Holler if you hear me, dear readers: do we really need one more food blogger waxing poetic about the vibrant bounty of summer fruits that’s out there right now? I didn’t think so. Therefore I will save you the adjectives and get to the point. Get to the market. Scoop up an armful of yellow nectarines that are just so perfect right now. Make this ice cream ASAP.
There really is nothing more delightfully “olde tymey summer” in feeling than a home-churned ice cream teeming with chunks of stone fruits at their peak. It’s a porch swings-lemonade stands-checkered tablecloths kind of greatness. And the way the cream plays off of the juicy, candy-sweet flesh of the fruit…oh, man…quintessential summer flavors, I tell you. Most of us would probably think of peaches as the classic pairing with ice cream, but when you use tender-skinned nectarines instead, you get the same sunny flavor while skipping the step of having to skin the fruit. And with the summer flying by as it is, who would argue with a cut down on prep time?
After you hunk up a bunch of farm fresh nectarines, simply cook them in water for a few minutes, add a bit of sugar, and blitz it into a chunky puree with a dreamy base of heavy and sour creams. The tang of the sour cream cuts the sweetness ever-so-slightly, and adds brilliant dimension and a clean finish to a classic flavor profile, making the frozen ice cream fantasically refreshing.
And the whole thing is really that easy, people. No egg custard making involved. Just fruit, sugar and cream, all churnin’ together and lovin’ on each other. Sound sexy? Oh, well, that’s because it is.
It’s no secret we’ve been enjoying our fair share of summer fruit desserts around here. And in this downright dreary San Francisco summer weather, it’s rarely too hot to turn on the oven to do a baked fruit dessert. But for those of you who actually see the sun and feel its rays on a regular basis all summer long like normal people, this ice cream is one of the very best ways to eat the season. It’s the perfect little button to an outdoor summer meal on a hot day. Or to help remind those of us who are perpetually fogged in that it is indeed late July.
Nectarine Ice Cream
Adapted from David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop
Makes about 1 quart
This recipe is a great way to use “dead-ripe” fruit, the super-sweet specimens full of soft spots that make eating them out of hand too messy. Resist the temptation to cut the sugar in this recipe, even if your fruit is very sweet. Though the unfrozen ice cream batter will taste almost cloyingly sweet, it will dull once the ice cream is frozen. Leaving the skins on the nectarines not only cuts down on prep time, but lends a pretty, rosy hue.
1 1/3 pounds ripe nectarines (about 4 large), pitted and cut into large chunks
1/2 cup water
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 cup sour cream
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
A squeeze of fresh lemon juice
In a medium, non-reactive saucepan over medium heat, cook the nectarines with the water until soft throughout, about 10 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, stir in the sugar, and cool to room temperature.
Place the sour cream, heavy cream, vanilla and lemon juice in a blender or food processor. Add the fruit mixture and blend until the ice cream batter is smooth but still slightly chunky.
Chill the mixture thoroughly in the refrigerator, or speed-chill it by pouring it into in an aluminum bowl set over a larger bowl full of ice and cold water, stirring often until the ice cream batter is very cold. Freeze the ice cream in your ice cream maker according to the manfacturer’s instructions.
There are a few things that give me a fair amount of anxiety in life. One is air travel. And not just the flying in the airplane part of it. It’s the whole thing–the lines, the crowds, the sweating while trying to beat the clock and lugging bags and tripping over myself. Ugh. Another personal stressor–wholly embarrassing to admit since I keep a baking blog–is Seven-Minute Frosting.
Seven minutes?! Schaa! Try seven years. Until very recently, I’ve had nothing but tragic, inexplicable failures with this frosting that is supposedly the simplest of them all. Regardless of the recipes I would try or how carefully I would follow them, no amount of whip-whip-whipping would ever make that frothy syrup spin into the billowy, glossy frosting that was promised to me. Cut to me in tears, chucking the offending liquid into the disposal and settling for a much more reliable American buttercream. Until now. I have emerged victorious over Seven-Minute Frosting, people. Boo ya!
I don’t know what happened–I didn’t do anything differently than I had in the past. But for some reason the planets recently aligned in such a way that a batch of Seven-Minute Frosting finally came together in the quick and easy way everyone always says it should. It started with an awesome cake recipe on America’s Test Kitchen (Christopher Kimball–Be Mine?) that featured my icing nemesis perched on a lovely, lemony layer cake. I scoffed. But still, I was inspired. And so into the kitchen I went, whisk attachment held high, ready to take on the flippin’ frosting that had always flippin’ alluded me. And you know what? The first batch flippin’ failed. AS PER USUAL! Gah!
BUT! The second try was a blazing success, and I stared in amazement as I watched the sugary syrup magically billow up the whisk before my very eyes. Eureka!
All of this dramatic prose to say this: it really shouldn’t be this hard for you, dear readers. Millions of bakers swear by this frosting. And unlike me, I’m sureyou won’t be ridden with a freakish inability to make this frosting happen from the get-go. I believe in you. Just bang all the ingredients into the bowl of your standing mixer (or another aluminum bowl) and set it over a saucepan of simmering water, stirring until the temperature hits 160 degrees.
Then simply put the bowl onto your mixer (or get your electric hand mixer set up), and let ‘er rip. And watch the magic happen. When it starts to look gorgeous and thick and glossy, almost like shaving cream, stop the mixer and give it a check–it should be room temperature and have a nice firm peak.
Now the world of Seven-Minute Frosting has been opened to you. If you can keep yourself and your family from eating the whole lot of it straight from the bowl with a soup spoon, the possibilities are endless. I like the modern twist of adding a bit of lemon juice when putting it on white cakes to cut the sweetness just a touch and keep the cake from being a flat, endless sea of sugar, but I’d stick to the traditional addition of vanilla extract for a nice balance with dark chocolate cakes. And glory of glories, you can torch (yessss!) the finished frosting for a genius toasted marshmallow effect on cakes of all kinds and on pies in lieu of traditional meringue.
And since I’ve put one of my (now former…for the moment, anyway) kitchen failures out there, let’s all clear the air: with what culinary demons do you wrestle? You know, those sticky wicket recipes that you can never seem to get just right. Be honest, and then we’ll do a big group hug.
Fluffy White Icing (Seven-Minute Frosting)
Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen
Makes enough to frost a 9-inch layer cake
I love including lemon juice to add a bit of dimension to this very sweet frosting–the flavor works fabulously on white or yellow cakes, especially those layered with fruit fillings. If you’re making a cake where the extra tang won’t work as well–a deep chocolate cake, for instance–simply swap out the lemon juice for an extra tablespoon of water and add a teaspoon of pure vanilla extract. In either case, use and serve this frosting as soon as possible–it does not hold well.
2 large egg whites
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup water
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
Pinch of salt
In the bowl of a standing mixer or another aluminum bowl, whisk together all of the ingredients. Place the bowl over a medium saucepan with about an inch of gently simmering water, making sure the water level doesn’t touch the bottom of the bowl. Stir the mixture constantly and check the temperature often with an instant-read thermometer until it reaches 160 degrees.
Dry off the bottom of the bowl and place it on the mixer fitted with the whisk attachment (or set up an electric hand mixer). Whip the frosting on medium speed until it becomes opaque and soft peaks form, about five minutes. Turn the mixer up to medium-high and whip until the frosting is glossy, billowy and reaches a stiff peak and cools down to room temperature, about five minutes more. Use immediately and serve as soon as possible.
“Sweet Gingered Biscuits! Now THAT’s what I call a cobbler!”
Ring a bell? Like a catchphrase from days gone by? No? Well, that’s because it’s not. But it could be heard coming from our house recently upon tasting this fabulous twist on a homespun dessert. Now, you might be thinking, cobbler, schmobbler. Had it. Like a million times. Right? And maybe you’ve had a few not-so-stellar specimens that were all gelatinous with soggy bits of dough on top, only made palatable with lots of vanilla ice cream. Snore. Weh-hel-helllll….let the cobbler enlightenment begin, my friends. Oh sure, this incarnation might start with the usual suspects–fresh blueberries tossed with sugar, cinnamon and a sparkle of lemon zest–but the revelation begins thereafter.
See, most cobbler recipes have you just layer sugared fruit into a baking dish, mix up a dough for the topping, blob the dough on top of the raw fruit and bang it into the oven just like that. Simple enough. Boy Scout camp-like cooking (just ask my husband). But that’s where most cobblers become an epic FAIL. I mean, sure, fruit, sugar, dough–what’s not to like? Well, how about mushy, steamed fruit and pale, uncooked, uncrispy dough with very little nom factor? Yeah, I thought so. But in this recipe, you cook the seasoned fruit all naked in the baking dish first before topping it with the dough. I know!
While the berries are baking all on their lonesome, mix up a simple buttermilk dropped biscuit dough with the genius addition of ginger in two forms–a dash of spicy ground and dazzling bits of crystallized.
Now, I should say here that I never was a huge fan of ginger in any form. Except for Geri Halliwell, my favorite Spice Girl by far–she’s just such a cheeky broad!–and only occasionally as a very subtle backdrop in, say, a spice cake or apple somesuch. But my palate has changed considerably in recent years, and boy am I glad I got over that ginger aversion, because it’s such a great highlighter in fresh fruit desserts of all sorts. The gingered cornmeal biscuits that top this cobbler are so fragrant and delicious that they’d make a great dish all on their own, but here the dough gets portioned off into bits and nestled into the warm, bubbling fruit.
With the berries hot underneath, the biscuits immediately begin gently cooking with steam from the bottom, keeping them tender in the center, while the dry heat of the oven from above creates a crisp, beautifully browned crust. When the filling begins to seep into the edges of the golden biscuits and bubbles up the sides of the baking dish like some crazy sexy blueberry lava, you know you’re just moments away from cobbler nirvana.
Though they may be among some of the most trying minutes of your life, please give the cobbler at least 20 minutes to just sort of hang out and cool down a little. If you lose control and spoon it out too soon, you’ll get a gush of thin, runny juice all over the place instead of something more syrupy and spoon-lickably great. Some time to rest will also bolster the flavors of the berries and the topping.
While summer berries are still at their peak, I implore you to give this one a whirl while the gettin’s good. But if you miss the mark a little, frozen berries can absolutely be used here successfully. One thing you should absolutely not miss the mark on is serving this baby with a good vanilla ice cream–it’s simply the right thing to do.
Blueberry Cobbler with Gingered Biscuits
Adapted from Baking Illustrated
To make this cobbler with frozen blueberries, use 6 cups of good quality berries (preferably wild), and thaw them in a colander set over a bowl to catch the juices. Reduce the juice over medium heat until thick and syrupy, about 10 minutes. Stir the syrup into the filling mixture before baking, and increase the baking time of the fruit to 30 minutes. Also increase the baking time when the biscuits are added to 20 to 22 minutes.
For the filling:
1/3 granulated sugar
1 tablespoon cornstarch 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Pinch of salt
6 cups fresh blueberries, washed, patted dry and picked over
1 1/2 teaspoons grated lemon zest
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
For the biscuit topping:
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons cornmeal
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon ground ginger
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1/3 cup buttermilk
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
3 tablespoons crystallized ginger, minced
Coarse sugar for sprinkling (such as sanding sugar, turbinado or demerara)
Set an oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
In a medium bowl, whisk together the sugar, cornstarch, cinnamon and salt. Add the blueberries, lemon zest and lemon juice and fold gently to combine. Pour the berries into a 9 or 10-inch glass pie plate (a square baking dish of similar size will also work well). Bake until the fruit is hot and bubbling, about 25 minutes.
While the fruit is baking, prepare the biscuit dough: In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cornmeal, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt and ground ginger. Whisk together the melted butter, buttermilk and vanilla in a small bowl. Add the wet ingredients to the dry, along with the minced crystallized ginger. Stir gently until the dough is just combined with no dry pockets. Softly pat the dough into an even disk in the bottom of the bowl, and score it into 8 equal pieces.
When the fruit is done baking, pull it from the oven and increase the oven temperature to 425 degrees. When the oven is up to temperature, Pull apart the 8 biscuits, and nestle them into the hot filling. Sprinkle the tops of the biscuits generously with coarse sugar. Bake until the filling is bubbling at the edges and the biscuits are golden brown, about 15 to 18 minutes. Allow the cobbler to cool for at least 20 minutes on a wire rack before serving.
Nearly 11 months into parenthood, and I have to say, we are on a roll over here, people. One of the biggest things for me has been balancing being on-call around the clock as a mother with carving out time to do things that keep me feeling like myself–leafing through cookbooks, puttering in the kitchen, writing, running some miles. It makes me feel alive, like seeing in Technicolor after months of sleepily trying to wade through the days and figure out this new life. And somehow it seems I’ve arrived in this new place as a bolder, brighter, sweeter version of myself, like a pile of peak-of-season cherries, sugared and zested with lemon and roasted until they glisten.
I suppose others might celebrate such great strides in personal growth with oh, say, a mini-vacation somewhere with a breezy coastline, a spa day or an extended happy hour somewhere fabulous. But since I already live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, have an awesomely huge bathtub in our new place and much prefer getting drunk at home, I hightailed it to the farmers’ market to snap up some succulent Bing cherries that called–nay, begged–to be tucked into a pillowy cherry clafoutis.
If you like really getting your hands dirty in the kitchen, then you’ll love this recipe. See, traditional clafoutis recipes call for the pits to stay in the cherries, because supposedly the pits lend a distinct almond-like flavor to dish. But since I prefer my desserts without a side of dental work, I opted for a recipe that calls for pitted cherries and a splash of almond extract instead. The pitting took some doing, but I rigged up a pitting station with a fondue fork and a beer bottle in the kitchen sink, and with The Splendid Table on the radio, it was actually kind of hypnotic, enjoyable work, listening to the cheery clink! of the pits hitting the inside of the bottle. Note to self: get out more.
After the cherries are free of their pits, they get all seasoned up with sugar, cinnamon and lemon, and head into the oven for a quick roast that transforms them into a more nectarous version of themselves, giving off intense, ambrosial juices that can be reduced to a syrup for serving with the finished dish.
If you can keep yourself from plucking the hot cherries off the baking sheet and snarfing them all right when they come out of the oven, then they’ll get doused in a simple crepe-like batter, which bakes up into a puffed, golden cloak that gently hugs the fruit.
Clafoutis is a crazy simple dish, and this interpretation is especially flavorful. If you’re feeling particularly lazy as of late or find yourself longing for a taste of summer in the dead of winter, a bag of already pitted, frozen unsweetened cherries would work pretty well in this recipe. But with fresh cherries at their peak around here, I can’t think of a better way to enjoy them while they can still be snapped up on the cheap. I think it makes a glorious summer dessert, but since it involves fruit and a pancake-like batter, cherry clafoutis is also a totally legit shoo-in for The Best Breakfast of Your Entire Life. “Enabling” is my middle name.
Roasted Cherry Clafoutis
Adapted from Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook
To cut down on prep time or to enjoy this dish when cherry season is oh-so-far away, a bag of frozen, unsweetened cherries (usually labeled “dark, sweet cherries”) can be thawed, drained and used in place of fresh cherries in this recipe. Taste the cherries before seasoning them for roasting–I cut the sugar by a little more than half from the original recipe, but you can add more to taste.
1 pound Bing cherries (or other sweet variety), stemmed and pitted
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon greated lemon zest
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
5 tablespoons sugar, divided
2 eggs, separated
2 tablespoons flour
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
1/3 cup heavy cream
1/8 teaspoon salt
Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and arrange an oven rack to the upper third of the oven. Lightly butter or spray a baking sheet and a large ceramic baking dish (like a pie plate or gratin dish) with cooking spray.
Place the cherries on the baking sheet. In a small bowl, stir together the lemon juice, zest, cinnamon and 2 tablespoons of the sugar. Toss the cherries with the seasonings on the baking sheet. Roast until the fruit is juicy, tender and fragrant, about 15 minutes. Give the pan a shake about halfway through cooking to keep the cherries from sticking to the pan. Remove the cherries from the baking sheet with a slotted spoon and transfer them to the baking dish, arranging them in a single layer. Pour any juices into a small saucepan.
Raise the oven temperature to 375 degrees.
For the clafoutis batter, with an electric mixer in a medium bowl, beat the egg whites with the salt to soft peaks. In a separate bowl, beat together the egg yolks and 3 tablespoons of sugar until well-blended, then beat in the flour, vanilla, almond extract and cream until smooth. With a rubber spatula, stir about a quarter of the beaten whites into the batter to lighten it first, then carefully fold in the remaining whites.
Pour the batter evenly over the cherries. Bake for about 20-25 minutes, until the batter has puffed and browned. During baking, reduce the reserved cherry juices to a thin syrup over medium heat. Dust the finished clafoutis with confectioners’ sugar and serve with a drizzle of the cherry syrup.
Little known fact about me: I taste words. Meaning, when I hear or read or speak a word, even non-food words, I can experience a taste with most of them, and usually feel the taste on my tongue. Most of these pairings aren’t logical (some examples: “clock”= peanuts, “quality”= oatmeal, “present”= Twizzlers), but the taste and word pairings go back for as long as I can remember. I heard this really interesting NPR interview with a guy who saw colors while eating–different flavors made him see certain colors, and it made perfect sense to me, what with my wacked-out tasting of words thing and all. Turns out these sort of sensory crossovers have a name: synesthesia. Huh! Who knew? Just add that to the list of Certifiable Things About Me.
What? Oh! Yes, my point. I made a batch of ice cream, and upon tasting, realized that it tasted a lot like what “green” tastes like to me. And in other news which makes me feel a little more normal, it was made from something that was actually green. Whew.
Even if this mention of synesthesia has you totally stumped and kind of afraid of me now, I think you’d agree that David Lebovitz’s recipe for Fresh Mint Ice Cream churns out a frozen dessert that is everything “green” should taste like. It’s invigorating, refreshing, herbal. Makes you breathe a little deeper as you’re eating it. If there was an Official Ice Cream of Spas, it would taste like this one.
It all starts with a pile (and I do mean a pile–two tightly packed cups’ worth) of fresh mint leaves. I had a charming, sizable mint plant sitting on my windowsill which inspired me to make this recipe in the first place, but after plucking it clean of its leaves, I still had to supplement the bounty with a bunch from the produce market. Steep the leaves in a pot of warm sweetened cream and milk, whisk it into a custard with some fresh eggs, and then swirl it into more cream, all the while willing yourself not to lap up the fragrant elixir straight out of the bowl.
But if you stick to your guns and the lush, minty batter actually makes it into the ice cream maker for churning, you can spin some melted bittersweet chocolate into the mix. Although I guess you’ll have to keep yourself from lapping that up too while you drizzle it in. Oh, and then–and then!– there’s the issue of having to the scrape the soft-set ice cream into another vessel for freezing. Call in Lick Prevention, people. We’ve got a situation over here.
After steeping the leaves in the warm cream, you may want to give the mixture a quick blitz with a stick blender or similar–I find this intensifies the mint flavor and bumps up the green color just a bit. Give the puree an extra run through the sieve to trap excess leafy bits, but don’t obsess about getting all the specks of leaf out of the ice cream–a few scattered throughout add character, like vanilla bean flecks.
1 cup whole milk
3/4 cup sugar
2 cups heavy cream
Pinch of salt
2 cups lightly packed fresh mint leaves (no stems)
5 large egg yolks
5 ounces bittersweet chocolate (bar chocolate, not chips), finely chopped
In a small saucepan, warm the milk, sugar, 1 cup of the cream and the salt over medium heat–do not let it boil. Remove the pan from the heat. Plunge the mint leaves into warm cream mixture and let it steep for at least one hour at room temperature.
Taste the resulting mint-infused cream–if the mint flavor and green color isn’t as intense as you’d like, puree the mixture with a stick blender or in a standing blender for a brief moment. Strain with a fine-mesh sieve into a medium saucepan and rinse any leafy bits from the sieve. Pour the remaining 1 cup of cream into a large bowl (aluminum will be best for speed-chilling the ice cream batter) and set the sieve on top.
Rewarm the mint cream in the saucepan. Meanwhile, whisk the egg yolks in a medium bowl. When the cream is warm to the touch, whisk it slowly into the yolks, then scrape the yolk and cream mixture back into the saucepan. Cook over medium heat, stirring often and scraping the bottom and sides of pan until the custard thickens and coats the back of the spoon. Pour the custard through the sieve into the large bowl and stir it into the cream. Chill over an ice bath, stirring constantly, about 10-15 minutes.
Begin freezing the ice cream in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Melt the chocolate in the microwave in a glass measuring cup on 50% power in 45 second bursts, stirring well after each interval, until very warm and fluid. During the last moments of churning, drizzle the melted bittersweet chocolate into the ice cream, taking care to avoid the spinning dasher. Scrape the soft-set ice cream into an airtight container, giving it an extra folding to make sure the stracciatella is mixed evenly into the ice cream. Freeze until firm.
You know what drives me crazy? When I go to a restaurant and try to order dessert and the whole pastry menu is full of savory. I mean, I appreciate a dessert menu that has more than the
options of flourless chocolate cake, some form of apple tart and a selection of gelatos. But a polenta olive oil cake with rosemary ice cream? Really? I already had dinner! I’d rather just have a Snickers bar and call it a night.
Dessert should be dessert, people. It should not be confused with other courses or meals from other parts of the day. Another example: no matter what nutritionists in womens’ magazines say, a dish of plain fruitis not sufficient for dessert. It is breakfast. I think I heard Ina Garten say once that no one remembers what you serve for dinner, but everyone remembers dessert. And if all I get is a plate of strawberries, then I am definitely remembering the time I got so depressed at the end of a meal that I stopped speaking entirely. This is just the way I usually feel. Unless–unless!!–said fruit is accompanied by a pile of etheral cookies like Cats’ Tongues. Bring on the fruit salad, sister!
This recipe comes from The Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook, and you know Alice Waters is all about fruit for dessert. But in the recipe notes for Cats’ Tongues, she mentions how she could eat an entire platter of them with a fresh peach. There ya go, Alice! I knew you had it in you, girlfriend. It was my first clue that these cookies were really something special.
It’s almost a misnomer to call these beauties “cookies”. They’re really more of a wafer, so thin and delicate they practically melt in your mouth as soon as they shatter between your teeth. The hit of almond extract and spark of ginger makes them a beautiful accompaniment to seasonal fruits of all kinds. When shaped as directed in the recipe, they really do resemble the thin curve of a cat’s tongue. Well, some of mine came out looking like that, but some in the batch also came out looking just like potato chips. And I couldn’t help but think of how awesome it would be to have a bowl full of “cookie chips” and just watch Oprah or something, definitely without fruit. But I digress.
The batter for Cats’ Tongues comes together swiftly–it’s the shaping that takes some doing. The batter needs to be spread thin in on a sheet pan with an offset spatula or the back of a teaspoon, and precision counts to achieve even baking.
I found the easiest way to get some consistency in the size and impressive thinness of the cookies was to first pipe Hershey’s Kiss-size dabs of batter (or thereabouts–you can make them whatever size and shape you want) onto the baking sheet, then spread the batter into wafer-thin submission with a spoon and a little flick of the wrist. (Tip: if you use Silpat liners, it’s extra easy to scrape up your mistakes and re-form the cookies while you get the hang of it–as if I need to give you another reason to buy Silpat if you haven’t already).
When the cookies go into the oven to bake, watch them like a hawk. Once they begin to brown at the edges, the rest of the cookie will brown all over so quickly your head with snap back (sort of an exaggeration, but just watch them closely, okay?). Pull them from the oven and immediately begin delicately pulling the cookies from the sheet and forming them into some kind of interesting curved shape that appeals to you, twist them at both ends, or drape them over a wooden spoon handle or even the grates of your cooling rack.
If you make them really big, you can even drape the warm cookies over inverted custard cups or something similar, and form them into adorable edible vessels for serving a bowl of berries that even I might actually call dessert.
Adapted from The Chez Panisse Cafe Cookbook
Watch the cookies carefully during baking after about the 6 minute mark. If you let the cookies get too brown all over before pulling them from the oven they won’t be as malleable; whereas if you pull them out a wee bit too soon, and you can’t form them all quickly enough before they start to cool and harden, you can pop them back into the oven for a moment without worrying about them over-browning.
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/3 cup sugar
2 egg whites, at room temperature
1/4 cup plus 3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/8 teaspoon almond extract
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or silicone baking liners.
In a medium bowl, beat together the butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Beat in the egg whites, then fold in the flour. Beat in the salt, vanilla, almond extract and ginger until the batter is perfectly smooth.
Scrape the batter into a piping bag fitted with a large round tip or plastic food storage bag (snip the corner of the bag with scissors after filling). Pipe the batter onto the lined baking sheets into whatever portion size you desire. Spread the batter very thinly with a vertical swipe using the back of a teaspoon or a small offset spatula. Bake for 7-10 minutes or until the edges of the cookies are golden brown. While the cookies are still warm, twist and curve them into whimsical shapes before setting them on a wire rack to cool completely. Store in an airtight container.
WARNING: If, like me, you are prone to becoming obsessed with a certain food and wanting to eat nothing but that food for many days on end, then this recipe is probably a very, very bad idea for you. Because really, it has been quite a while since I’ve come across something so addictive. It will dominate your thoughts and appetite until the only evidence of it having existed at all is a smattering of crumbs. And there you’ll stand, alone at the counter twinged with sadness, wondering where it all went and kind of not remembering that you are the one who ate it all. I give you Cookie Brittle.
Oh, you heard me right. It’s cookie. It’s brittle. It’s crunchy and sweet and a little bit salty with bits of chocolate and toasty nuts. It’s basically an entire pan of the crisp, brown-buttery, sugary edges of the very best chocolate chip cookie, aka The Best Part. I like cutting to the chase. I don’t have a lotta time to spare these days. And I certainly don’t have time to deal with Oprah-esque, Big Life Questions, like, was I really, truly living before I ate cookie brittle? I can’t be sure.
This recipe comes from a really charming cookbook called The American Country Inn Bed and Breakfast Cookbook, a collection of recipes from little B&Bs all across the country, organized by state. It’s actually a really fun read, with descriptions of each place followed by a few of the inns’ favorite recipes, and you really get an idea of the spirit of each place by the kinds of foods they offer to their guests. In the case of Cookie Brittle, our enabler/dealer is a someone named Kris associated with the Wine and Roses Country Inn in Lodi, California. And I am grateful to him/her for offering this recipe (even though the original calls for margarine). Because now I don’t have to travel all the way to Lodi to enjoy this cookie brittle–I can just make a batch of my own and eat the whole thing in the comfort of my dark closet right here at home.
You will be thrilled to learn that this gem of recipe comes together in minutes in a single bowl with a wooden spoon. Nudge it onto a sheet pan, bang it into the oven for a short bake and chain yourself to a large piece of furniture while you wait for it to cool completely (the magic is in the cooling so the brittle crisps evenly). It’s the perfect cookie recipe for lazy bakers. Broken up into cronch-y, no-napkin-required hunks and kept in a container on the counter, conditions are perfect for you to have absolutely no self-control while walking through your kitchen. I repeat, trying this recipe is a really bad idea.
Chocolate Chip Cookie Brittle
Adapted from The American Country Inn Bed and Breakfast Cookbook, Vol. 2
Try a variety of chip and nut combinations in the mix–I love bittersweet chocolate chips and cashews, but I’m thinking throwing a few butterscotch chips or shredded coconut into the mix would also be fabulous.
1 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup unsalted roasted cashews
1 cup bittersweet chocolate chips (60% cacao–I like Ghiradelli)
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and set a rack to the center position. Pour the melted butter into a large bowl, and stir in the vanilla. With a wooden spoon (or your hands, if your prefer), add the sugar, salt and flour and mix to combine–the mixture will be somewhat crumbly, like a moist pie dough. Stir in the nuts and chocolate chips. Press the mixture in a thin, even layer onto an ungreased cookie sheet (use the chocolate chips as your guide–try to get them in as close to a single layer as possible throughout the dough, and you’ll have the right thickness). You may not fill the entire sheet with the dough–that’s okay.
Bake for 23-25 minutes, until light golden brown (the edges will be a bit darker than the center). Let cool completely before breaking into whatever sized pieces you desire. Store in an airtight container at room temperature.
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