briciole

cheesecake su bastoncino

cheesecake pops
The literal translation into Italian of cheesecake would be torta di formaggio. I decided to leave the original word in the title, because it indicates a specific dessert and I have seen it used by Italian food bloggers. Su bastoncino means on a stick. A gelato su bastoncino (or gelato su stecco, where stecco also means stick) is a Popsicle made with ice cream. If made with ice, it would be a ghiacciolo (literally, icicle). As it usually happens, this month's Daring Bakers' challenge was an adventure, compliments of hosts Deborah of Taste and Tell and Elle of Feeding My Enthusiasms.

I am not sure why I always manage to get into trouble when executing the challenge, but it happened once again. Recipes that generate a big output are a problem for me, because there is only two of us in the family, and it is not always easy to share the product of my efforts with many people. The additional challenge this month was that I don't like cheesecake made with cream cheese, because I don't like cream cheese. I remember when cream cheese became available in Italy: Philadelphia was the brand name and the same name became a generic term to refer to the product. My dislike for cream cheese dates back to my first encounter with it, a long time ago.

However, knowing that I would not be tasting the result of my efforts did not prevent me from devoting my energy into making it a success. Maybe that's the problem: I want to make it work and end up in trouble. Thanks to a note by the hosts, I was able to comfortably half the dose. Making the New York style (don't ask me what it means¹) cheesecake was easy. I baked it for close to an hour, and it came out pretty nice. So far, so good. 

When I asked my husband to please go to the hardware store and get me some lollipop sticks he thought I was joking. I wasn't. The recipe clearly states to use those, instead of Popsicle sticks, because the cheesecake pops are small. And what made me think they would have such a thing at the hardware store? He countered. They do have a lot of kitchen items, so they may have bastoncini per lecca-lecca (lollipop, literally lick-lick) He was not convinced. I told him I took full responsibility for sending him on such an esoteric errand and he left. He came back with a package of lollipop sticks complete with individual plastic wrappers and twist ties. I felt one step closer to success. I didn't realize the real challenge was still ahead.

Shaping the pops was messy, to put it mildly. It didn't help that the smell of cheesecake, after a short while, was overwhelming for my olfactory cells. I completed this step, but my creativity was not at its best. The fact that, in general, I am not good at working on the details of food presentation certainly did not help. One positive thing was that I made 18 pops and there were exactly 18 sticks in the package my husband had got me, so I did not have any leftover cheesecake. Melting the chocolate and covering the pops was not difficult. I worked with a small quantity of dark chocolate at a time, did not use any shortening, and kept the additional messiness reasonably under control. The keyword here is 'reasonably': if you have a picture of a spotless stove and kitchen counter in your mind, hit Delete.

It was with understandable trepidation that I offered the chilled and chocolate-covered (ricoperti di cioccolato) cheesecake pops to my husband and a friend of ours as dessert. Was I prepared to witness the structural disaster? Good thing I did not try to offer the cheesecake pops at a party! Fortunately, both tasters had a plate at hand: it was needed to gather the falling pieces of the pop after the first fateful bite. My husband did not like his morsel. Our friend, though not enthusiastic about it, offered me a way out by suggesting some berry sauce to offset the cheesiness (here I am using cheesiness in its literal meaning).

I washed and hulled two cups of fresh fragole (strawberries), then pureed them in the food processor with a tablespoon of fine sugar and one of orange juice to make a pleasantly smelling sauce that I offered to our friend so he could try it over one of the remaining pops. At this point, I decided that the sticks could be dispensed with and each pop was demoted to regular piece of cheesecake on a plate. The salsa di fragole (strawberry sauce) was much appreciated and I have to say that the combination of colors (cheesecake yellow, strawberries red and chocolate brown) was rather eye-pleasing (sorry, no picture).

As usual, the challenge was a good learning experience, for which I am thankful to Deborah and Elle. The recipe we all followed, taken from "Sticky, Chewy, Messy, Gooey" by Jill O’Connor, is available here. Make sure you use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the fabulous creations that were baked, shaped, dipped and decorated around the world by my fellow Daring Bakers scattered around the world.

¹ Special thanks to Susan, The Well-Seasoned Cook, for kindly writing a comment explaining the New York style appellation.

Hear me pronounce the words on the cheesecake su bastoncino audio file [mp3] or go to the cheesecake su bastoncino audio page for more listening options.

pane francese

French bread
though not any French bread, but Julia Child's French bread, from volume two of Mastering the Art of French Cooking, compliments of Breadchick Mary (The Sour Dough) & Sara (I Like to Cook), who hosted this month's Daring Bakers' challenge.

I grew up eating (and loving) sfilatini. Later on, I discovered that French people call them baguettes. For the challenge, however, I decided to follow this part of the instructions: "Making clean, sure cuts with a large knife or a bench scraper, divide the dough into:

• [...]
• 2 equal pieces for medium round loaves (pain de ménage or miche only)"

I made the bread twice. As usual, I hit some snags: that's to be expected, otherwise, why would it be called a challenge (sfida)? The dough is quite sticky, so the first kneading was a bit of a struggle. At some point I got nervous and started slapping the dough pretty hard: it was fun for me and good for the dough. Everything went pretty much as detailed in the great instructions that Mary and Sarah provided. The procedure was quite different from others I had followed so far for making bread: the shaping, the flipping before baking, the sprinkling with water while baking. And for a couple of those instructions I accidentally found out what the consequences were of not following: a painful discovery, believe me.

First of all, put a lot of flour on the cloth over which the bread rests before going into the oven. Put more than you think is enough and then add another bit for good measure. I thought I had floured my cloth well but I had not, and the result was a tug of war between me and the cloth that was holding fiercely to the bottom of my beautifully shaped pane. I was able to wrestle it, but the surface showed scars, a testimony to the struggle. This happened during my first try and, when I tried again, I used a lot more flour to prepare the cloth and the bread did not stick to it.

Second, if you are wondering why the oven rack needs to be placed on the top third of the oven, see on this photo what happened to me when I put a rack where it should go, but then put the baking stone with your gorgeous bread on the rack below the right one instead of on it. Fortunately, at the third opening of the oven for the ritual sprinkling of water, I realized my mistake and corrected it, so the rest of the baking occurred with the bread in the right place. As you can see, though, the proximity of the bottom surface to the heat source made it crack. The flavor was not impaired. This happened during my second try and I ascribe the mistake to a bit of hubris (a scholarly way of describing the I-know-what-I-am-doing attitude that can result in how-could-I-have-been-so-silly wonderment when faced with disaster).

While the flavor was good in both attempts, the first one yielded a prettier result. Having a beautiful bunch of flowers available, I took a pane e tulipano (bread and tulip) photo, and also a pane e ranuncolo (bread and Persian buttercup) one.

Make sure you use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the masterworks that were baked around the world by my fellow daring bread-makers. Thanks to our gracious hosts for the nice challenge.

Hear me pronounce the words on the pane francese audio file [mp3] or go to the pane francese audio page for more listening options.

crostatina al limone meringata

lemon meringue tartlet
It's that time of the month when the Daring Bakers reveal to the worldwide blogosphere to what good use they put their multifarious skills, industriousness, inventiveness and, last but not least, their sense of humor.

Last Saturday was the day I had decided the deed would be done. The weather helped me by sending a steady rain that made staying inside a desirable option. The recipe chosen by Jen, The Canadian Baker, for the January challenge was lemon meringue pie, but an allowed alternative to the traditional pie was to make free-style tartlets (crostatine), according to a recipe by David Lebovitz, and that's what I did.

Right from the start, I knew this would be a challenge for me, because two previous encounters with this dessert - as an eater rather than a maker - have not left pleasant memories behind. However, that was not a good excuse, and in any case I was interested in making the experience: "Come what come may, Time and the hour runs through the roughest day," as Macbeth says.

Everything went satisfactorily until it was time to assemble the crostatine. My filling was not dense enough, which meant that the first tablespoon that I mounded in the center of a crostatina, based on the written instructions, signaled very clearly that it had no intention of staying put, and rushed towards the edges that provided no barrier to its fluid movement. I quickly spooned the filling back into the captivity of the pan and, after reading the instructions again and verifying that they specified to shape the dough into disks, i.e., flat surfaces, I switched into damage-control mode.

I decided to ask the thick meringue (meringa) for help in preventing the filling from escaping from its flat Alcatraz. As shown in the photo, I built a retaining wall of meringue before mounding the filling in the center of the island, as instructed.

This prevention measure did not work satisfactorily right away: in my first crostatina, the filling was able to outwit me and ran towards freedom. I am happy to report that the other crostatine behaved better, at least until it was time to relocate them from the baking sheet to a plate. In a couple of cases, the meringue touched the parchment paper I used to line the baking sheet, a touch that became a seal after the sojourn in the oven. I had to gently but firmly separate the twain, with, in one case, regrettable consequences (should I call it a security breach?), of which the unruly filling immediately took advantage.      

I had a lot of fun squeezing the meringue from the Ziploc bag with a corner cut, my very first pastry bag. A blob of meringue erupting from the top and landing in the middle of my decorative pattern was a not-so-subtle reminder of the need to seal the bag before applying pressure to it. My sense of humor came handy at this point and made me chuckle instead of cry.

After making six crostatine, I had some leftover filling and meringue and decided to make a little crustless pie with them, using a container that would keep the filling securely in place. I still would like to know what I should have done to make the obtain a denser filling. If anybody has any suggestions to offer, please do.

After the crostatine reached the right temperature, I asked my husband to investigate the flavor of the result and report to me. He faithfully performed the task assigned to him and his verdict was: "I like it a lot!" The flattering feedback to my efforts was seconded by our kind dinner guest (and patient too, but that is a different story).

Make sure you use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the masterworks that were baked around the world by my fellow daring pie-makers.

Hear me pronounce the words on the crostatina al limone meringata audio file [mp3] or go to the crostatina al limone meringata audio page for more listening options.

pane alle patate delicato

tender potato bread
I grew up hearing stories of my paternal grandmother, Caterina, and of her pane fatto in casa (home-made bread). In the house there was a madia, a piece of furniture made of wood, with a lid on top, over which she would knead bread dough (impastare il pane) and inside which she kept flour (farina) and other items. Like the other women of the village, she did not bake her bread at home, but at the public oven (forno).

Nonna Caterina passed away when I was not even two years old. I never saw either my aunt Lucia or my mother making bread, so when I decided it was time for me to try, I had no model. In early summer of this year I moved my first tentative steps (i primi passi) and the results were encouraging, so I kept going. When I learned that Tanna of My Kitchen in Half Cups would be the host of the November Daring Bakers' challenge, my forecast was that we would be baking bread e c'ho indovinato (I guessed right).

A few years ago I bought a small bread making machine, which has gained the unenviable status of least-used appliance on my kitchen counter. My problem with it is not that it doesn't work: in fact, it makes a lovely mini loaf that is perfect for a small family, and it takes only 45 minutes to do its job. The problem is that it's not my idea of fun, because I don't get to do anything, beyond the initial placing of the ingredients. I love to knead bread, I enjoy the physical contact with the dough (pasta di pane). I like to see the dough leaven (lievitare), to feel its texture, to shape it into a loaf and put it in the oven. I relish the unmistakable profumo del pane appena sfornato (aroma of freshly-baked bread) that wafts from the oven. (Having said all that, after reading about the no knead bread here and here, I am curious to try.)

I got to do all that I like, and more, thanks to Tanna's choice of recipe: tender potato bread. Tanna's instructions were very detailed and encouraging for a principiante (beginner) like me. However, as always when I make something for the first time, I doubt my skill and expect disaster ambushing me behind every corner. This time I started worrying after the first hour of leavening, since I could not see a marked change in the dough. An hour later, however, things looked really nice and, by choosing the size of the bowl wisely, I avoided dough overflow (straripamento della pasta di pane).

The appropriate word to describe the dough is soffice (feathery): being a principiante, I kept the potato quantity towards the lower end of the range (8-9 oz) and used about 7 cups of all-purpose flour. I loved handling the dough: I used about 2/3 to make a loaf and, with the rest, mi è venuto il ghiribizzo (I had the whimsical idea) of making bread muffins. As I was shaping the muffins, I grabbed a few ingredients I had easy access to and used them to flavor (insaporire) them: semi di sesamo (sesame seeds), semi di girasole (sunflower seeds), uvetta (raisins), olive nere (black olives), pitted and halved, and pâté di olive (olive spread).

The loaf (filone di pane) was glorious. When it was cool, I cut a piece and froze the rest. Freezing bread is a great option for a family of two where one half is into baking big loaves. Nonna Caterina did not have that option, since she had no freezer. She baked bread once a week, which was a common schedule. As a result, as baking day approached, the loaves from the previous session were not as appealing, texture-wise, as they were when warm from the oven. This explains the existence of many recipes (like panzanella) that give new life to bread past its prime (pane raffermo).

I spent the morning after Thanksgiving making my second batch of tender potato bread. Once again, the loaf was a satisfying success. With the remaining 1/3 of dough this time I decided to make focaccia, but for some reason I could not make the dough to maintain the length and width I stretched it to, so I decided to apply a 'divide and conquer' approach and made focaccine. I sprinkled fresh rosemary over most of the small focacce, toasted squash seeds on one and currants on the last one, because homogeneity is really not my style.

Make sure you read the recipe for this delicious bread and use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the bread masterworks that were baked around the world by my fellow daring kneaders.

Hear me pronounce the words on the pane alle patate delicato audio file [mp3] or go to the pane alle patate delicato audio page for more listening options.

torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato

In Italy we use the English word dessert to indicate the course served at the end of a meal. From the dictionary I learned that dessert comes from the past participle of the French verb desservir, which means to clear the table, from des- (indicating removal) and servir (to serve). It is indeed true that we clear the table to make room for eating vessels and implements needed to enjoy the parting dish.

The title of this post is my translation of Mary of Alpineberry's choice for this month Daring Bakers' challenge: Bostini Cream Pie. Make sure you read the recipe for this sumptuous dessert and use the Daring Bakers blogroll to guide you to look at the masterpieces that were made this month around the world by my fellow darers.

According to my English-Italian dictionary, the word chiffon refers to a type of fabric and also (in America) to a dolce spumoso e leggero, a base di albume d'uovo (light cake made with egg whites). The creamy portion of the dessert was mostly made of cream (panna), plus some milk and lots of egg yolks (tuorli), and its consistency was quite fluid, even with the addition of cornstarch (amido di mais). In Italy we usually make crema with milk only. If there is no thickener, we call it crema inglese, and if we add flour we get crema pasticcera. When we add panna montata (whipped cream) to crema, the result is crema Chantilly. The glaze was made of cioccolato amaro e burro (bittersweet chocolate and butter) in equal parts.

The challenge for me was finding the time and space to make the recipe right after coming back from a three-week trip to Italy and while packing the house for an impending move (in two days'). The other part of the challenge was to get the right cooking and eating vessels for the dessert. The recipe, and Mary's additional notes, left a certain degree of freedom in this respect. I made a trip to the Sur La Table store in Berkeley to get what I needed. I ended up buying a rather irrational mix of things: an adorable set of four small loaf pans and three sets of four custard cups of different shapes.

For messy me, damage control is always a good part of the challenge of cooking and this time was no exception. The first batch of crema went to feed creatures living downstream, when I realized I had overstepped the fine boundary between ready and impazzita (literally gone mad, in this context means curdled) due mostly to my insidious multi-tasking bent. I was quite sorry about the mishap, because I had used all my vanilla sugar to make the ill-fated custard.

The second attempt was successful and I filled all the 12 small vessels with the aromatic hot crema. Making the orange-flavored chiffon cake was molto divertente (a lot of fun). To match the motley crew of custard vessels, I chose to bake the mini-cakes in the four small loaf pans and in the six large muffin tins I had. The little crisis came when I realized I had more batter than containers ready to accept it. Be creative, I said to myself. I grabbed two English muffin rings and a loaf pan and proceeded to empty the bowl of batter into the space delimited by the rings. The 12 mini-cakes of various shapes had the graciousness of cooking pretty much all in the same time frame, the 25 minutes specified by the recipe.

There is no way that a two-person family like ours can eat 12 portions of torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato, so I decided to have a little dessert party, for which I gathered around our outdoor table the nice people who were doing various works around our soon-to-be-sold house. This, however, occurred after my husband, who is the manager of my quality assurance department, gave his seal of approval to the first completely assembled portion.

Many thanks to Mary for hosting the October challenge. By the way, I have had some of the chiffon cake by itself and it is delicious, so if you do not feel like executing the recipe in all its parts, make just the cake and you will be glad you did.

Hear me pronounce the words on the torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato audio file [mp3] or go to the torta chiffon con crema alla vaniglia e glassa al cioccolato audio page for more listening options.

veneziana

An Italian Perspective on the Daring Bakers' September Challenge
As a schoolchild (in Perugia), every day I would carry with me something to eat during the mid-morning break. I never had lunch at school. However, a shorter school day required a longer school week, which means I went to school on Saturday as well. Back to the snack: la merenda. It was usually un panino with something, i.e., two slices of bread with prosciutto crudo, prosciutto cotto or formaggio, which my mother would prepare for my brother and myself. Obviously, such healthy, nutritious and flavorful fare was not what I would have liked. Occasionally we were allowed to buy a pastry or a piece of pizza, and I had my favorite options for those special days.

The top choice for pastry was maritozzo con la panna and the runner-up was veneziana, which means (female) Venetian, though I have not been able to find out what connection it has, if any, with my favorite city in the world. The veneziana I ate as a child looks sort of like a cinnamon bun, a similarity I had never noticed until I made cinnamon buns for my induction into the honorable Daring Bakers' society. This month's challenge is hosted by Marce of Pip in the city. Marce has posted the recipe for the buns, from Peter Reinhart’s The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, which includes cinnamon and sticky buns.

My first attempt was a series of near disasters, starting from a leavening that was not as marked as expected, to a vicarious placing into the oven that was on the wrong grid (not my husband's fault), while I was running on my bike to get the confectioners' sugar I had forgotten, to a clogging of my sifter by the newly-purchased sugar. I was basically resigned to consign the whole tray to the famous garbage bin department, when, to my surprise and relief, a tasting by the manager of my quality assurance department (a.k.a. my husband) revealed an outcome that, though not exceptional, was also not deserving of being consigned to irretrievable oblivion.

As a child, I had a well-designed system for eating a veneziana to delay the peak of tasting pleasure, located at the center. I would unroll the coil so that the last piece had the thickest glassa (fondant glaze). For my rendition, I opted for a threaded glaze. The given recipe for the cinnamon buns has lemon zest, and I used lemon extract in the glaze. I am pretty sure veneziana has no lemon nuance. However, I will not let this detail spoil my little walk down memory lane.

I made another batch a week later (both times I kneaded the dough by hand, which I totally enjoyed) and this time the leavening went well and the baking went better. I think I got it down now, and my husband agrees. Freshly-made cinnamon buns are delicious. I discovered that careful storage and warming up in the oven prior to breakfast extend the shelf-life of a batch for several days.

I posted this soon after arriving in my home country after a two year absence. I am adding veneziana to the long list of foods that I need to try or, as in this case, to try again.

Hear me pronounce the words on the veneziana audio file [mp3] or go to the veneziana audio page for more listening options.