Torte of Good Fortune for the New Year- Sparkle and Simplicity

The classic New Year's Eve dessert in Greece is called a Vassilopita- named for St. Vassilis (bearer of gifts), celebrated on the first day of the New Year. It's usually a tsoureki (challah)-like sweet raised cake. I love tradition, but a bread, no matter how buttery or delicious, is not a festive dessert in our household. We use the ocassion to make anything grand- usually an experiment- as long as it is round, and has a coin. Last year we did a Swedish Princesstorte with homemade marzipan (green!) blanketing a pillow of whipped cream on top of spongecakes sandwiched together with raspberry jam and brushed with rum syrup. Beautiful. Messy to cut.

This year's Vasilopita is also messy to cut. You won't mind- it is delicious. We made a trial so I could share it with you here. We sometimes have disagreements about tradition- this beautiful cake is showered with pomegranate seeds- bearers of good luck. The fruit is a symbol of good fortune for the New Year, and so this untraditional nod towards tradition makes a delicious and stunningly beautiful compromise. It is also very very simple.

We made a meringue shell. Then from the egg yolks left over- a classic creme patisserie, to be lightened later with whipped cream (this makes something called a creme chibouste- light and rich and a fine in everything and also fine in a goblet all by itself. If quality had a flavor, it would be this.) The top is heaped with the dazzling ruby seeds of good-luck pomegranates. It is several steps, but they are each simple, and can be done whenever it suits you best.

First the meringue- We will need:

4 egg whites

200 g/ 1 C sugar

a dash of vinegar

a pinch of salt

non-stick baking paper

Separate the eggs and set the yolks aside (putting them in a jar, covering them with milk, and storing in the refrigerator).

Beat the whites with an electric mixer until foamy, add the salt and vinegar, and continue beating, adding the sugar spoonful by spoonful, until the meringue s glossy and dense.

Line a baking sheet with the non-stick parchment. Mound the meringue into the middle, and, using your serving tray as a guide, spread it into as large a circle as the tray will accommodate, leaving a well in the middle and deep thick sides to hold in the cream and the fruit. We did not use a pastry bag for formal perfection but rather just a spoon, touching the surface and pulling u sharply to make spikes like a sea anemone- a fanciful Chihuly-inspired form to hold the glassy rubies that will fill the center. This took about 30 seconds, and was quite fun. if it for New Years, slipped a clean and foil-wrapped coin into the thick side and cover any trace it it.

A meringue does not bake so much as simply dry. Put it in the oven at a mere 90 C/ 200 F, or even lower of you have a dry day and plenty of patience. Leave it there until is is entirely dry on the surface and most importantly on the bottom, so it can be safely removed from the paper. This will take more than an hour, and maybe two. use the removable bottom of a tart pan to lift it safely and place it on a tray out of harm's way.

Make a creme patisserie of the yolks, Let chill, then lighten with 200 ml/ C heavy cream, whipped stiff, to make a creme chibouste.

Now we are ready to assemble and need only the pomegranate seeds- probably from two large fruits. They are an intricate fruit- thousands of ruby seeds in in clusters, separated by webs of membranes. 

This easy trick frees them:

Fill a large bowl half full of water. Make a cut in a pomegranate, put it under the water and pull it apart:

Loosen the seeds from the white part with your fingertips; they will sink to the bottom and the membranes and outer shell will float- skim them off, fill the bowl with fresh water, and run your hands gently through the seeds to loosen the rest of the membrane. Skim these from the water's surface also, and drain the seeds in a wire strainer until completely dry.

A few hours before serving, assemble the dessert by piling the creme chibouste into the center, and covering the top thoroughly with a thick layer of the glittering seeds.

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The Austro-Greque Pavlova

Are the fruits even more succulent this season than in years past? They have stilled ingenuity, silenced conversation. Perfection can be so stifling. We could be baking pies but instead we just gaze, awe struck. At our most ambitious, we make grand arrangements on silver platters and pick from them while reclining languidly on couches, late Roman empire-style. Or we just eat them over the sink.

Finally, a kilo of apricots that were a little tart appeared, waking a little ambition. Such a sensuous season does inspire grandeur, but a grandeur that accommodates dreamy lotus-eating idleness. The Pavlova is nothing if not grand, and a little lazy, and quite economical- perfect for our efforts to let economy interfere in no way with our everyday luxuries.

To all these pluses, add that the oven will be on, but only just barely. Honestly it's so hot during apricot season anyway that you may not even notice.

The Pavlova as made by the Australians (it is their marvelous invention) is a meringue topped with fruit and whipped cream- theirs has the meringue stabilized with vinegar and corn starch. Since I  did not grow up making them this way and I have always liked how these turn out, and because I love recipes with very few ingredients, I have left them out. As to the Austrians? No one has more beautifully captured the apricot's affinity for chocolate. The Austrians are also good with ground nuts. As I had a handful of almonds and a chocolate bar, and some juicy but very tart Greek apricots, it seemed an ideal collaboration. 

We will need:

4 egg whites

300 g/ 1 1/2 C sugar

100 g/ 3  1/2 oz. dark chocolate, chilled

100 g/ 3 1/2 oz. almonds

dash salt

500 g/ 1 generous pound apricots

400 ml/ almost 2 C heavy cream

Break the the chocolate into pieces and pulse it in a food processor until finely ground. Do the same with the almonds plus 1/4 C of the sugar, and set aside.

Set aside another 3/4 C sugar, and beat the egg white in a clean bowl until they become foamy, then start adding the sugar by spoonfuls, beating all the while. Most meringue recipes call for beating until it holds stiff peaks. We want it to be billowy and glossy and thick, but not extra-stiff. It should be easy to fold in the chocolate and almonds without breaking the mixture down in the least.

Turn the oven to 120 c/ 250 f. Place a piece of non-stick baking paper on a pan, draw a circle almost (but not quite) as large as will fit your cake dish or tray, and mound the meringue into the center. (The meringue will swell a little in the oven, certainly gaining a couple of centimeters in diameter). Give it higher sides, an indentation in the middle. It's a proverbial piece of cake to shape it with a spoon.

Bake it for about an hour, until the bottom is dry and it can be lifted from the paper carefully. It is delicious still soft in the center. Keep it on the paper until you are ready to assemble it.

Meanwhile, use some of the remaining sugar to take the sour tang from the apricots.The meringue is quite sweet; it is good to balance that sweetness but also to be aware that the sweet meringue will be a contrast to the tart fruit- too sparing with the sugar, and the fruit could seem sour by comparison. As in all things, let taste guide you.

Demararra sugar is delicious.
White is fine too.

The fruit will bathe itself in its syrupy juices as the sugar melts and draws them out. About an hour before serving, whip the cream, adding just enough sugar to brighten the taste, and stopping short of stiff peaks- we will need it soft. The usual assembly is to pile the fruit and its juices onto the meringue, and to crown it with the cream. The very dry surface of the meringue absorbs moisture beautifully. But cream and meringue is a gentler combination- let the meringue be softened by the softly whipped cream, rather than the tangy juices of the fruit. Spread on half, pile the fruit gently into the center, and frame this with the rest of the cream, mounding it in a ring around the fruit. The apricots glow like a jewel with this treatment, and the cream makes a soft layer of flavor, a welcome creamy barrier between the juice and tang and the sweet dry crispness. 

Play a few hands of cards before you serve it- don't be in haste. It is a mess to dish out after a two or three hours, but the meringue (not unlike a corset) will make for an elegant presentation until you make the first slice. Once it is cut into, collapsing on itself so airy and creamy and juicy and crisp, it is so delicious that no one will mind at all. 

Fit for a Queen.
Even on a peasant budget.

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Candy Bar Meringues

Some dishes are born as a mere afterthought- aqua cotta, watermelon rind chutney, and often any kind of meringue anything. When making a batch of egg-yolk rich hand rolled pasta (as we did this weekend), three egg whites are left over. Happily that's just enough for a pavlova, some macaroons, or a few playful, over-sized soft centered tender meringues. Nothing against sugar, but a plain meringue by its nature is terribly sweet- that's whey they are nicer in pavlova, tempered by tangy fruit and rich whipped cream, than they are on their own. Reduce the sugar in meringues, and they simply turn into a slightly sweet tan-colored baked tough and soggy egg-white omelette (I have made lots of these). They are so wonderful for their texture- crisp and shattering and, if you like, tender in the middle. And their size- they are so airy that giant ones are delightful. The firm, shiny meringue is also a joy to shape- all pristine perfectly piped refinement, or casual billowy mounds.

The perfect foil to the airiness and almost deafening sweetness? Rich, salty peanuts, ground into a coarse dust, and some golden toasted dried coconut. I stirred in as much as the batter would take, and the meringues kept their beguiling loft as the sugar percentage plummeted (about 17 g per now very substantial and satisfying meringue- not counting the chocolate coating- just as much as you need to turn an espresso at a bar in Rome into a foamy coffee syrup shot, and who given the chance has not done that?).

We will need:

3 egg whites

150 g/ 3/4 C sugar

dash vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla (homemade here)

100 g/ about 1 C roasted salted skinless peanuts, coarsely ground

75 g/ about 1 C dried coconut, toasted until golden if you like

200 g/ 7 oz. dark or milk chocolate, as you like.

Put the peanuts in a small food processor and pulse until they are as you like- finely chopped to ground.

In a large bowl, beat the three egg whites until foamy. Add a dash of vinegar (it helps them keep their height), and keep beating until glossy and dense, adding sugar just a spoonful at a time as you beat. Fold in the ground nuts and the coconut.

Of course you could make these any size, but a mammoth dessert-sized meringue looks very festive. Mound the batter on the baking paper, leaving a little space as they like to swell:

and bake at 170 C/325 F (hot for a meringue- but we want them to crisp up on the outside while keeping the inside soft, not dry them completely as for the classic meringue). As soon as the bottoms are just barely dry enough to be gently lifted without breaking, they are ready- let them rest out of the oven to firm up before peeling them from the paper. These took about 45 minutes. 

Melt the chocolate. It's worth taking a little care to temper it informally. Try this: melt 2/3 of the chocolate (warm but not hot), then add the remaining solid third and stir constantly. The agitation and the solid chocolate should encourage it to form the right kind of crystals as it sets. This makes for a shiny, firm surface. Dip the meringues into the chocolate half way, and drizzle as you like. A solid chocolate surface on part of the meringue gives them a familiar "candy bar" feel as you bite through it to the salty crunchy tender interior. I served them on nice plates, an enormous single-serving-not-at-all-too-sweet candy bar, light as a wispy cloud, a dark and bitter espresso on the side

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Hazelnut Dacquoise- An Impromptu Birthday Cake

Much later than I ought to have- I started out to make an impromptu birthday cake for a friend. Our baking pantry usually vacillates between 'comforting' and 'truly paranoid'- never fewer than a dozen packs of butter in the freezer, nor fewer than 3 kilos of dark chocolate, plus some milk and some white, 2 or 3 bags of every type of sugar (white, light brown, dark brown, and a coarse demarara), flours, oats, etc. and lots of nuts in glass jars in the freezer (the glass protects them from absorbing other aromas- they stay delicious and fresh tasting this way). In early January, it is a different story. I had powdered egg whites (for uncooked frostings), sugar, a carton of heavy cream lingering in the back of the refrigerator, and a chocolate bar from a Christmas stocking. Surprisingly, a jar of hazelnuts was in the freezer.

As it turned out, I couldn't have planned it better if I tried. This cake had everything going for it- light, rich, creamy, crisp, ethereal, substantial, rich with hazelnuts, and that mere 100 g of chocolate made the very most of itself- powdered in a blender and strewn on top, it filled the mouth first thing, a teasing hint of bitter.

Here is how it came together- 

We'll need:

4 egg whites (or reconstituted powdered whites to make the same amount)

200 g/ 1 1/2 C hazelnuts

200 g/ 1 C sugar

dash salt

dash vinegar

400 ml//scant 2 C heavy cream

a little vanilla or rum

30 ml/ 2 T brown sugar

100 g/ 3.5 oz dark chocolate, grated

First, to remove their skins and give them a rich taste, roast the hazelnuts in a 170 c/ 350 f oven, for about ten minutes. Be careful- hazelnuts darken from the inside out- you will need to open one and taste it to see if it is as toasted as you'd like. Put the hot nuts into a clean kitchen towel and give them a good rub- nearly all the skins will come off the is way, and the bit that remains will add welcome flecks of color to announce the hazelnuts' taste:

Just gather the nuts with your hands and leave the skins behind,
shaking them through your fingers.

Put the nuts in the food processor with half of the sugar:

The granulated sugar helps them grind up finer
with less processing than they would alone

and pulse them until they are as fine as you can get but- importantly- before they start to release their oils and turn into hazelnut butter. Oils will deflate the meringue they will be folded into.

Coarse is quite nice- their texture is very welcome.

Meanwhile, prepare the meringue by whipping the whites until foamy, adding the dash of salt and the dash of vinegar (helps stabilize the whites to reach their fullest volume), then beating until soft peaks form. From this point, add the remaining 100 g/ 1/2 C sugar, a spoonful at a time, beating all the while, until they are stiff and glossy:

Now stir in the ground hazelnuts and sugar:

Folding something dry into meringue is simple- it will not deflate as it does when combining it with a heavier batter.

If you are taking this somewhere, it's great to have a box- the meringues can be basically any size and shape you like. Using the cake cardboard as a stencil, I simply drew a circle directly onto the parchment. Meringue expands a little- so made a round well within the circle, then did the same with the remaining half of the meringue on another lined baking sheet. They went into the oven at just 120 c/ 240 f:

When the meringues are entirely dry on the outside and lift easily off the paper, remove them, and beat the cream:

400 ml/ scant 2 C heavy cream

2-3 spoons brown or white sugar

rum, whiskey, or vanilla to taste

Whip until it holds a soft peak.

Just heap half of the cream onto one of the meringues, top with the other, and top with the remaining cream. 

Grate a chocolate bar in the blender:

This makes the most of it- you get a big fluffy mound out of that 100 g bar.

Toss it over the top of the cake:

And voila!

This needs at least an hour to let the cream soften the meringue enough to cut into servings. An overnight in the refrigerator transforms it into a single unified airy creamy confection with just a whisper of its original crispness. Nice either way.

By all means use the recipe, but more gun is to note the flexible natures of meringues and nuts and cream, and experiment from there. You really can't go wrong,

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