Inspired by Danish butter cookies, made with Irish butter

I’m not exactly sure when it was that Danish butter cookies became a feature of Christmas in our house, but feature they did for several years, with their round, swirled and pretzel shapes and their always-buttery taste.

It seems to me that it must have coincided with the family’s Danish phase (yes, we actually had one of those), which started when a few unsuspecting Danes attended a folk festival in Donegal and resulted (among other things) in one of my brothers living in Copenhagen for several years and in assorted other family members (myself included) spending time in that city. At Christmas and at other times when folks were visiting from Denmark, it often meant that we ended up, not with butter cookies, but with a jar of pickled herring in the fridge and a bottle of Gammel Dansk in the cupboard.

Still, I imagine that our various Danish connections were as good a selling point as any when Danish butter cookies started making an appearance in the local supermarket. A tin or two of same would appear over Christmas, and be consumed, inevitably, with gallons of tea and far more gusto than their pickled herring kin.

And even now, though the Danish phase may be long past, butter cookies will always speak to me of Christmas (pickled herrings, on the other hand, not so much). When asked recently by Kerrygold to come up with a buttery Christmas recipe, there was only ever one thing I was going to make.

That famous quip attributed to the ill-fated Marie Antoinette, “qu’ils mangent de la brioche,” is most often translated to great dramatic effect as “let them eat cake.”

Brioche - is it bread or is it cake?

It seems that the Revenue Commissioners, in what they are calling a ‘clarification’ of the current VAT rules, have decided that brioche might as well be cake, because it will now attract VAT, as cakes do, at 13.5%, whereas previously it would have been classified along with bread, which escapes the VAT net. And it’s not just brioche: other items, such as croissants, bagels and even garlic bread are no longer sufficiently bread-like to qualify for zero VAT status. Really.

This came to my attention as I was leaving the hallowed halls of Trinity College, which had been the venue for the Bord Bia Irish Food & Drink Industry Awards last week. I happened upon Suzanne Campbell, who was discussing the issue and how it would hit small bakery businesses, with William Despard of the Bretzel Bakery (he who had made such an impression at the recent Savour Kilkenny Foodcamp). William was understandably exercised about the VAT hike.

In the midst of the discussion, the Minister for Agriculture, Food and the Marine, Simon Coveney, who had been speaking earlier at the event, came walking past. “Now that’s who you need to talk to,” said Suzanne. William wasted no time in letting his opinions be known, but the Minister, it seems, was already on the case. After a brief exchange, Minister Coveney passed on his way and you felt that the will, at least, was there to make this particular problem go away. Only time, of course, would tell.

It was a stark reminder of the challenges that food producers, especially those operating on a small scale, contend with all the time. The evening as a whole, however, had been one of positivity. Achievements in innovation, export performance, sustainability, domestic success, entrepreneurship and branding by companies, some large and some small, were all acknowledged on the night. It was a pleasure to see a list of winners which included Flahavan’s, who received the award for domestic success, Natasha’s Living Foods whose kale crunchies merited the innovation award, while Largo Foods, home of that über-Irish brand Tayto crisps, were acknowledged for their excellence in branding. All play a part in the good news story that is the Irish food and drink industry.

As the text on the back of the evening’s menu had indicated, Ireland will export almost €9 billion worth of food and drink to over 170 countries in 2011, which is an increase of 25% in what have been two of the most difficult years in our country’s finances. Austerity bedamned, this was something positive to tweet about:

It only occurred to me later that I might equally have revised that aforementioned French phrase of old and proclaimed – in a far more practical and positive sense than the original – “Let us eat Irish food.”

Not that it’s far away or anything – it’s only just north of Dublin, after all – but I’ve rarely had any particular reason to go. Until last Saturday, that is, when the day was spent experiencing just some of what Ireland’s smallest county has to offer, food-wise.

Louth is not only home to Bellingham Blue and Glebe Brethan, two of our finest farmhouse cheeses, but it boasts the much-awarded Cooley Distillery, excellent Carlingford oysters and the surprise and delight that are the Eastern Seaboard Bar & Grill and the Brown Hound Bakery in Drogheda. Several reasons to visit the place, right there.

One Carlingford oyster, au naturel

First stop of the day with my fellow food-trippers, Aoife from I Can Has Cook and Joanna from Smörgåsblog, was the picturesque coastal village of Carlingford and its annual Oyster Festival. Though the festival oyster tent turned out to be a very small affair, it boasted the freshest of oysters, shucked for us by Kian Louet-Feisser of The Carlingford Oyster Company, who was joined by some young, but very able, assistants.

The freshest of oysters and the youngest of chefs

Right alongside were the folks from The Cooley Distillery, makers of some very fine Irish whiskeys, including the wonderful Connemara Peated Single Malt. We chatted with the founder, John Teeling, and of course had a few nips of whiskey (well, it would have been positively rude not to). Though we weren’t in the village for much more than two hours, we also managed to be interviewed for local radio, have lunch in PJ O’Hare’s and score some excellent raspberry jam from Daisy’s Pantry. Pretty good going, all in all.

Above: The Cooley whiskey collection
Below: Founder John Teeling inhales...

After that it was off to Drogheda, and a quick coffee-and-cake-stop at the lovely Trader’s café, before our rendezvous with a host of other bloggers – including Dinner du Jour, Gunternation, Caryna’s Cakes, Kuchennie, Gracie Bakes and Katz Miaow – for a tour of the newly opened Brown Hound Bakery, followed by dinner at the Eastern Seaboard Bar & Grill.

I’d heard a lot about the restaurant from Clare of An American in Ireland, who had organised the trip. Having spent a year living in Drogheda when she moved here from L.A., Eastern Seaboard, run by Jeni and Reuven Diaz, came as an unexpected and welcome find.

I think I'd go back to Eastern Seaboard for the bread alone

Positioned at the end of a small strip of shops in a Drogheda housing estate, it’s an unlikely location for top-quality dining. Yet that is exactly what you’ll get, and at reasonable prices too.

Plenty to delight the tastebuds, including crab cakes, salmon, rabbit and more at Eastern Seaboard.
The coffee jelly and ice cream dessert was positively intriguing.

The large, high-ceilinged and tastefully designed dining room, meanwhile, would not look remotely out of place in Paris or Manhattan, while the same can be said for The Brown Hound Bakery, which Jeni and Reuven have opened just down the way, alongside their take on the takeaway, Mo’s To Go.

With fresh oysters on the menu, not to mention Coney Island corn dogs, Mo's To Go is not your average Irish takeaway joint

Treats at the Brown Hound Bakery

I would actually go as far as to say that the bakery, with its large glassed displays of cakes and tarts, and cookies piled under glass domes, is not like any I’ve seen in Ireland. Many of the recipes come from New York-based baker Craig Thompson, owner of Shandaken Bake in the Catskills Mountains, who came out to Drogheda for three months to train the bakery staff. Each of us bloggers having been sent home with a goody box from the bakery, I can confirm that, just as with the restaurant next door, taste-wise, the Brown Hound does not disappoint. In fact it would not, I think, be extreme of me to make a special trip back just for their chocolate banana bread. That, truth be told, strikes me as a particularly good reason to visit.

Well, whaddya know, kitchen wishes really can come true. Where once there was a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon, there is now, in my kitchen, a shiny new stand mixer. It’s all thanks to some more than generous wand-waving by the Fairy Hobmother.

My new shiny

Er, the Fairy Who?

‘Tis well you might ask.

The Fairy Hobmother has been winging her way around cyberspace of late, granting wishes to bloggers on behalf of the folks at Appliances Online. A few weeks back, I left a comment for her regarding my mixerless state over on Smörgåsblog. Lo and behold, just a little while later, my wish was granted, and then some.

Better again, though, is that it could be you next. Leave a comment on this post describing your kitchen wish and she just might visit you too.

As for the wished-for mixer, it seemed only right and proper to put it straight to work.

Mixer job #1: potato tomato bread

Four pounds of cheese.

No, despite my near addiction to all things dairy, I am not actually referring to the amount of cheese that I am likely to consume in a single sitting. What that weighty amount of dairy goodness does represent is the amount of cheese thrown out by the average American over the course of a year, according to an article in the July, 2011 issue of National Geographic, entitled How to Feed A Growing Planet. That article, in turn, inspired my friend Jenni to start the Four Pounds of Cheese project – an experiment where participants would document, for a week, just what it was they were wasting, food-wise. Having been brought up to the tune of my mother’s “waste not, want not” mantra, I am programmed to abhor waste. That doesn’t mean that I’m not capable of wasting food with the best of them. It does, however, mean that I’ll feel dreadfully guilty when I do. Needless, to remark, I was keen to join in.

Last Monday, the week of waste watching began and it didn’t get off to a great start.

I ate out for lunch and the salmon I ordered was served in the classic Irish manner, meaning it came with two kinds of potato (mashed and roasted, in this case). Despite a valiant effort, I didn’t manage to clear my plate, so, to my shame, the very first thing I managed to waste were some of those selfsame spuds. And then I did what I suspect many of us do: I ordered dessert anyway. Different compartment, right? Surprise, surprise, I couldn’t finish that either. Sheesh. Waste 1, Spud 0.

Too many potatoes, even for me

Tuesday, for a while, looked like it might go the same way. In a clear case of trying to do too many things at once, I managed to burn what would otherwise have been a perfectly good batch of biscotti. After much cursing, followed by a bout of mature consideration, I decided that, though not my best work, they were still ok to eat. Waste 0, Spud 1.

My batting average for the rest of the week did improve greatly, but only because the exercise forced me to do more forward planning in terms of my food purchases, especially anything perishable. I am often guilty of buying the equivalent of my own bodyweight in fruit and vegetables, some of which are inevitably past their best before they get used, if they get used at all.

I also thought twice about other items that might more usually get thrown down the sink, so I found myself using milk that had soured to make scones, saving vegetable cooking liquid for stock and freezing the undrunk remains of a bottle of red to use for sauces. I also took to exploring the far reaches of my cupboards to see what might lurk therein. Thank goodness for the long shelf life of dried beans and pulses, because several not-quite-empty bags of lentils made for large batch of dinner-time dal.

All in all, then, not a great deal went to waste over the course of the week, so bully for me. I am, however, acutely aware of the fact that I’ll have wasted my time if I don’t try to keep it up.

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Cheesy Cauliflower Pie

Don’t panic, this recipe does not contain four pounds of cheese – four ounces, more like – but I wanted to include it, as it’s really a template for a pie to which you could add whatever cheese and vegetables you have on hand.

It’s based on a recipe I found in Eveleen Coyle’s Irish Potato Cookbook and it was the potato crust that caught my eye. No pastry here, but a crust composed of grated potato, grated onion and egg – an excellent gluten-free alternative for any savoury pie.

I have jazzed the original recipe up by roasting the cauliflower and adding gorgonzola and walnuts, though vary it with whatever vegetables and cheese you have around.

You’ll need:

• 1 potato crust (see recipe below) or use a shortcrust pastry lining, baked blind for about 10-15 minutes before filling
• 500g cauliflower, washed and separated into small florets
• 1 tblsp olive oil
• 50g walnuts
• butter for frying
• 1 small onion, about 100g, finely chopped
• pinch of salt
• 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 1 tsp fresh thyme leaves
• 50g mature cheddar, grated
• 50g gorgonzola
• 4 large eggs
• 100ml milk
• freshly ground black pepper
• 3 tblsp grated parmesan

You’ll also need:

• A 24cm round ovenproof dish, about 4cm deep, and a couple of baking trays (mine were about 20cm x 30cm)

The Steps:

• Preheat your oven to 200C, prepare and bake the potato crust as below.
• While the potato crust is baking, toss the cauliflower florets with the olive oil, spread them out on a baking tray, place in the oven and roast for about 15 minutes, until starting to soften and char very slightly.
• Spread the walnuts out on another baking tray and place in the oven for 5 minutes to lightly toast. Remove and chop roughly.
• Once the pie crust, cauliflower and walnuts are done, turn the oven down to 180C.
• Place a small frying pan over a medium heat and, when hot, add about a teaspoon of butter. When the butter has melted, add the chopped onion and a pinch of salt. Stir and fry for about 5 minutes or until translucent. Add the chopped garlic and thyme, stir and fry for about a minute more, then remove from the heat.
• To assemble the pie, add the grated cheddar to the baked crust, followed by the cauliflower, fried onions and chopped walnuts. Crumble over the gorgonzola. Beat together the eggs and milk and pour over the vegetables and cheese. Add a few twists of black pepper and sprinkle over the grated parmesan.
• Return to the oven for about 25 minutes or until the eggs are set. If the edges of the crust are browning too much, cover with foil while cooking.
• Slice and serve warm with a green salad and perhaps a glass of wine.

The Variations:

• Really, you can vary the filling freely according to the vegetables and cheese that you have on hand.

The Results:

• Pie for 4-6 people

Case in point: while nosing around the the Idaho Potato Commission website (as you do), I happened upon this, a recipe for baked potato cookies with sour cream and chives. It fairly stopped me in my tracks, I can tell you.

It wasn’t that the recipe called for the use of mashed potato in a sweet, baked good. What with potato bakewell tarts, potato apple parcels and chocolate potato buns, I’m all over that one myself.

No, frankly, it was the chives.

Chopped, dried chives.

In a cookie.

Couldn’t get my head around it.

Neither could I get away from the fact that, in my never-ending quest to explore the far reaches of the possible, potato-wise, I was going to have to make some. The things I do for spuds, eh?

Yes, the cookies are sweet and the green flecks are chives

I followed the recipe more or less as written, substituting butter for margarine and yoghurt for sour cream. I did hedge my bets when it came to the chives, though, and only added them to half of the mixture (I mean to say, I wasn’t that optimistic about a good outcome). In they went to bake, while I waited and wondered. I wasted no time in downing several as soon as they were done.

They were moist (as I’d expect for something with that amount of mashed potato) and spongy (think kitchen sponge, not victoria sponge), fairly plain and not too sweet. Thing was, the ones with chives didn’t taste remotely chive-like and – though truth be told, there wasn’t that much of a difference – I preferred them to the ones without.

Cue an audible sigh.

Seems I had made them, eaten them, but still not made sense of them.

Getting it together: rhubarb and potatoes

Rhubarb and potatoes.

Both commonly grown in Irish gardens but it would, to say the least of it, be a rare occurrence to find them cosying up together on an Irish dinner plate. Even though rhubarb is, technically, a vegetable, we’re far more likely to consign it to dessert, where copious amounts of sugar soften its natural sharpness.

But y’know what? If spuds can be used in desserts, then why not rhubarb for dinner? Certainly, if you read Mary Prior’s delightful book, Rhubarbaria, you won’t be left short of ideas for unusual rhubarb dishes, both savoury and sweet.

Under the heading of rhubarb as a vegetable, she includes a Polish recipe for rhubarb and potatoes, taken from Uniwersalna Ksiazka Kucharska, a classic domestic handbook by Maria Ochorowicz-Monatowa, first published in 1910. Reading the recipe, I was hard pressed to imagine what it would be like, consisting of rhubarb cooked in a mushroom and onion broth, which was then thickened and added to boiled new potatoes. For a start, there was no sugar anywhere, and I couldn’t recall having ever tried a rhubarb recipe – even a savoury one – that didn’t involve adding at least a little sweetness.

Still, nothing else for it but to try it out and, while I can safely say that the dish would never score highly in the looks department, I actually liked the end result. In fact, I liked it a lot. So much so that I thought I should share it with you, but not before dressing it up just a little.

Introducing the rhubarb and potato gratin

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Rhubarb and Potato Gratin

This is adapted from the original Polish recipe for rhubarb and potatoes in two important ways: one is the addition of the breadcrumb topping which, frankly, just makes it an altogether more pleasant looking dish to serve up; the other is that I have reduced the amount of rhubarb by half.

The resulting dish has (to my mind) a pleasant tang, as opposed to a more pronounced tartness (though you can experiment with adding more rhubarb if you like). Also, where the original recipe called for dried mushrooms, I have used dried porcini, which give a nice depth of flavour, though you can try this out with whatever dried mushrooms you can get.

You’re also probably wondering (as was I when I tried the original recipe) about what exactly you would eat this with. While you could certainly scoff a portion of this on its own, I think pork, and particularly pork sausages, would make a very good accompaniment.

For the broth:

• 600ml water
• 6 dried porcini mushrooms (about 12g), roughly chopped, or substitute other dried mushrooms
• 1 medium onion, about 150g, sliced
• 2 bay leaves
• 4 x 10cm sprigs of dill
• 0.5 tsp salt
• freshly ground black pepper

For the topping:

• 100g fresh breadcrumbs
• 2 tblsp butter
• 3 tblsp almonds, roughly chopped (optional)
• coarse salt

For the rest of the sauce:

• 200g rhubarb, wiped clean and sliced into 2-3cm lengths
• 2 tblsp butter
• 2 tblsp plain flour
• 1 clove garlic, crushed
• 4 tsp chopped chives
• 500g boiled or steamed new potatoes (or any waxy potato), cut into chunks approx. 1-2cm thick

You’ll also need:

• An ovenproof dish, one that’s around 18cm x 24cm and 4cm deep should do it.

The Steps:

• To make the broth, add the water, dried mushrooms, onion, bay leaves, dill, salt and a few twists of black pepper to a heavy, medium-sized saucepan. Bring to a boil over a medium heat, then reduce the heat and simmer gently, covered, for about 30 minutes.
• While the broth is simmering, you can prepare the topping. Start by heating a large frying pan over a medium heat. When hot, add 2 tblsp butter. Then add the breadcrumbs and almonds. Stir and fry for about 5 minutes or until the breadcrumbs start to turn golden, then remove from the heat. Sprinkle in a few flakes of coarse salt.
• When the broth has finished simmering, add the rhubarb to the saucepan and simmer until tender and starting to disintegrate, about 15 minutes.
• Remove from the heat and strain the liquid from the saucepan through a sieve into a bowl. At this point, what you have left in the sieve will have the appearance of a rather unattractive rhubarb mush and you may be tempted to turf it out but resist, it will be needed later.
• Now preheat your oven to 180C.
• Return your saucepan to a medium heat and add 2 tblsp butter. Allow the butter to melt and, as it starts to foam and bubble, stir continuously for around 6-7 minutes or until it turns a dark golden colour. It will have a butterscotch-like aroma.
• Now make a roux by adding the flour to the butter and stir and cook for about 2 minutes. Then gradually add the strained rhubarb cooking liquid to the roux, stirring continuously until you have a smooth sauce.
• Add the crushed garlic and chives to the sauce and season to taste.
• Now add the reserved rhubarb mush to the sauce, along with the potato chunks. Remove from the heat and pour the contents into your ovenproof dish.
• Sprinkle with the topping and bake for about 10 minutes. Serve hot, on its own or perhaps alongside some pork sausages.

The Variations:

• I did tone down the rhubarb in this relative to the original recipe, but you can certainly try adding more rhubarb back in. You can also omit the breadcrumb topping if you like and instead just heat the final mixture through on the stovetop before serving.

The Results:

• Side-dish servings for about 6 people or more substantial servings for around 4.

It’s not that my Da will object to a drop of red wine if offered but, truth be told, it wouldn’t be his first choice of beverage. And he certainly wouldn’t be doing any sniffing or swirling of the wine before taking a generous swallow and pronouncing whether he thought it a nice drop or not. Still, we each enjoy our tipples in our own way and, if I were to be completely honest, part of the reason for bringing bottles of red when I visit home is that I get to enjoy them too.

As far as food goes, my Da is a plain eater and has gotten pickier in his old age – spuds and chops, brown bread and cheddar cheese, apple crumble and apple stewed – these are mainstays of his diet. That and his own peculiar take on breakfast. There is, therefore, little point in me bringing fancy foods home to mark Father’s Day, or any other day, for that matter.

You, on the other hand, might like to do just that and, if so, read on.

To enter, just leave a comment below. It’s open to anyone with an address in the Republic of Ireland, though you do need to be over 18, what with the wine and all. You’ll also have to promise to drink it responsibly and to share it with your Da if you’re still lucky enough to have him around. I’ll leave this open until midday GMT on Wednesday 15th and then pick a winner from the proverbial hat.

Update: And the hamper goes to… Yvette Harte, who, no doubt, will be enjoying some fine eats and drinks for some time to come. Congratulations to her!

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Ginger-not-so-snaps

One of the things that my Da did unfailingly when I was a child was to sample and praise every baked good that I ever made, both the good and the bad, as well as the jaw-breakingly awful. I had an obsession with ginger, so he gamely ate the gingerbread, ginger cake and ginger biscuits that I would produce with regularity.

Ginger is still one of my most favourite ingredients, though I probably use it more often in savoury dishes now than sweet. In honour of my sweet-toothed Da, however, I thought I would revisit old ground and make ginger biscuits, ones which should not, I hope, cause him to break any of his false teeth.

I adapted this recipe from one for cracked-surface crunchy gingersnaps which Shirley Corriher includes in her mighty book of baking know-how, Bakewise. I’ve replaced the molasses with honey and changed the spicing to add lemon and cayenne to the ginger. They spread quite a bit during baking and, for me, turned out much more ginger chew that ginger snap, though adding honey, among other things, can have that effect.

If your dough seems very moist and ends up spreading more than you’d like, try adding a little extra flour to the mix next time. Individual flours vary in the amount of protein they contain and hence in the amount of liquid they can absorb, so you may need to tweak this according to the flour you use.

You’ll need:

• 350g granulated sugar plus extra for coating
• 170g unsalted butter
• 3 tblsp honey
• 1 large egg
• 300g plain flour
• 2 tsp baking soda
• 0.5 tsp salt
• 3.5 tsp gnd ginger
• 0.25 tsp cayenne pepper
• grated zest of 2 small or one large lemon

You’ll also need:

• One or two large baking sheets (around 30cm x 40cm) and, if you have it, some baking parchment to line them.

The Steps:

• Beat the sugar and butter together until fluffy, using a stand mixer, food processor or by hand.
• Add the honey and beat to blend in well, then add the egg and beat to just blend in.
• In a medium-sized bowl, mix together the flour, baking soda, salt, ginger, cayenne and lemon zest. Add this to the sugar and butter mixture and mix until it just comes together as a dough. Cover and chill the dough for at least an hour or (even better) overnight.
• When you’re ready to bake, preheat your oven to 180C and line your baking sheet with parchment paper.
• Place about 3 tblsp of granulated sugar in a small bowl. Scoop tablespoonfuls of the dough, roll into approx. 3cm balls and then roll each ball in the sugar. Place on the baking sheet about 5cm apart. You’ll need about half of the dough to fill one large baking sheet, so either use two baking sheets or (preferably) bake in two batches.
• Bake until lightly golden and the edges are beginning to darken, about 10 minutes, but do check them earlier.
• Remove to a wire rack to cool completely. If re-using the baking sheet for the second batch, cool it off under cold water before re-lining with parchment paper and filling the tin for round two.
• Enjoy these for the sweet treats that they are or perhaps use them as part of a dessert, along with vanilla ice cream and fresh fruit.

The Variations:

• There are lots of possible variations, but one that particularly appeals to me is replacing the lemon zest with orange zest and perhaps adding a few finely chopped hazelnuts to the mix

The Results:

• Makes about 40 gingery biscuits.

Attending a chocolate masterclass with Gerard Coleman at the Dublin Cookery School is really one of the nicer Saturday things to do.

Irish-born Gerard is the founder of the London-based and highly regarded Artisan du Chocolat. He’s one of the very few chocolatiers in Ireland and the UK who produces chocolate from bean to bar, and his wares have won the praises of such cheffing luminaries as Gordon Ramsay and Heston Blumenthal. I also happen to think that his chocs are rather good, so you don’t just have to take their word for it.

The masterclass was not only an opportunity to see Gerard at work, but was also a window into the world of quality versus not-so-quality chocolate. Gerard observed that while Irish consumption of chocolate is one of the highest in Europe, we don’t necessarily have a palate for the high quality stuff. Much of what is sold here, even at the fancier end of the market, actually uses the same base chocolate from a very high volume industrial production house. So most of the chocolates we buy essentially taste the same. We are not tuned into the fact that different chocolates can actually taste different, not because they have been flavoured differently, but because they taste different in and of themselves. It was food, and chocolate, for thought.

Gerard Coleman: artisan at work

Of course, the class was not just about what kinds of chocolate we might or might not eat, but also about what other delights could be made once you had some good chocolate to work with. We watched (and occasionally pitched in to help) as Gerard, assisted by the cookery school’s ever-capable Lynda Booth, made a host of chocolate treats, from chocolate-coated ginger nougatine, dark chocolate truffles and mousse-topped chocolate cake to salted caramel and chocolate tart. We also helped to eat the results (which seemed only fair).

Gerard and Lynda also demonstrated the process of tempering, which ensures that finished chocolate has a lovely snap and sheen. Tempering does require careful temperature management during a sequence of melting, rapid cooling, and warming of the chocolate to a point where proper crystallisation of its cocoa butter is achieved. It also involves making a big, satisfying, chocolatey mess in your kitchen.

Tempering:
to achieve rapid cooling, melted chocolate is continuously spread and scraped on a cold surface;
to warm the chocolate by a degree or two, Lynda uses a heat gun, one you might more commonly use for stripping paint;

Once we had a batch of tempered chocolate at our disposal, a further sequence of pouring and scraping ensued as the chocolate was used to line individual sweet moulds which, once hardened, were filled with some of Gerard’s justifiably famous liquid salted caramel.

Making filled chocolates:
moulds are coated with a layer of tempered chocolate which can be filled once hardened, then poured with another layer of chocolate; when the tempered chocolate cools it contracts naturally and the filled chocolates should release easily from the moulds;

When you added it all up, it was rather a great deal of effort to go to in order to produce your own filled chocolates, and I did wonder vaguely if I would ever attempt it myself. That was until I saw the shiny finished chocolates drop cleanly from their mould. It was, as Lynda said, “the magic moment that makes it all worth it.”

The end result: outside it's chocolate, inside it's liquid salted caramel

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Chocolate Bread

I could have chosen to present you with liquid salted caramel or chocolate mousse or truffles or chocolate tart or any number of other sweet treats which were made during the masterclass, but this bread appealled to me as a mode of chocolate delivery that didn’t also involve adding lots of sugar.

It works very nicely (I think) toasted, buttered and eaten with your morning coffee, particularly if you have a fondness (as I do) for eating darker chocolate. The bread actually feels like a mature and sophisticated way to enjoy a chocolate hit.

For the chocolate, I used a bar with 70% cocoa solids, along with a small amount having 100% cocoa solids, which is what I happened to have.

You’ll need:

• 20g fresh yeast or 2.5 tsp active dry yeast
• 325ml warm water
• pinch of sugar
• 1 large egg yolk
• 600g strong white flour
• 60g cocoa powder
• 1.5 tsp fine salt
• 125g caster sugar
• 25g butter, softened
• 250g dark chocolate, min. 60% cocoa solids, roughly chopped
• an additional egg yolk for glazing

You’ll also need:

• One large or two smaller baking sheets to accommodate the loaves in the oven.

The Steps:

• Combine the yeast, water and a generous pinch of sugar in a bowl and set aside for 5-10 minutes until bubbly, then add in the egg yolk.
• Combine the flour, cocoa powder, salt and caster sugar in a large, warm mixing bowl and rub the butter into the flour mixture.
• Make a well in the centre of the flour and pour in the yeast mixture. Mix to form a soft dough with your hands and then incorporate the chocolate pieces. If it feels too wet and sticky, sprinkle with some more flour.
• Knead the dough on a floured surface for 8-10 minutes or until smooth and elastic, or go ahead and knead using your mixer and dough hook for about 4-5 minutes.
• Now place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl covered with clingfilm and leave to rise in a warm, draught-free area until doubled in bulk, about 2 hours.
• Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and punch back. Divide into two equal pieces and shape into rounds or ovals as you prefer. Place on a baking sheet lined with greaseproof paper or baking parchment. Cover with a damp tea towel and leave to rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
• Preheat your oven to 220C
• Beat the second egg yolk with a fork and brush over the surface of the loaves. Bake for 15 minutes, then lower the temperature to 190C and continue to bake for another 25 minutes or so, watching carefully so that the loaves don’t get scorched at the end.
• Cool on a wire rack, then slice and enjoy.

The Variations:

• The most obvious way to vary this is by varying the chocolate you add – always, of course, using a chocolate that you’d be perfectly happy to eat on its own.

The Results:

• Makes 2 small loaves

]]> http://www.thedailyspud.com/2011/06/03/chocolate-bread/feed/ 9 http://www.thedailyspud.com/2011/04/17/potato-bakewell-tart/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=potato-bakewell-tart http://www.thedailyspud.com/2011/04/17/potato-bakewell-tart/#comments Sun, 17 Apr 2011 22:53:23 +0000 Daily Spud http://www.thedailyspud.com/?p=26484

To borrow a phrase from the original super brat himself, you cannot be serious.

That was my response (and then some) to an invitation to participate in a so-called “un-potato fest”, which asks participant bloggers to spread, in a jocular fashion, the myth that potatoes are boring, in order to promote a box of (wait for it) instant stuffing mix.

I mean really, who in their right mind would ask me, of all people, to promote the supposed ability of an instant stuffing mix to heroically save us, every one, from the apparent mundanity of all things spud. A mix which, according to this post, contains, among many other things, high fructose corn syrup, MSG and a whole whack of salt. Charming.

Some, I know, will take up the call, and that’s their prerogative, of course. As for me, I’ll choose potatoes over a box of stuffing any day (but I rather suspect you knew that already). Spuds are truly versatile and sometimes even surprising beasts, as, I think, this potato bakewell tart will demonstrate.

Note: There is a print link embedded within this post, please visit this post to print it.

Potato Bakewell Tart

As with the use of mashed potato in other baked goods, the addition of potato here brings some additional moistness to the tart’s filling.

The idea for this originated with an old English recipe for potato “cheesecake” , which consists of pastry shells filled with a mixture of mashed potato, butter, sugar and nary a bit of cheese. To be honest, the original recipe really left quite a lot to be desired, so I added some egg and flour for structure and ground almonds for texture and flavour, resulting in a filling that was quite frangipane-like. From there, it seemed only natural to add a layer of jam, to make a kind of potato bakewell tart.

Do use a floury potato for the mash and have the cooked potatoes as dry as possible before mashing, as soggy mash will translate to a wetter filling. As the filling is quite moist and dense as it is, I find it works best spread in a fairly thin layer, so shallow baking tins are recommended.

For the filling:

• 100g butter
• 75g light muscovado sugar
• 2 eggs
• 100g ground almonds
• 2 tblsp plain flour
• pinch of salt
• 0.25 tsp vanilla extract
• grated rind of half a lemon
• 150g plain boiled or steamed potato, mashed, preferably using a ricer, and cooled

For the tart shells:

• approx. 300g shortcrust pastry
• 3-4 tblsp raspberry or apricot jam, warmed

You’ll also need:

• 6 loose-bottomed tartlet tins (about 10cm diameter and 1.5cm deep) or a shallow swiss roll tin, around 27cm x 18cm.

The Steps:

• Preheat the oven to 180C.
• If you’re using pastry that has been frozen, make sure that it’s fully thawed out. If you’re making your own pastry, make it first and let it rest in the fridge while you make the filling.
• Cream together the butter and sugar, using a stand mixer or food processor if you have such a thing, or a wooden spoon and elbow grease if not.
• Beat in one of the eggs, followed by half of the ground almonds, then the second egg and, finally, add in the rest of the almonds.
• Stir in the flour and salt, followed by the vanilla and lemon zest.
• Stir in the mashed potato.
• Roll out your pastry fairly thinly and line your tartlet tins (or swiss roll tin if using).
• Taking each tin in turn, spread the base of the pastry with a thin layer of jam and pour over the potato/almond filling (you should have enough to roughly half fill the tins).
• Bake for around 20 minutes or until lightly golden and firm to the touch.
• Cool on a wire rack, after which you can remove the tartlets from their individual tins or (if using a swiss roll tin) cut into individual slices.

The Variations:

• As with other frangipane-type mixtures, you could try making this with nuts other than almonds.

The Results:

• 6 x 10cm bakewell tartlets