38 Years Chocolate Mousse

Eggs, cream, sugar...chocolate. Mousse.

It was a rather manic Saturday morning, in my head. Dead bananas on the counter top. Frozen brownies. A cake dome, empty. Sunday we were to cook dinner, an anniversary dinner. Roberto's parents, 38 years.

Caffeinated coffee makes them nervous. Sweet tooth...not really. It had to be light in body, dense in flavor, and ultimately just a taste.

I found a recipe for chocolate mousse in Joy of Cooking. Roberto had the idea to put the mousse into espresso mugs. We'd whip some cream for the top and sprinkle with cocoa powder. A cappuccino, if you like.

My memory...

My memory tells me that I prepped all of the ingredients, one by one. Grouped. The first group included 6 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, 2 tablespoons water and 1 teaspoon vanilla. I had to melt all of this, double boiler like. This was then set aside to cool while I invested much elbow grease (with the help of Roberto) to group two...3 egg yolks...this is where it gets blurry...I know there was a bit of water and sugar. We had to whisk this vigorously, double boiler like, until, as the recipe states '...the consistency of marshmallow sauce'. We both had no clue as to what a marshmallow sauce consistency-wise might be. Instinct ultimately dictated. Sort of thick, but not overly.

I whisked the egg yolk mixture in with the melted chocolate mixture (group two to group one—if you're following along).

At this point, and with much elbow relief, I enlisted the help of KitchenAid. Group three, 3 room temperature egg whites whipped until soft peaks. The addition of 1/4 teaspoon cream of tarter. Not one to use cream of tarter very often, needless to say it was expired. November 2008. However, we did use it and it appeared to be in fine working order. 1/4 cup sugar was added gradually as the whipping arm further peaked the egg whites into condition.

Group three was then added to the combined groups of one and two...folded, ever so gently.

A quick wash and rinse of the bowl and whisk attachment. In went group four, 1/2 cup chilled heavy cream. Whipped to within an inch, just to that point of creamy perfection.

Group four was then added to the combined groups of one, two and three...folded, ever so gently.

With a ziplock baggy, filled with chocolate mousse, the tip cut off, Roberto piped clouds into waiting espresso cups which were then transferred to the fridge to chill overnight.

The next day, after a feast of raw oysters on the half shell, arancini, olives and cheese...baked ziti (yes, more baked pasta)...followed up with tilapia filets, homemade french fries (fish and chips) and a mixed green salad, we enjoyed our mock mousse cappuccino's alongside our ever so real espresso's.

It was such a treat. One with which we cannot wait to repeat for more friends and family over the holiday season.

In retrospect I think group two included 2 tablespoons water and 1 tablespoon sugar to the 3 egg yolks...sometimes I feel as if I'm dredging the bottom of the ocean, 20 thousand feet down. I can see what I used, but it's a bit murky and cluttered with bits of this and that.

However, I did enjoy this exercise. Recall. Although, not as much as eating the finished product.

Later...Turns out it was 3 egg yolks, 3 tablespoons water, 3 tablespoons sugar.

Bolognese

The remaining leaves are holding on for dear life. Clinging to the branches. Birds are cowering in nests. Gray clouds loom high, rolling and menacing, looking for a place to perch, to release their final wrath. The sun, it's streaming and it summons a look from my eyes out the window every now and then. Threatening that it will go away if I do not pay attention. I'm paying attention. It's playing hide and seek.

The kitchen is quiet. I've just finished re purposing the bolognese leftovers we received yesterday from across the street. Our Thanksgiving was one of egg fettuccine with bolognese. The bolognese flecked with carrot and celery. Hidden, but fragrant, the bacon. A peppering of nutmeg. A nice thank you very much of wine. Onion, ground meat and luxuriously silky heavy cream.

There was quite a bit left over. A mound in a bowl with a spoon doesn't do it justice. Perhaps if I had taken a picture of the re purposed jar we carried it home in, one whose capacity is of mega-quarts. The lovingly prepared bolognese staking it's place at the bottom, filling it up almost halfway. Halfway is quite a bit. For all that I used to make a nice Pyrex dish worth of rigatoni with bologense (to be baked) for dinner, well you'd think that I would have made a dent. I suppose I did, it just wasn't that evident when I was putting everything back into the fridge.

About three quarters of a pound of rigatoni boiled in a salt bath for about 7 minutes or so. Just until it was almost al dente. Once drained and transferred to a large mixing bowl I added in heaping spoonful after heaping spoonful of the leftover bolognese. Stirring and stirring until it reached what I call sheer poetry. The meat was entwined with the rigatoni, it was coated with a most ample helping of Parmesan and the lightest dusting of fine seasoned breadcrumbs.

I've looked away from the window for far too long. The sun is getting ornery. I've just seen a plain. It's heading for home. Sleepy travelers with no leftovers to double-stuff themselves will numbly fight their way into holiday shoppers traffic motorcade. Poor souls. I hope they have pasta in their pantry. Definitely garlic, shallot and crushed red pepper. How can they not have some nice extra virgin olive oil? If they have all of these things they can make themselves a nice plate of pasta. Enjoy a nice glass or two of wine. I hope they can then shuffle over to their sofa, warm up inside of a nice blanket and fall asleep reading a really good book.

We, Roberto and I, will eat our baked rigatoni with leftover bolognese. We'll follow it with a mixed green salad and slices of rustic Italian bread...oh, I should roast some garlic to spread. Then, lupini, a buttery yellow legume which is prerequisite this time of year. We're almost finished the jar Roberto's mother gave us. We'll be needing more. We really must make our own batch. Perhaps before Christmas I'll share the process. The endless days of soaking process that produces the fit to eat, lupini. So good mixed with a healthy dose of fine salt. It's a treasure. But, you have to know how to extract the lupini from it's overcoat. Knowing how to eat lupini makes me feel Italian, it really does.

I've gone on and on about the lupini. Clementines. Beautiful, elvish in stature, sweet. So fragrant. We'll peel one or two after the lupini. We'll have to keep nursing a nice glass of wine all the while, though. That is also prerequisite.

Oh well, the sun isn't playing anymore. She's tired. It's getting ever close to sunset.

I can't wait for dinner...I hope we have enough bread.

Seconds

Warm in the sun, crisp in the shade. A sunny Sunday in late November. I had just gotten home from the market. Milk, bread, eggs, and oranges. I made pancakes and coffee with warm milk. Perhaps it was the smell of butter on the griddle or the dark roast percolating...maybe it was the bright sun pushing its way through the bedroom shades. Whatever it was, it wasn't long before Roberto appeared.

We spent Sunday supper at home. Rare and practically last minute. We managed. We managed very well, indeed. Our fridge rewarded us with a bounty of leftovers and just enoughs to create a zucchini, mushroom, and mozzarella baked pasta. Even the pasta was leftovers and just enoughs. A nice mix of penne and rotini. 'Kitchen sink pasta' Roberto said.

While I milled the tomatoes for the sauce, Roberto threw the zucchini and mushrooms into a pan to sauté. Simply extra virgin olive oil, salt and pepper.

Roberto measured out the pasta

I diced the mozzarella.

Roberto stirred the sauce.

I pulled the baking dish from our kitchens underbelly and rinsed it for good measure.

Roberto filled the pasta pot with water.

I stirred the sauce.

It was a kitchen square dance.

We took one final taste of the sauce and pronounced it ready. The water at this point was boiling, so in went the pasta. It wouldn't be long. Just before al dente is what we were going for.

I turned on the oven, 375°.

When the pasta was ready, we drained and transferred to the baking dish which already held a nice layer of sauce. Roberto stirred well. I threw in the vegetables. Roberto added in more sauce. I threw in the cheese (mozzarella and parmesan). We topped with a sprinkling of parsley and fine breadcrumbs.

While the pasta baked, we readied the broccoli for secondi. A nice sauté of blanched florets in extra virgin olive oil with garlic slivers, salt and pepper. Eaten with warmed ciabatta.

We made just enough to both enjoy seconds, but sadly we only have enough for one bowl each tonight. Poor us, we say.

It was delicious. It really was. 'We need to do this more often' I said.

And the light streaming into the kitchen...it was beautiful. :)

Zuppa di Patate, Rucola, e Pane

I love the smell of garlic and clementines on my fingers. It permeates and lingers. It was late morning when I decided to take a break from my computer. My car, in the shop. I was working from home. Actually, I really was. I was also doing laundry and prepping for dinner. The day before I had made one final attempt to find arugula. I don't know why it was so difficult, but it was. Ultimately I ended up with a blend of arugula and spinach, a compromise.

I took a break shortly before lunch. I gave the greens a good wash, diced the potatoes and bread, prepped the garlic, extra virgin olive oil and crushed red pepper.

Everything was measured out. I'm so specific at times, but only to a point. For instance, I used only four cloves of garlic instead of the six suggested. As mentioned earlier, I couldn't find all of the arugula I needed, so I had to supplement with spinach. Then there's the matter of the cheese. Freshly grated pecorino. We only have parmesan presently.

But, I couldn't let myself get sidetracked by the details. 

Besides, I was terribly hungry. There's something about the smell of garlic that sparks my appetite. The act of chopping and measuring, sparks as well. So, needless to say, lunch came early.

When I went back up to my computer, to finish what I had started, the garlic, the clementines, they lingered. With one hand on my mouse, I kept sneaking, inhaling, the delicate perfume on my fingers.

When 5 o'clock neared I closed out of what had consumed me for the better part of the day and went down to start the soup. It's interesting, this soup. The photo in Lidia's Italian Table was beautiful. I realize that her soup was styled and in doing so, I think they may have strayed from the reality of the finished soup just a bit. Lidia's version looked dryer, in fact it looked compiled. Almost as if nothing had cooked together. A food stylist, out of desperation and exhaustion must have demanded that in order for the soup to look correct, it need not be soupy, but almost stew-like.

As I recreated Lidia's masterpiece, Zuppa di Patate, Rucola, e Pane, I frowned a bit. 'There's no way' I thought. The ratio of water to solids, it wasn't adding up, but I pressed on. I resuscitated. I wasn't about to let this defeat me.

I poured five cups of water into the pot, added the diced potatoes (3/4 lb baking potato—about two) and salted the water. As this came up to a boil I chopped the spinach and arugula into ribbons of peppery green bites.

I gleaned a teaspoonful of the potato water to assess the salt and adjusted.

When the potatoes were cooked (it took about 15 minutes) I did the unthinkable, I mashed them in the pot. This wasn't called for at all. Once mashed, I added in about 8 cups of chopped arugula and spinach and 1/2 cup of diced day old italian bread, crust removed. As this boiled, for another 10 minutes, in a small saucepan I heated the extra virgin olive oil (about 1/4 cup), garlic (about 4 cloves—minced and pulverized) and crushed red pepper (a hefty pinch or two—this soup packed some heat). This took only moments. I had pulverized the garlic quite a bit. I then pulled off the flame.

When the greens had finished properly wilting, I added in the heated olive oil, garlic and crushed red pepper.

Going by the recipe, this should have been it. The finished soup. But, I had already mashed the potatoes in the pot, perhaps that's why the arugula and spinach seemed to float around like wet socks in the wash cycle. This wouldn't do at all. It didn't look at all well. Sickly, actually. Anemic. So, I did the only thing I could do to revive, resuscitate once again, I milled.

Finally, once milled, the soup resembled something worthy of heated bowl, small pasta (I added in a silly little De Cecco number called gnocchetti sardi) and our undivided attention.

The resulting soup was a pesto of sorts, thickened with potato, bread and pasta starch. Delightfully peppery from the arugula and spinach and startlingly hot from the crushed red pepper. Heat, fragrance and flavor from the garlic. It was a very nice soup. Very nice, indeed.

I ladled. We topped with parmesan. We ate.

I can't see making this soup any other way now. The milled version seemed so much more inviting to the both of us. In fact, probably the best thing I could do next go round, a bit of crispy pork, a nice bacon, perhaps some crunchy cubes of bread saturated with a nice fruity extra virgin olive oil and parmesan for garnish.

In addition to smelling, chopping, just being around food, the act of writing about it sparks the appetite even more.

I was once told by the president of marketing for the company I work for, my boss, that parenthetical text denoted something negative. I certainly hope not, for I have used it quite a bit here today. I'd like to think of it as a nestled thought.

Torta di Zucchini

I'll admit to a fair amount of sleepiness this morning, despite a good nights rest. I think it's reflected in the photos, the ones of the finished cake, zucchini cake, that is.

I made the cake yesterday, late afternoon, as Roberto recuperated from a mid-morning dermatological surgery. It was inevitable, the baking. The process was comforting, but at moments taxing. I was already sleepy, you see. Stress does that, it shocks the mind and body. I suffered the aftershocks throughout most of the afternoon into the evening. Aching joints, headache, and finally the battle to stay awake as we watched some tv before bed.

I recall at the last Charm City Cookbook Club gathering being asked which cookbook I go back to again and again. Lately it seems to be Lidia's Italian Table. I didn't realize it until yesterday when I reached for it first thing in the morning, before the days stress has strengthened its grip. I immediately went to the soup section, followed by sweets. I had it in my head that I'd make Zuppa di Patate, Rucola, e Pane (bread, potato, and arugula soup), but my mid-afternoon trip to the market left me void of arugula. Zucchini was plentiful, though. So, I gathered about 5 medium. Two went into the cake, while another was added to marinara which we ate with ditalini. Spoon fed comfort.

The cake took about 1 hour, 30 minutes to bake, when it should have only taken 1 hour, 10 minutes. Longer than I had hoped. I guess I should have squeezed out a little more liquid from the zucchini...No matter. The cake was still incredibly moist, yet fully cooked when I pulled it to a rack to cool on the counter.

I was smitten with the end result last night as we indulged over espresso. Even more so this morning eaten with a smear of peanut butter with coffee and clementine.

The recipe was sensible and no-nonsense, but I must admit that I changed one ingredient. I felt that the extra virgin olive oil it called for would exact to much personal commentary over the finished piece, so I changed it to canola.

'It's good!' Roberto yelled from the living room where his foot lay propped upon a mound of pillows on the sofa, his body interacting with the pain meds, staving off the pain.

I brought our espressos to the coffee table...'I could never be a waitress' I said walking slow and steady across the tiled floor. Panicking slightly, hoping that clumsy would take holiday.

I set down the espressos without incident and took a bite of the cake. There's such sweet relief when it turns out. I can relax and enjoy. Better yet, I can have confidence that Roberto is enjoying it as well. His opinion is all that matters as far as I'm concerned. My own discerning in-house food critic.

When we were finished, our bellies retiring, the sleepiness mounted. I was flush with happiness though. I knew I would sleep well and better still, more cake in the morning for breakfast.

Torta di Zucchini

from Lidia's Italian Table

Whisk together 2 cups unbleached all purpose flour with 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon, 1 teaspoon salt and 1 teaspoon baking soda and set aside.

In your stand mixer, beat together 3 large eggs, 2 teaspoons vanilla and one cup extra virgin olive oil or canola until well blended.

Add 1 2/3 cups sugar and beat until well blended.

Add in dry ingredients and beat until well blended.

Add in 2 cups grated zucchini (drained of excess water), 1 cup chopped walnuts, 3/4 cup golden raisins and the grated zest of one lemon. Beat until everything looks blended, but don't over beat. You can also fold these ingredients in, if you like.

Transfer batter to a greased and floured 9x5x3 inch loaf pan and bake in a 325° oven for about 1 hour, 10 minutes. If the cake is still moist continue to bake in 10 minute intervals.

Cool completely before slicing and eating...if you can...we couldn't.

Soupe au Pistou

Julie had charged the group with picking recipes from Daniel Boulud's Café Boulud Cookbook for November's Charm City Cookbook Club. Not having this cookbook, but having a great appreciation and fondness for French food, I opted to purchase a copy. Amazon came through with a listing for a used copy, priced at just $13.

With the course assignment made, my individual charge, soup. So, leave it to me to find the one soup in the book that ended up being a French version of minestrone, Soupe au Pistou. To be quite honest, it wasn't an accident that I picked this particular soup. I had a motive, you see...I didn't want to have to blend or puree anything. So, it was a happy accident, this soup, '...(it's minestrone's cousin)...', as chef Boulud says in his introduction to the recipe. The girl who wanted to cook French, cooked French, but with much Italian relief, so to speak.

I arrived at Julie's house first. Once there, I followed her to the kitchen which resides in the basement. I didn't find this out of the ordinary at all. There are many basement kitchens scattered around Baltimore, canning kitchens. Fondly, it reminded me of AbFab and the entire night I felt as if I had fallen into an Eddy-like trance, always in the way, spinning around haphazardly and even once stepping on Annabelle, Julie's dog. Sweeeeetteeeeee...

I had my mise en place. Hours before I had prepped while watching Pepin and Child on public television. Each 1/2 inch diced vegetable in its own individual sandwich bag. Everything measured out precisely and grouped in order of use. I had even stored the diced Yukon in it's own water filled container to prevent discoloration. The pesto, pistou, pre-pestled with the addition of pine nuts. As chef Boulud says '...I love the body and richness that a few ground nuts bring to this soup.' I couldn't agree more.

So, with one spice sachet, one bouquet garni and six cups of vegetable stock in waiting I started Soupe au Pistou. 

Julie's range is massive. The photo above does not do its size justice. Burner after burner with a warming tray and side by side ovens, what a treat. More than enough real estate for everyone to do their thing. I hung out on the front left, it turned out to be the perfect burner for this soup.

Sauté celery, onion, leek and garlic in extra virgin olive oil.

Salt and pepper.

Sachet and garni with six cups vegetable stock.

Simmer...taste...adjust seasoning.

Yukon and carrot.

Simmer...taste...adjust seasoning.

Haricots verts.

Simmer...taste...adjust seasoning.

Chickpeas and zucchini.

Simmer...taste...adjust seasoning.

Plum tomatoes.

Discard sachet and garni.

Turn off burner.

Bowls were readied, I ladled the soup. The final touch, a dollop of pesto. Carefully, the bowls were brought to the table and we ladies sat down to eat. I stirred the pesto into the soup and tasted. Sweet relief, it tasted good, really good.

With my nerves finally settled and my belly warmed and prepped for the next course, I relaxed...Edwina Monsoon-like, of course. Drinking sometimes like fish and being a constant physical nuisance. :)

Freckled Soup

I appear to be on a soup jag.

It's such a comforting, get you through, sort of meal. A subtle warming from the inside out. Washing over your insides, every pore exhales with steamy exhaustion. The body collapses into it. Soup.

With one lonely, and dare I say atrophied leek, along with what amounted to 1/2 pound of baby Yukon and reds just chilling in the crisper, I had a base for our second Sunday supper.

Our poor crisper drawer, it's heavy with foster care for rogue potatoes, blemished carrots, limp celery and aging parsnips. A packed house. Just next door, the onion drawer. Reds, yellows and shallots, rumbling around like tumbleweeds in solitary confinement.

Somehow we have two bunches of Italian parsley, both in fair condition. Plenty of garlic...never an issue.

'You know what freckles are, don't you?'

I shake my head no.

'They're angel kisses.'

I had pigtails and freckles. My pop-pop-Bill, grandmother's second husband, was explaining to me what freckles were. I adored him. He always had the bar set up in the kitchen. Ready to serve mixed drinks to my parents and cho-cha-cholaaaa (coca-cola) to all the grand kids. A veteran of the National Bohemian Brewing company in Baltimore, their crisper drawer was always filled with Natty-Boh.

I was a little girl. I'm not sure I believed in angels, but for some reason, then and now, I find the thought endearing...just because.

As I peppered the soup and dumped in a good bit of chopped parsley I thought of freckles.

So, rather matter of fact, like Nigella, I got on with it. The making of it, that is. Here's how it went...

A serious quantity of olive oil, followed by a rustic half inch dice of two stalks celery, one small yellow onion and one very tired and lonely leek, white part only, poured into the pot. I turned on the heat to a nice hesitant flame which gave me ample time to extract and chop the most enormous clove (all appearances were that of Siamese twins) of garlic I could find lumbering inside the refrigerator door.

After the garlic was added, I gently simmered until things were looking translucent and vulnerable. In went approximately 5 cups of chicken stock. Once that came up to a boil I added in the potato and cranked up the flame to a nice gentle roll and waited for ten minutes. Stirring here and there.

After ten minutes the soup was ready. Is it a given that I salt and peppered to taste? I hope so. Salt is essential, as is pepper. The two are a match and turn up the volume on any dish they care to regulate.

With food processor I whirred and pulsed in many tiny batches and returned the now pureed soup to the stove top.

'You want some soup?' I asked.

'Maybe. I was thinking cereal. Just a little something to get me through the rest of the night.' Said he.

'I'm having soup.' Said I.

And so it went, we both had soup. But it goes without saying that Roberto had a little cereal later in the evening as well.* In addition, Roberto's aunt Ida's cookies. They are beyond description. Absolutely nothing like them. A cake like cookie, rectangular, a hint of sugar, maybe a trace of vanilla, butter. They're absolutely perfect for sopping up what's left of the cereal milk if one is inclined.

*Roberto was, but found out most unexpectedly that the milk had turned.

With enough soup left for Monday's dinner, we'll add some pastina. It will take the edge off of Monday and settle our frazzled work-week-nerves as we push closer to Tuesday.

Freckled Potato Leek Soup

You'll need:

1 leek (white part only)

1 small yellow onion

1 stalk celery (equal to 1/2 cup)

1 clove garlic (large)

1/2 pound baby Yukon

5 cups chicken stock

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Salt

Pepper

Coat pot with a generous amount of olive oil. Dice leek, onion and celery into 1/2 inch pieces and add to pot. Lastly, add chopped garlic. Simmer over low flame until translucent. About 10 minutes.

Add 5 cups chicken stock and bring to boil.

Add diced baby Yukon (again, 1/2 inch dice) to pot and bring to boil. Let cook at a gentle boil for about 10 minutes.

Salt and pepper along the way.

Turn off flame when potatoes are fully cooked. Throw in chopped parsley. Let soup cool slightly before processing. After processing return soup to pot and reheat. Check for salt. Serve and eat.