Behind the Recipe -- Jeri Quinzio

Cookies for Christmas

 



Every family that celebrates Christmas has its own special traditions. In my family, Christmas always meant lots and lots of cookies. Some days before the 25th, my mother, my sisters, and I always spent an afternoon making them. We made anise-flavored snowballs, pizzelle, and crispy, deep-fried butterflies that we dusted with powdered sugar.

We always made some cookie-cutter cookies. They were not necessarily a particular flavor or recipe. What was important was that the dough could be rolled out and cut into the shapes of candy canes, stars, Christmas trees, and so on. After baking them, we decorated them with frosting and nonpareils. We made a mess, but we had fun. And we wound up with a great supply of cookies.

I continued the cookie-making tradition with my own kids when I grew up. We made most of the traditional cookies. but I like experimenting with new recipes as well. I’ve made festive-looking, and great-tasting, dried cranberry and pistachio biscotti. Ginger cookies flavored with both powdered and candied ginger. I remember coconut cookies with a little piece of chocolate embedded in the center as being particularly good.

One year, I found a recipe for Christmas wreath cookies. I don’t remember where the recipe came from. They’re just simple, basic butter cookies decorated with chopped pistachios and a dot of strawberry jam in the center. They do look like mini wreaths, and they’re tasty. The combination of pistachio and strawberry is good, and the butter doesn’t hurt either.

My father came to our house for Christmas dinner that year, and of all the foods and desserts we had, he particularly liked the wreath cookies. So I made them again the next year, and the next. Sometimes I made enough to give him his own tin full of Christmas wreath cookies to take home. No matter how many other cookies I made, I made them for him.

I find that now, several years after his death, I still have to make the wreath cookies. We all like them, but we like all sorts of cookies. It’s our memory of his liking them that matters. Which is how traditions become traditions.

Christmas Wreath Cookies

One-half cup butter, softened
One-third cup granulated sugar
One egg yolk
One-half teaspoon vanilla extract
One-half teaspoon almond extract
One cup all-purpose flour
One-half teaspoon salt
One slightly beaten egg white
Three-quarters cup finely chopped pistachios
One-half cup strawberry jam

Preheat oven to 300. Grease two cookie sheets or line with parchment.

With mixer at medium speed, beat butter until creamy. Then add sugar, egg yolk, and extracts. When they’re well mixed, add the flour and salt gradually until a soft dough forms.

Using about one teaspoon of dough for each cookie, roll into a ball and dip in the beaten egg white, then into the chopped nuts.

Place each one on a cookie sheet. Then, with your fingertip, make a small dent in the middle of each one.

Bake for 25 minutes. While the cookies are still warm, put about a half teaspoon of jam in the center of the cookies.

Store, tightly covered. Makes about three dozen. Enjoy.




 

Sodas -- Some Like 'em Hot

Winter is the cruelest season for ice cream makers. It’s true today, but it was especially true at the turn of the 20th century. Winter business was so bad then that many soda fountains closed for the season.

Others tried all sorts of promotions and products to lure customers in during the coldest months. One of the oddest was offering hot sodas. This series of small space ads ran in an Iowa newspaper in 1888:

“Try hot sherbet at Billan’s Drug Store.”

“Have you ever tasted hot soda water. Try it at Billan’s Drug Store.” 

“The latest. Hot sherbet and hot moxie at Billan’s Drug Store.”

Most of the hot drinks were exactly what we drink today – coffee, tea, hot chocolate, beef bouillon, hot lemonade (great when you have a cold). But a few hot sodas were just that. Hot carbonated drinks.

The recipe for “Root Bear, Hot,” called for hot root beer, and was served with a slice of lemon or some lemon juice. I love the typo.
 
Despite the name, a “Ginger Wine Toddy, Hot” was not made with wine.  It was a combination of ginger syrup, tea syrup, currant juice, and hot water. It was topped with grated cinnamon.

“Pink Tea, Hot” was a mixture of equal amounts of green and black teas along with hot water and sugar. It was colored pink with “tincture of cudbear,” a red-violet food coloring made from lichens. 

Much as I like eggnog, I find the hot egg drinks unappealing because they were made without milk or cream. For instance, to make the “Cherry Egg Bounce, Hot” you were directed to mix a whole egg with cherry juice and sugar, and then add hot water. The drink was garnished with cherries, an orange slice, and a sprinkle of nutmeg.

“Turkish Punch, Hot” mixed egg yolk, grape juice, lemon juice, and sugar with hot water. It was topped with whipped cream and cinnamon.

Hot malted milk drinks were popular. The basic drink was malted milk powder and a bit of salt mixed with hot water.  Seasonings such as pepper, celery, salt, or sugar were often added and the drinks were topped with whipped cream along with a sprinkle of grated nutmeg or powdered cinnamon. Sometimes, hot milk took the place of the water. Soda expert E. F. White wrote that milk was not correct but “you have to humor your customers.”

Offering hot drinks at soda fountain led to other menu additions like chowder, then sandwiches, and finally full lunches. All of which helped business struggle through winter and reach the sunny days of summer.

Here is one of the hot drinks I like a lot. I don’t know whether it became what White called a “trade winner,” but it’s great way to warm up a chill wintry day. I use regular hot coffee instead of coffee extract. Two spoonfuls of malted milk makes it sweet enough for me. Experiment and enjoy.

Hot Malted Milk Coffee

Place 1-2 oz. of fresh coffee extract in a 7 oz. mug, add 3 teaspoonfuls of malted milk and fill to within half an inch of the top of the mug with hot water, stirring all the time. Let the customer sweeten to taste. Either a little sweet cream or whipped cream  may be added when desired. This is a most delicious method of serving malted milk, and may become a trade winner if properly advertised. --  The Spatula Soda Water Guide, E. F. White, 1901.
 

Cucina Povera and No Meatballs

Necessity is not merely the mother of invention. It’s the mother of good cooking. What starts out as a dish created out of financial hardship often becomes, over time, a family favorite. Italians refer to these dishes collectively as cucina povera. The women of the Southern Italian region of Puglia are especially good at it.

For example, traditionally after crops were harvested, the fields were burned
to make it easier to prepare them for the next planting. In Puglia, wealthy landowners used to allow peasants to scavenge through the burnt fields for any remaining charred bits of wheat they could find. The peasants turned the meager yield into pasta.

Years of eating scorched wheat pasta gave them a taste for it. Now, many generations later, those who have never had to pick through the stubble of burnt fields to find food enjoy the taste of charred pasta. Today the wheat flour is toasted in commercial ovens rather than burned in the field. Called farina arsa (burned flour), it’s usually sold in the form of Puglia’s famed pasta, orecchiette, or little ears.

I do not mean to romanticize the past or to suggest that poor people always ate wonderful meals or that cucina povera is some sort of glamorous cuisine the poor created for our benefit. Rather, I want to pay tribute to the creativity of the women who managed to make something of nothing, to turn dross into gold.

When I was in Puglia, I ate meatless meatballs, also known as egg patties or cheese balls, and loved them. They’re made more or less like meatballs – with bread crumbs, grated cheese, parsley, garlic, and eggs. But without the meat. And they taste great.

Nevertheless I was surprised when I came across recipes for them in a couple of different issues of old Gourmet magazines. The simple dish Italian mothers concocted from the few ingredients they could get had climbed to the top of the American food world.

Well, why not? They are simple to make, delicious, and inexpensive as well. I modified the recipes a bit, and since they don’t seem to have one official name, I’ve dubbed them polpette di pane, or bread balls.

If you want to make a meatless meal that’s totally satisfying, they’re perfect. Serve them with a marinara sauce, maybe some roasted eggplant, add a salad and you’ve got a meal. Or serve some sweet Italian sausages alongside them, if meat isn’t an issue.

If you can find some farina arsa orecchiette, serve the pasta with the polpette, pour a glass of wine, and toast the inventive women of Puglia.

Polpette di pane

1 cup plain dry bread crumbs, preferably homemade
3/4 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano or Romano
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
2 cloves of minced garlic
Salt and pepper
4 eggs

4 tablespoons olive oil
Marinara sauce
Mozzarella (optional)

Combine the ingredients listed above the eggs. Then whisk eggs and stir them into the bread crumb mixture.

Shape into balls and flatten into four or five patties. Refrigerate for half hour or more.

(If they are too dry to shape easily, add a little water. If too loose, add a little more cheese or bread crumbs.)

Heat sauté pan and add oil. Fry patties for about five minutes per side or until they puff slightly and turn golden.

Serve with warm marinara sauce. Top them with a little grated mozzarella, if you like.








 

Marshmallow's Rocky Road

 

After years in the culinary wilderness, marshmallows are having another moment. I hope this one doesn’t become as over-the-top as the last one.
 
Marshmallows started out as medicines. They were made from the marshmallow plant root, which was thought to cure coughs and colds. In the 18th century, European confectioners blended egg whites and sugar with the sticky sap and made
marshmallow confections. 

As marshmallows evolved from treatments to treats, the plant that gave them their name was abandoned because of its unpleasant taste. It was all right for cough medicine, but not for sweets. Gum Arabic and then gelatin stood in for marshmallow. Eventually, even the egg whites became superfluous. By the 20th century, they were being made with gelatin, water, sugar, and/or corn syrup. Marshmallows were lighter, sweeter, and fluffier than their predecessors.
 
When marshmallows became available commercially, home cooks were only too happy to buy rather than make them. In the 1930s and ‘40s, all sorts of marshmallow dishes emerged. During World War II, marshmallows were a popular ingredient because they added sweetness to dishes without using rationed sugar. Cooks melted marshmallows into cake fillings and frostings, mixed them into ice creams, cut them up (before mini-marshmallows debuted) and stirred them into gelatins and even salads.

They made tea sandwiches from small circles of bread topped with marshmallow cream, walnuts, raisins, and maraschino cherries. Their “Scotch Kisses” (marshmallows coated with sugar syrup) are unfair to both Scotch and kisses.

I think the worst offender is the infamous sweet potato casserole. Topping sweet potatoes with marshmallows and serving the dish on an already overburdened Thanksgiving table was and remains a bad idea.

These days, chefs, bakers, and home cooks alike are whipping up fresh marshmallows and flavoring them with pumpkin, coffee, coconut, chocolate, you name it. They’re creating S’mores with home-made graham crackers, high-end chocolate, and made-from-scratch marshmallows. So far, no one’s making marshmallow tea sandwiches.

I think the one old-time marshmallow recipe that truly deserves a resurgence is rocky road ice cream. Whether you make it with the finest chocolate and home-made marshmallows or use regular grocery store ingredients, it’s a terrific ice cream.

Eat it quick. Before it melts!

Oddly enough, it was born during the Depression, not wartime. It was developed in 1929 by William Dreyer, founder of Dreyer's Grand Ice Cream. He cut up some marshmallows with his wife's sewing shears and stirred them into chocolate ice cream along with some walnuts. The name was said to have been a wry comment on the economic times. It's only too appropriate today as well.

Rocky Road Ice Cream

1 1/2 cups whole milk
1 1/2 cups heavy cream
6 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate
1/2 cup sugar
4 egg yolks
Pinch of salt
1/4 cup toasted, chopped walnuts
1/4 cup mini-marshmallows
2 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, chopped
 
Combine milk and cream in a saucepan over low heat. Add 6 ounces of chocolate and stir until it’s melted. 

Half fill a large bowl with ice or ice water and set aside.

In another saucepan, whisk the egg yolks and sugar until thick and pale. Stir a small amount of the chocolate cream into the eggs, then gradually stir in the rest.

When it’s all incorporated, place pan over low heat and cook, stirring gently, until it thickens enough to coat a spoon. Don’t let it come to a boil. Pour into a clean bowl and set it in the ice bowl. Stir occasionally until it cools. Cover with plastic wrap pressed against the surface so it doesn’t form a skin on top. Chill.
 
Churn in your ice cream machine, following manufacturer’s instructions. Combine the walnuts, marshmallows, and chocolate pieces. When the ice cream is nearly ready, add the reserved mixture. Store in freezer until ready to serve. Makes one quart.
 

 

Malted-Milk Ice Cream

 

In the 1940s, bobby-soxers went to malt shops and lingered over malted milk shakes.

Translation:

In the 1940s, teen-agers went to soda fountains (shops that sold ice cream sodas, sundaes, and soft drinks) and lingered over drinks made with milk, a flavoring such as chocolate syrup, a scoop of ice cream, and malted-milk powder.

Malted-milk powder is a mixture of whole dried milk, malted barley, and wheat flour. It has a slightly sweet, toasty flavor. Invented in 1887 by William Horlick of Wisconsin, originally it was dissolved in hot water and given to babies or people with digestive problems as a nutritional supplement.

Soon soda fountain operators began adding it to milk shakes, serving them hot in winter and cold in summer. Malted milk shakes were thick, hearty, and considered healthy. They especially appealed to men, and during Prohibition malteds often substituted for beer.

Blenders, introduced in the 1920s, made richer, smoother malteds and gave soda jerks a chance to show off their style and flair. They experimented with flavors, and added eggs and/or ice cream to the drinks. One of the best-liked was the “black and white,” a chocolate malted with vanilla ice cream. It was all the rage with the bobby-soxers.

Movies of the day often featured young stars sipping malteds at soda fountains, often flirting with the soda jerk. Sometimes a young couple shared one malted with two straws, all the better to sit close to each other. Malteds were as popular then as they are forgotten today.

Malted-milk powder is still used. Added to warm milk, it makes a sweet drink young kids often like. Bakers say it gives breads and bagels better flavor and texture. The crispy malt-flavored, chocolate-covered candies called malted milk balls,  which were once a favorite movie snack, are still around. But it’s hard to find a malted-milk shake, much less a soda fountain these days.

I decided to reproduce the flavor of a malted in an ice cream. I don’t think malt shops actually served malted-milk ice cream, but it turns out to taste terrific. Bobby-soxers would have loved it.

Initially, I was going to add chopped malted-milk ball candies to the ice cream. But when I read the ingredient list on the label, I changed my mind. Too many unpronounceables. Instead I used plain milk chocolate. You can try bittersweet chocolate, but I think the milk chocolate reproduces the old-time flavor of a malted better.

My Malted Milk Ice Cream

One cup heavy cream
Two-thirds cup malted-milk powder
Two cups half and half
Four egg yolks
Half cup sugar
Pinch salt
One teaspoon vanilla
Four ounces milk chocolate, chopped

Warm cream, add malted-milk powder and stir until dissolved. Stir in the half and half and simmer.

Whisk egg yolks with sugar until light and creamy. Add a little of the cream mixture to the eggs and sugar to temper, then combine all and stir over low heat. Add salt. Continue stirring over low heat until the mixture thickens and coats the spoon.

Remove from heat and stir over an ice bath until cool. Add vanilla.

Chill. Freeze according to your ice cream machine’s directions. Just before it’s done, mix in the chocolate pieces.

Makes one quart.

 
 

Puffed Wheat and the Elite

 

When your dinner guests are the cream of early 20th century English society, everything should be perfect. But even the aristocratic Lady Agnes Jekyll knew that inevitably there would be “pauses of service in the best regulated dining-rooms, when solace is sought in crumbling or nibbling something.”

Her remedy? The cereal then said to be shot from guns. Puffed Wheat.

“A few spoonfuls of this, crisped hot in the oven and lying invitingly on small mother-o’-pearl shells, or in some such decorative and labour-saving receptacles before each guest, will comfort the shy, stem the torrent of the fluent-obvious, and generally promote a flow of that pleasant conversation…”

Lady Jekyll was a renowned hostess when the Times of London asked her to write a food and entertaining column. Later the columns were collected in a book: Kitchen Essays.

Jekyll lived in a Masterpiece Theater world, with cooks and nannies, weekends in the country, and travel abroad. She wrote about what to serve for wedding breakfasts, shooting-party luncheons, and posh dinner parties.

One chapter is titled “In the cook’s absence.” Its recipes are simple enough for the kitchen maid to manage on cook’s day off. Another, “Luncheon for a motor excursion in winter,” suggests having a picnic packed because the food at country hotels is too “dear” and too often consists of “Tough joints, bluish rabbit or pork pies, fly-haunted ham bones, black-eyed potatoes,” and such.

Her own menus feature such classics as a “leg of lamb set round with little jelly castles of mint sauce made with aspic and chopped mint,” a “Souchet of Slips,” essentially a fish soup made with tiny Dover sole, and “Claret Jelly.”

All of which makes it curious that she seemed to have such high regard for lowly cereals. Calling the familiar English breakfast fare “monotonous,” she suggests that both young and old would benefit by having “American Cereals, such as post-toasties, honey-grains, puffed wheat, or puffed rice, with or without cream.”

The cereals were relatively new then. Puffed Rice had been introduced in 1905; Puffed Wheat, shortly after. They were originally shot from guns, specifically a Spanish-American War cannon. Later, machinery took over.

Quaker Oats company advertisements of the day suggested that the cereals were perfect for breakfast, lunch, and supper. They recommended sprinkling Puffed Rice on ice cream instead of nuts. And they offered a snack suggestion: “Crisp and lightly butter – as with peanuts or pop-corn, for hungry children after school.” But not even the Quaker Oats people recommended serving the cereals at elegant dinner parties.

However, why not? Your guests will probably be delighted. And it’s sure to keep the conversation going during those inevitable pauses in service.

 

Apricot Purée (with puffed rice)

Stew 1 pound best dried apricots after an all-night soak. When cooked soft, add a small tin of peeled apricots; boil together, sweeten to taste; reduce the syrup, pass through a wire sieve, and put into a shallow glass bowl; cover completely with a thin layer of partly whipped cream (about 6d worth), and perhaps a few chopped pistachio nuts to embellish. With this send round a glass finger-bowl of that useful American cereal ‘puffed rice’ just crisped in the oven, to be sprinkled on by each guest. This sweet is suitable also for holiday luncheons or Sunday suppers. For 5-6 persons. – Kitchen Essays, Lady Jekyll, 1922.

Champagne Tastes. Beer budgets.

We are not drinking enough Champagne.

According to The Wall Street Journal, Champagne sales are now so flat that producers are leaving the grapes to rot on the ground. Not only are they picking fewer grapes, they’re bottling 44% less wine this year. They’re leaving the rest in tanks to age until demand picks up.

As a result, distributors are offering deals to restaurateurs, and Champagne sellers are even considering slashing prices to consumers. Well, that’s good news for us. Not so much for them.

I think we should do our part and enjoy more of the wine that Dom Pérignon likened to “drinking stars.”

I know that times are tough, and beer is easier on the budget, but aren’t bad times exactly when we should have a bit of bubbly? As Winston Churchill said: "In success you deserve it and in defeat, you need it."

In more affluent times, Champagne was everyone’s favorite. It was drunk with meals, between meals, and as a nightcap. It was even a popular breakfast quaff. Supposedly when asked why he drank Champagne for breakfast, Noel Coward replied, “Doesn't everyone?"

Although nothing beats an elegant glass of sparkling Champagne, there are some good mixed drinks that call for bubbly. Maybe we should bring back the Champagne Cocktail, which dates back to the mid-19th century.

Champagne Cocktail

Drop a sugar cube into a Champagne flute, add a dash of bitters, and then fill the glass with Champagne. Some people add ice and/or a sliver of lemon peel.

Or try the Kir Royale. A lovely aperitif, it’s as delicious to look at as it is to drink.

Kir Royale

To a glass of Champagne, add a splash of Crème de Cassis.

Of course the winter holidays –  or, as people in the business say, the “sparkling season” –  are coming up. But if you’re as saddened as I am by thoughts of those rotting grapes, don’t wait for the holidays. Pop a cork today. If you need an excuse, think of it as doing your bit to improve the economy.

Remember what John Maynard Keynes, the British economist who built his reputation on remedies for economic recession and unemployment, said on his deathbed: “I wish I’d drunk more Champagne.”

 

Champagne Slush

If you’re ever faced with leftover Champagne or sparkling wine – yes, it does happen –  try this fizzy, frosty ice. Fresh strawberries are a natural partner, as are crisp wafer cookies.

1 cup sugar
1 cup water
2 1/2 cups Champagne or sparkling wine
1 tablespoon lemon juice

Pour water into a saucepan, add sugar and cook over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Let cool and mix with the wine and lemon juice. Chill and then churn
in your ice cream maker. Makes a quart.

Note: Because of the alcohol, this won’t get completely firm right away. It needs a few hours or overnight in your freezer. It will also melt quickly once it’s served. But like most fleeting pleasures, it’s wonderful while it lasts. – Ice Cream: The Ultimate Cold Comfort, Jeri Quinzio, 2006.

Ice Cream Soda -- Hold the Ice Cream

 

Soda jerker flipping ice cream. Texas, 1939

Before we had ice cream sodas, we had iced cream sodas. The drinks were a mixture of soda water, flavored syrup, and cream. No ice cream.

They were also called frigid cream sodas, and even ice cream sodas, even though they weren’t made with ice cream. 

The earliest soda fountain drinks were plain seltzers, and they were usually considered medicinal. In the 1830s, when flavorings began to be added, the drinks became refreshments rather than remedies.

The drinks were flavored with fruit syrups and/or juices, wine or cordials. Often served decorated with slices of fresh fruit, they were sometimes given whimsical names.

A “Wild Cherry Sangaree” was concocted from cherry juice, cherry syrup, Angostura bitters, ice, and soda water.

A “Granola” was made with orange syrup, grape juice, lemon juice, ice, and soda water.

A “Currant Shrub” contained red currant juice, lemon syrup, brandy, ice, and soda water.

Before long, fountain operators added cream to the drinks, and according to Harper’s Monthly Magazine for August 1872, “Soda-Water with cream syrups, when well iced has been fancifully named ‘ice-cream soda.’ “

A typical mixture, the “Alhambra Cream” soda, was made with peach, orange, and vanilla syrups, cream, and soda water.

The simply named “Frozen Cream” was a combination of banana syrup, cream, ice, and soda water.

The ice cream soda – actually containing ice cream – was introduced in the 1870s and was both popular and problematic. At the time, most soda fountains did not stock ice cream. Owners were reluctant to add it because that meant either making or buying the ice cream. It also required storage, so they’d have to buy more ice and salt and perhaps an ice cream cabinet. It all added up to more work and more expense.

Worst of all, it seemed customers lingered over ice cream sodas longer than they lingered over a glass of seltzer, even a flavored or creamy one.

Trade publications worked hard to convince the owners that ice cream sodas could be profitable. They ran cost estimates, calculated how many sales it would take to make a profit, and offered easy ice cream recipes for those who’d never made it before. But for several more years, many soda fountains operators continued to sell ice cream sodas made without ice cream.

Eventually of course, ice cream triumphed. In 1893, The Critic magazine called the ice cream soda “our national beverage.” Soon a soda fountain without ice cream was unimaginable, and the ice cream soda was an American classic. 

This recipe bridged the gap between an iced cream soda and an ice cream soda.

Frosted Coffee

Coffee syrup…………………fl. oz. 2
Cream………………………..fl. oz. 2
Shaved or cracked ice…….soda glassful 1/2

Shake thoroughly in a combination shaker or in a glass and shaker, strain into a 12-ounce glass, fill the glass with the coarse stream of carbonated water, stir thoroughly, add a spoonful of whipped cream, and sprinkle lightly with nutmeg. Ice cream may be used instead of whipped cream. – The New Standard Formulary, Emil A. Hiss, 1910.

Sorbets of Summer

It’s summertime and the sorbet-making is easy. It’s also a bargain.

Making your own ice cream, as opposed to buying it, is fun and rewarding, but it may or may not save you money.

Making your own fruit sorbet definitely will. Especially since manufacturers traditionally charge as much for sorbet as they do for ice cream. This, despite the lower cost of the ingredients and the complaints of customers.

Considering the financial mishegas we’re dealing with today, saving money is no small matter.

With sorbet, you don’t need cream or eggs. All you need is sugar, water, fruit, and maybe an herb or seasoning. Right now both supermarkets and farmers’ markets have lots of fresh, luscious fruits. So it’s the perfect time to play with sorbet.

Use whatever your local farm stand or grocery store is featuring. Strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, peaches, cantaloupes, plums – they all make wonderful sorbets.
If you can get fresh currants, they’re good mixed with raspberries. Try adding herbs and spices to the mix. A bit of basil is great with strawberry. The tiniest sprinkle of rosemary adds dimension to raspberries. Pineapples like a pinch of freshly ground black pepper. Peaches and cinnamon are terrific flavor partners. Experiment and have fun.

Here’s a sorbet I like a lot. It combines cantaloupes and port, which go together like … you know. In fact, a traditional dessert consists of half a  cantaloupe with a glass of port poured into the hollow center. This sorbet gives you the same flavors in a frosty dish that will make the hottest days cool and comfortable.

Cantaloupe and Port Sorbet


One large or two small cantaloupes, peeled, seeded and cut up, to make 3 cups 
Pinch salt
3/4 cup sugar 
1/4 cup port  
3 tablespoons of orange juice


Cut up the cantaloupe and measure. To make a quart of sorbet, you’ll need three cups.

In a blender or food processor, purée cantaloupe with the salt and sugar until the sugar is thoroughly blended throughout the mixture. Add the port and the orange juice and blend.

Chill the mixture in the refrigerator, preferably overnight. Then churn in your ice cream maker  following manufacturer’s instructions. Store in a tightly covered container in your freezer. Makes one quart.


 

 

Absinthe Minded

 

Absinthe is back. After having been banned in most of Europe and all of the U.S. for nearly a century, it’s now enjoying a legal renaissance. If you like Pernod, anisette, and the other anise-flavored liquors, you’ll like absinthe.

Absinthe started out as a home remedy, a cordial good for combating fevers, indigestion, and other common ailments. It was also good for getting a bit tipsy, like most home remedies of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

When the Pernod family began making the green liquor commercially in 1805, the drink went from homey to haute. Called the green fairy, green muse, or green goddess, it was the toast of Paris.
 
In later years, its reputation plummeted. Absinthe was said to cause madness and hallucinations and was blamed for everything from the high crime rate to alcoholism to Van Gogh’s self-mutilation. By the time it was outlawed in 1915, it had become known as the green devil.

Why did it enjoy such celebrity before its fall from grace?

During the Algerian War (1844-1847), the French government gave its soldiers a ration of absinthe to fight fevers and purify drinking water. The soldiers brought a taste for absinthe back to France after the war. But artists, novelists, poets, and courtesans were the ones who made the drink très chic. They wrote about absinthe or depicted it, and they sipped it very visibly in sidewalk cafés. In fact, in Paris, five o’clock became known as l’heure verte, or the green hour.

Part of the allure of absinthe was that it was drunk with almost sacramental ritual. First you poured the vivid green liquor into a clear glass. Then you placed an ornate slotted spoon atop the rim of the glass, and placed a lump of sugar on the spoon. Then. slowly and carefully, you poured water over the sugar to dissolve it. As the water swirled into the glass, the green of the absinthe paled into a milky yellow. Oscar Wilde described it as shimmering “like southern twilight in opalescent colouring.”
 
No wonder the Impressionists who were experimenting with color and light in their work were afficionados of absinthe. Or that everyone from Baudelaire to Fitzgerald to Verlaine both drank and wrote about it.

I know that if I had been in Paris in those days and had seen Degas or Toulouse-Lautrec sipping a verre vert, or green glass, in a sidewalk café,  I’d have stopped and had one, too.

You can drink absinthe in the traditional manner or mix it into a cocktail. Hemingway is said to have mixed his with Champagne. I like having a creamy absinthe smoothie for dessert. Feel free to adjust the ration of absinthe and cream to your own taste. 

Absinthe Smoothie

One cup of ice, one and half ounces absinthe, three ounces of light cream. Combine in a blender and mix until frothy. Serves two.
 

 

 
Privat-Livemont’s 1896 poster advertising absinthe. http://commons.wikimedia.org.

Of Sugar and Snow News

To see the terrific piece  Devra First of The Boston Globe wrote about  my new book, go to  -- http://www.boston.com/lifestyle/food/articles/2009/06/24/jeri_quinzio8217s_8216of_sugar_and_snow8217_is_a_history_of_ice_cream_making/

My interview with Evan Kleinman, host of Good  Food on KCRW in California, aired last week. To hear or to download the interview, just go to -- http://www.kcrw.com/etc/programs/gf/gf090711going_bananas_truck_

You may have to cut and paste the links in your browser. Hope you enjoy both the article and the interview.