NY Girl Eats World

The Last Vestiges of Christmas

Christmas may be over, but as you can see, I haven't put all the ornaments away yet.

I'm rationing myself one of these golf ball-size beauties per day.  OK, I occasionally share. I divide the truffle (fork tines cracking through a chocolate shell and sinking satisfyingly into a gooey middle). And I give my husband the smaller half.

Chocolate is a fail-safe gift for this hostess. Still, I lightly gasped when I lifted the lid on these particularly gorgeous truffles, all studded and striped in raspberry-pink, winter-white and buttery-gold.

For the next 12 days it would be Christmas all over again with each surprising bite: salted caramel? raspberry? coconut? I'd look longingly at the box well before breakfast and modify the drinker's motto: It's 12 o'clock somewhere!

The truffles came from the Sayville Chocolatier  on Long Island's southern shore. It turns out that my truffles are not only a reminder of the wonderment of Christmas — but, as I listen to the wind howling through the concrete valleys of Manhattan Island, they remind me of the other island I used to call home.

 

A Cupcake Prophecy

After asking one of my childhood friends to be a bridesmaid in my wedding, the first thing I told her about the nuptial celebration was this:

<insert embarrassingly high-pitched tone>

We're having cupcakes!

That's right — not the details of my French silk gown or the historic house where we would wed. I started with dessert.

Cupcakes became, for me, the symbolic spirit of my entire wedding celebration. It would be unconventional (who's ever eaten a piece of wedding cake they really truly loved?). It would be elegantly casual (an outdoor luncheon on a late August afternoon). It would be colorful (lemon yellow summer dresses for the bridesmaids) and whimsical (parasols for all the female guests). And above all, memorable.

Let me tell you: those cupcakes were memorable.

My dear friends and mother-daughter team Joey Coburn and Gloria Ingegno of Cornerstone Baked Goods in Virginia whipped up a spread of the most delicious cupcakes my guests had ever tasted. Seriously. One male guest (a successful London entrepreneur no less) marched up to me, pointed to the coconut-flecked cupcake on his plate and said, "This is the future."

So, ladies and gents, let me tell you what the future tastes like: It begins with a moist coconut cupcake that melts against your tongue, and a coconut cream cheese frosting that clings to your lips. But the future is not so predictable as we all well know. Just as you bite into its fluffy cake, your tongue finds an unexpected surprise: it pierces a cool, gooey middle. Immediately the tang of fresh lime curd sings against the sweetness of coconut.

Lime-in-the-coconut, my friends, is the name of the future.

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My dear readers,

The sweet beginning of a new chapter in my personal life, along with new projects in my professional life, has inspired me to return to my sorely neglected blog and take stock of it. I plan to make some changes here so that I can keep up with it in a way that better fits my crazy life (and doesn't leave you hanging for six months at a time). 

So stay tuned, and please pardon the dust while we shake things up around here. As always, thank you so very much for sharing your time with me.

Ever yours,

N

Rainforest M&M's

Our driver, James, stopped the truck abruptly at the side of the rainforest road. He leapt out and went bounding into the foliage, letting out a yelp now and again to scare away the unseen snakes. The rest of us –- four 20-something American girls, a 30-something man from Halifax and our 23-year-old Rastafarian guide –- remained in the back of the safari-style pickup.

“What’s he see, Lloyd?” I asked the guide, who’d become our fast friend.

“A cocoa tree,” he answered, with an ever-present smile.

James quickly returned holding up a large yellow-green pod as one might present a prize-winning fish by its tail. He passed it up to Lloyd and hopped back behind the wheel to bring us out of the Venus Rainforest Preserve –- a cool, dense patch in St. Lucia’s 19,000-acre rainforest blanket.

Taking a good look at the football-shaped pod, I was incredulous. “That’s where cocoa comes from?”

Lloyd fished out his pocket knife and slid it cleanly around the diameter of the pod until the shell parted into two. He carefully pulled the top half straight out the bottom and held it up so we could see the milky-colored, sponge-like pulp inside.

“We call these rainforest M&M’s,” Lloyd announced, eyes shining and lips smiling still.

He plucked a piece off the dangling flesh and it came away like the segment of an orange. Popping it into his mouth, he warned, “Don’t chew it. Just suck on it.”

I followed Lloyd’s directions. The segment pulled away and had the sticky consistency of a slice of ripe banana. I was immediately struck by its sweetness as the white flesh disintegrated in my mouth. I sucked on it down to the large pit –- the cocoa bean.

The bean was the color of a kalamata olive and had no flavor at all, though Lloyd advised us not to chew it. “It’s too hard,” he said.

In the 1950’s St. Lucia had a booming cocoa business. But the crop was soon supplanted by the more lucrative banana –- “green gold,” the fruit was called. Forests were bulldozed to make way for banana fields. And then the economic tide turned again in the 90’s, when the European Union began favoring banana exporters in Latin America. Now tourism is St. Lucia’s sustaining industry, but cocoa is starting to step back into the spotlight.

UK chocolatier Hotel Chocolat is currently developing a cocoa estate on the island and plans to build a chocolate factory. Then, if all goes well, they’ll build – oh, be still my beating heart! –- a chocolate-themed boutique hotel. (I hope that means I can eat the bed after I'm done sleeping on it.)

It’s not likely Lloyd’s “rainforest M&M’s” will go on the market anytime soon. But it’s beautiful to know that even without man and machinery to roast, mash and coax the cocoa beans into a contrived confection, there's luscious sweetness locked inside the virgin cocoa pod -- and all you have to do is open it.

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FOR MORE ST. LUCIA PHOTOS, SEE MY JOURNAL.

Chocolate-Cherry Twosome

Can you blame a girl for indulging her sweet tooth after she’s spent an hour driving only seven miles?

The locals call it the “trade parade:” the early spring traffic that stacks up at the eastern end of Route 27/Sunrise Highway, where two lanes converge into one and The Hamptons begin. All the vendors and service people who prepare this popular summer retreat for peak season (traditionally, Memorial Day through Labor Day) come from all points on Long Island and meet at this bottleneck.

I was headed out to Southampton for an article a few days ago and slammed into the trade parade at 8am. From experience I knew it would be there; but I didn’t realize how bad it would be. For those of you who know eastern Long Island, the crawl started all the way back at the Shinnecock Canal – about seven miles from the merge into one lane. There’s only one word for that: PAIN.

After the excruciating crawl and subsequent completion of the work I'd come to do, I had only one place in mind: The Fudge Company in downtown Southampton, NY.

Main Street, Southampton, is an elegant broad street lined with designer boutiques and novelty shops that are far too rich for my blood. But The Fudge Company is one of the few exceptions. Established in 1973, The Fudge Company actually has two locations about a quarter mile away from each other. The other is around the corner on Jobs Lane and this is where I went. Aside from finding parking a little easier, I’m more of an off-the-beaten-path kind of girl.

Opening the door the smell of fudge washed over me, immediately soothing my frazzled nerves. I floated over to the fudge counter where blocks of chocolate-peanut butter, Oreo, praline and marshmallow-filled chocolate fudge each winked at me. The Fudge Company is a full-service sweet shop with ice cream and hundreds of penny candies. But the homemade chocolate confections are the most seductive.

After much indecision I settled on a quarter-pound paper bag of assorted chocolate-covered cherries. Attracted by their garnet-red stems poking from bulbs of white, milk and dark chocolate, the cherries held the kind of promise that belongs to tulips yet to bloom. What beauty waited within the bulb?

To only describe the taste would be to cheat you out of half the pleasure. So let me start from the beginning and take you all the way through it:

You grab the crimson stem and plunk the weighty globe into your mouth. Using your teeth as a barrier, you tug the stem free then use your tongue to position the chocolate between your molars. With gentle, calculated pressure you give the ball a squeeze. Your teeth sink into the outer surface of the chocolate as it begins to dissolve against your cheek. Then – CRACK – the ball shatters into a dozen sweet, velvety pieces and a burst of liquid – like a popped water balloon – washes over your tongue. Most likely it’s kirsch, because a bit of the alcohol wafts straight up through your nose. Finally though your teeth have found the slippery pillow of the cherry and they press into it until the fruit collapses and tears. Quickly your mouth fills with the blissful blend of rich chocolate and bright cherry, which convinces you in this moment that there isn’t any two more compatible flavors. And twosomes are highly underrated.

• The Fudge Company: 66 Jobs Lane and 67 Main St., Southampton, New York, 631.283.8108 and 631.287.5436.

Sweet Tart

Only my mother could rock a BERRY TART WITH HONEY LEMON PASTRY CREAM at the tail-end of winter. The raspberries were small, but they were dreamy-sweet. (Imported from somewhere in South America.) So were the hefty strawberries. (Grown in Florida.) The blueberries, on the other hand, were a tad tart, but I actually liked the contrast. (Imported from Chile.)

The crust is similar to shortbread, enlivened with the minced zest of one lemon. The filling is a basic pastry cream (it needs many hours to set up in the fridge) elevated by 1/3 cup of honey and a 1/2 cup of lemon curd.

For the curd, you can use the recipe posted here under "Your Weekly Forturne," however, since you need so little of it, you can totally get away with the jarred kind. (Hey, Lincoln freed the slaves!) The glaze you see sort of pooled around the blueberries above is simply apple jelly melted in a saucepan. It has a very neutral taste that does not offend the fruit and makes the tart look absolutely irresistible.

You know you want some.

Your Monthly Fortune: Lemon Curd with Chantilly Cream

This dessert is not for the faint of heart. It’s not for the faint of arm, either. The lemon curd has an assertive flavor and it must be whisked constantly as it cooks. What you get, though, is a light creamy dessert (light in texture, of course, not in fat) that is as delightfully bright in color as it is in taste.

The curd is more lemony than a lemon drop and therefore the Chantilly cream is the perfect topping. The cool sweet cream mitigates the tartness of the lemon and kind of aerates the curd, making it a little lighter on the tongue. After a rich entrée like the pasta rollatini smothered in meat sauce we made last week, this dessert is as welcome as a sunny, 70-degree day in the middle of February.

Lemon Curd

• 9 lemons
• 1 ½ cups butter
• 2 cups sugar
• 4 eggs
• 4 egg yolks
• equipment: non-reactive pot (stainless steel) and electric mixer

So why must we be concerned about the pot? We don’t have to be…unless you want to serve green curd. Mmmm, doesn’t that sound appetizing? The problem is more scientific than culinary: cooked eggs produce hydrogen sulfides, which apparently don't play nice with aluminum. After that, it gets really complicated -- it takes years of study in a dark room with a microscope analyzing how the sulfides and the protocarbons repel the quarks and the widgets...

Just don't do it.

The other prerequisite is that the butter be at room temperature. If it’s too cold, the curd may turn out lumpy. Mmmm, green lumpy curd. Sounds like a dessert the Grinch would love.

Using an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar. Then add each egg one-by-one while continuing to beat the mixture. Make sure each egg is completely incorporated before adding the next. Add the egg yolks in the same fashion. Now add the juice of 9 lemons in ½ cup intervals until it too is well incorporated. OK, you’re done with the mixer until we make the cream. Lick the beaters – because you know you can’t resist – and toss them into the sink.

Pour the curd into our color-friendly pot and place over medium-high heat. Now it’s time to roll up your sleeves and prove that all those personal training sessions at the gym were worth the time, pain and money. Whisk the curd continuously so the eggs don’t turn into scrambled eggs and the bottom doesn’t burn. You’re going to be whisking for a while. It might even be a good idea to have a substitute whisker. Get your husband, wife or a buddy to stand by and tag them in when your forearm needs a rest.

You can stop whisking when the curd is thick enough that it clings to a spatula. When it is, take the curd off the heat, let it cool and keep it in the fridge. Lay a piece of plastic wrap over the top of the curd – right against the surface of it – to prevent a skin from forming.

Grand Marnier Chantilly Cream

• 1 tablespoon sour cream
• 2 cups heavy cream
• 1/3 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 3 tablespoons powdered sugar
• 1/4 cup Grand Marnier (approximate)

"Chantilly lace, what a pretty face, and a pony tail a' hangin' down. That wiggle in the walk, and a giggle in the talk, makes the world go round…"

Sorry. That’s Nicole singing. She can’t shake the song out of her head.

Chantilly cream sounds fancy but it’s simply sweetened whipped cream. This one is spiked with a little Grand Marnier for a little something extra in the background. You can use any kind of orange liqueur you like – I recently used Santa Teresa Rhum Orange Liqueur because I had it on hand. The flavor should only be a suggestion in the cream, not an announcement.

Clean off the beaters and get the mixer back out. We’re going to beat the first three ingredients until soft peaks form, about two minutes. Continue beating and add the powdered sugar, about one minute. Then add the liqueur until it is incorporated. Now refrigerate the cream.

Grand Marnier Sauce

• 2 tablespoons sugar
• 1/4 cup Grand Marnier
• 2 teaspoons zest

This sauce is not necessary to the dessert and if you’re pressed for time you can omit it. But it’s a beautiful touch. It looks a little like thin caramel and adds yet another dimension of sweetened citrus to the dish.

Put all three ingredients in a small saute pan over medium high heat. Swirl the mixture around until the sugar dissolves and the alcohol evaporates. If you know how to flambé, now’s the time to do it. (Make sure your guests are gathered round the kitchen so they don’t miss your rock star moment.) If you don’t know how to flambé, leave a comment for me below and I’ll write a post on the technique.

The sauce is ready when it thickens a bit and the alcoholic bite is gone. If you’ve made zest curls (see photo) instead of grating the zest, reserve these for garnish.

ASSEMBLY

I like to serve the curd in martini glasses but you can use any dish. Clear glass is best so you can see the layers of color. Place the curd in the dish first, then crown it with the Chantilly cream. Spoon a bit of sauce over the top and sprinkle with the zest. Enjoy.

-- Chef J. Fortune