Peppermint Meringues

It never would have occurred to me to make meringues, until Emilia, looking at the cover of this month's Bon Appétit magazine, declared: 'Those look like yummy!  Should we make them, mama?'  They came out of the oven about an hour and a half ago, and so far I have eaten, I don't know, 104 of them maybe?  They are divine.  They taste like an incredibly sophisticated candy cane, and they are perfectly sized.  Ours are slightly wonky-ish, but I have never piped meringues before.  So there is no need to be rude.  ('Mama, this one looks like a swan!')

Anyway, we are currently trying to decide what sort of cookies to leave for Santa on Christmas Eve.  Not sure if he is the peppermint meringue type, though. 

Peppermint Meringues
3 large egg whites, at room temperature
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/8 teaspoon peppermint extract
12 drops red food-coloring

Preheat oven to 200°F.  Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.  Using a heavy-duty mixer with the whisk attachment, beat the egg-whites and salt on medium-high speed until foamy and white, about 1 minute.  With the mixer running, add the sugar -- in three increments -- beating for 2 minutes between each addition.  Continue to beat until stiff peaks form, about 2 minutes longer.  Add the powdered sugar and peppermint extract, beat until nicely blended, 1 minute longer.

Dot the food-coloring over the surface of the meringue.  Do not stir, the color will swirl itself while being piped.  Spoon meringue into a pastry bag (we used a freezer bag, because they are so much handier, albeit less green) fitted with a 1/2" tip.  Pipe rounds onto your sheets, about 1" in size and about 1" apart.

Bake the meringues until dry.  This should take about 2-1/2 hours.  Let them cool completely, about 1 hour.  They will crisp up as they cool.  But I must say, they are also quite tasty straight from the oven.  The meringues will last 2 days, but store in airtight container layering with wax paper.  (Recipe from Bon Appétit Magazine.  December 2011.) 
    

Lavender Butter Cookies

It would appear that Miss Milia has turned into quite the sophisticate.  Yesterday when we were out and about, we decided to pop over to PinkaBella Cupcakes for a cupcake or two.  We each got to choose one.  I chose the vanilla cupcake with pink frosting and sprinkles on top (because that is their best one, don't you know), while Nearly-Three-Year-Old-Miss-Fancy-Pants opted for the salted caramel.  You know, dark chocolate cupcake with salted caramel buttercream?  That one.

She has also taken to asking for a cup of coffee with her breakfast.  'Can I have a cup of coffee, please?'  And she seems to find this quite hilarious.

And on top of that, the girl seems to think that she needs a beret.  I ordered a few things from the Olive Juice catalog late one night, and they finally came in the mail a few days ago.  Since then she has been pouring (or poring) over the catalog, claiming that she really really really likes that hat.  'Maybe we should order it, mama!  Because I reallyreally like it.'  And, alas, maybe we should.  Who am I to say?  At least it isn't glitter and all that diva crap that so many little girls seem to love.  (All in due time, I'm sure.  But then I'll really have to draw the line.  And/or stick a fork in my eye.  Oh, how I loathe that garbage.)

But there it is, sophisticated cupcakes and little frenchy-french hats on request.  I'm beginning to get upset by how quickly she is growing up.  Last night we went to the open house for the pre-school we are planning to send her to next fall.  We went on a nice little tour and everything -- and it was all I could do not to throw myself on the ground and revolt.  She, being one of the only kids who showed up for the event (as most others were home and getting ready for bed by likely better parents than we are, who have a tendency to drag the girl wherever we happen to be going, and never leave her with a baby-sitter -- ever), stood and played with a monkey-banana game for quite a while.  She seemed to be having a great time, too.  Once we said our goodbyes and thank-yous, and started walking back to the car, Michael said to her, 'Are you so excited to go to school?  You're such a big girl!'  To which she responded, 'Maybe I should wait til I get a little bit bigger.'  To which mama replied, 'Here, here!'  (Incidentally she also said that she thinks she likes going to the park better.  But she says that every week after Spanish class, too.  I don't believe her on that count, though.  How could she prefer the park to La Vaca Lola, I ask you?  And that is the reason why I keep signing her up for Spanish.)

A Bourgeois Trampoline and Mascarpone Jelly Thumbprints

Our strawberry picking was thwarted today because we woke up this morning to rain.  In other activities rain is not necessarily a problem; however, when it comes to standing in the mud while picking fruit, it can become a rather messy problem.  Several years ago while out picking raspberries after a lot of rain, my clogs were so caked with mud that I stepped right out of one of them and put my bare foot smack into the mud. I then had to turn around to look for my blasted shoe. 

This kind of thing is particularly a nuisance when you've got little people around you who are naturally prone to getting dirty, and you happen to be in charge of cleaning them up.  Although some of my sister's kids are much older now, so this isn't the problem it once was.  Nowadays my nieces and nephews listen to their i-pods and get told they are going to walk home if they end up too filthy to get back in the car.  However, Emilia still has a few years before I can make such feeble threats.

So anyway, as I went to get Emilia out of her bed this morning, flung open the drapes, and looked out at the grey drizzle before us, she immediately said, 'Want to go on trampoline!'  'Sorry Charlie, it's too wet today.  No bouncing on the trampoline when it's too wet.'  'Mama not say sorry Charlie!  Not sorry Charlie!'  And there you go, a glimmer of how our day has gone.

But, yes, it is true.  We have finally joined the ranks of the trampoline owners.  I know what you're thinking, 'well, la-di-da!  Aren't you so fancy!'  And I will completely agree with you.  When we were growing up it was all the rich kids who had trampolines.  We all looked at them so longingly, vowing that the very first moment we were grown up (and very rich), we would buy a trampoline and put it in our own backyards.  Michael laughs at me when I tell him this, and told me, as we were setting the trampoline up over the weekend, 'We're so bourgeois.'  In fact, when my sister got a trampoline at her house several years ago, I remember telling her 'I've never felt a chasm so great between us as I do right now.'  And then I refused to get off the thing.  Literally every time we went over to their house that summer I (after shamelessly kicking my nieces and nephews off) was on the trampoline — demonstrating my spectacular moves for everyone.

Soul Cakes

It is All Souls' Day today. And, in honor, I decided to make Soul Cakes. Soul Cakes are an Old English custom, being little cakes (half cake-half biscuit, really) that were given out for 'souling', as it was called, in the 8th century.

Unlike All Saints' Day, All Souls' is not a Holy Day of Obligation. While both days are essentially 'Days for the Dead', as it were, they stand in stark contrast to each other. All Saints' is a celebration of sorts, whereas All Souls' is a very somber day. On All Saints' we ask that the saints pray for us. All Souls', on the other hand, is when we are asked to pray for the dearly departed — to pray for their souls in purgatory, to be precise.

As a convert to the Catholic Church, I always had a not-so-nice view of purgatory, owing entirely to the fact that I simply did not understand it. In my defense, it is rather easy to misconstrue this concept! Strangely enough, now I actually derive comfort in the thought of purgatory. To put it in the most simplistic terms, purgatory is where most of us go after we die. (Some are lucky enough to go straight to heaven. However, I do not anticipate being one of them.) If you have not gone through a purification of the soul before you die — this is your shot. I guess you could say that purgatory is a 'purging' of sorts (it's where the word comes from, after all) — getting rid of the yuck we have accumulated along the way, and purifying both our hearts and minds in the process.

Purgatory (Purgatorio) is not a level of hell in Dante's Inferno either. Rather it is a separate volume comprising The Divine Comedy (along with Paradisio). For some reason, there seems to be a bit of confusion about this. So there is no need to fear pushing a boulder up a hill for all time and eternity. Or even getting your eyeballs plucked out over and over again by some nasty ol' bird. Although, interestingly enough, a level of hell in Dante's Inferno is apparently dedicated to a member of my own family. That's right — I am descended from the line of a horrifying mass-murderer. On par with Hitler, from what I can gather. The story of this lovely 'uncle' can be found in a book called Studies in Ferocity: A Book of Human Monsters by Raymond Rudorff. Ahhh, such pride I must have, I know.

Anyway, back to Soul Cakes. Rumor has it that this is the way that trick-or-treating began, oh, so long ago. In Old England the poor and the children (why do they always get lumped together, I wonder) would go knocking door-to-door, and in exchange for a Soul Cake, they would offer prayers for the dead. One Soul Cake for one soul, or something like that.

Making Soul Cakes is very easy. (Not at all like my disastrous Hot Cross Buns last year.) And I was more than a little surprised to discover that they were, in fact, not just edible — they were actually pretty good. Michael ate his with an oatmeal stout (probably the perfect compliment, truth be told), While Emilia first picked off all the raisins (which she promptly ate), and then proceeded to polish off both hers and most of mine. For some reason, she much preferred these to yesterday's Sweet Beans.

Soul Cakes
2 cups flour
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
generous pinch of saffron
½ cup milk
1 stick unsalted butter, at room temperature
½ cup sugar
2 egg yolks
½ cup currants or raisins

Preheat oven to 400°, and line a baking sheet with parchment.

Combine the flour, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt in a bowl. Mix well.

Crumble the saffron threads into a small saucepan. Turn on the heat to low and warm the saffron just until barely fragrant. Pour in the milk and heat until the milk is hot to the touch. Remove and set aside. The milk will have become bright yellow. (Something tells me that the saffron is a modern addition, as I can't imagine it being an ingredient readily on-hand in England back in the day. Although, maybe I'm wrong.)

In a mixer, using the paddle attachment, cream the butter with the sugar. Add the egg yolks, one at a time, and mix until thoroughly combined. Add the dry ingredients and mix until well combined. The dough will be very dry and crumbly.

Add the milk, one tablespoon at a time, mixing well after each addition, until you have a nice soft dough. You should not need all the milk.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead gently. (I had to add a bit of flour here because, apparently, I went nuts with the milk.) Using your scone or biscuit cutter, make as many rounds as you can. You should get about 12 in all.

Transfer to your baking sheet, and stud the tops with the currants. I made little crosses on the tops of mine, but feel free to be creative. Maybe try your hand at fashioning my evil uncle, or something. Although something tells me he would have needed more than a few soul cakes.

Brush the tops with the beaten egg yolk (I added a bit of the extra saffron milk to my egg yolk, to good effect.) Bake for 15 minutes until golden. Serve warm. (Recipe from T. Susan Chang, for NPR, October 24, 2007.)

Sweet Beans for All Saints' Day

Today, being the Feast of All Saints, is a Holy Day of Obligation in the Roman Catholic Church. (However, since it fell on a Sunday this year, it did not require any more church-going.) That means that yesterday was Halloween, or All Hallows Eve, or even Hallowmas, depending on how far back into history you want to go. 'Hallows' meaning 'saints', while 'e'en' and 'eve' are short for evening, and 'mas' is 'mass'. So, therefore, Halloween is technically the vigil for All Saints' Day. I suppose that is a lot of decoding simply to tell you to get your tokhes to church, but there it is. And I hope you made it, because one of my favorite things in the world is listening to the Litany of the Saints.

However, it is 2009. So unless you are a nerdy history buff (or worse, a Catholic), Halloween is more of a day to dress up in costumes, go to a party, and eat a whole lot of garbage — which is also fun. Alternatively, you can run door-to-door going trick-or-treating.

One of my erstwhile careers was that of a professional bra-fitter in an up-scale department store. I still remember a young woman and her boyfriend coming into the lingerie department to pick out her costume. She needed a black push-up bra and a thong to wear with her black leather chaps for their Halloween party. She kept running out of the fitting room to get her boyfriend's opinion of her 'costume'. Oi. And another time a high-school girl came in dressed as a cheerleader, wearing a very short skirt and apparently not much underneath. She bought a pair of Calvin Klein boyshorts, and then stood right there in the lingerie department and put them on. Talk about some classy dames! Anyway, I digress.

I know I have said many times before that I like to eat in season; meaning asparagus in the spring, watermelon and raspberries in the summer, butternut squash in the fall, snickerdoodles in the winter, and that sort of thing. Lately we are also trying to eat in the spirit of the season, which is why I decided to make Sweet Bean Cookies for All Saints' Day.

Sweet Beans, or Fave Dei Morti as they are more appropriately called, are an Italian cookie. They are traditionally found in bakeries in Italy, Rome in particular, on All Saints' Day (which is often referred to as I Morti, meaning the dead). The cookies are shaped like fava beans which held an important role in ancient Rome. For the Feast of Feralia, people (typically the head-of-house) would toss a handful of favas over their shoulder for the wandering spirits to pick up in the night. Finding the beans quite sufficient, they would then take their leave. Also, fava beans were placed over the eyes of the dead before burial.

As much of a fan as I am of all things Italian, I have always found their cookies to be a bit suspicious. So when I saw this recipe for Sweet Beans, it did raise my eyebrows a bit. The main ingredient is nuts (almonds and pinenuts, to be exact), and there is no butter, no chocolate, no brown sugar, no vanilla extract — you get my point. However, being in the spirit of the season, I made them anyway. And then I proceeded to eat about 20 of them; Michael was a respectable close second, while Emilia held one in her hands for about an hour before finally throwing it away. In her defense, her new favorite food seems to be salt and vinegar chips. She does not usually have much of a sweet tooth (unless it is a cupcake, and by cupcake, I mean frosting).

Anyway, the cookies are so good. And they are very easy to make. I even peeled the almonds myself because PCC did not have blanched almonds. I was very grumpy with the idea of this until I did it. Honestly, it took 10 minutes, and half that time was letting the almonds soak in hot-hot water. So if you can't find blanched almonds, stop whining and just do it yourself.

The cookies are perfect with a cup of tea or what have you. And since they have no butter or chocolate or anything in them, they are practically a health food.

Sweet Bean Cookies

2 ½ cups blanched almonds

½ cup pine nuts

1 cup sugar

½ cup flour

1 teaspoon lemon zest

¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 large egg

1 large egg yolk

1 tablespoon grappa, rum, or brandy
confectioners' sugar, for dusting

Preheat the oven to 325° and line a baking sheet with parchment. (Alternatively, you can butter and flour the baking sheets.)

In a food processor, combine the almonds, pine nuts, and ½ cup of sugar. Blend until the nuts are very finely chopped. Transfer to a large bowl and stir in the remaining ½ cup sugar, flour, lemon zest, and cinnamon.

In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and the booze. (I used Grand Marnier because we have no grappa, and the idea of rum made me a little queasy. Besides, the label on the Grand Marnier says it is an 'orange and brandy liqueur'.) Add this mixture to the nuts and stir with a wooden spoon until well combined. It should be moist throughout and beginning to form a ball.

Begin to form the cookies by pinching off a bit of the dough — no more than the size of a grape. Using your hands, roll it into a ball and shape into the form of a bean. Place on the baking sheet and keep going. I found it was easiest to rinse my hands every so often, otherwise the cookies became sticky and lost their 'smooth' appearance, making them much more difficult to work with. Place an inch apart on the baking sheet.

At this point you are supposed to take a knife and, using the dull edge, form a long groove lengthwise on each cookie. My cookies looked extraordinarily daft when I attempted this step, which is why I skipped it after seeing the first batch.

Bake for 15-17 minutes. (If you are doing 2 sheets at a time, then rotate 10 minutes into the baking time.) Cool on a wire rack.

Dust with confectioners' sugar before serving. And store the remainders in an air-tight container. (Recipe from: Italian Holiday Cooking, by Michele Scicolone. Harper Collins, 2001.)

The Feast Of St. Mary Magdalene

There is something that seems very fussy about madeleines. I'm not sure why this is exactly, because they are so easy to make. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they require a special pan. Or maybe it is their scallop shape that makes them seem so fancy. Whatever the reason, whenever I tell anyone that I've made madeleines, I'm guaranteed some sort of "La Di Da" response. And that's alright — because they are special.

Madeleines have always belonged to Marcel Proust, and it seems almost cliché to associate him with them now. But we cannot get away from it. In his Remembrances of Things Past (most recently translated as In Search of Lost Time) he claimed that simply dunking his madeleine into his tea (or was it coffee?) flooded him with memories of his childhood. Now, it should be stated that I have not actually read this collection of Proust's works. However, I do own two copies of Swann's Way and have always felt that it is a personal flaw — a mark against my character, if you will — that I have not read them. All in due time, I suppose. But really, I'd rather not talk about it.

As it turns out, madeleines have actually been around long before Proust and his torturously long novels. But their history, while a little on the murky side, is certainly French. It is assumed that madeleines originated in the south of France — Commercy, to be exact. But why that particular location is still a bit of a mystery. Most likely it had something to do with the fact that there was a convent in Commercy that was dedicated to St. Mary Magdalene. And most likely, baking (and selling) these little tea cakes at the convent helped financially. It is tradition in France that Mary Magdalene traveled there after the death and resurrection of Christ, converting all the people to Christianity along the way, and then retiring to a lovely hillside for the remainder of her life. But really, who knows?

At any rate, this is where our fussy little madeleines received their namesake — Madeleine being the French form of Magdalene. (Incidentally, Magdalene is also our daughter's middle name.)

Mary Magdalene is whom Christ first appeared to after His resurrection. And it was Mary Magdalene, along with Mary the Mother of Jesus and St. John, who was at the foot of the cross when Christ died — all others abandoning Him. And, like all of us, Mary Magdalene was a sinner. It is not clear what her sins were exactly — only that Christ cast out seven demons from her. It seems to be tradition that she was a prostitute, but there is absolutely no basis for this claim. (And in case you were wondering, the Catholic Church has no official stance on the matter.) What is clear, however, is that Mary Magdalene was a faithful disciple of Christ, and she knew him to be her saviour. And the fact that she was a sinner makes her relationship with God all the more beautiful.

I have used several recipes for madeleines over the years, but the one I always seem to reach for comes from The Paris Cookbook, by Patricia Wells. She uses the miniature pan — whereas I use both the miniature and the traditional, and they both work just fine. Remember to not use soap when washing the pans afterward. Just use hot water and a stiff brush. Otherwise you won't get a nicely seasoned pan.

2 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
grated zest of 1 lemon
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/8 teaspoon fine sea salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled

Butter the madeleine tins and place them in the freezer.

Place the eggs and the sugar in the bowl of a heavy-duty mixer fitted with the whisk. Beat at high speed until thick and lemon-colored, 2-3 minutes. By hand, stir in the zest. Stir in the flour and sea salt. Stir in the butter. Cover and refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to 24 hours.

Preheat oven to 375°

Remove tins from freezer. Spoon the batter into the prepared molds, filling nearly to the top. Tap gently against a flat surface to evenly distribute the batter. Place in the center of the oven and bake until golden, 10-12 minutes. Remove to a rack to cool. Remove from tins as soon as they are cool. Best eaten immediately. They may, however, be stored for several days in an airtight container. (Recipe from The Paris Cookbook by Patricia Wells, Harper Collins Publishers, 2001.)

Aunt Martha's Cookies — Revisited

To anyone not living under my Aunt Martha's roof (excluding her own children, of course) these have always been called Aunt Martha's Cookies. To Martha, and anyone that does happen to live under her roof (not to mention her own children), they are called Sarah's Cookies.

When we were younger these cookies were dreamt about, drooled over, pined for, fought over, and really thought to be a reminder that life is, in fact, good. When we would visit our cousins at their old farmhouse near St. Louis, Aunt Martha would give us a big shoebox full of these cookies for the long car ride home. And to be perfectly honest — they were gone all too soon.

Over the years I (along with the rest of our very large family and anyone else who requested the recipe) tried to recreate them to no avail. They were always alright — but just not the same. I have subsequently tried many other recipes but always come back to this one. I think it is a matter of pride — as a true Edgren — to perfect this cookie! And alas, 20 years later, I think I may have done it. Maybe.

The key seems to lie in beating the hell out of the butter. Add the brown sugar (always dark), continuing to beat hell out of it, then the granulated sugar — beating hell all the while. The process should take several minutes. That being said, when it comes time to add the flour just give it a quick spin in the mixer (using the paddle attachment, by the way). In fact, I usually keep the batter a little on the white side when I add the chocolate chips so as not to over mix.

At this point Aunt Martha puts them in the oven. As for me, I cover the dough and put it in the fridge for 48 hours — a tip I recently learned from the lovely Clotilde. I cannot even explain what it does exactly other than make the cookies darker and more rustic looking. I suspect it has something to do with the brown sugar and the whole concept of the flavors "marrying". But really, I ain't no chemist.

Pull the dough out of the fridge at least an hour before you bake them, use your ice cream scoop to get the right size, and just before they go into the oven put a little sea-salt (I've also been known to use kosher to the same effect) on top of each. This is what makes the cookie truly divine — that little taste of salt with sweet. Not to worry though, this is the final deviation from Aunt Martha's cookie...

Once they have cooled enough you can happily put them in a shoebox and drive cross-country. Or you can give one to your daughter (with an enormous bib, or simply stripped to her diaper) once she wakes up from her nap. As for me, I prefer them cold after they've been out of the oven for a few hours, but I realize this is terribly un-American of me. My sister, on the other hand, takes 2 cookies and puts a big scoop of vanilla ice cream in between them — which may explain why she always seems to have so many people over at her house.

1 lb soft butter

1 lb dark brown sugar

2 cups granulated sugar

4 eggs

2 tsp salt

2 tsp soda

4 tsp vanilla

6 cups flour

24 oz chocolate chips

sea-salt for the tops

350° for 10-12 minutes

(I typically cut the recipe in half.)