Rainbow-Striped Cookies- All-Out Va-Voom (Because Sometimes, Less is a Bore.)

Sometimes, flash is inverse proportion of deliciousness.
Not in this case.

The first time I went to Ferrara's on Mulberry street in Little Italy I was dazzled- a dazzled seven year old, a dazzled seven year old who wanted to go back with money- so I did. I've never been casual about pastry, and when I ordered a half pound of assorted cookies, I expected to select them individually. My mouth was still open in a gasp as the counter guy gruffly handed me a white paper bag. Happily, some of these were inside.

Since then, on and off but mostly on, I looked for a recipe. Much of this time was pre-internet so that meant library and bookstore searching of indexes of all Italian cookbooks and all pastry cookbooks. It turned out to be a curiously elusive recipe for a ubiquitous (in Manhattan) cookie. Then, in 1999, the holiday issue of Gourmet comes out and these are in it, just like any regular recipe- not one you've been seeking for nearly 2 decades- no fanfare, no nothing.

Especially if these are unfamiliar, their gently kitschy appearance could be off-putting. But during the holidays, there's room for a little more va-voom. (After all, who would you rather have baking your Holiday cookies- Mies van der Rohe, or Robert Venturi?).

I won't say these aren't a bit of a project. But they are quite a bit less difficult than they appear, and you end up with a lot of cookies, a lot. And they are rich and dense and they do not spoil or dry out, and they freeze like a dream. And they are not a bit tricky or tempermental or delicate. The ingredients are a little pricey, so you want to be confident they are worthwhile. Oh my they are- you can taste the expense. There is nothing humble about these little Zsa Zsa Gabors of the cookie tray- it's all delicious, over-the-top glamour.

There's some assembly required- but, like the ingredients, you can taste the effort too.

We'll need:
- a food processor

-2 big bowls, or a standing mixer and one extra bowl and a hand mixer.

-A couple of thin cutting boards or the removable bottoms of tart pans, for moving the cakes around.

-3 pans of 22 x 32 c, (9" x 13") I used pans of a similar size- 25 x 28 cm- and only 2- I re-used the first pan.

-Non-stick parchment

-a couple of spatulas

-3 smallish bowls (for tinting the divided batter)

And the ingredients:

200 g/ 7 oz/ 1 C *almond paste

200 g/ 1 C sugar (if your almond paste is store bought and quite sweet, use a little less sugar)

340 g/12 oz butter

10 ml/ 2 tsp. almond extract

pinch/ 1/4 tsp. salt

4 eggs- separated

240 g/ 2 C flour

about 300 g/ one regular jar raspberry jam

200 g/9 oz dark chocolate.  

*I made my own version by moistening ground almonds (almond meal) with egg white until it formed a paste. This has the advantage of being as (un)sweet as you like- I added just a bit of powdered sugar.

Line your pans with non-stick parchment, and then oil it lightly to be on the safe side. Heat up the oven to 180 c/375 f.

Process the almond paste and sugar together in the food processor so that there are no lumps of paste (it can sometimes be dry if you have not made your own), and add the butter. Keep beating until it is light and fluffy- It's a heavy batter and it's hard to keep much air in it at all, but we can try. Beat in the 4 egg yolks as well, along with the salt and the almond extract, then add the flour:

In a separate bowl with clean beaters, beat the 4 egg whites until fluffy but not too stiff:

Keep them soft- if they get too stiff or dry they are difficult to fold in.

Now fold them into the batter. Don't worry- this isn't going to look like it's going all that well. Conventionally, the method for lighting a batter with beaten egg whites is to incorporate about a third of the whites into the batter to lighten it, them gently fold in the rest. But our batter here is so stiff and so dense and heavy that this is not happening- I used a wire whisk to blend them in, and indeed the batter was a little lighter:

Try to make sure no streaks of white remain.

A soft hand with the whisk and slow, thorough strokes keep it light. Essentially we are making three very, very thin cakes. Dividing the batter evenly is very helpful. Measure it out amongst three bowls- weighing the batter of this does not seem like overkill- or at least use a measuring cup. If you come out short on one batch, it is hard to spread it in the pan. Leave one bowl golden, tint one bowl a yummy pink (gently, just a drop or two at first- the batter takes color quite easily), and another bowl a pistachio green. 

Now we can bake the first layer. Spreading the batter in the pans is the trickiest part- the batter is thick and heavy and sticky, and the paper slides around under it as you're trying to spread it. The good news is, you don't need to do a very good job:

This gives you an idea of how very little batter
there is to spread in the pan.

Distributing the batter here and there in the pan makes it easier.

Now put the first one in the oven on the middle rack, and bake 8-11 minutes, until it takes on just the barest color in a few spots:

Don't worry- the color is not washed out at all-
it is all vividly there under the surface.

As I had only 2 pans, I removed the first cake, together with its paper (very carefully), and used the same pan for the last cake to go in. As they are so thin, they will cool almost immediately. Using thin cutting boards or the bottoms of tart pans to support them and keep them from cracking, flip them over, and peel off the baking paper. Start with the green layer and flip it back over, top side up, and spread it with half of the jam, as evenly as you can. Then lay the golden layer over this, spread it with the rest of the jam, and then lay the pink layer on top. Again, with the help of a cutting board or the bottom of a tart pan, wrap the whole block in plastic wrap, leaving none of it exposed. Put a pan on top of it to keep it flat, and weigh the pan down with a couple of cans of tomatoes. This allows the jam to seep in and bind the layers together. After an overnight rest, it is one cohesive thing, with a rich, moist texture throughout.

Mow we can spread them with chocolate. Melt the 200 g/ 7 oz dark chocolate in a small bowl in the microwave on low power or in a metal bowl over simmering water. No need to heat until all the pieces are melted- when most of them are, you can stir until it is all smooth and glossy:

Unwrap the cake carefully- again with the help of a thin cutting board or the bottom of a tart pan to move it around, and spread the melted chocolate over the top (pink layer on top is traditional):

As soon as it just barely starts to set, score the top so you will be able to cut it without breaking the chocolate. Good to work quickly- once it begins to set, it sets quite fast, First score a straight line right at the edge so you can trim them for neatness, then determine how wide you would like them to be- 5 cm/ 2 " is nice- and score it that way first, then, divide those in half, and from there score the thickness you would like- about the width of a finger. Using the score marks, simple cut them into rows and then individual cookies with a sharp knife.

Given how moist and rich these are, I would imagine they have an excellent shelf life, but I don't think there has ever been an opportunity to test this. Happily this makes plenty of cookies- enough for sharing. I got about 80 out of my batch. Of course all cookies are good with espresso, but with all the rich almond paste, these are especially so.

More holiday color:

Hand tinted sugars customize your holiday palette

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Eggplant Parmigiana- That's Amore

There is a type of ravenous longing hunger that can be quenched (so much the right word for this thirsty kind of hunger) only with red sauce Italian. When I say red sauce Italian, I mean Little Italy Italian, North Shore Italian- American Italian- the Italian I grew up with before the introduction into the American culinary vernacular of the more chic "Northern" Italian dishes- their subtlety failing to, to... quench.

'When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine',
well then you must be having eggplant paremsan for lunch.

You'd think a hot bubbling casserole of zesty tomato sauce, fried (deep fried) eggplants, and quite a bit of bubbling milky-tasting mozzarella (the cheap kind- not the kind in liquid) would be just too heavy for a hot, damp summer afternoon promising a thunderstorm. But consider- this is a dish conceived in a hot country, to make the most of the bounty of a hot season, and- oh my- does it ever! It is supremely satisfying, curiously delicate if prepared with some finesse, just a little sweet like the sauce on a slice at Stromboli off of First Avenue, and not a bit heavy.

As they say, truth has no 'versions' 

Our Parmesan here is truly like any other- and that's really the beauty of it. The dish, though not at all complicated, does involve a number of steps- the making of the sauce, the slicing and salting and rinsing of the eggplant slices, their breading and frying, and assembling the whole tempting thing and topping it with a white shower of shredded cheese. So as to not be overwhelmed with pans and bowls and so on, you could do the sauce before. One reason this particular eggplant parmesan is pleasingly delicate is that I took the trouble (no trouble really- it was a pleasure) of making a fresh sauce-the most obvious use of the plentiful tomatoes of July.

Of course there's no need to use those photogenic tomatoes like you get for a caprese. I use the sacks of tomatoes of jumbled size and ripeness that can be had so for so little towards the end of market day. Fresh tomato sauce is less red, less heavy, and where the sauce of canned tomatoes has that nice edge of tang, this has an even nicer edge of sweetness. Even after a good simmer, it is still both thinner and lighter, so we can use lots and lots of it without upsetting the balance of our dish. So, as much as the eggplant slices absorb it, there will still be some sauce pooling around the tender eggplant on your plate.

We'll need:

10 to 15 tomatoes

4 garlic cloves

2 large eggplants

3 eggs 

1 C flour

2 C breadcrumbs

fresh basil

salt

a little freshly grated parmesan

200 g/7 oz dry style mozarella

2 cups of olive oil, maybe more

For the sauce:

Grate the tomatoes on the large holes of a standing grater into a bowl, and discard the skins (or save them for a quick bright vegetable broth)- You'll want a couple of liters- this goes much quicker than it sounds, and is pleasant light work.

When the tomatoes are ready (but not before as you'll risk burning it) saute three or four thinly sliced garlic cloves until they take just a bit of golden color, and add the tomatoes. Salt gently- it will cook down and get progressively saltier. We'll season the sauce with fresh basil when we compose the dish, so there's no need for anything else save the plenty of garlic and the judicious salting.

Let it take on a bit of color- don't to be too subtle.

So this doesn't take long at all but you'll be glad to get it out of the way what with the grater and the bowl and the cutting board and the pot. The eggplant preparation, though not difficult, commands a lot of space. Getting the sauce taken care of in advance does much in the way of averting incipient chaos- the very last mood you want near a shallow pan of sizzling oil.

Now the eggplants-

Slice three or four eggplants into slabs about a half cm thick (less than a quarter inch). In their thinness lies much of the delicacy of the dish. Much thinner than this and perhaps they'll tear though. Place them on a tray and salt them on each side and leave them to release a bit of their moisture.

As the eggplant slices sit, get out three large shallow bowls. One will hold flour, one will hold beaten eggs (you'll probably need three) and one will hold bread crumbs (I had some from the "Dinner Candy" day), plenty of them. As you do, heat a couple centimeters of olive oil in a skillet.

Now this next bit may seem like a lot of work, but actually it's just a lot of bowls.

Rinse your eggplant slices and give them a gentle squeeze. Dredge one in flour:

then in the beaten egg:

and lastly in the bread crumbs:

It works beautifully- the flour sticks evenly to the naked eggplant, the beaten egg in turn clings to the flour, and the crumbs to egg. A thin but sturdy and intact crust is all over the slice, sealing in the moisture and making clean, spatter-free work of the frying. This three-layer breading makes a substantial crust that holds up very well in the oven, absorbing the sauce to become a layer of tender resistance.

Shake the slice over the bowl and slip into the rather hot oil you have ready in a shallow skillet:

Fry until golden on the one side, then turn and do the other, then let them rest on some paper towels as you continue:

Two eggplants should fill three or four skillets. It could be that towards the third batch, the oil gets smoky on account of the little bits of crumb falling off and starting to burn. The oil could develop an off taste from this, and the subsequent batches turn out blacker than you'd like. I changed the oil after the third batch, wiping the pan out with a paper towel to make sure no bits of crumb were clinging to the sides. 

Cover the bottom of a large baking dish with some of the fresh sauce, and lay the slices of eggplant over it- overlapping them if you must but not stacking them. Cover these with some shredded basil leaves, and then more sauce, about this much:

See the sweet slices of garlic in the sauce?

The breading absorbs quite a bit of sauce- make sure you use enough. Then dust it with some freshly grated parmesan, like this:

And then the shredded mozzarella, making sure to not use too much- you should see plenty of sauce peeking through:

A lacy blanket of shredded cheese lets the dish breathe.

Remember it's a thin dish- just the one layer of those wispy eggplant slices. There'll be plenty of cheese in each mouthful- too much would make a heavy blanket and weigh down our surprisingly delicate lunch. If it goes into the oven (170C/350F) while the sauce and the eggplant slices are still warm, it won't need but 20 minutes to look like this:

Just enough time to have a cool shower, pour some wine, and fix your play list. Mine most unabashedly includes Dean Martin.

Most happily, so does the soundtrack of Fading Gigolo, a film which, like this dish, for me has all the innocence and sweetness of the New York I grew up in. Try this too, and this.

Perfect for July.

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