To many people, hearing apples and honey together might bring images of autumn and the new harvest to mind, and perhaps baked apples and their irresistible aromas.  But to others, it’s a pair that is inseparable, like – and depending on where you are from – cookies and milk, steak and frites, or fish and chips.  One simply goes with the other.  As we celebrate the Jewish New Year as of sundown on Monday, September 29th, the pair is unquestionably apples and honey.  And so, a happy and healthy New Year to all, and with the traditional dipping of the apples, a most sweet New Year indeed.  L’Shanah Tovah!

Well they’re back.  And this is not the stuff of urban legends.  This is the stuff of dark chocolate lovers and those searching for high end confections.  No mixing with Coca-Cola, no exploding stomachs.  Just chocolate.  Dark chocolate meets Pop Rocks.  Granted it’s probably been done many times before, and inventive pastry chefs have most likely dabbled with these exploding candies in a recipe or two.  The brand Pop Rocks even came out with a milk chocolate bar in 2007.  But this time, there’s a serious chocolate maker at the helm, Christopher Elbow.

I first experienced Elbow’s artistry many years ago, in the form of individual chocolates with beautiful and colorful designs, encasing creative and sophisticated flavor combinations.  There was a strawberry balsamic caramel, I recall, a rosemary caramel, and another chocolate with a yuzu-infused ganache.  I have to admit that I haven’t had anything of his since then; the chocolates were only available through mail order, and the company still sells almost entirely online, save a few stores in San Francisco, Chicago and Kansas City, those lucky residents!  So when I stumbled upon a few of his chocolate bars in Food Emporium (go figure!), a New York City supermarket, I was excited to try.  I have already confessed in previous posts to my forever curiosities of new chocolate flavors, so Christopher Elbow’s were quickly added to my repertory.  

The collection of bars comes in attractive brown packaging, much more toned down than his signature pieces.  Bars are numbered from 1 to 12, with flavors including 61% dark chocolate with ground roasted coffee (no.5), 41% milk chocolate with ground roasted hazelnuts (no.10) and white chocolate with roasted cocoa nibs (no.11).  I went for no.6, Dark Rocks.  I’m sure I heard of chocolate mixed with popping candy years back, but I was never intrigued and just waved it off as a silly fad.  But here was a talented chocolatier taking a go at it.  So I went for it too.  

It resembles other classic dark chocolate bars at first glance: thin bar, glossy exterior, loud snap when you break it.  But there’s lots of little speckles all over it, especially noticeable when you break it up, perhaps easily mistaken for ingredients in a Crunch bar.  But take one bite and you’ll know it’s no Crunch bar.  Biting the chocolate adds an extra crispness to its otherwise smooth texture, and you can hear little popping sounds as you chew.  But if you let the chocolate melt slowly on your tongue, you’re in for more of the classic Pop Rocks sensations.  I was never a huge fan of these tingling special effects, and I will admit preferring my chocolate pop-free.  But it’s certainly a change from the more usual chocolates on the market, and a fun way to surprise your friends when you offer them a piece of chocolate.  

Just don’t serve them a glass of Coke with it.  Hey, you never know…

Between the adventures of Breton butter and buckwheat crêpes, comparing Kouign Amann and different styles of mussels, there was yet another beauty to be discovered during our short trip to Brittany: the landscapes along the Côte d’Emeraude (Emerald Coast).  Eugène Herpin (1860-1942), author of numerous books on the history and archaeology of Saint-Malo, invented the northern coast’s nickname, admiring the sea’s bright green color as he saw it.  We nodded our heads to him, even if we would have went with a shade a bit more blue, but nonetheless enjoyed the beautiful views off the winding coastal roads.  The granite stone houses, bright blue shutters, multitudes of fishing boats, herds of cows grazing off the sides of the roads, attractive coves and tiny harbors… all made for quite the picturesque road trip.  So enjoy the ride below, passing through Cancale, Dinard and Saint-Malo.

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“Avec du lait, rien que du lait, on obtient de la crème… Et par barrattage, lavage et mélange, du beurre.”

From milk, nothing but milk, we get cream.  And then by churning, washing and kneading, we get butter.  These words are written large and clear on the back wall of Jean-Yves Bordier’s Maison du Beurre, a bright, impeccably organized, intimate cheese and butter shop cum museum in Saint-Malo, France.  Passionate foodies are known to bring back suitcases filled with local products from their travels, even making pilgrimages to certain areas of the world to do so.  I made mine to France’s Brittany region for that simple byproduct of milk: butter.  All good things in Brittany are made with butter.  The very best are made with Beurre Bordier. (more…)

Sweet or savory?  For me, it’s no question.  I am a sweets person, with an incredible capacity for sugar, rarely reaching my max and hardly ever stopping before there is nothing but a sugar granule left on my plate.  My dentist can’t believe that I still have all of my teeth left.

When I first discovered the Kouign Amann, the strange looking word that simply means “butter cake” in Breton, I knew that I had met my match.  It was at Pierre Hermé’s boutique in Paris’ Saint Germain des Prés years back, when this small round pastry called out at me, distracting me from the rows of colorful macarons at which I was gazing.  Sitting besides pains au chocolat and brioches, it resembled a typical French pastry, but one that had fallen into a deep vat of sugar and butter, and resurfaced as a perfect specimen of caramelization.  On a bench just a few steps away at Place Saint-Sulpice, I carefully pulled away the crisp, buttery layers, my eyes growing larger and larger with every bite.  The firm caramelized outer layers, the softer sweet pastry dough inside, nary an unsweetened spot to be found.  The wonders of just butter, sugar, flour and salt!  I knew that one day I would have to go to the source.   (more…)

Stepping off the plane at the somewhat miniature airport in Rennes, in France’s northwestern most region of Brittany, I immediately inhaled as deeply as I could, expecting to literally breathe in the butter from the air.  But what I swallowed was more like manure.  The odor of livestock was unmistakable.  Instead of salted butter caramels, I got cows.  We learned shortly thereafter that the 22nd annual Salon International d’Elevage (lnternational Trade Fair for Livestock) was well under way just down the road.  This gathering of 610 cattle, 170 sheep and perhaps a few goats and horses would clearly explain the smell.  However, we had other aromas in mind – of the fresh creamy butter we’d soon be tasting and of the caramels made from it.  But at that very moment, we followed our noses to the salty smell of the sea in Cancale.

We hopped in our adorably round Peugot rent-a-car and headed north to the coast. (more…)

Once I clearly accomplished my goal of not avoiding butter, my taste buds, stomach and head were all ready for my trip tomorrow to Brittany, France.  My thoughts went to the region’s mouthwatering pastries and crêpes, sparkling cider, big, red, spiny lobsters and colorful collections of tins that I always bring back – conserved sardines, tuna and scallops.  With this last thought, I could already see my cupboards filling up by the minute.

I had one lonely can of sardines remaining from our last visit to Brittany, and I decided now was a perfect time to open it, as my stash was just about to be replenished.  

We had spent a long weekend in Le Croisic, a rugged fishing town on the Loire Atlantic coast in Southern Brittany, a good starting point for a discovery of la Côte Sauvage (France’s Wild Coast).  Fishing boats were lined up on the water, up as if in a duel against the rows of adjacent wooden houses, dating from the 15th, 16th and 17th centuries.  In between, the one-lane road blended in with café terraces, where tables were filled with people slurping mussels, devouring crêpes and sipping their ceramic bowls of cider… while others were busy filling up their shopping cart with tin cans. 

That would be me, in the Conserverie La Belle-Iloise, in awe of the walls just overflowing with different color tins. (more…)

In an attempt to prepare for my upcoming weekend in Brittany, France, I decided to abstain from butter.  The thought was, in anticipation of such a marvelously gourmand adventure savoring the joys of butter in every form, I should probably cut back now.  This seemed like an awfully responsible, and quite healthy, idea at the time.  However, my rationalization was cut short by a phone call from a friend.  I was immediately distracted when I accepted her invitation to go out for ice cream.

Back home, I was rather content after my two scoops of Mövenpick’s Espresso Croquant and Cappuccino ice cream, my regular order from which I rarely stray, and to which I do think the lady behind the counter is catching on.  The day will come when I step up and need only say grüezi, Swiss German for hello and my highly caffeinated ice cream order all in one.

My thoughts inevitably returned to my utmost respectable, yet completely unrealistic goal from earlier that day.  Looking back, it did have its merits, but was obviously – and rapidly – dismissed.  And so, with a newfound determination to not avoid butter, the only solution was… to bake.

What better to showcase butter than a most simple shortbread cookie, as the French call it, a sablé pur beurre.  Pure butter, that’s what I was going for.  You need less than a half of a dozen ingredients (recipe below), 10 minutes preparation time, and within 5 minutes into baking time, the buttery smells start wafting through your kitchen.  This was the very best solution to not avoiding butter after all!

Shortbread is really a simple equation: sugar + butter + flour.  Throw in a spatula, a pan, a fork and an oven, and you’re set.  When I make shortbread, I like to play with the recipe, adding different salts or spices, espresso powder, shaved chocolate or lemon zest.  A little powdered sugar on top or a few extra flakes of salt… the possibilities are endless.  No matter what, it is imperative to use top quality butter, one with at least 80% butterfat.  Otherwise, what’s the point really?  I decided against extra flavorings this time, yet wanted to use cornmeal for a play on texture.  The shortbread gets an added crunch and a different mouthfeel than your regular silkiness.  I liked the color too – for such a light and airy dough, bright yellow seemed like a nice match.  Also, because the dough is so weightless, no need for the mixer.  Just grab a spatula or wooden spoon and mix the ingredients together, minimum elbow grease required.

Cornmeal Shortbread

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit (150 degrees Celsius).  With a spatula, cream the butter and sugar together until light and airy.  Add the salt and cornmeal, and blend together.  Add the flour and mix until homogenous.  Put the batter into a 24 cm (9 inch) nonstick pan.  Choose the shape of your pan (round or square) according to how you plan on cutting the shortbread – in triangles or bars.  Using your hands, press down softly and push the batter to the edges, making it smooth.  Prick with a fork all over the entire surface, in any shape or form you choose.  Bake for 40 minutes, when it should have a golden tint.

Cut while still warm in pan, but leave in place.  If you wait for the shortbread to cool to do so, it will be difficult to slice and you will end up with lots of broken pieces and crumbs.  Just as tasty, but you’ll get less points for presentation.  After cutting, let cool completely.

Sprinkle fleur de sel on top.

I am a dark chocolate kind of girl. I always have been, always will be. That?s just my personal taste. I have at least two pieces of chocolate a day, and it?s just about always from a bar of at least 60% cacao. Most of the time, I add a few flakes of Maldon salt on top, but that?s a discussion for another time, and one to which I will undoubtedly return. For now, it?s my unwavering loyalty to dark chocolate.

That is, with one exception. After all, James Thurber said it best, ?There is no exception to the rule that every rule has an exception.? So my rule of eating only dark chocolate is swept under the carpet when it comes to my true love, the ever iconic, never changing, first triangular chocolate on the market in 1908? yes ladies and gentleman, I am referring to the original milk chocolate bar, Toblerone.

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If there’s one new hot shot at the market that’s causing a buzz, it’s the fresh fig from Turkey.  Up front and center on several market tables, these luscious beauties are plump and have a deep purple color, just waiting to be picked up and eaten out of hand.  

I have already been to the market several times over the past two weeks to buy a handful of these figs, each time coming home and going straight to “f” in my accordion folder of sweet recipes.  My recipe cutouts that have been waiting for years to be pulled – beautiful fig tarts, thick fig jams, recipes calling to bake, roast and grill, or turn them into a silky ice cream – all stayed put.  With figs this fresh and beautiful, they never made it past an afternoon snack, with a sweetness all on their own, almost jam-like and reminiscent of honey.  The oven stayed off, and they found themselves added to a salad, alongside prosciutto or as an accompaniment to a cheese platter.  Even though when cooked, they can become even juicier and more tender than when raw, I just couldn’t bear to actually cook them. 

Eons away from the beloved cookie, Fig Newton, fresh figs are a true delicacy, not to shy away from.  Despite the fact that they are one of the oldest cultivated fruits in the world, mentioned many times in the Bible, I would not quite call them a household fruit, rather uncommon to Americans, in fact.  Perhaps they come off as intimidating.  Could it be a result of how undeniably delicate and perishable they are?  Or could it be the sexual references often made to such a luscious fruit?  Either way, they have a unique taste and texture, and when they are perfectly ripe and ready to eat, they are simply divine.  A smooth layer of skin on the outside, the sweet, bright, ruby red flesh within and a soft crunch from the seeds.

My friends at the market gave me some advice on buying fresh figs: avoid those that are too hard; you want them to be plump and tender.  A rich deep color is best, as well as firm stems and no bruises.  A soft fragrance is a good sign too that it’s not rotten inside, because that is a disappointment to be avoided at all costs.  Because they are so perishable, it’s best to keep them only a day or two after purchasing.  But once you slice in to one, you shouldn’t have a problem with that.