TWD: Chocolate Biscotti

I grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, and first moved down to southern California to go to college. I was adamant that northern California (or "NorCal," for the obnoxious) was the superior side of the state, and I would never devolve into a southern California beach bum who wore cutoffs everywhere, read Us Weekly like it was Tolstoy and--worst of all--said "the 101" and "the 5" when talking about freeways.

Well, against my best predictions, I've lived in southern California for more than 11 years now, with seven of those years spent in Los Angeles itself. I still miss the Bay Area (and have dreams of living there, as soon as I obtain and then kill off a rich great-uncle so I can afford the real estate) but LA now feels like home as well.

I get annoyed when people make huge LA generalizations, like it's "so superficial" or "nobody in LA is actually from LA." The very fact that I defend it so stridently gives away my deep love for this crazy, complex, maddening, amazing city.

Right about now, you're probably wondering what this has to do with biscotti. Patience, pet.



I had a lot to learn when I first moved to LA, and these are things no movie or 90210 episode will teach you. I learned to always tell distances in minutes, not miles. I learned that no job is worth a soul-crushing commute to the Westside, and that the appropriate attitude during a celebrity sighting is casual disdain. And I learned about LA's seasons.

Oh ho ho, people from other parts of the country will sniff that "LA doesn't even have seasons," but they are absolutely wrong. We have Santa Ana season, the time in September and October where the hot winds blow west and whole mountain ranges combust in flames that last for weeks. We have that one freaky week that always happens in January or February where it's suddenly 90 degrees and folks take to sunbathing on the roofs.

And, best of all, we have May gray and June gloom, two delicious months when the marine layer hangs over the city like a shroud and doesn't burn off until the afternoon. I'm sure it's baffling and disappointing to tourists who come in the summertime expecting blazing sunshine and instead get overcast gray mornings, but I love it. It's the last pocket of civility before it gets blazing hot for four straight months, and I lap it up like a saucer of milk.

We are in the thick of June gloom right now, and every morning when I pad out to our living room and look out the balcony window, I see the San Gabriel mountains obscured by mist and palm trees barely peeking out of the fog. It makes me happy. It makes me want to sit by a fireplace and drink hot chocolate with pillowy whipped cream.

And that is why, in the middle of June, when much of the rest of the country is already sweltering, I, a resident of sunny southern California, enjoyed my chocolate biscotti with a big mug of hot cocoa.



These biscotti were richly chocolatey, with pockets of melted dark chocolate chunks and toasted almonds. They were perfect for dunking in hot chocolate and shoveling from mug to mouth just before they disintegrated from the heat and moisture.



But just as June gloom cannot be avoided, so too it cannot last forever. Soon--hopefully not this week, but quite possibly next--it will be sunny and warm when I first wake up, only to get sunnier and warmer with each passing day. Uch--that thought gives me the willies.

But even though I can't keep the sun away, I can figure out other ways to keep cool.



If hot chocolate's not in the cards, these biscotti are also great crumbled over a bowl of ice cream. You're looking at rich, creamy, calorie-riffic Haagen Daaz caramel ice cream with a little biscotti sidekick. Add some fresh berries, and the heat suddenly seems bearable.



Here's one final thing no one told me about LA: the jacarandas. These stunning trees bloom twice a year and paper our city with a thick layer of purple petals. My street is having a purple party and it makes me happy every time I see it. Oh, Los Angeles.



Jacque has the chocolate biscotti recipe and some great step-by-step directions on her blog. Check it out!

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A Tale of Two Tarts

Lately I've been making a lot of Monets.

No, I haven't taken up impressionist painting. I mean "Monets" in the Clueless sense of the word. Desserts that look amazing, but upon closer inspection--or tasting--leave something to be desired. This is tragic for a number of reasons--wasted hours and ingredients, for instance--but the biggest disappointment is that I'm left with pictures that I love, and a lackluster recipe to go with it. I couldn't possibly post the duds, right?

But then I thought, wait. Why should delicious desserts have all the fun? Shouldn't there be a place in our blogging world for the runners-up, the wannabes, the mediocre Monets? Of course!

I present A Tale of Two Tarts.

First up: Fresh Fig Tart with Rosemary Cornmeal Crust and Lemon Mascarpone Cream

As Dickens so eloquently wrote, it was the best of tarts, it was the worst of tarts. It was the tastiest of toppings, it was the grossest of crusts and fillings. A true literary and culinary genius, that Chuck Dickens.


I was gifted with a bounty of fresh figs, and after eating about a pound of them straight from the bag, decided to turn them into a tart. I don't always love the pulpy texture of cooked figs, so I decided to make a tart that used fresh figs instead. This recipe seemed perfect. The unique crust recipe called for fresh rosemary and cornmeal, and the filling was a mix of mascarpone cream, sour cream, and lemon zest. Fresh figs were sliced on top and finished with a light glaze.


I don't want to totally pan this recipe because I think it has potential. The crust was way too savory for me. I felt like I should scrape out the cream and serve it with chili. I think the idea of adding rosemary is good, but next time I would add some chopped rosemary to a traditional pate sucree recipe, to get the flavor without sacrificing a tender pastry. The cream was also a problem. I used homemade mascarpone, which was a bit stiffer than store-bought, so I had to work it to loosen it and it ended up breaking. Completely my fault, but it still wasn't so appetizing to have curdled cream inside a taco shell-esque crust, topped by fresh figs. Uh, yum?

Tart the second: David Lebovitz's Chez Panisse Almond Tart


My very first pastry job was at a bakery where we made a very similar almond tart, so I had all sorts of warm snuggly nostalgic feelings as I was making this tart. There's something comforting about the simplicity of a buttery crust, crunchy almonds, and chewy, creamy caramel holding it all together. What could go wrong?


Well, you could overbake the tart, for one thing. Make sure you forget to set the timer and lose track of how long it's been in the oven. Then grow paranoid that it's underbaked and you'll be serving raw tart to your guests (yes, you've invited guests to "enjoy" this tart) so bake it an extra 10 minutes, for good luck.

Then serve the tart with honey-vanilla ice cream, preferably on top of each slice, so the cold ice cream can make the caramel harden and become impossible to cut or bite through. Now sit back and watch your guests try their hardest to gracefully eat their slices.


Neither one of these recipes was a true disaster, and I do think that I'll make them again. I'm older, wiser, and know not to follow the cornmeal crust recipe, or overwork my mascarpone, or lose track of the time the almond tart has been in the oven. I mean, tarts this beautiful deserve to taste as good as they look, right?

Coming up next: mini tarts that are total Baldwins.*

*I fear the Clueless lexicon is perhaps not entirely appropriate for food writing.

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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: Chocolate Amaretti Torte

Today on Wild Culinary Kingdom, we study the elusive Amaretti cookie. Amaretti cookies, being naturally shy, are difficult to spot in the wild. Their endangered status makes them a rare sighting indeed, especially in the bustling metropolis of Los Angeles. If you are lucky enough to find one, approach it with caution, and do not make any sudden moves or loud noises. Once you are within touching distance, quickly reach out and grab the cookie package, and purchase it immediately. You will find that these rare Italian cookies make a truly wonderful chocolate torte.
Yes, this week's recipe was my first introduction to amaretti cookies. I traveled many a frustrating mile looking for a store that sells them, finally ending up at a random Italian deli in Burbank that carried not one, not two, but a half-dozen different brands. I decided to shell out the big bucks for the pricier, but recommended, Lazzaroni brand. I can't say how they compare to other amaretti, but I will say that they have a really strong almond flavor and a great crunchy texture. I didn't particularly like them on their own, but I certainly liked what they added to the cake!

This cake was, as promised, very fast to prepare. Just a few minutes in the food processor was all it took to bring the batter together. Because it was so slim, the baking time was fast, and even the process of glazing and decorating only took a few minutes.
It doesn't have the showiness of a towering layer cake, but I think this thin, sleek cake has a certain sophistication of its own. I especially loved how shiny the glaze was, giving the top a mirror finish that really enhanced the photos. This cake is still in the running towards becoming America's. Next. Top. Dessert.

I finished the top with a sprinkling of gold luster dust. I've been dying to get some gold leaf to decorate my chocolate cakes with (love that effect) but I can never bring myself to pay for it. Newsflash: gold leaf is seriously expensive! Go figure.
And the taste! I was afraid it would be way too almondy, as the cookies had almost an overpowering almond (or almond extract) taste. But I thought the balance between chocolate and almond was actually quite nice. The texture was dense and silky smooth, not too fudgy or sticky, just like a good flourless chocolate cake should be. Next time I might serve it with more whipped cream on the side, to lighten it a bit, but overall it was just about perfect.

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Tuesdays with Dorie: Pear Almond Tart

Oh, YUM. This week's TWD recipe, a Pear Almond Tart, was chosen by Dorie herself, so I was already planning on saying nice things about it, even if I didn't like it. Fortunately, the tart was fabulous, so I don't even have to lie. Bonus!

This particular tart is pretty common in bakeries--I've made a version of this at most of my bakery jobs in the past. A sweet tart shell is filled with almond cream, topped with sliced poached (or canned) pears, and baked until set. Although canned pears are an option in the recipe, I couldn't bear to use them. I actually got as far as opening the can, but they were just so...shrimpy and pathetic. Like, half the size of normal pear halves! No tart of mine can have limp, stunted pears!

Instead, I poached some fresh pears in a simple syrup, flavored with big chunks of orange. I actually did two batches, and to the second batch, I added big handfuls of blackberries, to give the pears a gorgeous red color. All the extra fruit in the simmering syrup also helped to give the pears a fruitier aroma, which was awesome because my supermarket pears were a little low in the flavor department.

I admit to being initially baffled by the pear slicing-and-arranging instructions. Fortunately the internet schooled me, and I think this is how it's supposed to look. Before reading the tips from other folks, I was planning on slicing the pears and fanning them out over the entire top of the tart, which would have looked okay too. But I do like the look of this design.
The tart was pretty easy to throw together, although it wasn't exactly fast. Between making the dough and almond cream, the dough chilling, then pre-baking, and the poaching of the pears (which took me more like 50 minutes, as opposed to 15) it was definitely a multi-hour project, although the actual work time was probably under an hour.

So how was it? Well, let me put it this way: see that tart slice below? The one that's about 1/5th of the entire 9-inch tart? I ate the whole thing in one go. Standing up. With my bare hands. Right after I took these photos, which I rushed through at the end because I really wanted to taste it. So, yeah. It was okay.

Actually, it was fantastic! The almond flavor in the crust and the cream (helped by a touch of almond extract) was perfectly paired with the light pear (and hint of citrus) flavor of the fruit. The supple fruit, soft cream, crispy crust...yes. Perfection indeed. This is also a good example of a dessert I probably wouldn't have chosen to make myself (because I am so predictably chocolate-focused) but that I enjoyed immensely. So props to Dorie for choosing a great recipe, and double props for writing a great recipe!

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