Thursday, May 24, 2012

Speculoo rhubarb verrines

Hey there. How's the rhubarb compote coming along? Are you ready for dessert yet? Me too. Let's make that happen.

Speculoo Rhubarb Verrines
~1/2 cup rhubarb compote
3-4 Speculoos, crushed
125 grams fromage blanc (or Greek yogurt)

First, locate a clear vessel. It could be an ordinary drinking glass (like I've used here), a champagne flute, a wine glass, a custard bowl—anything that is tall enough to show off your layers and small enough to hold a reasonable portion.

Spoon half of the rhubarb compote into the bottom, followed by half of the fromage blanc. Make sure each layer goes right to the edges. Now sprinkle half of the Speculoo crumbs on top of the fromage blanc. Repeat all three layers in the same order. Et voilà, a Speculoo rhubarb verrine.

Serves 1. Multiply as needed.
 
Source: The Casual Baker.

Friday, May 18, 2012

Rhubarb compote, two ways


I'm the kind of person who goes to sleep eagerly anticipating breakfast. I've been known to begin debating the relative merits of Saturday morning pancakes/waffles/French toast over Friday morning's porridge. And on more than one occasion, after lights out, I've cheerfully exclaimed to my half-awake counterpart that "I can't wait to eat Honey Nut Cheerios tomorrow!"

Right now, for example, it's 12:33 a.m. and I'm picturing my usual oatmeal with a pink rhubarb swirl and a handful of toasted almonds. The stuff dreams are made of, I tell you.

Next time, I'll be back with a particularly delicious use for your rhubarb compote. In the meantime, don't hesitate to start stirring it into your yogurt, spreading it on toast or dreaming up other applications.

Citrus Rhubarb Compote
 500 grams rhubarb (4 medium stalks)
150-200 grams sugar (I used raw cane sugar)
1/2 lemon
1/2 lime
1/2 orange

Remove the ends of your rhubarb stalks, including all leaves. Wash each stalk thoroughly before slicing crosswise into 1-1.5 cm (0.5-inch) slices. Set aside.

In a large saucepan, combine the sugar and zest from the lemon, lime and orange. Rub the mixture together with your fingertips to release the citrus oils. Juice the three fruits and add the liquid to the sugar/zest mixture.

Heat the saucepan over medium heat, stirring periodically, until the sugar is melted. Add the chopped rhubarb, cover and simmer until soft.

If the mixture is too runny for your liking (this will depend a lot on how juicy your citrus was), use a slotted spoon to move the cooked rhubarb slices to a bowl. Increase the heat and boil the remaining liquid, uncovered, until it thickens into a sauce. Pour the sauce over the cooked rhubarb and stir carefully to combine, before setting the mixture aside to cool completely.

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Ginger Rhubarb Compote
500 grams rhubarb (4 medium stalks)
150-200 grams sugar (I used raw cane sugar)
40 grams balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon finely grated fresh ginger

Remove the ends of your rhubarb stalks, including all leaves. Wash each stalk thoroughly before slicing crosswise into 1-1.5 cm (0.5-inch) slices. Set aside.

In a large saucepan, stir together the sugar, balsamic vinegar and ginger. Heat the saucepan over medium heat, stirring periodically, until the sugar is melted. Add the chopped rhubarb, cover and simmer until soft.

If the mixture is too runny for your liking, use a slotted spoon to move the cooked rhubarb slices to a bowl. Increase the heat and boil the remaining liquid, uncovered, until it thickens into a sauce. Pour the sauce over the cooked rhubarb and stir carefully to combine, before setting the mixture aside to cool completely.

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Notes: Nine times out of ten, I'd pick the brooding ginger version over its chipper citrus cousin, but you know your taste buds best.

Sources: The Citrus Rhubarb Compote recipe is my own creation. The Ginger Rhubarb Compote is a version of the Balsamic Rhubarb Compote posted on Epicurious.com, originally published in Gourmet, April 1995.

Wednesday, May 09, 2012

A day in the life

My January 7 declaration that I would turn cakes and priorities upside down in 2012 turned out to be more prescient than anticipated.

Our visas for France were still in limbo at the time, so blogging—or rather, blogging more—was top of mind. I was envisioning relatively minor adjustments: more experimenting in the kitchen, less succumbing to the black hole that is the Internet. That was the plan, but the second the French consulate gave its stamp of approval, things went topsy turvy quickly.

A February trip to Ontario became a working vacation, a family farewell and our last stop before France. Now that we've found a flat in Paris, rearranged all of the furniture and finally finished painting...

(Let's pause for a public service announcement: Don't smoke, kids. The previous tenant was a smoker and if your lungs look half as bad as our walls did when we moved in, you're in trouble.)

...we've settled into a routine. Well, as much of a routine as you could expect from two freelancers. It's an awesome one that I'm almost afraid to share for fear that the universe will smite me or, at the very least, you'll end up hating me. Worst case: both.

Basically, take the average person's workday and turn it on its head. Are you starting to see a theme here?

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An average day in the Paris life of Starbott

9:30: Roll out of bed, with or without an alarm clock. The kid thumping around the apartment above will probably wake you up anyway. Consider showering, but opt to make breakfast in your pajamas instead.

9:42: Hot coffee.

9:45: Hot breakfast.

10:00: Make a plan for the day, then set the wheels in motion.

10:00-16:00: Alienate your North American readers (so basically all of them) by using the 24-hour clock. Execute said plan, which will include some combination of markets, parks, museums, cafés and window shopping. Total distance covered on foot: 6-12 kilometres. Total pastries consumed: 2.

16:00-16:30: In this order: Franprix for packaged things, the boulangerie for une tradition, the produce stand for fruits and vegetables (unless it was a market day), the fromagerie for (you guessed it) fromage.

16:30: Home. Fire up the computer. Think about working.

17:00-20:30: Get down to brass tacks.

20:30-21:30: Dinner.

21:30-0:00: Work. Or make tahini shortbread.

0:00-2:00: Whatevs.

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Tahini Shortbread
115 grams salted butter
100 grams white sugar
120 grams tahini, well-stirred
25 grams honey
170 grams flour
pinch of sea salt

100-150 grams semi-sweet chocolate for dipping/drizzling (optional)

In a medium bowl, beat the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Stir in the tahini and honey, mixing until the batter is smooth. Add the flour and sea salt, mixing until a dough begins to take shape. Form the dough into a rough disc and then tightly wrap it in plastic wrap. Chill until firm (at least 1 hour).

Preheat your oven to 175 degrees Celsius (350 degrees Fahrenheit) and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Break off small chunks of the chilled dough and roll them into 1-inch balls. The cookies won't spread much, so you can place them quite close together.

Bake until the cookies are lightly golden on the bottom and barely coloured on top (12-15 minutes). Cool them on the baking sheet for 10 minutes before moving them to a rack to cool completely.

Once the cookies are cool, get drizzling! Roughly chop the semi-sweet chocolate, then melt it slowly in a double boiler over barely simmering water. Dip each cookie partway in the melted chocolate or drizzle/pipe chocolate ribbons on top. Return the decorated cookies to a cooling rack until the chocolate sets.

Notes: These cookies are equally delicious with or without the chocolate. If you choose to go chocolate-less, you might try rolling the uncooked balls of dough in coarse sugar before baking.

Source: A variation on Gilded Sesame Cookies at Epicurious.com, originally published in Gourmet, December 2006.