Muscovado Fudge

When I was a kid, there was nothing I wanted more than a white Christmas. Not pink leg warmers, not the latest Debbie Gibson album, and not even a stonewashed denim jacket were higher on my list than waking up on Christmas morning to a world clothed in white. Year after year I went to bed on Christmas Eve praying with all my might for a meteorological miracle (after all, it happened all the time in the movies!), but sadly those balmy California skies never took pity on me, and by the time I finally did get my white Christmas – in Germany, more than a decade later – it was nice, but not nearly as heart-stoppingly wonderful as it surely would have been when I was young.

As I sit here now, watching fat flakes of snow drift lazily to join the others already blanketing the grass, I wonder what that little California girl would have thought of this crazy December. Usually-mild Seattle has put two snowfalls under its belt already, the last one still causing havoc on the roads as these new flakes start to fall, and they say the worst is yet to come: up to a foot of snow in the next twenty-four hours, gale-force winds and blizzard-like conditions. She probably wouldn’t have cared that the power might go out, that we might be eating cold clam chowder for the next few days, and that we might end up trapped in our rural neighborhood right up to Christmas, wishing we had ignored gas prices last July and sprung for a four-wheel-drive instead of a very sensible snow-phobic sedan. No, she’d undoubtedly find the whole thing quite magical – and on some level, despite my worry about all the potential inconveniences (not to mention my frustration at how quickly a few flakes bring everything to a standstill around here – yes I’m talking to you, Seattle!), I can’t help but feel it too.

I suppose it helps that I don’t have any Christmas shopping left to do, since if I did I’d probably be feeling a cold sweat creep across my palms right about now. Then again, that panic might just as well have forced me to the same conclusion I came to anyway: that this year, instead of braving shopping malls and potentially deadly crowds of bargain-hunters, I’d much rather give everyone a gift from my kitchen.

Jams, cookies, candy – you name it, I’m making it, and though I can’t go into too many specifics (don’t want to spoil all the surprise for those recipients who read this blog!) there is one you must know about, because a) it’s really easy, and b) it was so good we’ve eaten almost the entire batch, so it obviously won’t be ending up in any gift boxes unless the snow lets up and I can make it back to the market (…though in all honesty that would probably be futile since we’d just eat that batch too!). It’s called muscovado fudge, and if you’ve ever wondered what a cross between toffee, caramel and crack cocaine might be like, wonder no more. This is some seriously addictive stuff.

I’ve always had a soft spot for fudge, despite (or perhaps fueled by?) a string of spectacular failures trying to make it when I was a teenager. I came to appreciate it even more when I moved to Britain and discovered that what they call fudge, unlike in the US, almost never has chocolate. Instead, it’s a similarly-textured mixture of sugar, butter, and either milk or cream, usually flavored with a little vanilla or, if you’re in Scotland, a splash of whisky. It’s sweet stuff, to be sure, but offset by a bitter espresso at the end of a good meal, you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve died and gone to heaven.

This muscovado fudge takes that butter-sugar-vanilla concept and does it one better, though. Instead of white sugar it calls for dark muscovado, a moist, pungent sugar that smells like molasses, yet tastes like the most exquisitely complex toffee. In combination with the salt – a pinch inside to tame the sweetness and a sprinkle on top for an irresistible crunch – the result is pure caramelly, buttery, salty-sweet bliss. Like any good fudge it’s soft and chewy and almost too easy to eat, and ought to keep just fine for a couple weeks if wrapped well in waxed paper – which makes it not only great gift material, but also a useful stash of emergency calories that just might come in handy during the white, white Christmas ahead.

Have a very Merry Christmas guys, and please, stay warm, dry and safe this week.

 

Muscovado Fudge

I feel like all I’m doing lately is calling for esoteric or hard-to-find ingredients, but trust me when I tell you not to substitute plain old dark brown sugar here. You might be able to get away with going half and half, but you really need at least some muscovado sugar for the right depth of flavor, and it should hopefully be easy enough for you to track down at a well-stocked grocer. The other thing you might want to try, if you’re so inclined, is to add a handful of nuts – pecans or walnuts, lightly toasted of course, strike me as a particularly good match; just fold them in right before you pour the mixture in the pan to cool. And don’t let me scare you with my tales of spectacular failures making fudge in my younger days – if you’re careful to not reintroduce any sugar crystals after the rest of the sugar has dissolved (by washing down the pot and spoon), you’ll have no problems at all.

Yield: about 64 1-inch pieces (recipe can easily be doubled)
Source: adapted from Delicious Magazine

1/2 cup (1 stick/120g) butter
1 lb (450g) dark muscovado sugar (you’ll sometimes find it masquerading under the name ‘molasses sugar’)
1 cup (250ml) evaporated milk
1/3 cup (80ml) water
flaky sea salt, such as Maldon or Fleur de Sel
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

special equipment: a candy thermometer and waxed paper

Lightly grease an 8-inch (20cm) square pan and line with waxed paper, leaving an inch or so hanging over two opposite ends.

Melt the butter in a large heavy-based saucepan over medium heat. Add the sugar, milk, water and a generous pinch of salt and stir until the sugar has completely dissolved. Take a wet pastry brush and wash any sugar crystals down from the sides of the pan. Wash your spoon as well. Turn the heat up and boil the mixture vigorously, stirring every now and then and washing down the sides of the pan a couple more times, for about half an hour, until the mixture reaches 235-240F (113-116C) on a candy thermometer (the soft-ball stage). To test, take the pan off the heat and drop a small blob of the mixture into a bowl of cold water. It should be firm but still malleable.

Take the pan off the heat and immediately plunge the bottom into a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking. Remove the pan from the ice water and set it aside to cool undisturbed. When the bottom of the pan is cool enough that you can hold your hand against it, start stirring the fudge with a wooden spoon. Keep stirring until the mixture thickens, loses its shine, and begins to sound almost gritty against the pan base. Quickly stir in the vanilla and pour into the prepared pan. Smooth the top and sprinkle with a couple more pinches of salt. When completely cool, remove from the pan, cut into 1-inch squares (or whatever size you want), and wrap each one in a piece of waxed paper for storage. Store in an airtight container at room temperature.

2008 may have been a bad year for just about everything else, but it was a great year for cookbooks. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time this many gorgeous, fascinating and downright inspiring books hit the shelves in one year. A couple of people I know have suggested that the worse the economy gets, the better the cookbook market will fare, since more people will turn to cooking both out of necessity and as a substitute for more expensive pleasures. I don’t know how true that is (particularly since I know other people who are convinced of the opposite), but I’d like to believe it; in fact I’d like to think that no matter what happens we’ll never have a shortage of beautiful books to inform and inspire us, to help us get dinner on the table, and to provide us a window into countries and cultures we can only dream about visiting.

This year, for the first time, I’ve assembled a list of my favorite books to hit the shelves. My criteria for inclusion were simple: that they have been published in 2008, that they’re worth the precious space they occupy on my living room shelf, and that they get me completely, irrationally excited each time I pick them up. Oh yeah, and that they have really good food inside. 🙂

Enjoy!

Beyond the Great Wall: Recipes and Travels in the Other China by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid

I’d been eagerly awaiting the release of this book, the third in the Asian trilogy by husband-and-wife team Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid, since I first caught wind of it two years ago. The wait was worth it: it is stunning, every bit as beautiful and fascinating as their previous two (which already feature on my ‘top books of all time’ list). Like all their books, Beyond the Great Wall is as much a cultural exploration as a cookbook, in this case giving us insight into the people living physically and metaphorically ‘beyond the great wall’ of China – including the Tibetans, Mongolians, Uighurs, Miao, Kui, Dong and Dai – and as per usual with these authors, is illustrated with their own gorgeous location photographs (as well as breathtaking studio photos by Richard Jung). Food, of course, is the fabric that binds this journey together, and the recipes alone would be worth the cost of the book – things like Grasslands Herb Salsa, Silk Road Chickpea-Carrot Fritters, Kazakh Noodles with Goat Broth – but just as interesting and valuable are the sections on language, culture and history, as well as the authors’ own travel stories, which span a time period of nearly thirty years. And somewhat surprisingly for a cookbook, Alford and Duguid don’t make any attempt to shy away from politically sensitive issues, freely giving their own views on the plight of minorities in China, which has predictably attracted some criticism. Whether you agree with their views or not, however, this is most definitely a book to savor.

Turquoise: A Chef’s Travels in Turkey by Greg and Lucy Malouf

I honestly didn’t think Australians Greg and Lucy Malouf would be able to top their previous (and widely celebrated) book Saha, a luscious homage to the cuisines of Syria and Lebanon, but somehow they pulled it off. Turquoise – much in the vein of Beyond the Great Wall – is a knockout of a book exploring the culture and cuisine of Turkey, as seen through the eyes of chef Greg and writer Lucy as they travel through the country for the first time. Lucy’s wonderful stories and essays open each chapter, setting the stage for Greg’s recipes – some carefully authentic, others more imaginative – and the whole thing is brought to vivid, full-color life with an abundance of gorgeous photos. Honestly, this book seems to have people bewitched; while I was browsing it at a local bookstore a few weeks ago, a girl walked by me, noticed what I was reading, and exclaimed, “isn’t that just the most beautiful book you’ve ever seen?” Some books feel like no matter how much you pay for them they’re still worth more, and this is one of those.

A Platter of Figs and Other Recipes by David Tanis

What can I possibly say about this book that you haven’t already read a dozen other places? I don’t know, but I know I can’t leave it off my list. Chef David Tanis has put together a true gem with this book: imaginative, seasonal recipes that effortlessly straddle the line between sophistication and simplicity, a strong personal voice to put them in context, and a collection of photographs so lovely I’ve been tempted more than once to rip some out and stick them on the wall. The soul of David’s recipes is firmly rooted in his Chez Panisse background, though his influences are all over the map: Thai, Vietnamese, Mexican, Catalan, Moroccan, French… Ultimately, though, this is a book about letting the food speak for itself and trusting your own instincts, something we can all use a reminder about from time to time.

Ottolenghi: The Cookbook by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi

One of my biggest regrets about leaving the UK is that I never found the chance to visit Ottolenghi before I did, but now that I have their cookbook I guess I can postpone that return trip a little bit longer. Ottolenghi is a small chain of London delicatessens run by Israeli expats Ottolenghi and Tamimi, who have won a devoted following for their generous, rustic, explosively-flavored food. Hailing from the Mediterranean as they do, their recipes are of course heavily influenced by it; things like garlic, lemon, pomegranate and za’atar are used with abandon, and fresh herbs, dried fruits and grains show up in all kinds of guises. They’re far from purists, though, and when all is said and done, whatever tastes best is what makes it into their dishes. Whatever your style of cooking, you’ll find some great inspiration here.
Note: There hasn’t been an American version of the book issued yet, so what you’ll get from both amazon.com and amazon.co.uk is the same edition – if you’re looking to get a copy relatively quickly I’d recommend ordering from the latter.

The Art of Mexican Cooking by Diana Kennedy

Let me just start by saying that if I had to choose just one Mexican cookbook to have in my collection, this would probably be it. A re-issue of Diana Kennedy’s 1989 classic, this has just about everything you could ever want to know about Mexican food inside, from dozens of variations on moles, enchiladas and salsas to things less familiar like moronga (blood sausage), vitualla (beef, rice and fruit stew), and minguichi (cheese fried with chiles and cream), everything accompanied by in-depth cultural and geographical explanations. Kennedy is famously abhorrent of shortcuts in Mexican cooking, and some might find many of her recipes on the labor-intensive side, but if what matters to you most is comprehensiveness and authenticity, I doubt you’ll find a better compendium of south-of-the-border recipes anywhere. The only gripe I have with the re-issue is that they still didn’t include any photos, but hey, that just leaves more room for recipes.

The Flavor Bible: The Essential Guide to Culinary Creativity by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg

Are you an improvisational cook? Do you ever stand in front of a fridge full of ingredients and wonder how on earth you might assemble the contents into something edible? Do you dream at night about titillating new flavor combinations? Do you want to better understand the mechanisms of taste and learn how great chefs construct their dishes? If any of these apply to you, you’ll want to have this book on your shelf tomorrow. This is a self-described ‘new breed of cookbook’, one that delivers not recipes, but inspiration. I would call it more of an encyclopedia of taste, cataloging just about every ingredient under the sun and cross-referencing it with other complimentary ingredients, cuisines and cooking characteristics. You’ll learn that fennel pollen is a ‘quiet’ flavor, should be used only to finish a dish, and is complemented by things like fish, lemon and pistachios. You’ll learn that Chilean cuisine typically includes the flavors of corn, cumin, garlic, oregano and raisins. You’ll learn the different flavors and uses of piquillo, guindilla, ñora and choricero peppers in Spain. You’ll even learn how to compose an entire menu around flavor affinities. I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of what this book offers, but already I can tell that it’s one of the most useful books I’ve run across in a long time.

Cooking with Les Dames d’Escoffier: At Home with the Women Who Shape the Way We Eat and Drink by Pat Mozersky and Marcella Rosene

I was pleased to see that Epicurious gave honorable mention status to this book in their own top books lineup. Published right here in Seattle by Sasquatch, this is a wonderful compendium of favorite recipes from a truly notable group of cooks, namely members of Les Dames d’Escoffier, the country’s premier culinary association for women. Among the dozens of chefs, farmers, winemakers, restaurateurs and instructors represented in this volume are many familiar names – Julia Child, Alice Waters, M.F.K. Fisher, Marcella Hazan, Alice Medrich, Dorie Greenspan – and their contributions run the gamut from simple to spectacular while criss-crossing the globe several times: Piedmontese Wedding Soup, Catalan Pasta with Garlic Sauce, Texas Chile Rellenos, Jumbo Shrimp with Armenian Pesto, Tuxedo Philly Cheese Steak… Is your mouth watering yet? Mine sure is.

Culinaria by Various

I know, I know, this isn’t one book, nor is it anything new – in fact, the Culinaria series has been around for years. This year, however, the publisher has finally done exactly what I’ve been waiting for: they’ve started releasing the series in small paperback format. Yes, rub your eyes and read that again. Small and paperback. Okay, small is relative; these are now the size of most ‘normal’ hardback cookbooks, but if you’re familiar with the size and heft of the originals, you know what a difference this is. The content, luckily, hasn’t been altered one bit. Each of these books still contains some of the most in-depth explorations of national food landscapes ever published – from dishes both classic and obscure to regional products to festivals and celebrations, their breadth is encyclopedic and their information accurate. If there’s any drawback to these books it’s that there’s just too much information to digest – rather than sit down and read one all the way through you’ll probably end up dipping in from time to time to learn about, say, chorizo-making in Spain or olive harvesting in Greece. And I must admit I’ve never been terribly tempted by the recipes, but in these books they seem kind of like an afterthought anyway. So far, the ones to be released in this new format are Spain, France, Italy, Greece, Germany, Hungary, Russia and Southeast Asia. Hopefully the rest will be coming soon!

 

 

Oof, I’ve gone and done it again, haven’t I? Thanksgiving is only three days away and and here I am, bringing you a recipe at the eleventh hour when surely your menu was set in stone weeks ago (it was…wasn’t it?). The problem, if you must know, is that I’ve been having a hard time formulating a balanced, diplomatic description of this recipe’s merits, something that doesn’t start with ‘dispose of any other pecan pie recipes currently in your possession’, but since I don’t seem to be able to, I hope you’ll forgive me when I tell you that is exactly what you should do.

This pie is, in fact, the product of many years of evolution. It made its way into the family via my mother, a woman who by her own admission is pretty hopeless in the kitchen but in this case demonstrated a remarkable nose for sniffing out a good recipe when she clipped it from the paper around the time I was born. It appeared in one of Pauline Phillips’ (aka Abagail Van Buren, aka ‘Dear Abby’) advice columns, who herself claimed to have gotten it from the pastry chef at the Phoenix Hotel in Lexington, Kentucky at some fancy dinner she attended there. I don’t know when the recipe was originally published or which reprint my mother clipped out, but apparently the pie was so popular among her readers that Abby was forced to run it nearly every November for years.

In my family it was a huge hit, and quickly became an indispensable part of every holiday table, as first my mother, and then I, dug out that dog-eared clipping year after year. Over time, though, it began to undergo some changes. First, I discovered that lightly toasting the nuts before putting them in the pie improves both their flavor and texture. Then, after having one too many pies come out burnt on top and soupy in the middle I adjusted the heat and discovered that pecan pies are best baked gently. The biggest breakthrough of all, though – the one that takes this pie out of the clouds and catapults it into the stratosphere – happened when I moved to corn-syrup-less Europe and discovered that not only was one of the most delicious sweetening agents ever invented all but unknown in my country, but it makes the best pecan pie this side of Kentucky (if not even better!). The miracle nectar? Lyle’s golden syrup.

I know abandoning the traditional corn syrup may sound like heresy to some, but not only is golden syrup (a by-product of cane sugar refining) probably more historically accurate in pecan pie (which has been around considerably longer than corn refining technology…), it tastes so much better that even making the comparison is not really fair. Corn syrup, after all, has very little flavor of its own; golden syrup, on the other hand, is full of a caramel-toffee complexity that simultaneously manages to seem more intense, yet less sweet. Pecan pie made with it tastes – if this makes any sense – more like it should. And oh, there are so many delicious things you can do with the leftover syrup: slather it on buttered toast, drizzle it on yogurt, even eat it straight from the green and gold tin in great silky, slippery spoonfuls – but I’m sure you’ll quickly figure that out for yourself. Then again, you might just decide you want another pie.

 

Perfect Pecan Pie

Okay, okay, so where on earth can you buy golden syrup? If you’re in Canada, Australia, or most of Europe, it should be a cinch. In the U.S., unfortunately, it’s not that common. You can buy it on amazon, but I realize that’s pushing it a little for Thanksgiving unless you want to exchange a kidney for overnight delivery. Major chain stores that usually carry it are Whole Foods and Cost Plus World Market (although the latter seems to be having some supply problems, at least in the Seattle area). Other good bets are gourmet or specialty-food stores, or any place that carries British products. In the Seattle area, De Lauenti in the Pike Place Market normally carries it (although they too were out when I was in recently), and Central Market in Shoreline, Mill Creek and Poulsbo do too. If you really can’t find any, though, rest assured that this pie has still won millions of devoted fans with corn syrup – just promise me you’ll get ahold of golden syrup at some point and give it a try. Deal?

p.s. Lyle’s golden syrup is made by an acid-based inverting process that creates sodium chloride as its by-product, i.e. salt. This gives the syrup a distinctive (and delicious) salty tang and means that recipes in which you substitute Lyle’s for, say, corn syrup should have the salt reduced. Likewise, if you use corn syrup in the recipe below (or a non-salty brand of golden syrup—taste it if you’re unsure), the salt needs to be increased to 3/4 teaspoon.

Yield: one 9-inch pie

2 cups (200g) shelled pecan halves
1 cup (250ml) Lyle’s golden syrup, or if you must, white corn syrup
1 cup (200g) firmly-packed dark brown sugar (the darker the better – my favorite is dark muscovado)
1/4 teaspoon salt (if using corn syrup, increase to 3/4 teaspoon)
5 tablespoons (75g) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 large eggs, at room temperature, slightly beaten
9-inch (23cm) unbaked deep-dish pie shell (your favorite, or this one would certainly fit the bill)

unsweetened whipped cream, for serving

Preheat the oven to 325F/160C. Spread the pecans on a large baking sheet and toast in the oven until just fragrant, about 10 minutes. Remove and let cool.

In a large bowl, whisk together the golden syrup, sugar, salt, butter and vanilla until smooth. Whisk in the eggs. Pour the mixture into your 9-inch unbaked pie shell. Sprinkle the cooled pecans over the top. Place on the center rack in the oven and bake for about 1 – 1 1/4 hours, or until the center puffs slightly and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. If the crust begins to brown too much, cover it with foil.

Serve warm or at room temperature, with a dollop of unsweetened whipped cream.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!