A Humble Tart

The proper season for strawberries is long past, but still they refuse to disappear from the super markets. For weeks I've been eyeing them suspiciously, wondering why they won't go away. And then feeling guilty for indulging such uncharitable thoughts. The strawberries can't help themselves, I tell myself. They don't know any better. They've been duped into tricking out their colors. Like the seals that perform at the aquarium for some raw herring snacks they are too good-natured even to show any embarrassment on behalf of their task masters.They kindly leave them to indulge their illusions of mastery.

A Humble Strawberry Tart

My conscience unsettled, I sniffed last night at a carton while at the grocery store. To my surprise, they had an odor. Even more to my surprise, they smelled like strawberries.

A Humble Strawberry Tart Before it is Glazed

The fruit fates were calling a truce and I accepted. The result is a rather humble tart, rather homely around the edges. But fragrant. And ruby toned. And toothsome. A little humility, I reckon, is never out of season, and never tasted so good.

A Thin Layer of Jam

The filling is an improvised hash. Some mango diced fine. Some of the strawberries crushed. A bit of sugar, a bit of cornstarch, a splash of rum, half a jar of seedless preserves languishing too long in the refrigerator. All cooked at a simmer a few minutes, stirring constantly.

The Blind Shell

The pastry is my standard 4321. Four tablespoons of butter and three tablespoons of shortening to one cup of flour. A pinch of baking powder, a tablespoon of cider vinegar, a few tablespoons of water, a long rest in the refrigerator, and a light frissage to finish things off.

 The First Piece

The glaze is clear Tortenguss, dabbed on gently with a pastry brush, not poured. I got a supply when I was in Germany a couple of years ago, but no doubt it is available online.

Carnivorous Tuesday

Another day, another hamburger...

Carnivorous Monday

Not an earth-shattering development (they don't often happen in my apartment, least of all on a Monday) but this evening I did make a small discovery:  it is a lot more trouble to take a picture of a hamburger than it is to eat a hamburger. But rest assured, I will keep trying!

From the Cast Iron Skillet to the Light Box

Ginger Ice Cream, Part Two

Like all things the ginger ice cream reached its end. It never had a great life expectancy, but it passed its brief life honorably. It was stoical -- almost cold -- to the last. Never showing any fear. It remained bright and cheery and spicy even as it was teetering on the brink of the abyss. It was ever modest, never spoke of itself, never asked for anything, but lived only to please others. A sweet interlude of self-sacrifice, it said of itself. Not in words, but in the way it molded itself to the pressure of a scoop, the way it settled softly between a pair of gingerbread rounds, the way it cooled one's palate even as it softened and dripped playfully on a hot summer evening.

Ginger Ice Cream, R.I.P.

Here are a couple of pictures in memoriam. Happy memories. No regrets. It is how I will always think of these two scoops.

Christmas in July

It's three o'clock in the morning and still almost eighty degrees outside and I've just crossed the horizon into uncharted depths of culinary self-pleasuring. Probably some persons will look to the hour and the temperature for an explanation. But to all the rationalizers and all the demythologizers, I dare you to eat for yourself one of these gingerbread ice cream sandwiches and not go weak in the knees.

If there ever is a Christmas in July, this is what it must taste like.

Ginger Ice Cream, Part One

The past ten days have been exceptionally hot. Not so hot that people are dropping dead in the street from heat stroke hot, but hot like the start and end of every conversation is the heat and how are you standing it hot. I live in an old building that seems to hold the accumulated solar energy each day in its brick exterior and then slowly release the same energy inward every night. A window air conditioner is better than nothing at moving some of that energy back outside where it belongs. Not better than nothing like it really makes a big difference and boy is it a relief to get indoors and cool off, but better than nothing like a cold shower and a couple of cold beers and some ambien to top it off and the air conditioner makes it almost tolerable to sleep.

Like everyone else I have my coping strategies. They include lazy workouts in the gym with a focus on those machines located directly beneath one of the several vents spewing vaporized dry ice. They also include wistful lingering in the dairy aisle of the local supermarket. The worst of the heat is that I feel banished from the kitchen. Longing for a taste of my lost city, this ginger ice cream is the result.

Ginger Ice Cream (Adapted from The Perfect Scoop)

5 ounces unpeeled fresh ginger
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
5 egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup finely diced crystallized ginger

Slice ginger thin, peel and all (I use a ceramic blade mandoline) and place in a sauce pan. Cover with water and bring to boil and cook for two minutes. Drain and return ginger to pan. Add milk, one cup cream, sugar, and salt. Warm till hot to touch and cover and steep for an hour or more.

Strain out ginger and return mixture to pan. Heat and then stir gradually into yolks to temper. Return yolks to mixture and heat, stirring constantly, until custard thickens slightly. Strain custard into remaining cup of cream, cool overnight, then freeze in ice cream maker. Stir crystallized ginger into ice cream at the very end.

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Colderer Comforts

It took a bit of work to get the homemade chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream into tip-top sandwich shape, but trial and error (and stifling heat to speed the process) triumphed in the end. I just scooped the ice cream into a cup and turned and turned and pressed and pressed until it was suitably disc-shaped. The previous batch of ice cream sandwiches were mighty satisfying. But these are better. I ate one last night in my darkened apartment and slept very well after.

One Ice Cream Sandwich

Five Ice Cream Sandwiches

Is it my imagination, or does this half-eaten monster look just a little like a hamburger?

Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Ice Cream

Here's a topic that needs no comment, just some captions. Or rather, one comment:  the ice cream is delicious, but freezes quite hard, perhaps from the chocolate in the custard. Next time I will try adding a tablespoon or so of rum as antifreeze. One more comment, actually:  this custard after it sets up in the refrigerator makes a delectable pudding.

 

A scoop of chocolate peanut butter cup ice cream.

The custard after chilling overnight

The peanut butter cups.

The ice cream maker in action. The batteries on my camera expired 

less than two seconds after I pushed the record button. Better luck next time.

That scoop again!

The recipe (from David Lebovitz The Perfect Scoop)

2 cups heavy cream

3 tbs dutch process cocoa powder

5 ounces semisweet chocolate

1 cup whole milk

3/4 cup sugar

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

5 large egg yolks

teaspoon vanilla extract

Warm cocoa powder with one cup cream just to boil, then whisk at a simmer 30 seconds. Remove from heat, add chocolate, stir until smooth. Add remaining one cup cream and scrape into large bowl. Warm milk, sugar, and salt in same saucepan. Whisk some of warmed milk into egg yolks to temper, then add add yolks to pan. Stir constantly over medium heat until thickens lightly. Pour through strainer into bowl with chocolate mixture. Add vanilla, cool overnight, then freeze.