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.

ciambella all'arancia

orange ring cake
A little while ago, as I was perusing the vast bulk section of the Co-op in Eureka, CA, I decided to buy half a small paper bag of mixed tropical dried fruit, without having the slightest idea about what to do with it. The other day, as I was trying to make sense of my cupboard organizing rationale (I have none and therefore I have difficulty finding what I need when I need it), I found the paper bag with my impulsive purchase and decided I had to use it. I also decided it was time to use the ring bottom of the 10" springform pan that had been sitting in its box since its arrival in my kitchen, which means I decided to make a ciambella, a ring cake. Besides the tropical dried fruit mentioned above, the ciambella would include the Greek yogurt I had in the fridge and at least an orange (arancia). A bit of nomenclature before I move on: orange, the fruit, is arancia, plural arance; orange, the tree, is arancio, plural aranci. 

Ciambelle are usually simple home-made cakes that make a great merenda (afternoon snack) for children. Before I describe my ciambella, I need to let you know that non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco. This Italian proverb lets you know that not all ring cakes come out hollow in the middle, or, to be a bit less literal, not everything turns out as expected. I don't know how this proverb originated. I imagine that ring molds were not always available to bakers. Now, however, they are, which means you are guaranteed to get a ciambella col buco. You don't need to worry about the shape of what you are about to bake and can focus your energy and attention on its flavor.

Serendipitously, one of the many bookmarks (segnalibri) that give to my copy of "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone" by Deborah Madison a look of much-used book (libro), which it is, is stationed on a page with the recipe for Orange and Dried Fruit Coffee Cake. Using some of the indications of that recipe and applying the predefined requirements described above, plus some other ideas I had, I came up with a ciambella all'arancia that, secondo me (in my opinion), is very good.

Ingredients:

• a stick of unsalted butter, softened
• la buccia grattugiata e il succo di un'arancia piuttosto grossa (grated zest and juice of a large orange: I recommend to use an organic orange)
• half a cup of white sugar
• due uova a temperatura ambiente (two eggs at room temperature: I always use extra-large ones)
• un pizzico di sale (a pinch of salt)
• a teaspoon of baking powder
• a teaspoon of baking soda
• two cups of regular unbleached flour
• a quarter cup of whole wheat pastry flour
• a cup of non-fat Greek-style yogurt
• 3/4 cup of chopped tropical dried fruit with some non-crystallized candied ginger mixed in
• 1/4 cup of semi-sweet chocolate chips
• half a cup of chopped pecans

Preheat the oven to 350 F and spray with olive oil a 10" springform pan with ring bottom or 10" ring pan. Cream butter with orange zest and sugar, then add the eggs and beat. Stir in the juice, salt, baking powder and baking soda. Add the sifted flours and the yogurt and mix until just combined. Fold in the dried fruit, chocolate chips and chopped pecans. Spoon into the prepared pan and bake until a toothpick comes out clean, 45 minutes or so (oven-dependent).   

What I like about this ciambella is that each ingredient maintains its personality and its flavor comes out clean and clear. Each bite is different, depending on the combination of ingredients it includes: sometimes the chocolate chips prevail and your mouth has that delicious chocolate and orange pairing that is irresistible; sometimes the ginger makes its zingy presence felt; at other times the pecans insert their crunchiness. And the mix of tropical fruit makes you feel like you are idling on a beach, somewhere, under a warm sun. Basically, eating una fetta (a slice) of this ciambella is like being on vacation.

This is my contribution to Fresh Produce of the Month, an event organized by Marta of An Italian in the US. As you can imagine, Marta and I have something in common. We first met in the food blogosphere, then in person and recently shared a delicious meal, the first, I hope, of many.

Hear me pronounce the words on the ciambella all'arancia audio file [mp3] or go to the ciambella all'arancia 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.

Novel Food #2: bignè con la crema

cream puffs
A little while ago a nice young woman gave me the book "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert and told me that the Eat part was about Italy. She invited me to read the book and then pass it along to someone else. I admit I was a bit skeptical: I always am, when approaching a non-Italian writer talking about Italy. I ended up reading the book cover to cover and enjoying it. In this autobiographical story, Gilbert narrates the year she spent in Italy, India and Indonesia.

While in Rome, Gilbert goes to school to learn Italian and meets some people with whom she practices her language skills and gets a more personal view of the country. One day, she goes to a soccer game (partita di calcio) with her friend Luca Spaghetti and his friends. This is a great choice for anybody who wants to get a feel for Italian's national passion. Gilbert is particularly interested in the language, in the expressions she hears, a mixture of encouraging and disparaging words, strung together into a running commentary. "My first soccer game with Luca Spaghetti was, for me, a delirious banquet of Italian language."

There are two teams (squadre) based in the Italian capital, Roma and Lazio, and you are a fan (tifoso) of one or the other, usually as a matter of family tradition (though I saw such tradition break down in my family, when my brother became a Roma fan, in contrast to my mother's support for Lazio). Luca Spaghetti is a Lazio fan and the team loses. After the game, Gilbert follows the group of friends to the place where they pour out their sorrow and find consolation.

Needing to be cheered up after the game, Luca Spaghetti asked his friends, “Should we go out?”

I assumed this meant,”Should we go out to a bar?” That’s what sports fans in America would do if their team had just lost. They’d go to a bar and get good and drunk. And not just Americans would do this - so would the English, the Australians, the Germans... everyone, right? But Luca and his friends didn’t go out to a bar to cheer themselves up. They went to a bakery. A small, innocuous bakery hidden in a basement in a nondescript district in Rome. The place was crowded that Sunday night. But it is always crowded after the games. The Lazio fans always stop here on their way home from the stadium to stand in the street for hours, leaning up against their motorcycles, talking about the game, looking macho as anything, and eating cream puffs.

I love Italy.

After laughing in deep appreciation of the nice vignette, I decided it was time for me to tackle bignè. My aunt Lucia used to make them: her bignè were big, golden and perfectly empty inside. If I was around when she baked them, I was allowed to fill them with crema, a task I loved to perform. What I remember most is the delicate, unmistakable smell of freshly-made crema, tinged with lemon, and the underlying sweet aroma of baked goods left over from the baking of the bignè.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, my aunt passed away five years ago, so I could not ask her for the recipe. After a brief search, I chose a recipe by David Lebowitz. I mixed in the eggs by hand and dropped the pâte à choux by spoonfuls onto the baking sheets. In his "On Food and Cooking," Harold McGee calls the technique for preparing cream puff pastry "a brilliant invention," apparently dating to late medieval times:

It's a cross between a batter and a dough, and is cooked twice: once to prepare the paste itself, and once to transform the paste into hollow puffs.

My bignè were definitely smaller than the ones my aunt made and most probably smaller also than the ones Luca Spaghetti and his friends ate to get over their team's defeat. They came out hollow and crisp and absolutely delicious once I filled them with some crema.

Apply caution when biting into a bignè, as the crema tends to find all ways to escape. I made this escape easier by cutting too big of an aperture in the bignè to make space for a small spoon carrying crema: instead, as filling implement, I should have used a Ziploc bag with a corner cut. As a kid, getting crema all over myself was part of the fun (until my mother arrived on the scene). As an adult, I am a bit more self-conscious, though I believe that scooping up small dollops of crema and licking it off our fingertips is something we should do every now and then, regardless of our age.

Back to the book. After Italy, Gilbert spends some time in an Indian ashram (that's the Pray part), and finally goes to Bali, where the Love portion takes place. I found Gilbert's style of writing congenial and I appreciated that she noticed things about Italy not commonly talked about. Here is an example:

So far, though, my favorite thing to say in all of Italian is a simple, common word:

Attraversiamo.

It means, "Let's cross over." Friends say it to each other constantly when they're walking down the sidewalk and have decided it's time to switch to the other side of the street.

[...]

I love this word. I say it all the time now. I invent any excuse to say it. It's making Sophie nuts. Let's cross over! Let's cross over! I'm constantly dragging her back and forth across the crazy traffic of Rome. I'm going to get us both killed with this word.

It is indeed true that we say attraversiamo all the time, and I like the way Gilbert describes this detail.  Note that attraversare la strada (to cross the street) is a dangerous activity in Italy, in certain places more than in others, as the accepted rules of conduct and people's relationship with road sign and signals tend to change from city to city.

This is my entry for Novel Food #2, a seasonal literary/culinary event that Lisa of Champaign Taste and I are co-hosting. The deadline for sending us your literary-inspired culinary creations is Friday, December 21 at 9 am (PST). Let us have your reading and cooking suggestions: the holidays are a perfect time to catch up with both activities.

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

crostata di zucca e crema

pumpkin and pastry custard pie (with sweet pastry crust)
If your birthday (compleanno) is on December 7, the best place to live is Milano, because on that day the city celebrates its patron saint, Sant'Ambrogio (Saint Ambrose), and it is a holiday. I lived in Milan for almost ten years, and studied at the Catholic University, headquartered in two elegant Renaissance cloisters (chiostri rinascimentali) adjacent to the splendid Romanesque church (chiesa romanica) of Saint Ambrose, in my opinion one of the most beautiful Italian churches. The neighborhood of Sant'Ambrogio has always been my favorite place in my adoptive city. For the big holiday of December 7, the area around the church becomes the scene of the Fiera degli "O bei! O bei!" (fair of the "How pretty! How pretty!" a reference to the exclamations of admiration pronounced by would-be buyers while looking at the wares for sale). If the holiday and the fair were not enough, December 7 is the opening night of the opera eason at La Scala. Given the chronological proximity of December 7 to Christmas, and the fact that December 8 is a religious holiday in Italy, my birthday has always marked for me the beginning of the Holiday Season (le feste).

A few weeks ago, at the end of a delicious meal, my friend Christine of Christine Cooks offered us an excellent pumpkin pie with a surprise layer underneath the pumpkin filling. This inspired me to try and make pumpkin pie (a new endeavor for me) with an Italian twist to the layering concept suggested by Christine: the result was a crostata di zucca con la crema, which I decided it would be my birthday cake (torta di compleanno). It will also be my Christmas dessert (dolce di Natale).

The crostata has three components [scorrete avanti per la ricetta in italiano]:

1. the crust, made of my version of pasta frolla (sweet short pastry)
2. the pumpkin filling, made according to this recipe from EatingWell
3. the crema, made according to my recipe, based on my aunt Lucia's.

First the crust (this is a recipe I developed based on my taste; in this case I decided to use vanilla extract instead of the traditional lemon zest). Note: I use organic ingredients whenever possible.

• 1 cup whole-wheat (or whole-grain) pastry flour
• 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) butter, slightly softened and cut into small pieces
  
• 1 extra-large egg
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract 
• a pinch of salt

Make a fountain with the flour, sugar and salt and place butter, egg and vanilla extract in the center. With your fingers, work butter and egg into the flour and sugar. Knead the dough just until the ingredients are well blended, make it into a ball, cover it with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least half an hour. In the meantime, make the pumpkin filling, halving the quantities given in the recipe referenced above and slightly decreasing the sugar content to 1/3 cup. If you don't have the single spices, use 1 teaspoon of pumpkin pie spice mix.

Preheat the oven to 425 F. Make the crema, halving the quantities of the recipe referenced above and omitting the lemon peel. Instead, after taking the crema off the heat, add half a teaspoon of vanilla extract. You can use either two egg yolks or one egg (see note in the post with the recipe).

Spray with oil a 9" pie pan. Roll the crust into a circle wide enough to line the pie pan to the rim (sandwiching the dough between plastic wrap may be helpful). Using a fork, prick the crust in a few places. Pour the pumpkin filling into it and put in the oven. Bake for 12 minutes, then lower the temperature to 350 F and bake for 15 minutes. At this point, the pumpkin filling should be stable enough to support the layer of crema delicately spooned over it. Cover the edges with foil to prevent them from browning too quickly and bake for another 20 minutes, until the pumpkin layer is completely set. As usual, baking time is not an exact science, so adjust it as needed.

Take the crostata out of the oven and let it cool completely before cutting it. Refrigerate any leftovers, but take them out of the fridge in advance of eating them, so that the crostata is breeze-cool, not fridge-cold. This is a combination of my adoptive country's Holiday tradition of pumpkin pie and my country of origin's tradition of crostate. 

I am hereby offering this bi-traditional dessert to Aspettando Natale / Waiting for Christmas, a special event hosted by Francesca of FrancescaV. The roundup for this event promises to be a firework of recipes, a perfect end of the year celebration.

Hear me pronounce the words on the crostata di zucca e crema audio file [mp3] or go to the crostata di zucca e crema audio page for more listening options.

La crostata ha tre componenti:

1. la pasta frolla (ricetta personalizzata)
2. lo strato di zucca (ricetta dalla rivista EatingWell)
3. lo strato di crema (ricetta personalizzata sulla base di quella di mia zia Lucia).

Per quanto possibile, utilizzare ingredienti biologici. La pasta frolla (stavolta ho usato l'estratto di vaniglia invece della scorza di limone grattugiata):

• 130 g di farina integrale per dolci
• 55-60 g di burro un poco ammorbidito e tagliato a pezzetti
• 1 uovo
• 70 g di zucchero
• mezzo cucchiaino di estratto di vaniglia naturale
• un pizzico di sale

Fare la fontana con farina, zucchero e sale. Mettere al centro della fontana burro, uovo ed estratto di vaniglia e impastare con le dita fino a formare una massa omogenea. Avvolgere l'impasto con della pellicola trasparente e farlo riposare in frigorifero per almeno mezz'ora, mentre preparate il ripieno di zucca e la crema.

Per il ripieno di zucca (metà dose della ricetta di cui sopra e un po' meno zucchero):

• 120 g di purè di zucca (negli USA si trova già pronto, in scatola ed è molto denso - vedi nota)
• 1 uovo leggermente sbattuto
• 120 ml di latte magro evaporato (diversamente dal latte condensato, quello evaporato non contiene zucchero)
• mezzo cucchiaino di estratto di vaniglia naturale
• 70 g di zucchero
• 5 g di amido di mais
• mezzo cucchiaino raso di cannella in polvere
• mezzo cucchiaino raso di zenzero in polvere
• un pizzico di noce moscata
• un pizzico di sale

In una ciotola, mescolare con la frusta i primi quattro ingredienti. In un'altra ciotola, unire gli altri ingredienti e poi aggiungerli a quelli liquidi attraverso un settaccio. Mescolare bene con la frusta. Nota: in una ricetta che ho trovato che parte dalla zucca fresca, dopo la cottura in forno, la zucca viene passata e poi lasciata sgocciolare su un telo steso su un setaccio per almeno due ore. Scaldare il forno a 220 C.

Per la crema (metà dose della ricetta di cui sopra):

• 250 ml di latte (io uso quello scremato)
• 2 tuorli o 1 uovo
• 35 g zucchero
• 15 g di farina
• mezzo cucchiaino di estratto di vaniglia naturale

Scaldare il latte senza farlo bollire. In una ciotola, montare i tuorli (o l'uovo) con lo zucchero. Quando il composto è chiaro e spumoso, aggiungere la farina usando un setaccio e unirla al composto con la frusta. Aggiungere lentamente il latte, mescolare bene e mettere su fuoco basso. Mescolare spesso e, quando la crema comincia ad addensarsi, mescolare quasi continuamente. Quando la crema raggiunge il bollore, cuocere per uno-due minuti e poi rimuovere dal fuoco. Aggiungere la vaniglia e mescolare la crema per far scendere la temperatura. Mescolare poi di tanto in tanto per evitare la formazione della pellicola superficiale.

Oliare o imburrare una teglia del diametro di 23 cm e alta 3 cm (foto della teglia che si usa per fare la pie). Stendere la pasta frolla fino ad avere un cerchio che copre la teglia fino al bordo. Con una forchetta, bucherellare la superficie in alcuni punti. Versare il composto di zucca e cuocere per 12 minuti, poi abbassare la temperatura a 175 C e cuocere per altri 15 minutes. A questo punto lo strato di zucca dovrebbe essersi solidificato abbastanza da permettere di metterci sopra, delicatamente, la crema a cucchiaiate. Coprire i bordi con della carta stagnola (come nella foto) e cuocere in forno per altri 20 minuti, fino a quando lo strato di zucca si sia del tutto solidificato. La cottura in forno non è una scienza esatta, quindi, se necessario, aggiustate il tempo di cottura.

Tirare fuori dal forno la crostata e farla raffreddare completamente prima di tagliarla. Conservatela in frigorifero, ma non mangiatela fredda di frigorifero. In questa crostata ho congiunto la tradizionale pumpkin pie del mio paese adottivo (dolce che si mangia per Thanksgiving e per Natale) e le crostate del mio paese d'origine.

Presento questo dolce che unisce in se' due tradizioni all'evento speciale Aspettando Natale / Waiting for Christmas organizzato da Francesca di FrancescaV. Il riassunto finale sarà uno spettacolo di fuochi d'artificio culinari, perfetto per le celebrazioni di fine anno.

crema pasticcera di zia Lucia

pastry cream à la aunt Lucia
Zia Lucia passed away five years ago this week. She never married and lived all her life in Poggio Catino, a small village in central Italy, in the house where she and all her siblings, among them my father, were born and grew up.

In my childhood and adolescence, she played the role of Fairy Godmother, knitting, sewing and cooking for me pretty much whatever I fancied. She taught me to make crema pasticcera, as a way of making me consume fresh (raw) milk, which I did not like to drink by itself. For decades that was pretty much the only thing I could make in the kitchen, in the sense of both knowing how to make it and being allowed by my mother to make it in her kitchen.

When I made crema under my aunt's direction, I would pour it in my special gold-rimmed china bowl and carry it to the dispensa, a walk-in pantry located in the coolest part of the house. The dispensa was a special cabinet of curiosities. My aunt made different kinds of jam, fruit in syrup, and giardiniera (pickled vegetable medley). She used ancient-looking glass jars to preserve fresh sausages in olive oil (salsicce sott'olio), let grapes dry into raisins and hung braids of garlic from nails hammered on the edge of the top shelf.

When mid-afternoon came around I retrieved my bowl of crema from the dispensa. Sometimes my aunt scattered on the smooth sunny surface some of her deep purple amarene sotto spirito (sour cherries preserved in alcohol) and I would eat my crema while sitting on the front steps of the house, basking in the sun, surrounded by her pots of hydrangeas, fuchsias and dahlias. I know that my aunt's happiness in life was seeing me so completely content.

I didn't get to say farewell to my aunt. And I didn't get to ask her for her recipes for a long list of goodies she would make for her brothers and their families, when they visited her and for special occasions, like Christmas and Easter. I have decided that, instead of spending my energy regretting something I cannot change, I will invest it into improving my cooking skills.

Here is my recipe for crema pasticcera, derived from my aunt's instructions. I no longer eat a bowl of crema for my afternoon snack. I usually make it as filling for crostata, doubling the original quantities. Last summer I shared the recipe with Paz of The Cooking Adventures of Chef Paz and she honored me by using it to make a special anniversary dessert.

Ingredients:

• 2 extra-large eggs
• 1/3 cup sugar (I use vanilla sugar)
  
• 500 ml milk (slightly more than 2 cups)
• 3 strips of lemon peel about 3"€ long and 1/2"€ wide (using a potato peeler to cut the strips makes it easier to avoid cutting the white part of the lemon)
• 3 tablespoons pastry (or unbleached) flour
  

Pour the milk into a pan, add the lemon peel and warm up to to well below boiling point. In a mixing bowl, beat the eggs with the sugar until the mixture is bubbly. Sift the flour over the egg mixture and beat briefly until it is incorporated. Slowly add the milk and mix with a wooden spoon. Pour the mixture into the pan and set it to very low heat, stirring at least every couple of minutes. When the froth on the surface disappears completely, the crema starts to feel slightly thicker. From then on stir almost continuously. When the crema reaches boiling temperature and thickens, cook briefly (1-2 minutes), then remove the pan from the heat, remove the lemon peel and stir the crema to bring down its temperature. While the crema cools down, stir it every now and then to prevent the formation of a film over it.

I remember my aunt telling me that the crema should not boil, but according to Harold McGee, it must do so. In the recipe, the addition of flour has the objective of making the crema able to hold its shape. As McGee explains in his book "On Food and Cooking," cream fillings (to which category crema pasticcera belongs) must be boiled in order to get the desired effect, because, "egg yolks contain a starch-digesting enzyme, amylase, that is remarkably resistant to heat," and, unless neutralized, will "digest the starch and turn the stiff cream into a pourable one" (page 98).

Notes. When I have leftover yolks, I use 1 egg and 2 yolks, or 4 yolks. Using all yolks makes a more traditional crema pasticcera. The crema in the photo above was made with 4 yolks that came from having made another batch of the exquisite chiffon cake from last month Daring Bakers' challenge. My aunt's version is lighter in color and texture, and is not very sweet. I make it even lighter by using non-fat milk. All the possible variations make crema quite versatile. Did I say it that it is delicious? 

This is my submission for the Apples & Thyme memoir event co-hosted by Jeni of The Passionate Palate and Inge of Vanielje Kitchen. Here is Jeni's round-up and here is Inge's roundup of Apples & Thyme #1.

Hear me pronounce the words on the crema pasticcera audio file [mp3] or go to the crema pasticcera 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.

gelato

My favorite gelateria in my home town of Perugia was not open year-round, so its first day of operation in the spring was an important event. Given the rich selection offered by gelaterie, eating gelato is an exploration not only of single flavors, but also of combinations of them. My favorite combination of flavors changed often and I alternated between asking for a dollop of panna montata (whipped cream) on top of my gelato and forgoing it. I also alternated between asking for a cono (cono)  and preferring a coppetta (small cup). When I visited Palermo in 1980, I was introduced to brioche col gelato, an option that requires a bit of dexterity to be eaten without side effects (a.k.a., gelato stains on your clothes).

On a summer afternoon or evening, it is pleasant to stroll (fare una passeggiata) along the main thoroughfare of your city or town, meet friends, chiacchierare (chat) and mangiare un gelato (eat a gelato). This pleasant activity is made possible in many Italian urban centers, Perugia included, by the fact that the downtown area is completely or partially closed to traffic. In Perugia, the place for the leisurely stroll is Corso Vannucci. As teenagers, we called our walking up and down the street fare le vasche, which literally means to swim laps.

My husband is getting ready to eat as much gelato as he can, when we visit Italy later this year. I will look for gelaterie that participate in an interesting initiative called gelato a chilometro zero: master gelatai prepare delicacies using only local ingredients that do not need to be transported from far away. Those include not only locally-produced milk and eggs, but also local fruit like quinces (mele cotogne), currant (ribes) and figs (fichi). 

Some gelaterie only offer gelato to go (gelato da passeggio), while others have tables and you can sit down and order creations like gelato affogato al caffè (drowned in coffee), gelato affogato al liquore (drowned in a liqueur to be specified), and various combinations of different gelato flavors, sorbetti (sorbets), fruit, and other ingredients.

[This post was inspired by Maryann of Finding La Dolce Vita]

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

zuppa inglese

A dessert which, notwithstanding its name, is neither English nor a soup. There is no consensus on the exact origin of the name. Some say the English trifle acted as inspiration, while others advocate an Italian birth for the dessert, with English residents in the country playing the role of enthusiastic fans. Zuppa inglese is made by spreading crema (pastry cream) over a base, usually layers of pan di Spagna moistened with alchermes, an Italian liqueur flavored with vanilla, several spices and rose water, whose deep scarlet color provides a nice contrast to the yellow crema and pan di Spagna (which owe their sunny color to egg yolks). The combination is charming to the eyes and the palate. The predominant texture is creaminess, because the feathery pan di Spagna – moistened not only by the alchermes but also by the liquid component of the crema - partially dissolves into the latter retaining enough body, though, to provide strategic support.

I love the classic zuppa inglese, but at home, when I was granted some (limited) freedom in my mother's kitchen, I would usually make a variation, using as base slices of either panettone, the traditional tall Christmas cake with raisins and diced candied fruit, or colomba, the dove-shaped Easter cake with candied orange peel. In substituting pan di Spagna with the other cakes I traded some delicacy of texture for the additional flavor contributed by raisins and candied fruit.

An important detail for this dessert is temperature: in my opinion, zuppa inglese should be savored at the temperature of a fresh spring breeze. It is a sensuous dessert and tasting it refrigerator-cold would be like falling into a chilling embrace. The exception is the gelato flavor that bears the same name: it is one of my favorite and it should be tasted at its own gelato-specific temperature.

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

maritozzo

For no apparent reason, the memory of a maritozzo con la panna just surfaced in my brain. The memory is connected to a latteria in my home town, that sold fresh milk, cream, ricotta and maritozzi con la panna, the best in town.

A maritozzo is a soft bun of oblong shape, with a paper thin sugar glaze on top, lightly sweetened and studded with raisins. It can be eaten as is or cut in half part-way and filled with freshly-whipped fresh cream. If you had asked me as a child, I would have probably said that eating a maritozzo con la panna was as close to nirvana as I wished to be.

Maritozzi are traditional in central Italy and they are popular in Rome. Like with so many food items of my childhood, I never questioned its name or its origin: I simply ate it and enjoyed the experience. However, the name is rather funny, as it is a derivative of marito, meaning husband. I read different theories about the origin of the pastry and of its name, in particular about the marital connection: women making maritozzi for their husbands, would-be husbands giving them to their beloved. The way I see maritozzo is as an example of bread that was dressed-up for special occasions: in this case sweetened, enriched with eggs and uvetta (raisins), and decorated with a glaze.

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