On resolutions, with a slice of fudge

It's January again.  Time for new beginnings and refocusing on what's important.  And for fudge.

I've never been much of one for resolutions.  The last two years, my resolution, if you could call it that, was to floss more.  That's not my resolution this year because I finally do floss more - maybe not so much as I should, but much more than I did a year ago.  However, my flossing habits did not improve because I resolved that they would on January 1, 2011.  They improved because I ended up with a $900 dentist bill in September.  Somehow, that a little more motivating.

If I had a resolution this year, it might be to write more.  Once again, though, if I succeed, it's probably not because I'm saying so now.  I have slightly more pressing concerns at the moment: a colleague of mine, who is well known and well respected and happens to write a newsletter that is read by thousands (if not tens of thousands) of people, wrote in this month's newsletter that I wanted to work on my writing.  Wow.  If that's not the writing equivalent of a $900 dentist bill, I'm sure I don't know what is.

~*~

I had this swim coach in college, John.  John and I didn't chat one-on-one too often, but when we did, I was always struck by what a good judge of character he was.  Once, he commented to me, "You keep your goals very close to your heart, and you aren't very comfortable sharing them with others, are you?"  Though I wouldn't have said it the same way myself, I had to admit that he was spot on.

I'm not comfortable sharing my hopes and dreams and goals, I think because I'm not comfortable with the idea of presenting anything to the world in a less than fully completed state.  If I'm going to do something, I'm going to do it well.  If I announce my intentions, and then I fall short, then it's out there for the whole world to see.  Much better to keep my hopes and dreams to myself and then quietly celebrate when I achieve them, right?

Having it announced to the world that I want to work on my writing is terrifying to me.  Of course, had I objected, my name would have been omitted (and I must admit, I do appreciate the shout out).  But knowing that any and all of my coworkers, that our customers, that anyone who happens to come across this article knows one of my secret aspirations...  Let's just say, it's quite a motivator to get back to writing.

~*~

The last few months were a blur.  My company does 50% of its business in November and December, and 50% of that in the two weeks before Christmas.  To handle the extra work load, our year-round crew of about 50 balloons to nearly 450 for those two months.  We all work overtime, and we all try to get our usual work done between the barrage of questions coming in from every direction, and I think we all leave at the end of each day wondering what, exactly, we accomplished.  It's a wild ride, and a lot of fun, but for me, at least, it's not exactly conducive to the creative process.  Perhaps I just need more practice.  Luckily, now that Christmas has come and gone and we're a week into the new year, life is returning to a more normal state and I will endeavor to practice more regularly.

In the meantime, I'll nibble on my fudge.

There are so many traditional foods around the world for welcoming the new year: pork and sauerkraut for luck in Pennsylvania and Ohio; lentils that look like coins for prosperity in Italy; grapes for happiness in Spain and Peru.  In my family, since before I was around (which must mean forever), it has been tradition to make fudge on New Year's Eve.  I don't know that it has any symbolic meaning, but it does guarantee that each year ends - and starts - on a sweet note.

It's a simple recipe - just six ingredients - and it requires none of the marble slab acrobatics so prevalent in the fudge shop windows on Mackinac Island.  The fudge it makes is rich and sweet and toothsome, and though perhaps I am biased, I prefer it to any fudge I've ever bought in a shop.  It can be made in less than thirty minutes from start to finish, and because it makes five pounds and freezes well, it can be enjoyed for weeks to come.  Given that it's how I always start my years, I think it's only fitting that I start this year's writing with the recipe.

Fudge

4 1/2 cups sugar
1 12-oz can evaporated milk
6 tablespoons butter
18 ounces chocolate (lately, I've used Ghirardeli 60% cacao chips, but you could use any chocolate you like)
6-7 ounces marshmallow cream
1 teaspoon vanilla

Butter an 8x8 baking dish or a 9" diameter pie plate.

Heat the butter, sugar, and evaporated milk in a large pan over medium heat, stirring frequently until it just begins to bubble.  As soon as the first bubbles appear, start a time for 5 minutes, turn the heat to low, and stir constantly for five minutes as the liquid simmers and boils.  After 5 minutes, turn off the heat and stir in the chocolate chips, marshmallow cream, and vanilla.  Work quickly to incorporate everything, because as it cools it will be harder to mix together.  As soon as it is homogenous, pour the fudge into the buttered dish.

Let the fudge cool before slicing.  Eat plain, with a glass of milk and a smile on your face.

Makes 5 pounds

Vosges chocolates

I had such high hopes for October.  I was going to tell you about apple picking and applesauce making, about the baguette class I took, about the glorious hazelnut affogato (made with molten chocolate instead of coffee - be still my heart!) at Pitango.  And then somehow it became the end of November, and none of that happened.  Oh well.  I'll try to get back to it someday.

Part of the reason I've been such an abysmal correspondent lately is that I planned my travels poorly.  Yesterday was the first time since November 7 that I had a day off work without having to travel anywhere.  Today, my second day off in a row, feels so luxurious - maybe that's because until today, I haven't had two days off work in a row without traveling anywhere since October 15.  I just counted - that's more than six weeks!  It makes me tired all over again just thinking about it.  Between a trip to Baltimore for Halloween, a swim meet, a trip to Chicago and Madison to visit old friends, Thanksgiving, and the fact that I work for a company that does the vast majority of its business in November and December, it's been a crazy couple of months.  The even crazier thing is that after today, there are only three more Mondays until Christmas.  Just three more!  Then, maybe I'll return to some semblance of normality again.  For now though, there's nothing to do but to embrace the madness.  And to eat as many candied chestnuts as possible - that part is very important.

But I didn't come here today to gripe about the fact that I'm happily employed or that I travel too often.  Nope, I'm here on much more important business.  I'm here because I need to tell you about the chocolate.

So remember how I said I went to Chicago?  Going there was kind of an afterthought - I was headed to Madison for the weekend, and didn't want to have to make the whole trip out there in one day, and I have friends in Chicago, so I thought, "Why not spend the night?"  And once I had decided to spend the night, that also meant I had a morning free in Chicago, so I thought, "Why not visit Vosges?"

Mo, the founder of Zingerman's Mail Order (where I work), is good friends with Katrina, the owner of Vosges Haut Chocolat in Chicago.  We sell some of Vosges' chocolates, including (of course!) the eponymous Mo's bacon chocolate bar, and our companies have a good working relationship.  Taking full advantage of that relationship, when I was in Chicago two Fridays ago I spent a few hours behind the scenes at Vosges with Emily, the director of new product development, talking shop and touring the production area.  It was a great, great day.  There is so much that I could say about it that I hardly know where to begin, so I'll try to let the pictures do most of the talking.  I wish I could include smells, too, though - upon entering the production facility, you are engulfed in the subtle yet persistent aroma of fresh, warm chocolate - it's pretty delightful.

The offices at Vosges are just lovely: elegant, dramatic, vibrant, luxurious.  Those are all words I would use to describe their products, too - I don't think that's entirely a coincidence.

While I was there, I saw some of the toffee production.  Toffee is cut on a large, heated table, which keeps it warm and malleable as workers slice it very carefully.

Vosges uses all sorts of unusual, exotic flavorings in their chocolates.  They have bins and bins of ingredients like these:

Vosges's signature products are truffles.  Here are some, mid-way through production:

All truffles take a ride through the enrober, AKA (according to me) the chocolate waterfall.  I can't tell you how hard it was to not stick my finger in.

Dried rose petals, ready to top truffles:

I especially loved the visit to Katrina's office.  Katrina is, in Emily's words, "a collector of stuff."  The shelves in her office were piled with all manner of things: vintage wedding cake topper couples, books on chocolate, bright colored feathers, molds, packaging options.  Everything was jumbled together, and yet there was a rhythm, an order to the chaos.  I only wish my own haphazard piles of things could look so intentional!  Emily picked up a few of the items and told me their stories; I wish we could have taken an hour just to go through them all.

The headless bunny, for example - its head is missing because it's currently being used as a model for lollipops that will come out around Easter.  I love that.

There are so many reasons I love my job, but the connections that allow me to have private, behind-the-scenes tours of fantastic chocolate companies?  What an incredible perk.  I am a lucky, lucky girl.

Many thanks to all of the wonderful people I met at Vosges - come and visit the next time you're in the Ann Arbor area!

Like eggplant parmigiano, but simpler

Hey there.

So I haven't been writing much lately - maybe you've noticed?  Sorry about that.  In the last few weeks, I've taken charge of a big new project at work that has been occupying most of my time and thoughts, and even some of my dreams... so you could say I've been a little preoccupied.  At the end of the day, I haven't felt much like writing, because if I'm going to write, I want to do it well, and that takes time and energy and focus, all of which have been put to other use.

But there's something I really need to tell you about before we waste any more time.  I've eaten it twice a week for the last three or four weeks, and there's more stored away in the freezer, and if that doesn't mean it's good, I don't know what does.

I don't really know what to call it, so maybe I'll just tell you about the first time I ate it.  I had just arrived in Lausanne, Switzerland, where I was looking forward to spending a few days with Justine.  That evening, one of her coworkers, an Italian named Giulia, had offered to make us dinner.  After serving us perfectly al dente pasta with pesto made from basil in her parents' garden and olive oil from their family friends, Giulia brought out an eggplant dish.  "Like eggplant parmigiano, but simpler," she explained.  The eggplant had been diced, and cooked with tomatoes, and baked with cheese on top: in other words, eggplant parm without the breading and frying.  I enjoyed it, and made a mental note to add it to my repertoire.

Fast forward to fourteen months later, and as the eggplants continue to show up each week at the market, I've been continuing to snatch them up and make this dish every Saturday night, with leftovers for dinner on Mondays.  It takes a little while to cook the eggplant, but otherwise this dish couldn't be easier, and it is so, so good.  It's one of those dishes that every time I taste it, even though I knew it was good, I surprise myself again with just how good it really is.  And that's why I can't justify waiting any longer to tell you about it.  It's rich and earthy and so flavorful, and uses just a handful of ingredients, most of which are vegetables.  It's not flashy, and it's certainly not the prettiest thing I ever ate, but it makes me so happy every time I eat it.

Who knows if there will still be any eggplant left at the market this weekend, but if there is, you know what I'm having for dinner Saturday night.  And I hope that's the case, because then I don't have to figure out what I'm having for dinner that night, and frankly, I don't have much energy left for important decisions like that just now.

Eggplant and tomatoes

Sorry, I know that's not a very sexy name for a dish - especially one as super fantastic as this one - but that's basically what this is.  If you've got a better one, I'm all ears.  Back when the tomatoes were at their peak, I used fresh ones for this dish, but lately I've been using canned and they've been great.

1 onion, diced
2-3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
4 large eggplants, diced into 3/4"-size pieces
2 teaspoons sea salt
1 28-oz can diced tomatoes
2 cups tomato sauce
4 cloves garlic, minced or put through a garlic press
2 teaspoons herbes de Provence (or a mix of dried rosemary, oregano, thyme, marjoram, basil...)
1/2 pound fresh mozzarella, shredded
1/2 cup freshly grated good parmigiano-reggiano

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit.

Over low heat in a large pot, sweat the onion in the olive oil until soft, then add the eggplant and raise the heat to medium.  Let cook for five minutes or so, stirring every now and then to distribute the heat evenly, then add in the salt.  Let cook another five minutes, then add in the tomatoes, tomato sauce, garlic, and herbs.  Let cook 30-40 minutes, stirring every few minutes, until the eggplant is soft and delicious, with none of that green, raw eggplant flavor - it should be ready to serve as is.

Remove the pan from the heat, and pour the eggplant mixture into a large casserole dish or two - I have found that for this much eggplant, one 13 x 9 inch pan and one 8 x 8 inch pan are about right.  Sprinkle liberally with the mozzarella and parmigiano.

Bake for 15 minutes, until the cheeses are melted and beginning to brown.  Serve immediately with good, fresh, crusty bread.  Sigh with happiness.

Serves six, or reheats beautifully in the oven if there are leftovers

Pancakes and other necessities

It's October!  That must mean Halloween, which must mean pumpkins, which must mean pumpkin pancakes.  I feel like lately I've been trying to play catch up with so many fruits and vegetables as their seasons draw to an end, but it will not do with pumpkins.  Pumpkin pancakes cannot be delayed.

The first time I ate a pumpkin pancake, it was something of a revelation to me.  It was a Sunday morning, about four years ago, in, of all places, my college dining hall.  I know, I know, that's not much of a recommendation, but hear me out.  I know it was a Sunday because it was a "Sterling Brunch" - a fancy, once-a-month affair that boasted all sorts of fancy breakfast items like quiches and tortes and lox for your bagels.  And, this one fateful morning, pumpkin pancakes.  I had never considered making pumpkin anything beyond the standard pumpkin pie, and I was intrigued.  They did not disappoint: mildly sweet and incredibly aromatic, I was hooked from my first maple syrup-drenched bite.

Once I discovered pumpkin pancakes, it was as if the floodgates had opened.  Suddenly, I made pumpkin everything: pumpkin bread, pumpkin scones, pumpkin cookies, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin baked with ziti and cheese.  (Some of those efforts, I may say, were more successful than others.)  Within a few months, the P section of my recipe card box was full to overflowing with pumpkin recipes, nearly squeezing out underutilized letters J or D all together.  By the time spring came around and I had access to more varied vegetables than just canned pumpkin and frozen broccoli, I think I must have been quite ready to move on.

Not for long, though.  I keep coming back to them.  With just a little spice and a luscious fresh squash flavor, these pancake makes for one of my all-time favorite breakfast foods.  Luckily, now that I don't depend on the dining halls to make my breakfasts, I don't have to wait for special once-a-month brunches.  In October, once-every-three-days feels much more appropriate - especially when there's plenty of fresh apple cider on hand.

Happy autumn!

Pumpkin pancakes

1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1/8 teaspoon allspice
2 eggs
2 tablespoons canola or vegetable oil
1 cup plain canned pumpkin
1 1/2 cups milk
chocolate chips (optional)

In a medium bowl, sift together all the dry ingredients.

In a large bowl, beat the eggs, then add in the oil, then the pumpkin and milk.  Mix in the dry ingredients, stirring just to combine.

Heat a griddle to 350 degrees Fahrenheit, or heat a non-stick frying pan until water drops flicked on its surface dance and take about two seconds to evaporate.  Using a 1/3-cup measure, pour out circles of batter to create your pancakes.  Let the pancakes cook for 2-3 minutes, until the edges look dry and the top surface is pock-marked with indentations.  Flip the pancakes, and let them continue to cook another 1-2 minutes, until firm when depressed with the spatula.

If you want to include chocolate chips, you can mix them into the batter, or, if you only want chocolate chips in some of the pancakes, you can do what I do:  when cooking a chocolate chip pancake, spread a thin layer of batter on the griddle, sprinkle with chocolate chips, and top with another thin layer of batter.  These pancakes tend to be on the thick side, and consequently take a little longer to cook.  On the plus side, though, there's no melted chocolate mess to clean up on your griddle!

Serve immediately with warm maple syrup, and fresh cider to drink, if you've got it!

Serves 3-4

Just in case you were wondering what to send me...

When I lived in Paris in 2008, my host family had two exchange students: me, and another girl from my exchange program.  While I was there, my mom sent me a guidebook to the best pâtisseries, or pastry shops, in Paris.  My roommate's mom sent her miniature boxes of American cereals.

I always kind of wondered why she had come to Paris, if she wanted to eat American cereals and didn't seem much interested in practicing her French or sight-seeing.  I, on the other hand, wore out my shoes hitting the streets of Paris, nearly always with my pâtisserie bible in hand.  Good thing I did; otherwise, I doubt I ever would have found Le Loir dans la Théière.

Le Loir dans la Théière (which means, by the way, the dormouse in the tea kettle) is an eclectic salon de thé/café/restaurant tucked away on the narrow, verdant rue des Rosiers in the heart of the Marais.  It's the kind of restaurant where the chairs don't match, where the half the tables feature brightly colored ceramic bowls filled with white and raw sugar cubes (and those who don't have them make friends with their neighbors), where diners charge their iPhones at the socket beneath the Alice in Wonderland-inspired mural.  Basically, it's my favorite kind of place - especially when you consider how outstanding the food is.  I came for the dessert buffet, much lauded in my pâtisserie guide for its enormous slices of tarte à la citron meringuée (left), but I came back again (and again... and again!) for the tarte aux oignons rouges et tomates.

The savory tarts don't show up on the paper menu - instead, they selections du jour are always listed on a chalkboard near the front door.  The selection is pretty similar from day to day: tarts with fresh goat cheese, capers, and tomatoes; tarts with shallots and aged goat cheese; tarts with red onions and tomatoes.  All the tarts are good, but oh my, the onion and tomato tart is just heavenly.  The earthy sweetness of the caramelized onions is perfectly balanced by the acidity of the fresh tomatoes, and then it's topped with a dusting of diced herbs and served on a perfectly crisp, flaky, buttery crust.  In a perfect world, I would eat this for lunch every day.

Unfortunately, it is not a perfect world, and I don't usually have this even once a year.  I've tried a few times to make it at home, and I think I'm starting to get close.  In any case, I have definitely learned a few things in the attempt.

1.  The onions need to be cooked slowly in advance, to get to the soft, sweet, unbelievably delicious state.  That's just not going to happen during 15 minutes in the oven, so they need to get going well in advance.

2. The tomatoes won't get cooked in 15 minutes, either.  Better to roast 'em by themselves in the oven for an hour first to condense some of the juices and create a much deeper, richer flavor.

3.  To be crisp and flaky and perfect, the crust really needs to be fully cooked on its own, too.

So when you get down to it, making the tart itself is super quick and easy, because you're just throwing together ingredients that have already cooked, and heating them up for 10 or 15 minutes.  It's just the time spent getting everything ready in advance that takes a while.  The end result, though, is so, so worth the effort.

Now that I'm back in the US, I wish my Parisian host mother would send me care packages... I could use a nice slice of authentic Loir tarte aux oignons rouges et tomates!  However, since I doubt it would survive the trip in stellar condition, I suppose I'll just have to keep making my own.  I suppose my consolation ought to be that I have access to all sorts of American cereals in any size box I desire...  Lucky me?

Tarte aux oignons rouges et tomates

A quick note about pie dough: I used Pierre Hermé's recipe for pâte brisée because that was what I had waiting for me in my freezer, but you could use your own favorite recipe.  What's important is that it's fully baked before you put the onions and tomatoes in.  Otherwise, it won't be crisp and divine when the tart is served.  If you have a tart pan, this is a great opportunity to use it, otherwise a pie plate will work just fine.

1 pint cherry or grape tomatoes, sliced in half
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt

3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil or bacon fat
6 medium to large red onions, julienned
Salt and pepper
Dried herbes de Provence

Pie crust, pre-baked in a tart pan or pie plate until golden brown and crisp.


Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, then spread out the tomatoes in a single layer over the paper.  Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt.  Bake for thirty minutes, flip the tomatoes over, then bake for another thirty minutes or so, until they're wrinkled and browned and leaking their juices.

While the tomatoes are roasting, set a large frying pan over low heat.  Warm the oil or bacon fat, then add the onions.  Let the onions cook over low heat for about twenty minutes, stirring every few minutes, then add salt and pepper to your taste.  Continue to cook for another twenty to thirty minutes, still stirring every few minutes to prevent sticking and burning, until the onions are soft and sweet without any of the sharp pungency of raw onion flavor.

If you're really good at planning and timing your cooking, you could be preparing the pie dough during the time the onions and tomatoes are cooking: after it has rested, rolling it out, getting it in the tart pan, chilling it, pre-baking it.  If, like me, you have high hopes for doing 15 things at once in the kitchen that invariably turns into a slow working process, you could get the pie dough done ahead of time.  In any case, once the pie dough is baked, the tomatoes are roasted into their sweetest essence, and the onions are irresistibly caramelized, it's time to start assembling.  Pour all of the onions into the tart crust, then dot the top with tomatoes.  Finally, sprinkle herbes de Provence over the whole tart.

Bake at 350 degrees for 10-15 minutes, just until heated through.  Serve immediately with a tossed green salad and crusty bread.  If you also happen to have a buffet table full of desserts when you finish, so much the better.

Serves four