Summer Berry Eton Mess

We're fresh off the plane from London and I have so much to tell you that I honestly cannot figure out where it all begins. Do I start high, with pictures and bits from our unbelievably delicious meal at Nopi? Do I tell you about the day I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner at Indian restaurants? There's so much to discuss. I already feel like we need more time.

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Let me first say this: I didn't expect to love London. For all the claims that it's better than New York - you know I love New York - I was sure my heart would stay with Manhattan, even after crossing the pond. London, I had been told, was rainy and cold. It was expensive. And more than a few friends warned me that the food wasn't worth much excitement.

But people, I loved London. Of course I loved the accents - so civilized! so grand! - and the dress - much more refined than our stateside attire, I'm afraid - but I really, really adored the food.

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British food used to mean fish'n'chips and beer. For the record, we ate plenty of those. But we also found our way to the mecca that is Borough Market, where hipster-clad folks pull fantastic espresso, sell homemade charcuterie, and serve up the best plate of raclette I've ever seen.

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I expected a rather staid attitude toward food in London, but I encountered quite the opposite. In fact, roaming through Marylebone on the weekend, I passed by a folding table on which a farmer from Kent and his son had set up a pop-up shop selling what were, simply put, the best strawberries and the best cream I've ever eaten.

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And then, of course, there were the more expected pleasures. In planning our trip across the pond, I focused on two food groups. One was Indian food. Everyone says London has the best, and I planned to put that claim to the test. I made sure that plenty of dosas, curries, and chaat were on the week's agenda.

If I'm being completely honest, the curry houses I unearthed - via a quite comprehensive online search and a lot of asking - were good, but not the best. We had some really good samosa, great bhel puri, and memorable aloo gobi. But the baingan bartha, saag paneer, and dosa left something to be desired. If folks have better recommendations -- because yes, there will be a next time -- please do leave a comment below.

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So what was the other major food group? That would be Ottolenghi. Yes, the Ottolenghi food group. Not familiar with that one? A quick search on this site reveals nearly 10 recipes from his collection of wonderful cookbooks, and I'm sure there are more lurking around. Between Plenty, Jerusalem, and the original Ottolenghi, I've cooked dozens of his recipes, and I'm a more skilled and creative cook as a result. So the chance to try some of his five locations across London wasn't something I could pass up. We went to two of his restaurants, and quite frankly, we were blown away. Ottolenghi is famous for his salads, which sit high and mighty on a long table, ready to dish up at lunch or dinner. They are as glorious as the ones in his books, and eating them prepared by an expert is a truly memorable experience. And as for Nopi, his newest location and more of a fancy, sit-down situation, we spent most of the meal with our mouths agape at the exquisite surroundings, the incredible continuity of the room and each little detail contained within. The food was also amazing. You have to go.

One of the most memorable bits I ate at Nopi was dessert. Can we briefly establish that picking a best was very hard? The asparagus and samphire salad was unbelievable and in just a few days back at home, I've already tried to replicate it twice. But the dessert was a pitch-perfect Eton mess, and I've been dreaming about it ever since. And now, you can make it at home.

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Eton mess is a traditional British dessert, and everything in it is something you probably love: strawberries, meringue, and clouds of whipped cream. For Eton mess, these three wonderful things are piled unceremoniously into a large glass, where they mix and mingle into a dessert far greater than the sum of its parts. Tuck in with a spoon and get a bit of each, further blurring the lines between components with each spoonful until by the end, you've got a vaguely pink mash of sweet, crunchy, creamy goodness. It's perfect, unfussy food for summer.

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At Nopi the night we were there, I ordered the rhubarb Eton mess, which had bits of silky cooked rhubarb and other bits that were macerated, but nearly raw. I loved that combination of soft and crunchy. Traditional Eton mess is made with strawberries, which are mostly over for the year. I still had one small box of strawberries left, so I added them to a pile of raspberries, and the combination was perfect. If you have rhubarb, I offer instructions below for using it. Otherwise, I bet cherries would be lovely. Any summer berry will work well here.

Happy July, folks. Stay cool.

Summer Berry Eton MessAdapted from recipes by April Bloomfield, yet another Brit worth celebrating Serves 4

I spent an afternoon making cheese with Cathy last month, and she convinced me that I made a mistake not buying Bloomfield's new book, A Girl and Her Pig. When I borrowed it from the library, it seemed like too many of the recipes contained pork, which I don't use in my kitchen. (The title may have suggested as much, too.) In any event, Cathy is right about most things and this was no exception. She lent me her copy, and I've been cooking from it ever since. (Cathy, it's coming back to you soon - promise!)

Bloomfield has a way with peculiar, particular instructions. For her Eton mess, she has you macerate strawberries in almost a dozen ingredients before adding them to the mix. I winnowed down her list for simplicity because it's summer in DC, not summer in London. It's too hot to fuss. The result, though, is no less splendid. This is a dessert that will evoke wide, teeth-baring grins from anyone who eats it. Sorry for the cliche, but it's a party in your mouth.

One more thing: if you don't want to make your own meringue, you'll lose that crispy-chewy thing, but you'll save a hell of a lot of time. No judgment here.

For the meringue: 3 egg whites, carefully (perfectly!) separated from their yolks 1/2 cup sugar zest of 1/2 a lemon

For the berries: 2 pints berries of any sort (I like a mixture of raspberries and strawberries) zest of 1/2 a lemon 2 tablespoons lemon juice 2 tablespoons sugar 2 grinds of the pepper mill

(If using rhubarb, mix a pound of rhubarb with 1/4 cup sugar and 2 tablespoons water and put into a baking dish. Bake at 350 degrees for 40 minutes, until the rhubarb has softened but not lost its shape. Cool completely.)

For the mess: 1 cup heavy cream 1 teaspoon sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla or the seeds from 1 vanilla bean

Make the meringues:Preheat the oven to 225 degrees. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat.

Beat the egg whites and sugar in a clean large stainless steel bowl or a stand mixer until the mixture holds very stiff, shiny peaks, 4 to 5 minutes. Gently fold in the lemon zest. 

Spoon the mixture into 6 equal mounds on the lined baking sheet. Bake the meringue until it’s dry and crunchy on the outside but still soft and chewy inside, about 1 1/2 hours. Let it cool, preferably in the oven turned off but also fine on the counter.

Macerate the berries: Combine all the ingredients in a large bowl, stir gently to combine, cover with plastic wrap, and let sit on the counter while the meringues cook, stirring every so often to encourage juices to seep out.

Assemble the mess: Whip the cream, vanilla, and sugar together until the cream holds semi-stiff peaks. Crumble the meringues into a large mixing bowl; you should have a combination of small crumbles, medium pieces, and large chunks. Add the whipped cream and stir gently just until the meringue pieces are coated. Add about three-quarters of the berries (or rhubarb) and their liquid and stir very gently just until the berries are well distributed but you still see streaks of red in the white cream.

Carefully scoop the mixture into bowls, scatter the remaining berries on top, and drizzle on the rest of the liquid. Serve straight away.

Double-Decker Strawberry Summer Cake

I fear that strawberry season may already be drawing to a close where many of you are. Ours are bursting-juicy and red, but my CSA folks warned me last week that we've got one more week of strawbs at best. What I'm saying is, NOW is the time to make this cake.

Let me stack another good reason on top of that one: very soon, turning on your ovens will stop being fun. That time has come for us, and I'm really quite glad about the extra cake I've got tucked away in the freezer, waiting to be some awesome people's dessert.

Did I say extra cake? I did. That's the other, other best part about this recipe: it makes 2 cakes, but you only need 1 at a time. To serve, you slice one of the cakes in half, pile some damn good fillings inside and on top, and voila: a double-deckered dessert made from just one cake. Use one, store the other in the freezer for up to six months. Ina says so, and she knows everything.

That's Ina Garten, domestic goddess and cake wizard. She's outdone herself with this one, an ode to everything that's perfect early in the summer: vanilla-scented cake, soaked with the syrup from fresh, perfect strawberries, topped with whipped cream that can still hold a peak. (In August, not so much. Don't say I didn't warn you.)

Ina plops plain raw strawberries on this one, but I like to macerate mine in some sugar beforehand. That way, they release some of that beautiful juice, which I spoon onto each serving. This is a cake to behold. Eat it on the porch, with very good friends and perhaps a glass of chilled sauternes. Bask in the glory of summer.

Here, I saved you a slice.

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Double-Decker Strawberry Summer Cakeadapted from Ina Garten's book, Barefoot Contessa Parties

Notes: As I explained above, this recipe makes two cakes, but each makes its own dessert. One cake easily serves eight people, so most of us will save the second cake for another time. If you do, double-wrap it and store it in the fridge for up to six months (or more likely, a hot hot summer day when the last thing you want to do is turn on the oven).

If you don't have strawberries, feel free to substitute raspberries, cherries, blueberries, or a mixture.

Lastly, remember that this is a summer cake, meant to be eaten and enjoyed without too much fuss. If you can't wait for the butter and eggs and sour cream to be perfectly at room temperature, don't sweat it.

For the cake: 12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, at room temperature 2 cups sugar 4 eggs, at room temperature 3/4 cup sour cream, at room temperature 1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 2 cups all-purpose flour 1/4 cup cornstarch 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt 1 teaspoon baking soda

To serve:: 1 pound very good strawberries, washed, hulled, and sliced 3/4 pint (1 1/2 cups) heavy cream 6 tablespoons sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla

Macerate the strawberries: Combine the strawberries and 4 tablespoons (1/4 cup) of the sugar in a medium mixing bowl. Stir to incorporate, then set aside (at room temperature) while you make the cake.

Make the cakes: Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Butter the bottom of two 8-inch cake pans. Then line them with parchment paper and butter and flour the lined pans.

Cream the butter and sugar on high speed in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment until light and fluffy. On medium speed, add the eggs, 1 at a time, then the sour cream, zest, and vanilla, scraping down the bowl as needed. Mix well. Sift together the flour, cornstarch, salt, and baking soda. On low speed, slowly add the flour mixture to the butter mixture and mix just until combined.

Divide the batter evenly between the pans, smooth the tops with a spatula, and bake in the center of the oven for 40 to 45 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Let cool in the pans for 30 minutes, then remove to wire racks and let cool to room temperature. Wrap one cake in two layers of plastic and/or tin foil, and freeze for up to 6 months.

To serve the cakes: To make filling for one cake, whip the cream, 2 tablespoons sugar, and vanilla in a mixer fitted with the whisk attachment until the cream holds soft peaks. Slice one cake in half with a long, sharp knife. Place the bottom slice of the cake on a serving platter, spread with 1/2 the whipped cream and scatter with half of the macerated strawberries. Cover with the top slice of the cake and spread with the remaining cream. Decorate with the rest of the strawberries. Serve with some of the macerating liquid drizzled over each slice.

Mutabbaq - Middle Eastern Cheese Pastry

Downtown Jerusalem has some decent hummus shops, but in my opinion, Jerusalem's best hummus is in the Arab shuk, which is just past the Jaffa Gate in the Old City. If you head down the main stairs of the shuk, hang a left and head toward the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, but then peel off to the right again, you'll pass a a couple shop owners who sit in their doorways and occasionally toss rice at children who walk by. Just keep going, and when you've gone down a few stairs, you'll come upon Lena's, which serves the best hummus in Jerusalem.

I found Lena's on a recommendation from a shop owner in the shuk. He told me to get hummus and labneh there, and then to continue even deeper in the shuk for most of a kilometer - past the scarves and the hukkahs and the fish, ick - until I came upon a fluorescent-lit storefront on the left, called Jafar Sweets.  There, he said, I would find dessert.

That was in 2006. I've been going to Jafar ever since, and I've never been disappointed with my spoils. Jafar's got baklava in every imaginable combination of nuts. But what they're really famous for is knafeh, a pastry of crunchy vermicelli sandwiching hot, syrupy cheese. Knafeh is made in massive round sheet pans and cut into big slabs for the hungry. It also happens to be my all-time favorite Middle Eastern dessert and will definitely be a post just as soon as I can find Kataifi, the crunchy shredded noodles.

For now, I'm settling to tell you about another fantastic Middle Eastern pastry from another pastry shop, this one founded in Jerusalem but now based in Amman. The shop is Zalatimo's, and the pastry is Mutabbaq. It's easy to make, requires no special ingredients, and tastes distinctly of the Middle East. Oh, and it's really really good.

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Yotam Ottolenghi is the one who clued me in to the fact that I can make Mutabbaq at home. He, and my friend Josh, who served it at a dinner party and had me jonesing to make it myself. It's a phyllo pastry -- think spanikopita -- but stuffed with goat cheese and ricotta, then drenched in scented syrup just as it comes out of the oven, as with baklava. But unlike baklava, it's not such a fuss to assemble. These days, I'd rather be fussing with a fancy summer cocktail. Speaking of which, stay tuned for one of those (I said fancy, not fussy) cocktails later this week.

Mutabbaq - Middle Eastern Cheese Pastry adapted from Yotam Ottolenghi's Jerusalem

Makes one half-sheet pan, enough to serve 8 with leftovers likely

2/3 cup (10 1/2 tablespoons, or 130 grams) unsalted butter, melted 14 sheets phyllo pastry, from one packet 2 cups (500 grams) ricotta cheese 9 oz (250 grams) soft goat cheese 1/4 cup crushed unsalted pistachios, to garnish

Syrup 6 tablespoons (90 ml) water 1 1/3 cups (280 grams) sugar 3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice 1/4 teaspoon orange flower water, optional

Make the syrup: Heat the oven to 450°. Brush a rimmed half-sheet baking pan (13x18 in) or two 9x13 pans with melted butter. If using the half-sheet pan, the phyllo sheets should fit your pan perfectly. If you're working with two quarter-sheet pans, you'll want to cut the phyllo down the middle.

Layer a sheet of phyllo into your pan, brush all over with melted butter, and top with another sheet. Continue layering sheets and butter until you have 7 sheets in the pan (or 7 sheets in each pan).

Put the ricotta and goat cheese in a bowl and mash together with a fork until the mixture is uniform. Spread over the top phyllo sheet, leaving 3/4 inch / 2 cm clear around the edge. Brush the surface of the cheese with butter and top with the remaining 7 sheets of phyllo, brushing each sheet with butter before layering the next sheet.

If you can, fold the edges of phyllo under the pastry to make a clean edge. (If not, don't worry about it.) Brush the top with more butter, and use a sharp long knife to cut the pastry into 3-inch squares, sending the knife almost to the bottom of the pan but not quite.

Bake for 25 minutes, until pastry is crisp and golden brown.

Meanwhile, make the syrup:Put the water and sugar in a small saucepan and mix well. Place over medium heat, bring to a boil, add the lemon juice and orange flower water if using, and simmer gently for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat.

The minute you take the pastry out of the oven, pour the syrup over the hot pastry, making sure it soaks in evenly. Leave to cool for 10 minutes. Sprinkle with the crushed pistachios, and finish cutting into portions. Serve warm.

Pineapple Macaroons

I always say that the true test of a Passover dessert is one simple question: would you eat it not on Passover.

In the case of these macaroons, which I first made last June, again in July, and once again in the fall, clearly the answer is yes. They remind me of those piña cola cookies I made back in October, but – dare I say it? – they’re better.

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No surprise there: David Lebovitz masterminded these macaroons, and most everything he makes – especially ice cream – is awesome. Pineapple macaroons, blissfully, are no exception.

Here’s how it all goes down.

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The first step is the most important: you’ll be caramelizing pineapple. Think of regular caramel, where you heat sugar until it turns golden. Same concept, except this time, you’ve got little bits of pineapple in the mix. When the pineapple has caramelized, it’ll be stiffer, golden brown, and really fragrant. That’s when you combine it with the usual macaroon suspects (coconut, egg whites, sugar), mush the dough into mounds, and bake them off.

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The result? Like a really good chocolate chip cookie, these macaroons have three distinct sections. They have a perfect outer crust, which gets crunchy and caramelized. They’ve got a soft inner core. And then they have that middle, which isn’t quite soft, but isn’t really crunchy either. It’s kind of perfect.

The first time I made these macaroons, I brought a huge tray of them to friends’. I was sure I’d leave a few for them to nibble on the next day, but slowly and surely, the six of us ate every last macaroon. Okay, true story: I made a second batch the very next day, they were that good.

And, with very little effort, they can be the star of the cookie platter at your seder table. I guarantee people will love them. I also guarantee that if, by some off chance, you end up with extras at the end of the holiday, you’ll have no urge to toss them out with that extra matzah. Like all good Passover desserts, these have staying power.

Pineapple MacaroonsAdapted from David Lebovitz

So David recommends using crushed pineapple, but I found that diced pineapple works much better. The crushed pineapple sort of melts into the coconut, and the texture of the resulting cookies is less...wonderful. The coconut gets less glazed, the pineapple is less distinctive, and the macaroons are generally not as addictive as when I used diced fruit. Either works, though, so use whatever you can find.

One 20 oz. can (about 600 g) diced unsweetened pineapple, with juice 1 cup (200 g) sugar pinch of salt 3 1/2 cups (245 g) dried unsweetened shredded coconut (available at health food stores, some supermarkets, and online zest of one lime, grated 3 large egg whites (not whipped) 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Put the pineapple, juice, sugar, and salt into a large shallow skillet (David recommends nonstick, but I used a regular skillet and it worked just fine) and set over medium heat.

Cook until the liquid mostly evaporates, stirring occasionally. Then keep cooking for 8-10 more minutes, stirring regularly, until the pineapple firms up, turns golden, and gets very sticky. Transfer the sticky pineapple bits to a medium mixing bowl.

Add coconut to pineapple, and use your fingers to combine the two, pressing the coconut into the pineapple. Then add the egg whites and vanilla, and again, use your fingers to combine the mixture until it is uniform. Your fingers will get covered in sticky macaroon batter; do your best to scrape the batter off your fingers back into the bowl, and rinse your hands before shaping the macaroons.

Preheat the oven to 350° and line a large baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat.

Take a golf ball's worth of batter in your clean hands, and shape it into a sphere. Set the sphere onto the baking sheet, flattening the bottom side of the sphere against the sheet. Then cup your fingers around the top half of the sphere, pinching toward the tip until you wind up with a cone shape. Repeat with remaining batter; no need to leave much space between cookies – 1/2 an inch will do.

Bake cookies for 25 to 30 minutes, until their tips are a deep dark brown and their exteriors are mostly golden. Start checking at 20 minutes, to ensure that cookies don't burn (too much).

Serve cookies at room temperature. These cookies are best the day they're made, but they're not half bad the day after. The batter can also be kept in the fridge for up to 5 days and baked off as needed.