Magic Chocolate Mousse, Some Other Ideas, and a Giveaway

D and I aren't big on Valentine's Day. Forced romance and overpriced, heart-shaped dinners aren't our thing. However, I'll take pretty much any excuse to indulge in chocolate, so that, I'm on board with.

It's also my 30th birthday, which means I can do whatever I want. Right? Chocolate for all!

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We celebrated with a couple close friends at a lovely, lovely dinner on Saturday night. This coming weekend, we're taking a ladies' trip to Spa World to celebrate three birthdays at once. But tonight, after a low-key dinner with the lady, I'll be spooning out a couple small bowls of this magic chocolate mousse, which requires only 2 ingredients (salt is optional) and tastes as decadent and as thoroughly chocolate as a good chocolate mousse should. 30 years of living and 2-plus years of marriage later, I've got more than a few gray hairs, and also a wee bit of combativeness about the wonder of chocolate. So I'm going to indulge; you only live once.

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For the vegan and non-dairy inclined, this mousse can be made with chocolate and water. I prefer milk in my mouse, so I've used that here. Your choice. Either way, the process is dead simple: heat, then whip over ice water. That's really it.

And if you're feeling mighty adventurous, whip up a batch of caramelized white chocolate (which, incidentally, just got written up as a genius recipe by Kristen Miglore over at Food 52; it really is genius) and use that instead.

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The recipe is below, and if you're curious to see a play-by-play, watch the bubbly and adorable Melissa Clark demonstrate the technique here.

I've got a couple other half-baked ideas percolating that don't yet merit a full post, but as a wise old woman of 30, I've decided to post them anyway. Food for thought.

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• Bake or Break has been in my Google Reader for years, but recently, I've gotten hooked on it all over again, and spent several afternoons digging through her archives. One recent recipe that I immediately flagged was her Italian Jam Crostada, a simple simple dessert made of shortbread, jam, and almonds. Last night, I finally got around to making it. I had about a tablespoon of orange marmalade left over from the croissant I'd had at Patika in Austin (sidebar: when pastries come with jam and you don't finish it, save it; you never know when it'll come in handy), so I folded that into the shortbread dough, and then used fig jam mixed with some lemon juice as my filling. The result was fantastic, and I'd urge you to make this with whatever jam you have lying around.
• Tartine Bakery makes the best croissant I have ever eaten. The almond croissant I had in SF was so good that I got home, went right onto Amazon, and ordered their latest cookbook, Tartine Bread. I've got bread books from Peter Reinhart and Jim Lahey; I didn't exactly need another. I bought this book for the croissant recipe alone. Here's the irony: I still haven't made the croissants. What I have done is totally change the way I feed and use my sourdough starter. Tartine's method calls for less starter overall (which means less flour used on feeding each week) and a smaller portion of seed starter to make a loaf of bread. The smaller quantities suit my erstwhile approach to bread baking, and the new ratio produces a younger, milkier, less acidic-tasting loaf. I'm thrilled. And I haven't even made the croissants yet! More fun awaits.
• Last but not least, I've become obsessed with chia pudding. Chia seeds look like a cross between poppy and flax seeds, they're high in fiber and omega-3, and best of all, they plump up in liquid. Add a few tablespoons to a cup of milk, and in about 10 minutes, you'll have something that resembles tapioca pudding. I've added them to my breakfast rotation, mixing a few tablespoons with a cup of either milk or yogurt, a bit of honey, and some chopped fruit. I pour the whole thing into a jar, and by the time I get to work, I've got pudding. It's great. You can get chia seeds at health food stores or online.

And hey, happy un-birthday to you!  The kind folks at Shabby Apple have created a giveaway just for NDP readers: they're offering 10% off of any Shabby Apple apparel for all readers using the coupon code notderbypie10off. Even better, one lucky reader will win a $100 giftcard to Shabby Apple. Check out all these adorable aprons! Personal favorite: blackberry pie.

Entering is really easy. All you have to do is "like" Not Derby Pie's facebook page, "like" Shabby Apple's page, and leave a comment below. I'll pick a winner at random next Monday, February 18th. Good luck!

Hervé This' Chocolate Mousse Serves 4

One note about using milk: if you use skim, you can disregard this. Skim has the same fat content as water. But if you use milk with some fat in it, you may need to add a few more drops than you would otherwise. a scale is very helpful in executing this recipe, but if you don't have one, I would start with what looks like a bit less than 3/4 of a cup, and only add if necessary. The melted liquid should have roughly the thickness and texture of whipping cream (go figure). If it thickens too quickly when you put it over ice, just remelt, add a few more teaspoons of liquid, and march on.

8 oz. high-quality chocolate 6 oz. water or milk (roughly 3/4 cup - see headnote) ice cubes whipped cream for topping, optional

Pour water into a small saucepan, add chocolate, and stir over medium heat until chocolate has melted and you have a homogenous sauce.

Put the saucepan into a bowl partly filled with ice cubes and a half-cup or so of water (or pour into another bowl over the ice -- it will chill faster), then whisk the chocolate sauce by hand (or, if you must, with an electric mixer) until a mousse forms.

No, seriously. That will happen.

Spoon immediately into ramekins or serving bowls, top with whipped cream if using, and either serve immediately, or let set in the fridge before serving. If you're feeling crazy, sprinkle a bit of flaky salt on top. Grand.

I made this once a couple years ago and it failed, but I've since made it three times (all this week) with success. Kristen says that three things can go wrong: if the mixture doesn't set, it probably doesn't have enough chocolate. Remelt, add more chocolate, and whisk again. The opposite can happen, too - a very stiff mouse would benefit from a bit more water. Remelt, add water, repeat. Lastly, if your mixture is too grainy, you overwhipped it. No problem: just remelt and whisk up again - no need to add anything.

Happy baking!

Luisa Weiss' Sour Cherry Quarkauflauf

The other day, I spent too many hours at the office. It was dark when I left work, and by the time I got home, all thoughts of roasted eggplant tartines went out the window. I wanted something I could dig into with a spoon, that would be warm and soft and comforting. Strangely, I wanted something with sour cherries.

It was dark in the kitchen. I couldn't find my individual gratins. I'd misplaced my whisk, too. Not one to let minor issues deter me from cooking, I tucked a strip of foil 2/3 of the way into my smallest baking dish. I flexed my muscles and whisked egg whites by hand. I squinted my way through the recipe. Lo and behold, what emerged from the oven 45 minutes later was as fluffy and light as I'd hoped it would be, never mind all of my adjustments. It's called  Quarkauflauf, and it lives up to its name.

Quarkauflauf is from a new cookbook by Luisa Weiss. As I made my first Quarkauflauf, I pictured Luisa standing by my side, laughing at my makeshift gratin and my sore forearms, cheering me on. We've never met, Luisa and I, but I read her blog. I cook her food. In the kitchen, she's a friend.

Luisa's been blogging forever at The Wednesday Chef, which by god you must read. She shares recipes from newspaper dining sections, but the good ones, the ones you read about and immediately dog-ear. She also writes wonderfully. And now that she's got her very own book, there's even more writing, even more of her captivating story, all in one place. When Luisa sent me her a copy of My Berlin Kitchen, I picked it up and promptly stopped everything else I was doing for 48 hours.  This is one good story.

What's the story? It's a love story. (Of course.) Am I going to tell you any more? No. (Of course not.) But people, there are recipes. So many recipes. And if, like me, you were under the misguided impression that German recipes just weren't your thing, dare I say this is the book for you? It is.

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You will make Quarkauflauf, for starters. You don't even know what it is yet, but the name alone...you want to make it. And then, after you've tucked a spoon into the tart, fluffy, fresh-from-the-oven auflauf (and again the next morning, when its cold and custardy), you will make cloud-like gooseberry cream cake (what, you want the true name? Hannchen Jansen.) You'll make braised endives. And poppyseed whirligig buns. See why you need this book? Now?

Reading Luisa's blog, I always knew we'd be friends in the kitchen. Now that I've read her book, I'm even more sure. We both like vinegary, pickled things; we both despise mayo. I beheld a friend's roasted goose, three days in the making, with the same awe Luisa experienced when she roasted one herself. And no matter how spicy I take my food, I get inexplicably paranoid when cooking hot stuff for others. (See: Luisa's meatballs in chipotle-tomato sauce.) Even if you don't read The Wednesday Chef (but you should...), you will befriend Luisa through My Berlin Kitchen. And you'll start to forgive yourself the little things, like the slumping, dribbling cake you woefully underbaked, or the cream you whipped by hand that lacks any semblance of a soft peak. This is cooking: trial, error, lesson. This is life, too. If risks and mistakes always taste as good as my sour cherry Quarkauflauf, count me in.

Sour Cherry QuarkauflaufAdapted ever so slightly fromMy Berlin Kitchen

I originally wanted to make this in individual gratins, but I couldn't find them. That said, I think this would be lovely in individual portions. Also, now that it's fall and sour cherries are a distant memory, I bet you could swap cranberries that have been tossed with a healthy portion of sugar. They'd go great with the cinnamon, too. That said, I haven't tested it that way, so if you do, let us know in the comments.

Also, a note about quark: it's fantastic, but not easy to find. One farmer at the Dupont market sells it, and I think Vermont Butter Co. does too. If you can't find it, super-fresh chevre would work well.

Last note: 8x11 baking dishes are hard to find in the US. The closest analogue would be a 10-inch round dish, whose area is slightly less. This means the Auflauf will be slightly taller, but since when is a towering souffle-custard a bad thing? That's what I've recommended here.

Butter for the baking dish 3 eggs, separated 1/2 cup sugar, plus a few tablespoons for the cranberries, if using 1 pound Quark zest of 1 lemon 1/2 teaspoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/4 cup farina (semolina will work in a pinch, but it has more gluten than farina and will thus be less creamy; don't use instant Cream of Wheat) 2 cups pitted sour cherries (fresh or preserved/drained) or cranberries, pinch salt

Heat the oven to 375 degrees and butter an 8x11 baking dish or a 10-inch round pan. The pan should be at least 2 1/2 inches deep.

In a large bowl, beat the egg yolks and sugar until pale and frothy. Beat in the quark, zest, baking powder, cinnamon, and farina until smooth and creamy. Fold in the sour cherries.

Beat the egg whites with a pinch of salt in a clean bowl until the whites form medium-stiff peaks. Use a spatula to fold half the whites into the quark mixture to lighten it; then fold in the remaining whites just until no white streaks remain; do not overmix.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 30 minutes, until the Auflauf has just set (Luisa says it should be starting to brown, but mine was still quite pale.) Don't fret the cracks, for there will be some. Just remove it from the oven, and serve to hungry people.

As Luisa says, the Auflauf will be a whole different kind of delicious right out of the fridge tomorrow morning. Do save a bite for that.

Butterscotch Pudding

2011, over already? Jeez.

It was a big year, 2011. Perhaps not as epic as 2010 (marriage!), but 2011 saw our first anniversary (with drinks at the W and dinner at Palena - lucky us!) and, in the same month, the purchase of our first home (an awesome condo with plenty of open space, a dream kitchen, and a deck...have I really not shown you pictures yet? Wristslap! We'll solve that soon.)

D started a new job this year, and I've been busier than ever at mine. More direct reports, more travel, and generally more responsibiity have all thrown something of a wrench in my grand plan to post more in 2011. You see, I've got so much to share with you; all sorts of little tips and tricks, entertaining ideas, and tasty morsels I ate in restaurants and tried to recreate at home. I want to share them all with you. But time was scarce in 2011, so some of those tips, tricks, ideas, and recipes - well, they're still lodged in a far corn of my brain, waiting patiently for 2012.

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Some of our cooking, eating, drinking, and food-coma-ranting did actually make it to this space, though. There were bourbon pecan bars and ginger brownies that will make you swoon, I guarantee it; Easy green beans with pesto vinaigrette that I've made, oh, 20 times since first posting about them; and of course, my favorite fish dish ever, which took me only 5 years to finally share with you - Veracruz-style snapper. With a new year on the horizon, I'm ready as ever to find more memorable food - and to share it with all of you.

ndp beans

So let's get the new year off to an auspicious start, shall we?

butterscotch pudding

Friends, you will adore this butterscotch pudding. It's deeply caramelized, rich and thick, perfumed with plenty of vanilla and whisky. I'm thinking 2012 may just be the year of the pudding - and someone with top-notch food-prediction pedigree seems to agree with me. So here you go: the first pudding of 2012. It'll be the first of many, I hope.

In fact, I'm already making good on that last wish. Tonight, we're eating not one, but two different puddings for dessert. I'm setting up a Pudding Bar - and if, after this holiday season ends, you still have a hankering to entertain friends, you can do the same. I'm stocking the kitchen counter with big bowls of this here butterscotch pudding, as well as a chocolate coconut pudding from 101 Cookbooks. Alongside, I'll have little bowls filled with toasted coconut, sliced almonds, two kinds of cookie crumbles, grated chocolate, and whipped cream. Everyone gets a bowl to make their own customized pudding parfaits. Entertaining at its easiest and most delicious, yes?

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I thought you'd agree.

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So here's to a sweet 2012, filled with happiness, laughter, warmth, adventure, fear that comes with trying new things, and of course, plenty of pudding.

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Butterscotch Puddingadapted from a recipe by David Lebovitz Serves 4-6

So why did I dare change a David L recipe? Well, I wanted my sugar caramelized; I wanted some cream with my milk; and yes, I wanted more whiskey. So here you have it - a deeply caramelized butterscotch pudding with a generous helping of booze. Call it scotchy butterscotch.

1 cup brown sugar 4 tablespoons unsalted butter 1/4 teaspoon coarse salt 1/2 cup cream 2 cups milk 3 tablespoons cornstarch or tapioca flour 2 eggs 1 tablespoon whiskey 1 teaspoon vanilla 1/2 cup whipped cream, for topping 1 oz. bittersweet chocolate, grated

Put sugar in a medium saucepan and set over medium heat. When sugar starts to melt, begin stirring gently with a fork. The sugar quickly will turn from caramelized to burnt, so watch it like a hawk. When sugar has melted and has started to smell like caramel (but before it smells burnt!), stir in the butter, 1 tablespoon at a time. When butter has all been incorporated, add cream in a slow stream until it, too, has been fully incorporated. At this point, you should have a dark brown liquidy caramel. Remove pan from the heat, add salt, and set aside.

In a small bowl, whisk cornstarch or tapioca flour into 1/2 cup of milk, stirring until mixture is completely smooth. Add eggs one at a time, and whisk to incorporate.

Slowly pour the remaining milk into the saucepan with the caramel mixture, stirring to combine. Then add the starch slurry and whisk that in, too. Set over a medium flame and heat, whisking continuously, until mixture has the texture of hot fudge. remove from heat and whisk another 60 seconds to help the pudding cool. Add whiskey and vanilla, and whisk to combine.

You'll refrigerate the pudding in the bowl(s) in which you plan to serve it. For family style, spoon it into a serving bowl. alternatively, set several small glasses or bowls on a rimmed baking sheet and spoon pudding into those dishes. If you like pudding skin, refrigerate either uncovered or covered with plastic wrap. If you don't like pudding skin, press the plastic wrap against the surface of the pudding. (Incidentally, if you don't like pudding skin, you can refrigerate the pudding in one large bowl, and apportion it right before serving. Whatever you prefer.)

To serve, top each cup of pudding with a dollop of whipped cream and a teaspoon or so of grated chocolate.

Maple-Roasted Pears

'Tis the season for cookies, and lately I've felt so bombarded by different shapes, sizes, flavors, and varieties, it's hard to focus on much else. Ok, obviously I've still found time for applesauce cake and gingersnap pear cranberry crisp. But what I'm trying to say is, there have also been cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. An embarrassing number, some of you would think (if I were willing to estimate my personal intake, which I am not).

I find it difficult to forgo cakes and cookies for lower-key desserts year-round, and this time of year, it's especially hard. But last week, after fiddling with the "surprise me" function on Deb's blog, I stumbled on a recipe for roasted pears that caught this cookie-loving lady's attention. The pears looked like they were melting into the baking dish, coated with a syrup of vanilla beans, sugar, and lemon. I wanted to scoop them right out of the screen.

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I'd planned to make Deb's recipe just as she wrote it, but my tweaking tendencies got the best of me. I had some maple syrup from a farmer who sells stuff on my corner, and I'd been itching to use it with the pears that sat, somewhat forlorn, in my fridge for just a few days too long. So I did, swapping in maple for the sugar. I kept the lemon - the acidity proves absolutely critical in a dish that's otherwise quite sweet - and I added a piece of cinnamon along with the vanilla bean. The pears, they tasted of pure fall. Which is somewhat ironic, since I think it's officially winter at this point. Ahh, well.

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Deb hits the nail on the head about these pears. They're easy as hell to make, and they'll impress dinner guests as much as if you'd slaved over this instead. Not that I don't love towers of salted caramel and chocolate, because I do. Of course I do. But when the holidays roll around, time is of the essence. So you choose.

halfway cooked pears

Maple-Roasted Pearsadapted from Deb, who adapted it from Sally Schneider of The Atlantic Serves 4

Incidentally, these pears are just wild with a scoop of the cinnamon-vanilla ice cream I made this week. Follow this recipe, but skip the chocolate drizzle, add a cinnamon stick to the milk along with the vanilla bean, and let the whole thing steep for 30 minutes before proceeding with the recipe. Divine.

Also: I had only 4 pears, but the sauce makes enough for 1.5 lbs. pears, which should be about 6.

1 1/2 pounds pears (about 6), peeled, halved (though the stem, if possible), and cored (I use a little melon baller to scoop out the seeds and a paring knife to carve out the internal stem) 1/4 cup maple syrup 1/2 vanilla bean 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 2 tablespoons lemon juice 2 tablespoons water 2 tablespoons butter

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F for unripe pears, 350 degrees F for ripe ones.

Arrange pear halves cut-side up in a baking dish: 4 pears fit in an 8x8, 6 will need a 9x13.

Slit the vanilla bean in half and using a small paring knife, scrape the seeds from the bean into a small bowl. Add maple syrup, cinnamon, lemon juice, and water, stir to combine, and pour evenly over pears. Cut the vanilla pod halves into slivers, and distribute evenly in the baking dish. Dot each pear with butter.

Roast the pears for 30 minutes, basting them occasionally with pan juices. Turn the pears over and continue roasting, basting a couple more times, for 25 minutes, until a knife inserted into a pear half meets no resistance.

Serve pears warm, drizzled with the remaining sauce and topped with either a dollop of creme fraiche or a scoop of ice cream (vanilla, cinnamon, butter pecan, and sour cream ice cream would all work well here).