrusting teeth. Chocolate is rich and moody. Nuts snag texture. Lesson learned. Never shy away from something so sweet and magical.

Chocolate toffee nut squares
Adapted from Apples for Jam: A Colorful Cookbook by the lovely Tessa Kiros

Yields about 20 squares, or in my case, shoddy triangles

2 1/4 cups pecans or walnuts, coarsely chopped (I used both.)
1 pound (4 sticks) unsalted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
pinch of salt
2 1/2 tablespoons fresh water
2 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1 2/3 cups semi sweet chocolate chips
1/4 cup jimmies sprinkles

Line an 11 by 16 by 1-inch baking sheet with two sheets of parchment paper. Sprinkle the nuts upon the paper, and flatten them to a compact and even spread with the back of a wooden spoon.

To a heavy-bottomed saucepan, add the butter, vanilla extract, salt and water. Heat until the butter melts and just begins to bubble, then add the sugar. Cook over a low heat, stirring almost continuously to prevent the mixture from sticking to the bottom, until you have a thick, rich toffee-colored mass that comes away from the side of the pan when stirred. If you have a candy thermometer, it will be at just below 300°F. It could take up to 20 minutes to get there, depending on your pan and the heat. If the toffee looks like it’s separating at any point, remove it from the heat and vigorously beat in 2 1/2 tablespoons of hot water to seal it together again, taking care, as it may splash up.

When the toffee is brown, remove the pan from the heat and carefully pour the toffee over the nuts, beginning with the sides and working your way in from there, covering all the nuts. Sprinkle the chocolate as evenly as possible over the hot toffee, then leave it for 5 minutes to soften before spreading it evenly with a spatula. Scatter the jimmies sprinkles over the chocolate for added flair.

Leave to cool and set completely–in the fridge if the weather is very hot. Use the parchment paper edges to lift it out of the baking sheet. Break up the pieces and keep in a cookie jar, or in the fridge if the weather’s hot.

just five

March 5th, 2010 comments 3

For those of you dears who remember the splendid surprise I mentioned in January, I offer you this pictorial update.

Please know that there was much bleach spraying and vacuuming to be had.

These drawers have served as a Hilton hotel for many sorts of residents. Furry. Feathered. Scaly. All of them!

Despite needing breathing breaks, I quite enjoyed being near Mr.Mr. in the boat shed. While he had his way with a sander on Vintage’s icily maimed planks,

I elbowed out the years upon years upon decades worth of dirt, dust and bedding from deep crevices and sturdy drawers.

All the while, imagining the wine shelf that will one day, Be. Yes, it will, it will. Can you see it too? The potential? Until then, it needs some care and rewards with hidden trinkets.

Notice how each drawer is carved with a number both on the front as well as on the upper inside right corner. We didn’t notice that fine detail until after I emptied the hand-vac, twice. The charm! I also found a receipt for Chinese food delivery tucked in a drawer. Faded. Printed in 1999. Ha!

Today’s featured blogs are:

worth the weight

March 3rd, 2010 comments 3

What determines a cookbook’s worth to you? Enticing photographs? An author’s contagious enthusiasm? The comfort of recipes you tuck into with practiced familiarity? The challenge of an unfamiliar cuisine? The story behind the taste?

For me, the cookbooks I relish most are those that offer the splendor of fantasy. Those that enliven my mind’s eye with pots, platters and plates brimming with recipes accomplished. Fresh know how.

I’m also not candid about a cookbook purchase. Many stamp hefty prices. Instead, I go slow. Grow to know a book through its virtual profile and scattered reviews. If thoroughly tantalized, a trip, usually with Mr.Mr.’s mum, to a local bookshop is arranged. A proper meeting. (Must this telling sound so much like a suitor seeking scenario?) I scan the shelves with eyes eager to spy the author’s name. Always nervous that the title will not be stocked. Elated when the bind meets my gaze. Then, we sit together for a stint. (I’ve taken care to haunt bookshops with comfy loungers.) And, I assess whether or not the book sparks any weight to fulfill fantasy.

Sometimes, a match is not met. The reasons? I’d rather not digress. When it’s right. Oh boy, it’s just right. And, my heart kirplunks a happy beat. Something fine will come of this union. I just know it.

As a food blogger, there are times when publishers pose as matchmakers. When I was new to blogging, I was like a freshly single girl, out on the town, saying an absolute YES! to every offer that sparked a smidgen of fancy. Then, as often happens when you quadruple book, I grew overwhelmed and undermystified. Novelty worn, I yearned to focus on longstanding commitments to titles. With a discerning stance, I began selecting those I would have pursued on my own. Such a commitment rests with The Modern Café by Francisco J. Migoya and The Culinary Institute of America.

This title revs up, with minute detail, the fantasy I have of retiring to a bistro-style spot with Mr.Mr., where we cater to the soup, sandwich, caffeine, craft beer and organic wine needs of Poi area residents. Soon after this book arrived, I was snug within the confines of its muscled embrace. As a professional title, it tackles every question and curiosity with the ease of expert telling. Without snobbery. Many hints of industry humor. Some back story. Coveted photographs. Lip smacking recipes galore to sate lovers of baked pleasures and savory sensations equally. The chapter on Beverages is my favorite as it delves into caffeinated and spirited depths I simply pine over. Whether coffee, tea, wine or beer, there is a recipe that drenches thoughts in satisfying musings.

So taken am I with this book that I lugged it to Vermont last weekend. Going so far as to snag for it the middle backseat between PerryA and myself. During the course of two days, we’d surely be drinking bodied brews as the weekend was presented by Magic Hat. Presuming my fellow ladies would enjoy a lager break, perhaps for wine, I relied on The Modern Café to provide the sanctuary through one of its wine cocktails.

Sure, I could have selected a recipe and scribbled it on a paper scrap, forgoing the book’s companionship. What fun would that be though? What would have PerryA and I perused and discussed while the guys riddled nonsense in the front seats during the road trip? What if I couldn’t find all of the ingredients and was out of luck with the recipe I selected?

What would I have read while friends toured the brewery and I remained behind? Nose between its pages with freshly brewed French press coffee beside.

And, in the end, my fantasy came true. Well, the fantasy of us arriving home on our last night in Vermont to a welcoming pitcher of Riesling with Cranberry Juice & Pomegranate Seeds. Imbibing its palate-cleansing goodness while shaking free of lingering dance urges with the last folks standing. The crisp, tangy, fruity, floral, sweet sipper served the perfect finale to the weekend.

Riesling with Cranberry Juice & Pomegranate Seeds
adapted from The Modern Café by Francisco J. Migoya and The Culinary Institute of America

yields 10 drinks

When Riesling and cranberry juice meet, the result is a tart, bright and fruity sangria-like drink. Pomegranate seeds add sparkle and a crunchy reward at the sipper’s end.

Pomegranate arils from 4 pomegranates
1.8 kg Riesling
1.8 kg Cranberry juice

Extract the seeds from each pomegranate by cutting the fruit in half and tapping the seeds out with a wooden spoon. Be sure to remove any clingy white membrane.

Combine the Riesling and cranberry juice with the pomegranate seeds. Reserve in the refrigerator. Stir before serving in a 16-fl-oz glass filled to 15 fl oz without ice. Discard after 48 hours.

just five

February 26th, 2010 comments 4

I’m off from work today, and, whoa, what a difference a day away makes…Sleeping in. Leisurely brewing a cafe au lait with my new French press. Actually seeing Mr.Mr. in the morning! Enjoyment instead of mindlessly rushing around a routine.

Now, we’re about to pile into a couple of cars with friends for a jaunt to Burlington, Vermont. Each year, we head that way for Magic Hat’s Mardi Gras celebration. Dear friends of ours work for the craft beer brewer and the bar Mr.Mr. works at pours a few selections from their mix. Therefore, it’s always a treat of a weekend. A bit of business. A sprinkle of fun. Maybe some shopping? Always shenanigans.

I shot the picture above last weekend while in Poi. That’s the lighthouse Nils and I have eaten sandwiches beside on a summery day. We’ve rounded, relishing a forgiving sea breeze, while running the July 4th road race. And, most recently, it’s where PerryA and I caught sight of a snowman, beholden to winter’s cheer.

Here are today’s selected blog reads:

hearts and tails

February 24th, 2010 comments 3

A slight repercussion of online visibility is not having control of a person’s initial impression of you. Sure, there never really is a true sense of control where this matter is concerned. When online, however, you can’t help when in the course of your life people begin to bear witness.

For instance, let’s say someone happens upon your Facebook page through a friend’s shared photo. A photo of you smugly flipping off someone just out of the photo’s frame. You may have some explaining to do. I sure did. Hi, I’m Jen and there’s a perfectly good reason for that finger raising. Like, the group of girlfriends making fun of how slowly I’m sipping cocktails during the course of ladies weekend, and after a night’s worth of hounding I just flip ‘em the bird and say, well, fine then, order me a shot and I’ll be quick about it. It was purely defensive. I swear. I mean…ugh.

Despite “meeting” me in such a manner, Julie didn’t toss any judgment my way. Nope. She instead felt, I gotta meet this girl! Her words exactly. When I walked into Rick’s, one of the Poi bars we haunt, she came over exclaiming praise over mention of the photo. I was caught off guard. Humiliated. That’s not the first impression I strive for. With the calming hum of her Southern accent, she shooed away my embarrassed notions of explanation and took me underarm with a friendly snug of approval. Phew.

Many months later, I’m now better acquainted with Julie and her hubby, Bernie. On a Saturday night, the four of us sidle up to the bar while PerryA pours. Julie and I sip our drinks at equal speed. Break in and out of traveling conversations about boaty things and the whereabouts of our other friends. Most recently, the conversation hasn’t stretched much beyond that of our dogs as they extended their brood with this little dear:

She just melts your heart, doesn’t she? I didn’t know Sage when he was a puppy. I know him as the 85-pound buddy, who (no matter how many times is told otherwise) rounds the couch with impressive speed, making a run for our bed as soon as he hears the first pillow fluff. Being around this little lady lends an appreciation for Sage, and their breed as a whole, I didn’t expect. Yes, there are always cute puppies. But, this dear…be still my heart. When I see her rush toward the woodpile with gumption matching our ole boy’s, I’m in awe. When she jumps backward from the fluttering waves glittering on the snowy beachfront, I eye Sage a few yards down the way, chest-deep in the chilly water, yelping at the sea shielding the rock he’ll soon reunite with, and take heart knowing what passion is in store for her. She’s a few tail wags away from those times and we all delight in her apprehension now because soon she’ll be fearless and making up for lost laps.

During a recent puppy meet-and-greet session at the bar, Julie and I planned to regroup the next day in her kitchen for a go round with stuffed artichokes. Her favorite. You know how I feel about artichokes. And, stuffing, well, it’s in a lifelong battle with mashed taters for first place in my heart. Somehow, I’d never married chokes and stuffing. Makes perfect sense. Artichokes, steamed tender. Each leaf fused with cakey stuffing, ripe for scraping. And a heart heavy with final clumps swept from around the plate. That’s the stuff of this gal’s dreams.

The next day, PerryA and I arrive just after the break of noon. Julie, wearing her Southern best, beams her hospitable Texan charm.

Within moments, she’s arranged the kitchen for a quick start. Fulfilled beverage requests of her guests.

Shared in nuzzled attentions with her shadowing pups. All needs sated, she begins. Her eager energy propels her around the kitchen, knocking this and that over in the process, never skipping a beat throughout her explanation.

I know you like the backstory, so I’m gonna give ya one, she says with a side-smile and wink, while snipping the chokes’ tips and stems. For her, this recipe serves as the ultimate in comfort food. A heritage recipe. Her mother’s original. As such, Julie learned the ways of its strides from sight, having not, until this day, measured the ingredients.

Her mother would bag and store in the freezer the tail ends of bread loaves. Those oddly ends would crumble into a seasoned stuffing for a scatter and tuck into artichoke leaves peeled open and waiting. A thick enthusiasm spreads through the kitchen as she relates tales of homecomings to warmed and waiting stuffed artichokes that her dismayed siblings were not allowed to touch until after Julie’s arrival. Even then, her mother recognized her hunger for this dish and baptized them Julie’s Artichokes. Because of her husband’s Italian heritage, Julie’s mother was compelled to learn the ways of Italian comfort eats. Julie has propelled this recipe to a whole new level of familiarity and stature.

On this particular day, Julie sets slices of cushy bread into a food processor for a whir until flecked all about the pitcher.

She scatters the crumbs into a large bowl and seasons to her taste with fresh garlic, freshly grated Parmesan and Romano cheeses, and pepper. When a pinch of the mixture tastes just so she utters a hearty Yeehaaw!

She then nestles an artichoke in the center of the bowl, coaxes the leaves from their taut embraces and fills the blank spaces with generous nests of stuffing.

The stuffed green fists are tucked into a large pot for steaming, drizzled with a few glugs of olive oil and left to steam until the leaves bend beneath the weight of the sticky, moist stuffing.

We plop them one-by-one into large bowls and nibble communally while sipping wine, snagging brief sessions of puppy play, chatting and listening to the tunes Bernie organizes remotely from his laptop.

Hours later, a surprise package greets my farewell. She unselfishly packs the last two into aluminium foil bundles for PerryA and I to take home. Batting away our concern with satisfying insistence that she will undoubtedly make more. We must appreciate a woman who shares her favorite recipe with you and scoots you home with all that remains.

Julie’s Artichokes
3-4 servings
Steaming the chokes infuses the stuffing with a vegetal musk that enhances the garlic and cheese flavors. If stuffed to gorging, a perfect serving of stuffing will coat each leaf for a delightful swipe of a bite. Julie advises using any bread type that you have on hand. Stale bread, odds and ends, etc. Use it up! For this time around, she bought whole grain white bread as she was trying to be partially good.

4 large artichokes
1/2-3/4 loaf of bread
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
3/4 cup grated Romano cheese
3/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
5 cloves fresh garlic, minced
a few glugs of olive oil

Wash the artichokes and pluck away the first couple rows of leaves. With a sharp knife, cut off stems and trim away the top inch of the leaves, revealing a hidden blushing yellow and dark magenta blossom.

To a food processor, add the bread a few pieces at a time, whirring between additions, until all is broken down to crumbly bits. In a large bowl, toss together the breadcrumbs, pepper, cheeses and garlic until all is evenly seasoned to your liking.

Place an artichoke in the center of the bowl. Gently nudge the leaves away from the choke and each other to make space for the stuffing. Gradually tuck the stuffing into the leafy creases until the rows and top are padded with a thick golden layer of breading. Stuff the remaining artichokes.

Pour and inch or two of cold water into a large pot. Tuck a steaming basket in the bottom of the pot. Position the stuffed artichokes upon the basket. Drizzle the lot with a few glugs of olive oil. Cover and heat on high until the water sputters a simmer, then lower to medium heat. Steam for 60-to-90 minutes, until leaves are darkened and break away with a slight tug from tongs.

Serve with a tart and fruity Vidal Blanc.