TWD: Caramel Pot de Creme

TWD stands for Thursdays with Dorie, right?

I have been doing way too much blogging for money and not enough blogging for myself lately, which: a)first world problems, anyone? and b) shut up, me. But it is disappointing and frustrating to have to put my favorite hobby on hold. I can't even remember the last time I baked a recipe I chose myself, just for the pleasure of it. Hopefully that will change soon, but for now, I am shamefully behind in posting things I've made lately.

So without further ado, here are some belated shots of this week's TWD recipe, Caramel Pot de Cremes, presented for your viewing pleasure without all that distracting chit-chat I usually throw in there.













I know I've posted about these sugar corkscrews before, but in case you've missed it and are interested:
Sugar Corkscrews recipe
Sugar Corkscrews photo tutorial
Sugar Corkscrews video tutorial

Really, they're super-simple. I made a half-batch while I waited for the pots de creme to cool enough to shoot. It took 10 minutes and 1/2 cup of sugar, and made me feel all fancy-like. Let me know if you try them!

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Chocolate Pot de Cremes, A Cure For the Common Plague

I am back from the brink. Hallelujah and high-fives all around!



For the past two weeks I've been suffering from something I not-at-all melodramatically termed "the plague," which also not-at-all resembles the actual plague, either in symptoms or severity.

Nevertheless.

It was gnarly.

My body is recovering, my drugs are doing their job, my husband is no longer forced to listen to me complain for hours at a time and then go to work and read emails with more complaining, and--most importantly--I am feeling like myself again!



Today really felt momentous. I had a full day of kitchen work planned, and instead of dragging my feet and moping around and taking breaks to photograph the progression of the plague for posterity, I was happy to be back at work. Singing to my ipod, dancing in my apron and kitchen clogs, doing endless dishes with nary a grumble.

Wait, that last part doesn't seem like me at all. Must be the plague talking.



Honestly, how could I not be happy to be back cooking, when I had these adorable chocolate pot de cremes* to greet me? Pot de creme is like a baked custard--somewhat similar in concept to pudding, but with a smooth, firm texture that comes from being thickened with egg yolks instead of cornstarch or arrowroot.

*pots de creme? pot des creme? Probably not that last one



I'm not always a custard fan, but something about these little cups hit just the right note. Their petite size means their richness isn't overwhelming, and they were barely sweetened, letting the chocolate flavor really shine through. In fact, my husband asked if there was caramel (!) or peanut butter (!!) mixed in, because they had a depth of flavor you wouldn't expect from a simple chocolate custard.



The pot de creme recipe will be on Christine of Black Cat Cooking's blog. Make it, bake it, love it. No plague required.

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DB Bakewell Tart: In Which I Abuse British-isms

This month's Daring Bakers challenge was that most English of desserts, the Bakewell tart. Jolly good! Shortbread crust, a layer of preserves, and a frangipane (almond paste) topping, all baked up nice and brown, and Bob's your uncle.

The June Daring Bakers' challenge was hosted by Jasmine of Confessions of a Cardamom Addict and Annemarie of Ambrosia and Nectar. They chose a Traditional (UK) Bakewell Tart... er... pudding that was inspired by a rich baking history dating back to the 1800's in England.
But the Barney Rubble* is, I don't really like aggressively almond desserts. You know, the ones that rely on lots of almond extract, like those almond danishes, or anything with lots of marzipan, or (sigh) this tart. And I kind of knew that going in, but I hope that through the magic of the daring bakers, my tastebuds would be transformed and I would enjoy it. Alas, the whole thing was just too almondy and fakey and, I don't know, chewy and cakey in a weird and dodgy way.
I made a custard sauce to go with the tart, because when I lived in England, it seemed like I couldn't get a dessert without custard, try as I might. Apple pie? Mandatory custard on the side. Chocolate mousse? Not complete without custard. Want a jam doughnut? Not without custard, you don't! Cup of custard? How's about a nice dollop of custard on top. Cor blimey, it was everywhere. Fortunately, vanilla custard sauce was a really nice accompaniment to this particular tart, and helped cut some of the almond flavor for me.

My absolute favorite part of this tart, though, was the homemade apricot preserves I used. The apricots were a little tart to eat on their own, which made them perfect for the jam and kept it from being too sweet. I had a little extra tart dough left over, so I made small shortbread cookies out of it, and topped them with the apricot jam. It was brilliant! So delicious.The jam was a slapdash experiment that worked perfectly, and I was chuffed to bits at how well it came out. And it couldn't be easier! This makes a little more than a cup of jam, perfect for filling this tart and nibbling on leftovers.

Apricot Jam

1 lb apricots, ripe but firm
12 oz sugar
1/4 cup honey
juice from 1/2 lemon

Pit the apricots and coarsely chop them--their skins are so thin, they do not need to be peeled. Place them in a medium saucepan over medium heat, and add the sugar, the honey, and the lemon juice. Stir until the sugar dissolves and the apricots are evenly coated.

Allow the apricots to cook and break down, stirring frequently to prevent scorching on the bottom. After a time, the mixture will start to produce an orange froth on top that bubbles vigorously. Use a spoon to skim this off the top. If you save the orange foam in a small container, it will liquify and become an amazing apricot syrup--great on french toast or pancakes!

Continue to cook the apricots until they have broken down and are at a consistency you like--for me, this was about 35-40 minutes.

*Speaking of Cockney rhyming slang, did you know "raspberry tart" is rhyming slang for "fart"? Think about THAT the next time you're blogging about a nice fresh berry tart.
...And many apologies for the wanton abuse of the English language, next post will be back to our regularly scheduled American slang.

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Tuesdays With Dorie: In Which I Invent A New Word

[Editor's Note: I've been feeling like a TWD slacker recently. Life has been so hectic, I've had to skip a week here or there, and I haven't been able to visit and comment on everyone else's blogs like I've wanted to. Apologies and air kisses all around! With vows to do better, it is onward and upward.]

I'm back in the game this week with Lemon Cup Custard...except, it's not your usual custard. Prior to making it, I read a bunch of grumbles on the TWD blog about this dessert. The consensus seemed to be that it was way too eggy, and multiple people mentioned that it was more like a flan in taste and texture. So, rather than make a disappointing custard, I decided to flan-ify it.

That's right, I made Lemon Cup Flan-Custard, or as I like to call it:

Lemon Cup Flustard!

To make a proper Flustard! (yes, the exclamation mark is mandatory) first begin with a mediocre custard recipe. Add lots of extra lemon zest and lemon emulsion (or extract) to boost the flavor and mask the egginess. Make a dark caramel and coat the inside of your ramekins with it.

Follow baking directions, while wondering what purpose the paper towel in the water bath serves. (Anyone know? Bueller?) Cover your pan with foil while it bakes, but don't take into account the fact that this might make your Flustard! bake faster. Check it after 35 minutes to find a very well-baked Flustard!, with nary a jiggling belly in sight. Assure yourself that more baking time equals more deliciousness. Since it is late at night, and nothing but glorious natural lighting will do for your precious photographs, refrigerate the Flustards! until the next day.

Unmold the Flustards! on your serving dish of choice. Take comfort in the fact that they look flan-ish, if nothing else. Although you're dying to take a bite to see how they taste, control those ants in your pants until you get a few photographs. At last, tell yourself you need a photograph of the inside "for the blog," so take a big bite of that Flustard! for professional purposes only.

...

Yes, a bit too eggy. And not very flavorful otherwise. And the texture is too rubbery, although that may have had something to do with the, uh, generous baking time provided.

Give your husband, the human garbage disposal, the remainder of the Flustard! to gauge his reaction. Observe his unimpressed look. Sigh. Comfort yourself with the fact that even though the dessert was lacking, you have added a valuable word to the English baking lexicon. Sleep the sound sleep of the victorious.

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Tuesdays with Dorie: Cinnamon Crème Brûlée

Yes, this is a story about baking. It's about crème brûlée, and how to make a fine, fine batch of cinnamon-flavored custard. But mostly it's a love story. I am speaking, of course, about the love between a girl and her brand-spankin-new Bernzomatic Fat Boy propane blow torch.

Because, you see, there is only one true way to make the caramelized sugar on top of crème brûlée, and it ain't with an oven. No, my friends, you need the fierce flicker of flame that only a blow torch can provide. True, I did not believe at first--couldn't I just take Dorie's advice and place my sugar-topped custards in an ice bath under a broiler, and all would be well? Or what about the other cheater's option of making a caramel in a saucepan and then pouring it on top? Couldn't I be content with these other methods?

But then I realized that I was passing up a prime opportunity to buy yet another kitchen gadget for my already-overstuffed cabinets. "Never!" I roared. "I shall not rest until I own a kitchen torch of my very own! I shall spare no expense or effort!" Imagine, then, what a surprise it was to find a big torch for sale at my neighborhood home & garden store for $15. Glad I stuck to my principles!

Trust me, though, it was completely worth it to do this thing right. Crème brûlée, or burnt cream in English, is first made by cooking a custard base of egg yolks, milk, and cream in individual ramekins. I infused my cream with several cinnamon sticks, which provided a delicious background flavor that blended well with the vanilla in the recipe. After the custard is baked, it's refrigerated until completely cold and firm. In my case I actually made it a few days in advance and kept it well-wrapped in the refrigerator. This prolonged chilling time didn't seem to hurt the flavor or texture at all.

After the custards are totally cold, they're sprinkled with a generous heaping of sugar, and the sugar is then heated until it caramelizes--it should be quite dark, but just on the safe side of burning (no one likes the taste of black sugar!) As I mentioned above, the caramelizing is best done with a torch, although other methods will do in a pinch. If done properly and quickly enough, the custard should still be set, silky smooth, and cool, and the sugar topping has formed a warm, hard caramel shell that has to be "cracked" before you can get to the custard underneath. It is this interplay of hard and smooth, warm and cool, sweet and almost burnt, that makes crème brûlée so irresistible.

...well, to some of us anyway. I'm sadly not much of a custard person, although I did think this recipe was an excellent, excellent version of crème brûlée. I just really don't love the texture, sad to say. However, my husband adored these and ate three in quick succession. And ate the fourth a few hours later. And then was heartbroken when there wasn't any more crème brûlée available. THAT must be the sign of a good dessert!

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