Pistachio Schadenfreude, or Melissa Learns a New Vocabulary Word

There's a handful of foreign-born words in use by the literati that's a little...hazy. In my own mind, that is. It took me decades to finally remember what sturm und drang means (and I only remember now because "sturm" is much like "storm")--I saw it in use so rarely that it took a while to stick.

So I was a little suspicious of Pistachio Semifreddo, at least of the name. But the head notes in Gourmet Today are reassuring--semifreddo means "half-cold"--that seems easy enough, right? Like semisweet chocolate. (Though it must be noted that I've told everybody since I made this dish that semifreddo means "half-soft". WHATEVA, foreign-born words! I really am trying!)

This is a delicious dessert. Man is it easy, and if I were a dedicated ice cream eater I would throw away my ice cream maker (pain in the tuckus) because this technique rocks.

Here it is--grind pistachios with sugar. Whip egg whites with sugar. Whip heavy cream with almond extract. Fold all three together. Freeze. The result is creamy and light at the same time and of course pistachios are awesome.

If you've never heard of semifreddo, you might be wondering if you could make it with something besides pistachios--and the answer is yes! Epicurious has three pages of recipes --everything from grappa semifreddo to banana-peanut.

You might be wondering now about the title of this blog post, which is neither sturm und drang OR semifreddo. Well, it's because I was in a conversation that went like this:

My husband: What's the name of that dessert? It means something like "world weariness, right?"

Me: O_o

My husband: Shu...Sha...

Me: Do you mean shadenfreude?

My husband: Yes.

Me: No. The name of the dessert is "semifreddo". It means half-soft, not world weariness.

My husband: Are you sure?

Me: Of course I'm sure! Why would somebody name a dessert Pistachio World Weariness?

My husband: I don't know...maybe you eat it when you're weary?

Then I looked up Shadenfreude because I didn't know exactly what it meant but I see it slung around from time to time when people are trying to look smart (talking to you, book critics)

Hey, guess what? Shadenfreude does NOT mean world weariness, it means "pleasure derived from the misfortune of others". For some reason, the idea of hanging this concept on a dessert makes me laugh, probably because I'm immature enough to enjoy the idea of somebody getting their just desserts.

Mocha Fudge Sauce

Lest you think I'm rolling around in a heaven of ice cream, sauces and luscious desserts (I try to limit that to once a month) let me assure you that my string of dessert posts are more to do with my new organizational technique, and less to do with order of manufacture.

In other words, with 10-15 recipes waiting to be written about, how does one choose the order? Most memorable? Chronological? I finally decided to just pick a point and make my way to the back of the book, after which I would start at the beginning again.

And so here is the last waiting recipe in the "Frozen Desserts and Sweet Sauces" chapter, Mocha Fudge Sauce.

I was so keen on that Hot Fudge Sauce from the last post that I could hardly wait to make this sauce. And I LOVE mocha--in fact, I used to make my first husband crazy when we would go out to eat breakfast with my mocha phase (this was before the proliferation of Starbucks and its ilk)--I would very carefully tell the waitress that I wanted hot chocolate, but made with coffee, not water, and could they add a little milk? Ha! Yes, I'm one of those customers, or at least I used to be. Poor waitresses.

But I'm sorry to say I wasn't crazy about this sauce, and it's only because it just can't measure up to Hot Fudge Sauce. I actually made it because I was trying to get O'Malley to eat the vanilla ice cream languishing in the freezer, but he found the sauce to be too bitter for his taste.

This could also possibly be because I used



instead of



Possibly. I'm willing to try it again, because it IS chocolate after all, and it's more to my taste than, say, Strawberry Sauce, which is the recipe right next door and who knows when I'll make that. Although it is coming up on strawberry season...and I do have my bookgroup coming up...

Profiterloles, Burnt Orange Ice Cream & Hot Fudge Sauce

This recipe has special significance for me because it's the last special occasion dessert I created for my estate job as a private chef. Mrs. S.'s birthday luncheon! Yay, Happy Birthday! One of the things I think I did very well during my four-year stint at her house was holiday/special occasion cooking, especially desserts, and I am pretty proud of this one.

Why? Because when emailing back and forth with one of the daughters, the conversation went something like this:

K: ...for dessert, something easy to eat and serve, maybe custard-filled rolls?
M: (thinking, always thinking about what I can cook from the book) How about profiteroles with burnt orange ice cream and hot fudge sauce?
K: yes--coned and candled?

When K. saw the platter of profiteroles she actually jumped up and down and clapped with delight. It was exactly what she had envisioned, and THAT is one of my greatest pleasures, as a chef. Getting it right.

So here's how I did it.

First, the ice cream. I've made this ice cream before and knew it was a winner with chocolate. What I didn't have last time that I did have this time was the Kitchen Aide ice cream maker attachment, and while it's not a perfect thing it's better than what I have at home, which requires a lot of elbow grease and a sturdy wooden spoon. I made the ice cream a week ahead of time. It doesn't hurt to plan ahead!

The profiteroles were as easy as I remembered them being when I made them at the Emerson for some reason (probably a Rotary dessert). It's almost impossible to screw them up. If you've never made them, here's how you do it:

Bring to a boil butter, water and salt. Dump in the flour all at once, and beat the dickens out of it until it forms a ball, which takes about 30 seconds. Take off heat and go pour yourself a cup of coffee. When you come back, beat in three eggs one at a time with a hand mixer. Gloop it into pastry bags (or my variant, zip lock bags with the corner snipped off), squeeze little mounds onto a baking sheet and bake for about 20-25 minutes.

That's it.

Once they're cool (and you can store them for a day, just re-crisp before filling), you cut them in half and put in your filling, which in our case was the burnt orange ice cream.



I had to go back and forth between crisping the profiteroles (because I had made them the day before), letting them cool, filling them, and getting the filled ones in the freezer--all without letting the ice cream melt.

Now, the Hot Fudge Sauce. Can I just stop right now and swoon with the memory of how much I love this hot fudge sauce? For some reason I've made a lot of the sauces in the Frozen Desserts chapter and this is the best one, bar none. They say in the head notes that you can scoop it, cooled, right out of the bowl (to eat) and I can attest to that.

I know corn syrup is something of a food villain to some, but I think it's the 1/2 cup of light corn syrup that gives this sauce its delightful texture. The incredible flavor is thanks to the dark brown sugar and bittersweet chocolate.

I had to do a little problem solving with this dessert, which is that K. wanted it coned (no problem), and candled. I was worried that the hot fudge sauce would sort of loosen things up too much for candles to stay erect so my solution, after piling the profiteroles high and drizzling them with hot fudge sauce, was to put the whole platter back in the freezer while everyone was eating. I figured that would unify the dessert enough to let me stick candles in it, and it did. Somewhere somebody took some photos of the dessert with the candles lit--hopefully they'll send them to me so I can share them with you.

Readers, this dessert is a showstopper, as Gourmet promises. Since you can do it in components at your convenience, it's a pretty big payoff for the time and energy spent.

Melissa Feeds the World Part IV: Her Bookgroup & Exciting Cook-Through Blogger News!!

Exciting News first! Folks who follow the Gourmet cook-through blogs may have noticed that two of us live pretty close to each other here in Massachusetts: Adam from Gourmet All The Way is just down the road in Methuen.



Well, I recently received an email from Adam, inviting me to be his guest at a luncheon demonstration where he works as an attorney. Wait, a roomful of attorneys? Does this mean I could get sued if they don’t like the food? Ha ha, just kidding. Kind of.

We’ll talk about cook-through blogging, and whip up some tasty food that doesn’t require oodles of time and equipment (Adam has picked two tapenade recipes) but best of all we’ll get to meet each other in Three Dimensions. I had a blast meeting Teena from The Gourmet Project last summer, and I look forward to a good time here as well.

Watch this space for a full report!



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On to my bookgroup, which if you’re a regular reader you know that means I’m talking about DESSERT.

For the past few months I’ve been trying out various puddings on my bookgroup, and January’s group was no exception. For the discussion of Suite Francaise, I chose Toasted Bread and Butter Pudding. Part of my reasoning is that I can’t get anybody else in my life to eat bread pudding, but the other part is that it calls for challah, which was connected to the subject matter of our book.

I also remembered that Adam had made this recipe, and liked how it got crispy on top but was pudding-y on the bottom.

Now, this recipe says that you can use challah or firm white sandwich bread. Challah is not typically found for sale around here except during Jewish holidays so the EASY thing for me to do would be to use white bread, but what would be the fun of that?

The Gourmet Cookbook actually has a great recipe for challah, and so I made challah. I love making challah. It’s so satisfying.



If you are on the fence about bread pudding because you don’t like the slimy texture, this might be the recipe for you to try. The egg mixture doesn’t fully engulf the bread, so part of it bakes on top, and it does get nice and crispy, as Adam noted.

But unfortunately I had to cover and transport the pudding, so the crispy bread on top got steamed…by the time we were ready to serve it I actually thought it was sort of rubbery and it seemed more like French toast than bread pudding.

But the caramel sauce saved the day! That’s the great thing about sauces—they hide a multitude of errors. And my book group is a loving and appreciative audience, and that’s why I keep making desserts for them.

This is not my pudding, but it's made from the same recipe...




For February’s group, I made Coffee Almond Ice Cream Cake with Dark Chocolate Sauce.

I don’t know why I’m intimidated by this chapter--Frozen Desserts and Sweet Sauces. Maybe part of it is because I still don’t have an ice cream maker that is easy to use. Or maybe it’s because many, if not most of these recipes are incredibly complex—requiring multiple components and a lot of time. You think I’m kidding? Check out Watermelon Sorbet with Chocolate Seeds—a trompe l’oeil that has you filling a frozen watermelon shell with watermelon sorbet and chocolate “seeds”. It uses the phrase “working quickly” at least twice, which makes me nervous just reading it.

But I was determined to try something other than pudding this month, and so I browsed around here trying to find something that would feed a lot of people (three new members—yay!) and wouldn’t take three days to make.

Enter Coffee Almond Ice Cream Cake, which very nicely calls for store-bought coffee ice cream. All you have to do, really, is layer it in a springform pan.

I expanded the recipe by half to fit a larger springform—a 10 inch, and then I got busy.

First a layer of chocolate cookie crumbs mixed with melted butter, which you freeze for a while, then the softened coffee ice cream.

Then you spread whipped heavy cream that’s been folded with crushed almond cookies, and sprinkle the whole thing with toasted almonds.

Done. Well, you have to freeze it for four hours, but then you’re done.

And—another recipe that calls for sauce!! This one called for Dark Chocolate Sauce, and mmmmmmmm, can there possibly be anything better? No, I don’t think so.



I would like to personally recognize Don Rittenburg, who artfully sauced these as they were going out of the kitchen. It was important to him to get it right, and he did.

Strawberry Margarita Ice Pops and a thing or two about tequila

Readers, this is what I learned while I was gathering the ingredients for Strawberry Margarita Ice Pops: white tequila is what you want for mixing in with food or drink.

"What about Cuervo Gold?" I asked the friendly fellow at Cork n Cask.

"You could use it," he said, "but the only difference is coloring."

What?!?!

Reader, if you're like me, you probably have the notion that Cuervo Gold is some kind of good tequila. Marketing, says my friend at the liquor store. Do you know how Cuervo Gold is transported to the United States from Mexico?



That's right. Tanker truck.

"Oh yeah," says my friend, "The Mexicans laugh at us about Cuervo. You know what else they laugh at us about? Corona. Because it's so bad we have to put a lime in it."

Then he points me to the good stuff. I mean, topping $60/little bottle good stuff. And he bemoans the fact that people use it in margaritas, because it's wasted there-- it's meant for sipping neat, or maybe with an ice cube.

Friends, I don't drink Corona (ever) or margaritas (rarely) so I don't have any reason to change my ways (at least not in this regard--we can talk some other time about my unnatural obsession with Planter's chocolate-covered almonds). But if you are in the habit of showing off at bars by ordering margaritas with the good stuff in it--stop it right now and save yourself some bucks. Would you mix Dom Perignon with OJ to make mimosas? No.

If you drink Coronas, I'm sorry, there's no help for you. (I'm kidding! Jeesh.)

OK, on with the ice pops.

My major anxiety about this recipe was finding popsicle molds. On Cape Ann we don't really have department stores, or kitchen stores, just a lot of little stores with odds and ends. The one I thought most likely, Crackerjacks, I wouldn't be around during opening hours.

I didn't have to go too far afield (I was worried about a run down the line to Target) because, in a dusty display on top of an end-cap ice cream freezer at Crosby's, were 4-packs of plastic molds--an ingenuous design with a short straw built into the "hilt".

Making them was a snap, and congratulations whoever did the measurements on this recipe because it filled 8 molds perfectly--not an extra drop! Although I doubled it so I could make twelve, and I did have a lot left over on the second batch. Don't worry, it didn't go to waste.



Now. Regular readers of this blog may remember that at Christmas time I had some difficulty with a cranberry mold because I impetuously ran it under scalding water to loosen it up and ended up with a partial mold and a lot of melted cranberry juice.

You would think I would learn from my mistakes, wouldn't you?

Apparently not.

After one or two passes under water at the sink didn't loosen these up, I ran them under hot water, and then all kinds of things happened. The straw-stick holder thingys came out. Of all of them. So I had to dig the pops out with a butter knife into bowls where it was sort of like a very soft sorbet.

But they were pretty! And tasty--my book group loved them. I got all kinds of advice on how to not melt your popsicles (plain old tap water will eventually do it) and I see on epicurious that some readers left them to thaw for a bit.

Next time.

Chocolate Velvet Ice Cream

At first, I was worried about this ice cream because I couldn't find my favorite bittersweet chocolate (Ghiradelli). I had to settle for Hershey's Special Dark. And I don't care what Cook's Illustrated has to say on the matter, it is not the best.

Then, I was worried because the ice cream mix tasted like cake batter. Really, really good cake batter. This was in a semi-frozen state.

Then, I was worried because it seemed too rich. But you know what? There is no dish too rich for me that I think it can't be solved by accompanying it with this:



So tonight, when this ice cream was in its fully frozen state, I was curious to see how it tasted.

Friends, I had a revelatory insight. Temperature is part of the ice cream experience.

Now, I know that probably seems like a no-brainer to you ice-cream lovers, but I (ambivalent ice-cream eater) never looked at it that way. Yes, moving chunks of cold material around in your mouth, and having the flavor released s-l-o-w-l-y as it melts really adds to the experience.

Need more proof? Consider the words of my son, avowed chocolate ice cream hater:

"Up until this exact point, 9:19 PM,Sunday, June 1, 2008 A.D., I hated chocolate ice-cream almost as much as:

Paris Hilton
George Bush
Pop Music
Family Guy
Everyone From "Focus On The Family"
Pat Robertson
Vanilla Ice-cream
Milli Vanilli
Nirvana (The band, not the state of mind)

However--I am glad to say that when I take over the world as Supreme Guitar God I will be eating this ice cream. Delicious, Delicious."

I can hear you now. Melissa, rich food is not your only reason to turn to booze. No, no--I'm counting on the Supreme Guitar God of the Universe to support me in my aged decline. And if it all works out I'll make him Chocolate Velvet Ice Cream every night.

Burnt Orange Ice Cream & Clam, Bacon and Potato Pie

Lest you worry I've been setting off the smoke alarms again, the "burnt" in Burnt Orange Ice Cream refers to the caramelization process of the sugar and orange rind that provides the base for this luscious dessert. (and yes, yet another recipe in the book that calls for caramel) My only issue with making this ice cream was that I have very dark anodized cookware and it's hard to see what color the sugar is turning...I had to keep snatching some out with a fork and dropping it in a measuring cup to evaluate it. I think in hindsight I could have let it cook a little longer, but it was still a wonderful orange-y ice cream...not too far, actually, from those Creamsicles of my childhood. And great over brownies, which is how I served them to my book group.

*******************************************************************************

There's no big mystery to Clam, Bacon and Potato Pie--it's essentially Clam Chowder Pot Pie. Now, this seems weird for some reason when you mention it to people, but c'mon--this is a nation raised on frozen chicken and beef pot pies--why not clam pies too? Expand your horizons, you can do it!!

And of course it's delicious, and why wouldn't it be with a buttery homemade pie crust? The chowder is thick and infused with thyme, and it's got bacon, also known as Best Secret Ingredient Ever.

Dr. S. LOVED this, but Mrs. S., again worried about her figure, just pushed it around her plate. It's funny, she'll eat 12 oz. of clam chowder for lunch, but put it in a pie shell and she won't touch it.

Here's a photo of the pie, right out of the oven.




Neither of these recipes are on Epicurious, but if you must have one or both let me know and I'll post them.

recipe flurry and 40 naked women vs. 1 naked man

I do beg your forgiveness, dear readers, for keeping you in suspense for almost a week. I have not been making Campbell's soup, I assure you.

Here's what's doin', as my father-in-law would say:
Chilled Pea Soup with Lemon Cream
Panzanella (Bread and Tomato Salad)
Chicken Piccata
Salt-Fried Rib-Eye Steak
Squash, Tomatoes and Corn with Jack Cheese
Coconut and Macadamia Banana Bread
Mustard and Cheese Crackers
Naan
Sour Cherry Crostata
Strawberry Cheesecake Ice Cream

Phew! Well, I cooked more than that, but those are just the new ones.

I obviously don't have the time or space to talk about each one individually but the veggies with jack cheese were surprisingly good, and so was the naan. I mean, they were ALL fantastic, but some were more fantastic than others, know what I mean?

Some of you may remember that my husband imagined he would not relinquish a certain ear of corn I made, not even for a room full of forty naked women.

My mother decided to make this dish, which she now calls "40 Naked Women Corn", when Don's parent's came to visit. She was disappointed. She said to me, later, that she would have left it for even just one naked man. What went wrong? she asked.

1. The corn was starchy, not sweet. This could have been because it was old, or had been left out in the heat. Corn starts converting sugar to starch the second it's picked--cold stops the process, heat speeds it up.
2. The corn soaked too long. The recipe calls for 10 minutes in the water--this corn soaked for at least two hours. It was waterlogged on the grill and never roasted.
3. The mayonnaise was too spicy! My mom had some high-test stuff, and used the full amount on my advice (mine was not so spicy)--this was ok for some, distracting for others.
4. My mom used a combination of non-fat feta and store-bought shredded parmesan. Neither of these have any flavor and the parm is distressingly plastic-like.

Should YOU, dear reader, attempt the same, remember these things--look for corn with a clean-looking, white break at the base--that's been picked the same day. Don't leave it out on the counter or in your car. Ten minutes soaking--that's it. Start modestly with the spice levels and adjust the mayo to your taste. And drop the diet for a moment, would you? Go for the full-fat feta. It won't kill you for one ear of corn.

Grilled Tropical Fruit with Rum Sauce and Prune Armagnac Ice Cream

Can we just talk about making caramel? Making caramel is a PAIN IN THE ASS.

Or at least, it depends on the recipe. The one where you stir dry sugar in a pan with a fork until it melts is the time-consuming way that requires you to have some reading material while you stand next to a pot, bored out of your skull, stirring the damn sugar. Good thing I just got a new copy of The Week.

There are other ways to make caramel, and I like those ways better. And no, I don't mean buying caramel sauce at the store either.

OK, now that I've got that out of the way, if you can stand to make the caramel, the Grilled Tropical Fruit with Rum Sauce is divine. I've never grilled fruit (another first for me, and if you try this at home with the aforementioned lobster recipe, don't forget to clean the grill really well or you'll have lobster flavored fruit.) Grilled pineapple--where have you been all my life? This recipe was supposed to be served with vanilla ice cream, but I forgot to buy that and all we had was the Prune Armagnac Ice Cream I made earlier in the day (you would think on my days off I would just eat Cheerios). Oh lord. This was one of those meals where you know you really should stop eating because your stomach hurts, but you just can't because it tastes so good.

And I have to confess, it was really Prune Brandy Ice Cream--my friend Ruth and I had a discussion about this during a walk--if one really needs Amagnac. She had just read an article in the NY Times about cooking wine and the conclusion was that it didn't matter if you used the good stuff...

So I had a long morning of indecision. I have a bottle of brandy, but should I buy Armagnac for veracity? And if I did, where would I put it and when would I drink the rest of it? I'm not a night-cap type of person. This is the sort of thing that paralyzes me.

You'll be happy to know that in spite of all the time spent thinking and talking about it, the recipe itself took less than 20 minutes to make, and I know this because I had to leave to pick Ruth up for the movies at 1 and I walked through the door with groceries at 12:42. OK, I did put the prunes in to soak in brandy the day before, but the rest of it--scalding the cream, grinding the prunes in the food processor, mixing the cream with the eggs and then bringing back up to temp...I had it in the fridge to cool by 1:01.

OK, so back to the ice cream with the grilled fruit...in my opinion the ice cream was overshadowed by the other, much bolder flavors of the tropical fruit and the rum sauce. It needs to be the star of the show, or perhaps just the only performer. The flavor is sweet, the brandy is subtle, and it's not unlike rum raisin ice cream.

(There you go, Clarissa--another worthy use for prunes.)