big dirt garden

I’ve sort of become the default cook for family gatherings. I like to cook, I generally have more time than others to cook, and it gives me an excuse to be in the kitchen. Which, for an introvert, is perfect for avoiding some of the inevitable small talk.

‘How’s the weather? How’s the job? How’s your pet iguana? Were you and Iggy selected to appear on the new show My Pet Haz Mad Skillz? etc…’ You know, the surface level conversations you have when you see someone once a year. I’ve never been the sort to eagerly regurgitate the happenings of the last year to say, my long-lost third cousin, who I know is just as bored with my “stories” and I am with theirs. This is going of on a very weird personal tangent so time to focus.

One year, my mom’s boyfriend decided he would cook Christmas dinner. Yes, this made me sort of twitchy, but did allow for some more engaging conversations because I wasn’t cooking!

Crème brulée was the featured dessert. Now, crème brulée is my mom’s absolute favorite dessert. She loves it and will rhapsodize about the various crème brulées that have been presented before her. So when her boyfriend announced that it would be the feature, I was looking forward to it. I assumed that with a crème brulée fanatic in the house, he knew what he was doing.

Well let’s just say it was not crème brulée. Not even close. It was closer to flan. Because it was flan. From a box. I typically have an aversion to most foods in the gelatin category. It’s a texture thing. Just jiggly and downright off-putting. It was a poor sad crème brulée impostor.

So when I run across recipes for flan or its closest boring cousin, panna cotta, I simply keep moving. I tend to lump the aforementioned desserts into two categories: flan and panna cotta in the jiggly category; crème brulée and pots de crème in the smooth and luscious category.

Last week when was flipping through the new issue of Bon Appetit, I saw a beautiful picture of a Pink Peppercorn Panna Cotta and my heart sank. Or it jiggled. Or whatever. But, here’s where I tried to get creative. I really wanted to play with some pink peppercorns. I decided to make a pots de crème with those sexy, hot pink orbs.

Pink peppercorns have a musky floral and yes, peppery smell. So rather than using sugar to sweeten my version of the pots de crème, I wanted to use honey, as honey is also very floral. I also wanted the peppercorns to be the star and any other base flavor seemed like it would steal the show.

Turns out the two paired well together. When served with the macerated cherries originally called for in the panna cotta recipe, it tasted great, only jiggly when I took it out of the oven. Actually the first time I took them out of the oven they were far from being done and I feared disaster. But by cooking them a litte longer and patiently waiting for the right amount of jiggle, they turned out wonderful.

Pink Peppercorn Pots de Crème
2 cups heavy cream
1 T. peppercorns crushed
6 egg yolks
1/2 c. honey

Macerated Cherries
6 oz. cherries, pitted and halved
1 T. sugar
one large pinch freshly ground black pepper

Heat oven to 300 degrees. Pour cream into small saucepan. Heat cream until steam rises. Turn off heat, add the crushed peppercorns. Cover pan and let steep for 10 to 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, whisk together egg yolks and honey in a large bowl. When the cream is ready, stir in about 1/4 of the cream into the egg yolk and honey mixture to temper. Slowly add in the rest of the cream to combine. Strain the final mixture into a pitcher. I scraped out some of the peppercorn flecks to add them back into the mixture. Or I could have used a strainer with a little larger holes.

Pour mixture into 6-6 ounce ramekins and place ramekins in a baking dish; fill dish with water to reach halfway up the side of the ramekins. Cover with foil. Bake 45-50 minutes, or until center is barely set or jiggly (e.g. flan-like). The pots de crème will set up as they cool, becoming more solid and smooth.

Remove from oven and chill for a few hours to set. Serve with macerated cherries. About 20 minutes before serving, remove the pots de crème from the refrigerator. Combine the ingredients for the cherries in a separate bowl and let the mixture sit while the pots lose a bit of their chill. Serve with some of the cherries spooned on top.

When I get a craving for a milkshake, there are two milkshakes in Austin that vie for my attention. And yes, I will gladly pay $5 for either.

That’s a pretty fucking good milkshake. I don’t know if it’s worth five dollars but it’s pretty fucking good. -Vincent Vega, Pulp Fiction

The first is the Chocolate Peanut Butter shake at Alamo Drafthouse. Rich and simply enormous, this shake is indulgence four times over. The second is the Roasted Banana & Brown Sugar shake at 24 Diner. I know I saw a recipe within the last few months for this shake in either Bon Appetit or Food and Wine. A cursory online search yielded no recipe but I’ll keep looking and update if I find it.

So when I ran across a recipe for a Roasted Banana & Brown Sugar popsicle in Fany Gerson’s Book, Paletas, I was intrigued. Yet, procuring popsicle molds continued to prove difficult. Everyone in Austin was making popsicles except for me! Every store that I tried was sold out. But thanks to a generous loan from a friend, I was able to press on.

The recipe called for roasting the bananas at 400° for a while, way too long for the oven to be on. It’s still 104 degrees outside. Using the oven during the summer never used to dissuade me from cooking. This summer however, it has been too hot for too long and I fear there is still another month to go.

So I queried David Lebovitz‘s site looking for a different cooking method. Him again? Really? Yes, I know. I need to find another muse. But the search proved fruitful and he suggested sauteing the bananas in the brown sugar mixture. This took a mere five minutes and didn’t heat up the kitchen in the slightest.

After a bit of a whir in the blender with some cream, cinnamon and other goodies, I poured the mixture in the loaner molds and stuck the whole mess in the freezer. Now comes the hard part… waiting until they are ready.

When I run across some beautiful strawberries or figs in season, I dream of making a big batch of jam or preserves so I can savor those flavors in the dead of winter. Fear of poisoning myself or someone else has prevented me from doing it. There is something elusive about the whole canning process and I’ve never tried it on my own.

I’m sure my grandparents are reading this thinking… ‘What’s the big deal? We used to do this all the time. It’s just fruit and sugar. Get to canning girl!’

But last weekend I made jam! Okay truthfully… Stephanie and Kate made the jam. I attentively took notes and snapped some pics. Stephanie started her own company here in Austin making jams, jellies and preserves called Confituras. She makes a fabulous tomato jam that I will arm wrestle anyone at the farmers market who tries to take the last one. And Kate, author of the Hip Girl’s Guide to Homemaking and local influential foodie.

They had prepped some figs for the class by combining them with a bit of sugar and let them macerate overnight.

While the figs were cooking, Kate explained the process and how to recognize when the mixture was done by watching the size of the foamy bubbles. Stephanie then demonstrated a cool trick to test the jam by using some frozen spoons, dipping them into the mixture and inverting them to see how runny it was. Bonus part for the students was getting to lick said spoons. Yum.

Then I discovered some vital equipment that I do not possess. A canning kit. A canning kit includes a custom funnel so you don’t spill the mess all over the place, a doodad to grab the lids using a magnet, plus some additional tools to help the whole process run smoothly. Using this kit they filled the jars and moved on to the mysterious part that has prevented me from canning. The processing part.

Essentially all this entails is boiling the full jars of jam for a bit to seal them up. But the big trick that I learned is, after the jars are removed from the boiling water, listen for the lid to make an audible pop. You know the pop. It’s the same one you hear when you open a new jar.

So now I am armed with enough confidence to tackle a canning project of my own. It is heirloom tomato season after all. No arm wrestling required.

A few years ago, my idea of good beer was Dos Equis, Pacifico or even Negro Modelo. I thought those beers were delicious and so much better than the Coors Light of my college days. I shied away from any dark beer because I assumed they all tasted like Shiner Bock. Not that Shiner is a bad beer. I just wasn’t interested.

My beer palate has definitely evolved and now I crave the good stuff. Belgian, barrel-aged or stout beers are what I seek. However, no matter how much I’ve embraced a variety of different beers, there’s one beer that I just don’t care for… India Pale Ales. IPAs tastes like soap to me. Bitter, foamy, beer soap.

Over the years I got to be quite a connoisseur of soap. My personal preference was for Lux, but I found Palmolive had a nice, piquant after-dinner flavor—heady, but with just a touch of mellow smoothness. Life Buoy, on the other hand…

-Ralphie, A Christmas Story

So when I attend beer tastings, there’s always the potential that one might make me gag a bit. Not so last week when I attended a beer and cheese tasting at Haddington’s in downtown Austin.

The tasting featured beers by the North Coast Brewing Company and cheeses from Whole Foods. I’ve become a huge fan of both Pranqster and Brother Theolnius. Coincidentally, and unbeknownst to me, both are made by North Coast. I can now add two more to my list of favorites.

The tasting menu (including small bites by Haddington’s):

Scrimshaw Pilsner | Le Gruyere Cheese
Gnocco with grilled dates in pancetta with pickled mustard seeds

Red Seal Pale Ale | Saracino Sheep’s Milk Cheese
Chipped speck on toast with tomato hearts

Pranqster Belgian Style Ale | Yodeling Goat Cheese
Grilled skewer of merguez sausage with peaches and sherry glaze

La Merle Belgian Style Farmhouse Saison | Humbolt Fog Cheese
Foie gras cigarello, strawberry, cocoa and honey gelee

Brother Thelonius Belgian Style Abbey Ale | Robusto Cheese
Chocolate and cherries with olive oil and caramel mousseline

Old Rasputin Russian Imperial Stout | Gjetost Cheese
Chocolate truffles

Old Stock Ale – Vintage 2011 | Stilton

The La Merle paired with the Humbolt Fog was by far the best pairing of the night. However, the surprise of the evening was saved for last. The Old Stock Ale had a slight reddish tint to it and could be compared to a nice port. Unbelievably velvety and rich.

Haddington’s recently announced that they have some of the Old Stock Ale available. The only place in Texas that you can get it, I might add. Get some before it’s gone.

So I went ahead and made the sorbet anyway…