Redsugar

When preparing eggless versions of these tortes, it is advantageous not to allow the butter to melt and become oily while mixing it into the flour. For such a version, I have most commonly used these proportions to produce a three-layer product: 4 cups flour; 12 oz. butter; 1 lb. bittersweet chocolate; 2 fl. oz. water; 2 tsp. salt. Then, a ganache to fill: 1 qt. heavy cream; 1½ lbs. bittersweet chocolate. Finished with powdered sugar, chocolate curls, seasonal fruit purées. Chocolate-and-orange duets are perhaps second only to raspberry in terms of delivering a high-caliber impact. Seductively representative of this pairing is a sauce comprising 1/2 lb. Cocoa Barry milk-chocolate orange, 12 fl. oz. heavy cream, and 4 fl. oz. light-corn syrup. Some readers will succumb unhesitatingly to an orange-caramel suace accompaniment. (There are many food pairings that are suitable; but there are others that are undeniably inevitable.) A long-time preferred separated-egg version: 10 large eggs; 14 Tbsps superfine sugar; 3 ounces bittersweet chocolate; 2 cups finely chopped, lightly toasted pecans (Brazil nuts are an interesting alternative). Served with flavored crème anglais. Flourless renditions of chocolate roulades, chocolate sponge sheets, and chocolate pudding cakes are splendid to plate as well. To broaden your baking, styling, and gustatory experience with these tortes, please look up…. Flourless Bittersweet Chocolate Cake w/ Milk-Chocolate Drizzle (Chocolate Passion by Boyle & Moriarty) The Rose Pistola Chocolate Budino Cake, essentially simplified for inclusion in Anya von Bremzen's The Greatest Dishes! Around the World in 80 Recipes. (2004) Chestnut Chocolate Cake aka "Turniois," (such as offered in Jacques Pépin’s Complete Techniques, pp. 789ff.) Mary Lou Simmelink’s (who, btw, no longer works as a pastry chef, but as a feng shui consultant!) contribution to Baking with Julia: Boca Negra with White Chocolate Cream.

“I’ll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon.” ~ Oliver Goldsmith: She Stoops to Conquer, act I. It is a common fallacy to assume that winter food should partake of the obvious associations evoked by the cold season’s attributes: Large viscid stews, unspillably thick soups, colossal heavyweight puddings. One wants to be warmed, true, but one also wants to be reminded of better days; to feel the onset of dawn amid the darkest hour that immediately precedes it. Therefore, a wintertime menu is properly designed and intended to supply warmth and sunlight – as well as a similar feeling of opening out of the year ahead that one gets when encountering one’s first glimpse of the tenacious Spring crocus, mayflower, or snowdrop. In this process, it is essential to provide comforting desserts. I recall Emily Luchetti’s concise & lucid summation of the “ideal dessert,” as written in the Introduction (one should never eschew reading a Foreward or Preface, either!) to her Stars Desserts: “ …luscious, colorful, and composed, yet…spontaneous and natural.” (p. 10) Weather is a common experience to all, and as bakers & dessert cooks we can use people’s responses to it as a sounding board that provides clues for our choices to comfort guests at the table. For example, on a dark, heavily fog-banked (a regular “pea-souper”) day in Maine, or the Pacific Northwest, we can turn out hot lemon soufflés to solace weather-weary diners. Or, another favorite in the comfort food repertoire, Blueberry Gingerbread, which I believe is quite splendidly accompanied by Lemon Curd Mousseline: 9 large egg yolks 3 whole eggs 6½ oz. white granulated sugar 8 fl. oz. cup fresh lemon juice 16 fl. oz. heavy cream 1 oz. white granulated sugar Place yolks, whole eggs, first measure of sugar, and lemon juice in bowl set over pan of barely simmering water. Stir with heat-proof silicone spatula, then use wire whip as mixture thicken. Transfer custard to storage bowl and immediately cover surface w/ plastic wrap; cool to room temp. Refrigerate for 1 hour. Whip cream & 1 oz. sugar in chilled stainless bowl set in larger pan of crushed ice. Fold whipped cream into cooled lemon curd. A good Fr. Lemon Tart is not ubiquitously found. Nevertheless, with some confidence, I offer my choice for a worthy (i.e., tart- tasting) filling: 4½ oz. white granulated sugar; 2 oz. sweet butter; 4 free-run eggs; minced zest of 1 organic lemon; 6 fl. oz. lemon juice; 2 fl. oz. orange juice. I have sold numerous Lemon-Almond Tarts in which finely ground almonds are whisked into the shell filling. The piquant flavor is a pleasant alternative to the obvious sweetness of most dessert pastries. A long-standing formula for Lemon-Meringue Pie filling that may please many fanciers of this bone fide undying classic: 1/3 cup cornstarch; 6 oz. granulated sugar; ½ tsp. salt; 16 fl. oz. boiling water; grated rind of 1 large organic lemon; 4 fl. oz. fresh lemon juice; 4 egg yolks; 1½ butter. You know the technical steps. As for the Lemon-Pound Loaf from A.T.K., it looks like a solidly dependable recipe. Buttermilk is an oft-used ingredient in my baking – and is very good in pound cake batters. A top-calibre rendition I have made for catering sales is one baked in a heavy-duty 10-inch tube pan. First, I prepare a batch of Moroccan preserved lemons; a generous ¾ cup of the peel is added to the batter along with 1 cup of freshly made yogurt and a ½ cup of fragrant honey. The (4) large eggs are separated; the whites being whipped before incorporating them into the batter. Trust me, such modifications elevate pound cake to a thoroughbred class! Last week, I was hired to prepare the bread & desserts for an 8-person private dinner party. One of the three desserts brought to the table was a Lemon Crème Caramel (baked in a 10-in. loaf pan) served with a triple-choice cookie tray. Lemon-flavored foods score a universal appeal rating. Also, we cherish: Lemon Buttermilk Pie; Lemon Sablés; (“Souffléd”) Lemon Pudding; Lemon-Pistachio Layer Cake; and Anne Willan’s delightful individual Sugar-Crusted Sponge Cakes, as offered in her book, From My Château Kitchen.

The correct spelling is Croquembouche. I believe an accurate translation is either "crisp in the mouth" or “crunch in the mouth.” According to Alice Wooledge Salmon, the croquembouche’s development was advanced particularly by Jules Gouffe, one of Câreme’s disciples. Years ago, I had a tinsmith construct a 12" conical mold – but have used it infrequently. (Everytime I look at the thing, I regard it as either a plugged megaphone or a dunce’s cap!) The appearance of this topic-thread has inspired me to consider preparing one for New Year's Day. NB: If you’re using a mold, make sure to oil the inside very thoroughly with a bland oil. Since I have had no reason to make a large presentation of this confection, I pipe out 1" mounds of the choux paste about 2" apart on an air-layer sheet; then brush them with an egg glaze before baking. After baking, the centers are scooped out and filled with crème mousseline or crème pâtissière (crème St. Honoré). If you don’t have the conical mold, the croquembouche can be shaped successfully as a free-form pyramid. When it’s time to assemble the puffs, I dip the base of each one in the caramel and stick them to each other in a circle on the metal serving platter. When the bottom row is finished, I dip more puffs on their sides and bases, and build a second row on top, angled slightly inwards. I continue upwards until a tall cone is achieved. (If the caramel gets too cool & sticky, I return it to the heat until it reaches the right consistency.) Using a fork, I make a final decoration of thin spun-sugar strands around & around the croquembouche until the buns are encased. I would not venture to make a croquembouche during the summer. Moreover, it is a pastry that must not be stored under refrigeration where the air is too moist, causing the sugar to weep. The recipe in Le Cordon Bleu Complete Cooking Techniques (published by Morrow) provides instructions for a nougatine base on which to build the croquembouche – which would make an ideal presentation at a wedding banquet. A round of pâte feuilletée shaped in a brioche pan would be a fine alternative for the foundation. Decorate the top with an appropriate flourish for the occasion – whether it be an anniversary, birthday, christening, or wedding.

Yes, that is generally true. Also, the moisture content (approx. 15%) of the glucose syrup used in baking is deemed useful; indeed, the glucose solids themselves are moisture-retentive elements in baked goods. Glucose syrup adds humectancy to some products such as oatmeal cookies. Also, it enhances browning & flavour development. Researchers at Cargill Specialty Food Ingredients, Wayzata, M, have noted a 5% to 7% replacement of sucrose in commercial cookie, bread, or roll formulations can help maintain texture and moisture of the products and increase shelf life by several days.

The dough works best if it's slightly cool, but not too stiff. Do you experiment with different nozzles? Some finesse is required to gauge the precise feel for each template and batch of dough. (That je ne sais quoi quality that's so recurrent in baking!) I always try several different ones with each batch on my 10-y.o. SAWA model (much superior to that bloody old screw-fed Mirro!). Using the very best quality baking sheet is important as well to ensure even transmission of heat. Make contact with the sheet each time you’re pressing out the dough. Silicone baking pads are requisite, but one of the most crucial factors is that everything must at a slightly cool temperture. Make sure that the cookies adhere properly to the sheet liner. When baked, Spritz cookies ought to have only a pale golden color underneath – excepting, of course, the chocolate versions. I agree that Field’s Crumiri dough isn’t formulated to be quite firm enough to shape suitably through the templates – it is, however, decent to squeeze through a plain piping tip, as she suggests. The cormeal does gives nice texture. Citrus-flavored spritz cookies are appealing. I'll pull out some of my recipes later today. Meanwhile, a compendium of 495 recipes.

Chardgirl: Thank you for the link to a very befitting page!

Albiston: Glucose syrup and dextrose are produced from number 2 yellow-dent corn. It requires about 60 bushels of corn to produce one short ton of either glucose syrup or dextrose. A general definition of glucose syrup is: An incompletely converted corn starch in which at least 20 percent of the starch has been converted to a dextrose equivalent (DE) on a dry basis. Crystalline dextrose can either be hydrous or anhydrous. Hydrous dextrose is 92% solids and anhydrous dextrose (such as your can salvaged from the lab), 100%. You may reference this chart to determine the typical sugar compostion of three glucose-syrup formulas. Incidentally, the conversion factor of glucose syrup to dry corn sugar is generally calculated at 1:1.25 ratio bay weight.

All of the suggestions in the responses are admirable. I salute your appetites! bloviatrix: Yes, fennel is wonderfully aromatic & flavorful when oven-roasted with turnip, rutabaga, and celeriac. Abra: I second your "yum!" for using fennel in a cream sauce (with mushrooms, please) for pasta. Fettuccine loves fennel. Johnnyd: Let's add some orange sections & arugula to your chicken salad. Would be a succulent accompaniment to the pasta dish. Also, sliced fennel bulb is very suitably partnered to make a slaw with roasted red & yellow peppers.

"And he who battled and subdued, A wreath of fennel wore." [Longfellow: The Goblet of Life, st. 6.] Fennel is a vegetable which has a number of aliases, and in our markets it is sometimes sold under its French name, anise. In England, it has a long history, being one of the nine holy herbs of the Anglo-Saxons. To the extent of my understanding, only in Italy & France is it particulary popular today: The Italians regarding it as a vegetable and using the bulbous root which is known as *finnochio or Florence fennel, no doubt to distinguish it from the herb; whereas the French seem basically to regard it as an herb. Actually, all parts of the plant can be used: the root, the feathery leaves, the seeds, and even the flowers. It looks like a cross between celery and an onion; the root being white and bulbous, the stalks ribbed like celery. The leaves are quite fine, like dill, and it has a flavor all its own. Indeed, most of us know it best as the ingredient which gives licorice its distinctive flavor. Both French & Italians consider it an aid to digestion and an encourager of the appetite. My experience is that you can’t know what the flavor of fennel will be simply by examining it. Sometimes heads browned on the outside will be perfect inside; sometimes the pristine ones turn out to be tasteless. And, I must forewarn you – fennel isn’t exactly an economical vegetable because often the outer layer is so stringy that it has to be discarded. Select firm, solid white bulbs with rigid crisp stalks. Heads can be cut into quarters and braised with tomatoes and olives à la Niçoise. Fennel is delicious when braised with onions or included in a salad with blue-veined cheese and a simple vinaigrette. I offer one of my simplest methods for serving this vegetable – a creamy purée which is especially tasteful with grilled fish or roast pork: 1 fennel bulb; 12 fl. oz. chicken stock; 1½ Tbsp heavy cream; ½ lb. potatoes; 1½ oz. butter; 1½ EACH salt & white pepper. Cut fennel into 1-inch pieces; peel potatoes and cut into thirds. Place vegetables, stock and an equal measure of water in a saucepan and bring to the boil. Cook, loosely covered, for 20 minutes, or until vegetables are tender. Drain and place fennel in processor or food mill. Process until puréed; then add butter, cream, salt & pepper. Rice the potatoes (do not whir in the processor or you'll get a library paste) and combine with the puréed fennel. Keep warm over hot water until serving time. You may like to consult another version of http://topchefs.chef2chef.net/recipes/agin...parchment.shtml]potato-fennel purée. *Risotto Con i Finocchio 1 lb. fennel; 3 oz. butter; 1 onion, finely chopped; 1 and 1/3 cups uncooked long-grain rice; 3½ cups stock; 1 oz. freshly grated Parmesan. Peel, trim, thinly slice bulbs; chop & reserve the leaves. Sauté onion & sliced fennel until fennel softens. Likewise with the rice until it turns golden brown. Add about 4 fl. oz. boiling stock to rice mixture; stir constantly until rice absorbs liquid. Gradually stir in about 12 fl .oz stock; cook over low flame 20 minutes, adding more stock as needed to prevent rice becoming dry. Stir cheese and remaining butter into cooked rice mixture. Let stand a few minutes, then spoon into heated service bowl. Garnish with chopped fennel leaves.

Cream together 8 ounces sweet butter & 9 ounces (1½ cups) light-brown sugar. Add 4 eggs, individually, beating between each addition. Add 2 teaspoons vanilla extract and a pinch of salt; then stir in about 3 ounces whole or coarsely chopped walnuts. Pour the filling into a chilled 9-inch pâte sucré shell. Bake in center of 350° oven for about 75 minutes – or until set. Remove and allow to cool to room temperature. Serve warm with lightly whipped cream. Presumably, you have made the simple French custard tart using walnuts from Perigord Noir and a measure of eau de noix? (I use the Italian liqueur, Nocello.)

A savory example of the kind of dish you can create for yourself would be to cook a combination of carrots, rutabagas, and sweet potatoes in a very little clarified butter, in a pan covered with a tightly fitted cover. Toss well in the butter and season with salt. Cook slowly for approx. 25 minutes. Add no water or stock – just let them cook in their own steam – then purée and serve dusted with finely chopped herbs. Lime oil is interesting in mashed potatoes. Star anise can be appealing with some root vegetables. I have made cream of celeriac soup – and cream of rutabaga soup (includes butter, leeks, chicken stock, cream, and maple syrup). Here’s a suitable griddle bread to serve with roast pork: Jerusalem Artichoke & Sweet Potato Pancakes Mix together: 2½ cups peeled, grated artichokes (drained from acidulated water); 1½ cups peeled, grated sweet potatoes; 1 cup diced onion; 3 Tbsp minced parsely; 1 tsp EACH caraway seeds & paprika; ¼ cup flour. Add 2 lightly beaten eggs, salt & pepper, to taste. Fry 2-3 minutes per side. Serve with sour cream & thick, spicy apple sauce.

Oh, my darlin', oh, my darlin' Oh, my darling Clementine You are lost and gone forever Dreadful sorry, Clementine ~ First verse of traditional song Well, certainly not lost for use in the kitchen. Over the years, I have played Clementine’s culinary “courtier” on numerous occasions to prepare various sweets – including an apricot-clementine oatmeal quick bread, a chiffon cake, a festive all-fruit mince pie, crêpes (in which I use tangerine marmalade, clementines, orange juice, and Mandarin Napoleon), custard (served with financiers), and a conserve. Clementines preserved in Armagnac have been appraised as “the best of Christmas preserves, to be eaten reflectively at the end of a special meal as dessert – with cream if you like.” What are clementines; why are they so-named; and where did they originate? A fitting triplet of answers: “Tiny clementines come in at the beginning of the winter season – later they are nearer a satsuma in size – and you need to keep an eye open for them. They are called after Père Clément, a French priest in North Africa, who developed this fine-flavoured cross between the mandarin and bitter orange.” (Jane Grigson’s Fruit Book, p. 280) The priest full name was Clément Dozier and he created the fruit in 1902 in an orchard belonging to an orphange near Oran in Algeria that was run by the missionary-priest. The clementine is the only Corsican fruit to be awarded an Appelation. Harvesting the fruits is a “highly intensive process that calls for a large number of seasonal workers over four winter months.” (Culinaria France; Könemann: Cologne, 1999; p. 455) The 5-lb. cases I saw in the market last week were shipped from a grower in Spain. My method for the conserve – a delicious marmalade to spoon from decorated jars that you’ve included in an elegant gift basket: 3 lbs clementines; 3 lemons 6 lbs. granulated white sugar; 3 quarts water. Was the fruit well; put in a large saucepan with the water and poach until fruit is soft. Remove fruit from liquid and cut them into small pieces or slice thinly. Remove seeds from lemons and excise the white pith from the rind. Cut lemon peel into slivers. Return all lemon seeds & pith to the liquid and simmer for 15 minutes. Strain liquid, discarding seeds and pith. Add chopped fruit & sugar to juice. Over high heat, stir unitl a full, rolling boil is achieved, and boil rapidly until mixture reaches the setting point (220°). Remove from heat, skim, cool slightly and then pour into sterilized, hot jars. Finally a note on zesting clementines: Because the peel of the clementine is so thin, it cannot be grated on a perforated grater (e.g., Microplane) as is done with some other citrus fruits. Instead, the clementine first should be washed and the entire peel removed. The small scar at the stem end should be removed discarded. The peel is then flattened, skin-side down, and the thin white pith scraped away with a honed paring knife. The peel can then be minced paper-cutter fashion with a chef’s knife. Or chopped very fine in a food processor. If the blades are not razor sharp, the peel may not chop easily; in this case, add some granulated sugar (taken from the recipe for which the zest is to be used) to the work bowl and the desired fineness will be obtained. Clementine zest may be placed in small plastic containers and frozen. It can then be spooned out as needed – and used in place of, or in addition to, citrus zest in recipes that call for that ingredient.

In my work, I have generally baked these four Pecan Pie recipes. A simple, straightforward tart: 4 eggs, 1 cup sugar, pinch salt, 4 oz. melted butter, 12 fl. oz. corn syrup, 2 cups pecans, and 2 tsp vanilla extract. Using a 9" sweet-pastry shell. A Louisiana Sweet Potato-Pecan Pie in which 2 eggs are whisked into a syrup,then poured over the filling before baking. Served w/ a drizzle of caramel sauce and a dollop of whipped cream. A hedonistic Chocolate-Bourbon Pecan Pie. And that old faithful – Texas Osgood Pie.

Exactement, Marie-Louise! It is primarily for that reason that I qualified my version of frittata as being akin to Tortilla Española – which can be made with, or without milk (although olive oil gives the full characteristic flavor of a tortilla). Spaniards consume this omelette either hot or cold and it’s popular in tapas bars. In a former era, it was commonly taken by workers for their lunch as a bocadillo – that is, sandwiched between two pieces of bread. There are also elaborate forms in which three omelettes are layered with tomatoes & white sauce. Across the sea in Italy, fritattas almost invariablly would be made with olive oil, not cream. Next time, I’ll use goat cheese in my vegetable frittata.

Invitation accepted; thank you. Meglio un uovo oggi che una gallina domani. Better an egg today than a chicken tomorrow. Claudia Roden has observed that “the frittata is common throughout Italy, except in Sicily and Sardinia. Piedmont is famous for its truffle frittata, Trentino for its mushroom & artichoke ones. In Triese, they are sweet, filled wit fruit or jam & cream. The fritata is especially popular in Friuli, where people make great use of eggs…In most regions, they are thin & pliable like French omelets, but in Friuli they make them two fingers thick, crusty & brown outside and cream insided. And, whereas in central Italy they are cooked in oil, here butter and sometimes still pork or goose fat are used.” [The Good Food of Italy (New York, 1990), p. 90] Similarly, Biba Caggiano likens [in Trattoria Cooking, (New York, 1992), p. 302] a frittata to “an open-faced omelet.” (Of course, that’s just the start of a proper definition for this very improvisable dish.) Caggiano states that the dish is “generally served as an appetizer or for a light lunch or supper; it is almost never served at breakfast.” She remarks that “frittatas can be prepared with a variety of fillings, such as vegetables, cheeses, meats, fish” – and “even pasta & rice” which would dispel my understanding that you’d be hard pressed to find in Italy frittatas made with either of those items, let alone potatoes. Not that it wouldn’t taste good, only that it wouldn’t really be frittata! (I exclaim, dodging accusations hurling ‘food-police’ epithets.) I am relatively certain that pasta is is not used for a frittata in either Tuscany or Piemonte. Italian cooking is comprised of 20 regional cuisines: Overall, I think it would be unlikely in any of them to mix an antipasto (frittata) with a primo piatto (a pasta or rice dish or a soup). Albeit, Talismano della Felicita does mention that an omelet prepared with leftover pasta is good for disagreeable children! Frittate are predominantly served in Italy as cold antipasti. Usually they’re in large format, but smaller, pancake-size ones are also made – in which case they’re called frittatine. For a personal menu philosophy, I choose to regard frittata as being a crustless quiche. Here’s my version (more akin to a Spanish vegetable omelet, I suppose, as it’s served warm) -- which, after baking, you can run under the broiler for a more golden appearance: 6 large eggs 2 fl. oz. milk ground pepper about 1 cup whole-grain country bread, cubed about 1 cup shredded mozzarella (or Swiss cheese) 2 oz. cream cheese, cubed olive oil 1 medium onion, chopped 1 small zucchini, chopped some sliced mushrooms 1 medium red capsicum, chopped 2 large cloves garlic, minced pinch of dried oregano & crushed hot-pepper flakes 2 large hothouse tomatoes, sliced freshly grated Parmesan, for topping In bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, and pepper; stir in bread, mozzarella and cream cheese. Set aside. In 10-inch cast-iron skillet, heat oil; sauté onion, zucchini, mushrooms, red pepper, garlic, oregano, and pepper flakes until softened. Remove from heat; pour in egg mixture and blend well. Arrange tomatoes around perimeter; sprinkle with Parmesan. Bake in 375° oven for about 25 minutes, or until egg mixture is set. To serve, cut into wedges.

If one wants to be fastidious about semantics, the word “lasagna” refers only to the pasta that’s cut in wide ribbons. In Italy, the recipes which contain this pasta are called lasagna plus another word that signifies the specific dish. For example, the classic lasagna which alternates layers of tomato ragú with cream sauce topped with grated cheese is properly referred to as lasagne pasticcate; when made with a dried-mushroom sauce, it's called lasagne con sugo di funghi secchi. Another, featuring beef & mushrooms, is known as lasagne casalinga, and very good it is, too. Commercially-made noodles come plain or curly, white or green, but they are among the most basic of pasta dishes to prepare. One summer, during the five years I worked at a resort, the kitchen served an eggplant-mushroom-&-zucchini lasagna, baked with fresh spinach pasta sheets and filled with a whole-milk mozzarella & Parmesan filling. I suppose buffalo mozzarella would be authentically superior? I’ve made various types of lasagne dishes (always using fresh pasta) – including a 16th-century style containing sole fillets, béchamel sauce, and Gruyère; and Lasagna Northumbria (lobster!); and, yes, a dessert lasagna – an authentic old Italian version of noodle kugel beloved by East Europeans. As clearly indicated by a couple of astute contributors (above), Lasagne al forno Bolognese contains all the things prized by the residents of Bologna: rich meat sauce, creamy besciamella, porcini mushrooms, mozzarella, and Parmesan. If you want to prepare a strictly cheese-free dish, I can recommend Lasagne con Sugo di Funghi Secchi – for which you’ll need to prepare either pasta gialla or pasta di herbe (or use imported, dried sheet noodles); a porcini/sugugo di pomodoro sauce; as well as the béchamel. Buon Appetito A Te!

Swisskaese: Thanks for noticing my request! Specifically, I’m referring to the Tuscan shortbread cookies – not the butter cookies made from pasta frolla or the Umbrian fruit cake also known as torciglione. Any recipes in your files similar to those torciglioni made by Flambar's Pasticceria in Piemonte? And, yes, a pignoli version would be delightful. Gratefully, Lawrence

During the first week at cooking school, I had “loan” of a very large apartment (owned by an affluent friend of an aunt of mine). Each day when I returned from class, I was greeted by the wonderfully fragrant aroma of freshly baked shortbread. Whence did this aroma emanate? From the kitchen of the shortbread shop – yes, those cookies are the only product they sold, and in such stunning variety – located directly beneath the flat! The redolence filled every room and was nearly sufficient to launch me into a hedonistic reverie. To this day, it seems nearly impossible to imagine any culinary bouquet more sensually comforting, more headily indulgent. Such an incomparable olfactory experience was expressed elegantly by Helen Keller, who wrote that “smell is a potent wizard that transports us across thousands of miles and all the years we have lived…[some] odors, instantaneous and fleeting, cause my heart to dilate joyously or contract with remembered grief. Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening fields far away.” I recall having read a National Geographic article many years ago, in which the author began by reminiscing about how the smell of leather reminded him of his grandfather who would take him college football games in Michigan. One inhalation of that scent and the author's memory floodgates burst awash with imagery. Each day the bakery’s lady-proprietor gave me free samples. Never had to pay a penny, after introducing myself as being an upstairs guest of Mrs. Bird. Before leaving for accommodations nearer the school, I received another gift – her recipe for hazelnut shortbread. Double Yum!! (It may be necessary to fasten me into a straightjacket for restraint from eating too many of them with butterscoth-ripple ice cream!) I baked a batch several years later (in November, 1991) for the first dessert banquet I created unassisted (22 distinct items). Another of my choice flavors for shortbread is candied ginger – it adds a special touch and is an ingredient often used in premium marmalades and other Scottish baked goods. Some neurobiologists suspect that endorphins and other chemicals control our hunger for certain kinds of foods – for example, according to this course of thinking, when we eat sweets we essentially flood our bodies with endorphins and feel tranquil. When people are under stress, and their need for endorphins peaks, they may crave a tray of cookies. Biochemist Judith Wurtman published highly controversial findings about how food can affect our moods. She concluded that there are “carbohydrate cravers,” who in reality are trying to raise their level of serotonin. Genuine Scottish shortbread is a preeminent celebration of top-grade butter – which, besides unsurpassed flavor, serves to wet the flour gluten just enough so that the shortbread will hold together and not crumble apart. This is a critical component. I believe shortbread is made in its most authentically basic form using only cold unsalted butter, unbleached flour, and sugar (preferably crystalline fructose; but if using confectioners’ sugar remember that it has half the sweetening index of granualted sugar and yields a more tender & buttery product; superfine granulated sugar contributes to a sweeter finish and tends to add an enhanced “caramelized” flavor as a bonus). And monitor the oven temperature accurately! Moreover, be kind to your shortbread: Never bake it above 275°F. In her country home, my younger sister bakes lovely shortbread – delicate, not browned, lovely texture. As for "Walker's of Scotland Shortbread," she & her husband agree with me: you may as well eat the box, because it tastes like cardboard! Even "Nabisco Lorna Doone" has a finer texture. In the late 1970s, I could buy "McVities Royal Scots" (are they still made?). They were rich & buttery with a distinctive flavor. Some people are partial to those Danish shortbreads, given worldwide in decorative tins during end-of-the-year Holidays. If you can obtain "Ashbourne Clotted Cream" shortbread from Devon, then your purchase is quite enviable. Now that's a premium commercial biscuit! Ladyyoung98 mentioned her affection for chocolate-macadamia cookies; I, too, rate these as one of my favorites – my method uses dark, milk, and white chocolate pieces. Beccaboo indicated a partiality for “spicy cookies: Lebkuchen, [Aachener] Printen, Pfeffernusse. You have cultured taste! And surely we must likewise include Speculaas. Every December, I turn out a batch of chocolate lebkuchen; and, as a delectable fringe benefit in this post, I offer my recipe for the third cookie in that trinity, Peppernuts: 1/3 cup light molasses; 5½ oz. butter; 1 beaten egg; 2 cups flour; 1/3 cup granulated sugar; ½ tsp baking soda; 1 tsp each ground cinnamon & ginger; ¼ tsp each allspice & nutmeg; 1/8-1/4 tsp black pepper; pinch salt. Heat molasses w/ butter, stirring until butter melts; allow to cool. Stir in beaten egg. Thoroughly mix together the dry ingredients; add gradually, using your hands to blend thoroughly. Shape into 1-inch balls. Place on baking sheet and bake at 375° for 10-12 minutes. Roll in fruit sugar while still warm. Are my readers familiar with a plain sugar cookie called Berlinerkranser? Fundamental ingredients: sugar, butter, flour, eggs, and vanilla. It’s a very suitable candidate for a cookie press. The Germans also bake very light sugar cookies known as Zuckerplätzchen. Their shortbread repertoire includes Vanillekipferl, often shaped as crescents. The BBC Radio 4 programme, Questions, Questions devised a definitive biscuit alphabet: Arrowroot Biscuit Bourbon Custard Cream Dixie Crackers Excursion Filbert Biscuits Ginger Nuts Hobnob Iced Gem Jammy Dodger Kent Creams Lincoln Creams Macaroons Nice Opera Wafers Petticoat Tails Queen Drops Rataffia Savoy Traveller Union Biscuits Victorias Waverley Shortbread eXcursion Biscuit Yarrow Biscuits Zella Wafers Meanwhile, I must find a recipe for Torciglioni (Tuscan Shortbread). Anyone have a coherent recipe to share? Yours, as a faithful cookie muncher; Lawrence

In agreement with Marcella Hazan --but In disagreement with, e.g., Lidia Bastianich -- I recommend a viable remedy to achieve a dough with the proper density is to use neither baking nor new potatoes: Put your smart money on old boiling potatoes. Resist adding eggs to the dough, as they will cause the gnocchi to become heavy and course-textured. After all, the goal is to produce gnocchi that are light & soft. Moreover, please do not underestimate the value of knowing the comparative uses of different potato varieties: For mashed and/or creamed potatoes, many chefs prefer to use either russet or Yukon Gold. Yet, for some tastes, russets are too mealy in texture. The latter variety, though, has a good amount of waxiness for mashing up. I’ve also had good results using Maine potatoes, notably Kennebecs. Try Green Mountain potatoes, too – if you can find them. On the other hand, because of low-moisture content, baking potatoes (such as Russet Burbank, Norgold Russet, and Shepody) are ideal for latkes. Also, I concur with Russ's comment, above -- viz., potatoes do not contain gluten. (Starch, yes, but not gluten.) People on gluten-free dietary constraints thus eat baked goods made with, among other types, potato flour.

A cook can prepare gnocchi from various main ingredients: The classic Roman version is Gnocchi alla Romana (baked semolina), basically enriched with butter, Parmesan, and eggs. The chilled polenta is cut into shapes, dotted with fat, sprinkled with cheese, and baked in a moderately hot oven. A quite similar dish is indigenous to the northern regions of Lombardy & Veneto, where polenta has been a traditional staple. Classically, the latter interpretation of these cornmeal dumplings may be served with a mushroom-&-prosciutto sauce. Gnocchi maloreddus are made from Parmesan and topped with a tomato sauce. Gnocchi di papate, the potato dumplings, are often shaped into small balls and served, at times, with a well-seasoned meat sauce, known as Ragù alla Romagnola; or Affumicato, smoked fish (such as sturgeon); or Pesce, tuna sauce. A worthy first candidate for your pot of mashed taters is Gnochetti all Piemontese – a mouthwatering (and assuredly addictive recipe – combines the comforting potato gnocchi with the exquisite flavor of Fontina cheese: 2 lbs. potatoes, peeled & boiled well in salted water; best to push them through a ricer, whipping to keep them dry & fluffy; Add about 2 cups sifted flour and a good pinch of salt to make a dough by working the mixture with the best tools in your kitchen, you own hands; roll up & shape into 1- by 1½-inch pieces logs (for sizing, I use the mental image of a walnut shell); Press each shape against tines of a fork so that the back is ridged and the front has a hollow indentation, like a little shell. (The practical reason for this shaping, according to Claudia Rosen in her Good Food of Italy, is “so that they hold the dressing better.” – p. 92). Place them on a floured board, covering with a cloth; refrigerate the gnocchi if making them much in advance; Bring a large pan of salted water to the boil and poach the gnocchi, a few at a time, for about 2 minutes. Spoon a layer of gnocchi into a gratin dish, cover with thin slices of Fontina (imported, not Fontinella, please!), sprinkling with melted clarified butter (or duck fat?). Repeat layering until all ingredients are used, ending with cheese. Bake in moderate oven until cheese is melted. Serve pronto!

"There is no delight without the details." ~ Vladimir Nabakov Zaelic: Thank you for your informative entry. I more-or-less agree with your observations re gulyás – especially, your concluding statement, quoted above. Cheers for both simplicity and authenticity! As I had alluded in my original post in this discussion-thread, Gulyas Leves, the classical thick goulash soup (usually served w/ small dumplings cooked in it), is a strong contender as the bona fide gulyas -- that is, a soup rather than a stew. Elek Magyar likewise insists that the dish is really a soup, in contrast to its close relative, pörkölt, which he identifies as a thick Paprika Stew. A recipe for Goulash Soup (in Die Oesterreichische Kueche) lists the following ingredients: 1 med-sm onion (sliced thin & chopped), pork fat, 1 tsp. paprika, ½ lb. diced beef, salt, garlic, caraway seed, marjoram (no amounts specified). Brown the meat, then add "some" water or stock to cover, and 1 T tomato paste, and simmer till meat is soft. 3 potatoes, diced. Add with 3 cups water or stock and simmer till it's soup. In my version of this soup, I cubed brisket of beef, mild paprika, dry white wine, potatoes, and yes, sometimes I add coarsely chopped red pepper. My goal, as with any soup I prepare, is to get all the flavours intermingled properly. George Lang (The Cuisine of Hungary) wrote: “The chief difference between pörkölt and paprikás is that paprikás is usually finished with sweet or sour cream, sometimes mixed with a little flour .... You may never use cream of any kind for gulyás or pörkölt.” However, to be strictly authentic, flour is not used in gulyás! Karoly Gundel has further explicated on the subject: “Paprikás differs from pörkölt mainly in that it is made with white meat only, with the addition of sour cream or a mixture of cream and sour cream. One takes a bit more onions and paprika. One can say that it's a more refined variant of pörkölt. According to the article in The Oxford Companion to Food by Louis Szathmary (the extraordinary restaurateur, author, food historian, culinary archivist without equal -- 9,000 volumes in his home library -- and "chef laureate"), "the difference between the Hungarian pïrkïlt, known all over the world except in Hungary as ‘goulash,’ and goulash soup, is the amount of liquid added to the meat, and whether potatoes and pasta are included. In the real pïrkïlt and paprikás…there are no other ingredients except beef, pork, veal, or chicken, fat (almost always from pork), paprika, onions, and once in a while selected herbs, spices, or condiments.” Earlier, Szathmary remarks upon an intriguing technique: “To get a [paprika-crusted] piece of meat is described by the Hungarian verb pïrkïlt, which means to slightly burn the surface. The meat treated with this spice reaches this taste without the actual burning.” (pp.415f.) When peppers were first introduced into Hungary, they were known as Turkish peppers, later as paprika peppers. In the mid-19th cent., the Palffy family of Szeged developed a technique for producing ground paprika pepper -- a new spice which was red and sweet, rather than hot. Paprikás is more likely to be made with “sweet” paprika, such as édes-nemes or különleges. Other varieties, such as rósza or erös, aren't really hot and spicy, either, and they are moreoften used to season an already prepared dish. In the realm of food, it can be argued that the Hungarians were more dominant than the Austrians: Many famous dishes claimed today as Austrian (and, in particular, Viennese), are in fact of Hungarian origin, such as the Dobòs torta. Historically, the great Magyar families of Transylvania maintained the tradition of perpetuating adherence to genuine ancient dishes of Hungary. Throughout the centuries, Hungary kept its own style of cooking with its emphatic Magyar influence of robust recipes, including those gypsy-style stews. I should like to propose a culinary thought-experiment: Drawing from the distinction you noted re pörkölt, would it be suitable to compare it with, e.g., chili, rather than gulyás? After all, gulyás is plainly more soupish in its usual preparation (Szekely gulyás excepted). Obviously, there are some variations that are almost stew-like (gulyáshús), but even those dishes are not usually made with a variety of meats, generally using beef solely (though, according to both Gundel & Lang, there is also gulyás made of lamb or mutton). Pörkölt, on the other hand, can indeed be made with almost any kind of meat or poultry. I must acquire additonal sources of authenticated knowledge on this subject: Such as copies of the Paprikas-Weiss Hungarian Cookbook & Susan Derecsky's book.

Thank you, Boris_A, for the contributive details! Your instruction cautioning against burning the paprika powder is duly noted. I very much enjoy Viennese cuisine – although Znaimer (in which finely chopped sour pickles are added during the last 10 minutes of cooking) is the only Austrian version of goulash that I’ve eaten. Thirty regional variants of the classic dish. Yes, a thoroughly believable number for this enduringly popular dish which has such outstanding flavor impact and nourishment. I shall excerpt the recipe for the Sacher Hotel's Gulyássuppe from Das Grosse Sacher Kochbuch (Schuler Verlagsgesellschaft mbH; 1984): 500 grams stewing beef 60g pork lard 250g onions 20g paprika salt Marjoram 1 pinch caraway seeds 1 clove garlic 10g (or more) flour 2-3 small boiling potatoes about 1.5 liter beef stock [Post edited for an addendum]

Judith: SzékelyGulyás: Green bell peppers, garlic, and (slightly)crushed caraway seeds added to simmering boneless pork; tomato paste then stirred in for further 20 minutes cooking; drained sauerkraut added to cook about 30 minutes. Flour & sour cream combined, slaked with some of the cooking liquid, then used to bind the stew. You may review another recipe for Szekely Gulyás. Gulyás (*shortened form of gulyashus, "herdsman's meat") unqualified refers to either a soup or a stew (Gulyás Leves, mentioned in my original post, above) made from beef and almost without paprika. It’s interesting to note that pörkölt is the Hungarian name for the dish English-speaking cooks call Goulash. Version containing meats other than beef include Bográc Gulyás and Csángó Gulyás. *The Oxford Companion to Food provides clarifying etymological insight: "In Hungary, the word 'goulash' today refers to the cattle driver, the 'cowboy.' The only place on a Hungarian menu where you would find a goulash...would be among the soups, and it would be called gulyas leves, meaning 'the soup of the cowboy.'" [p. 415]

Let the chocolate stand, without interference, until it has cooled appreciably. Stirring may cause the chocolate to stiffen or "seize" into a grainy mass – and thus become unworkable. Be prudent that not a single drop of water falls into the chocolate; meaning, additionally, that it must not be covered because of damaging condensation droptlets). Use your instant-read thermometer to determine that both the chocolate & yolk mixture are within a few degrees of each other. Alas, because of its inherent heat sensitivity, it’s highly improbable that it can be remelted and unseized. Yet, I wonder whether any of your classmate’s seized mousse turned out acceptably? Did their chocolate emulsify?

Spaghetti alla carbonara is one of the simple glories of Italian cuisine (having originated in Rome). Speed is of the essence in this preparation, because it should be transferred allegretto to the table. I am quite persistent that carbonara should be made & presented without embellishments – or appogiaturas: Per 1 lb. spaghetti (spaghettini, fettucine, etc. for acceptable deviations), you’ll need 1½ oz. fat, 4 oz. unsmoked pancetta, 1½ fl. oz. heavy cream, 3 eggs, and about 4 oz. parmigiano Reggiano (preferable in this dish, I think, to Pecorino Foggiano/Romano/Siciliano). Please drain the pasta briefly because you’ll enjoy it better in a moister condition. As for the egg sauce, it must not be scrambled! I’m not dissuasive to the notion of adding wine to the dish; but I sure like a glass of Bardolino to drink with it. “The Carbonari of old Rome were men who worked in carbon mines, and, being covered with carbon, were referred to by thier appearance. This dish similarly derives it's name from its appearance which traditionally has been prepared with lots of fresh black pepper.” [source: Dani's Cucina]