Meringues (Finally)

For all those anticipating Passover, these meringues are the perfect Passover dessert. They require no flour or leavening, but actually taste good. I simply can't go the week without them.

I was looking through my archived photos today and discovered something utterly shocking: I've had a website for...how long now? a year and a half?...and somehow escaped until today without posting a recipe for one of my most reliable, fool-proof, standby, can't-live-without desserts. I make them all all all the time, especially when I have leftover egg whites. On top of being nearly effortless to make, they achieve one of the rare feat of being both non-dairy and delicious. Like I said, rare.

Meringues, my friends, meringues. They are a fundamental part of my dessert repertoire, and the basis for many other desserts (including, among others, this crazy buche de noel, and the ultimate meringue-based dessert, Macarons.

Before I get knee-deep in apologizing, I'll be out with the recipe. As I said, they're great on their own, or with any number of additions, including extracts (vanilla, almond if that's your thing), spices (cinnamon, cocoa, etc) and other add-ins (nuts or chocolate chips, pictured).

A few tips on making good meringue:

• Make sure your mixing bowl is bone-dry: any liquid will kill your meringue's ability to foam up. Along these lines, add any extracts only after the meringue is made.
• Egg whites will whip up much more easily if at room temperature. Leave them out for a couple hours before beating, if possible.
• The standard egg:sugar ratio for meringue is 1 egg white per quarter-cup of sugar. I usually double this for a batch of meringues.
• Cream of tartar is an acid that helps increase the volume of, and stabilize, whipped egg whites. You only need a teeny bit -- about 1/4 tsp. for 6 egg whites, so a scant pinch for my recipe.
• Traditionally, the egg whites are whipped until soft peaks form, and only then is sugar added. There's nothing wrong with adding sugar earlier in the process -- promise, I've done it by accident many times -- but your eggs will take longer to foam up if there's sugar in them.
• There are two methods for baking meringues: some bake them for a couple hours in a low oven. Others bake them overnight in an oven that was preheated and then turned off. Either works; I prefer the former.

Keep these things in mind, and meringue will be your friend. Have any great uses for meringue? I'm already thinking of making a pavlova (big pillow of meringue topped with fruit and whipped cream) this weekend -- leave other great ideas in the comments.

2 large egg whites, at room temperature a scant pinch teaspoon cream of tartar a pinch kosher salt 1/2 cups granulated sugar, divided 1/4 teaspoon pure vanilla extract 1/2 cup high-quality chocolate chips, optional

Preheat the oven to 200 degrees F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk, beat the egg whites, cream of tartar, and a pinch of salt on medium speed until very soft peaks develop. Add 1/4 cup sugar and increase the speed to high until the egg whites form very stiff peaks. Whisk in the vanilla. Carefully fold the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar into the meringue. Either pipe the meringues onto the baking sheets using a pastry bag (or plastic bag with a bit cut off the end), or spoon them onto the sheets, au natural.

Bake for 2 hours, or until the meringues are dry and crisp but not browned. Turn off the heat and allow the meringues to sit in the oven for about half an hour**, then set on the counter to dry out completely.

**Meringues do not keep very well; they're best within a day of when they're made. However, if you do want to keep them, and it's not terribly humid outside, let them dry out in the oven overnight, or until the oven is completely cool and the meringues are really dry. They'll keep better this way. I stack them in tupperware between layers of parchment paper, and hope for the best.

Lemon and Rhubarb Mousse Parfaits

Today was an absolutely beautiful day in Washington. It was probably 75 degrees outside, and while the sky was cloudy in the morning, it cleared up quite a bit in the afternoon and the streets were packed. I've been waiting for a day like this for months, mostly because I so long for those lovely Spring and Summer Saturdays when lunch is lots of little salads, various breads and crackers and other dipping vehicles, a bunch of cheeses and spreads, and something uber-light for dessert. Today, that's what we had for lunch. A big Greek salad (thanks to Jeremy and his chef de cuisine Jana), homemade chickpea-walnut hummus and labneh (yogurt-based cheese), muhammara (syrian pomegranate-red pepper dip), laffa (Mediterranean flatbread) and challah and pita chips (thanks Dina!), and an open-faced tart with mushrooms, dates and goat cheese. The table had so many elements on it, many of them fresh and most of them cold, and people built their plates out of bits and pieces of everything. Don't forget a few good glasses of chilled rose to wash everything down (tx, Lilah and Dan). I have to say, it was pretty darned tasty.

After a meal like this, the last thing I want is a big, heavy slice of cake. I'd rather end with something light, fresh, and (preferably) cold. Ice cream was one option, but I went instead with a layered mousse parfait that came out really tasty and served as the perfect finale to our lazy afternoon lunch.

The bottom layer was a simple rhubarb mousse, which I made by baking rhubarb with a bit of sugar and water, chilling it, and then folding in some whipped cream. The middle layer was a heavenly lemon cream (much like lemon curd, only richer, lighter, and better), dreamt up by Pierre Herme. The top layer was some simple, unsweetened whipped cream, that balanced out the other two layers well. I stuck a ginger snap into the top of each parfait glass, which could then be eaten or crumbled into the parfaits.

As with most things in my kitchen, there's a story behind the parfaits. It was Thursday night, and I hadn't decided what to make for dessert yet. I had the baked rhubarb in the fridge, as well as half a carton of whipping cream and a big bag of lemons. I'd made the lemon cream once before, but it was devoured entirely before I could grab my camera, so I'd been meaning to make it again. (Side note: is it messed up that I often make things for the sole purpose of taking a picture? All for your viewing pleasure, readers dearest.) But would I put the lemon curd in a tart shell? I didn't really feel like making tart dough, nor did I think I'd feel like eating it the next day after eating the mushroom-date tart. I figured a parfait was a good way to do, but I didn't know if the lemon, the rhubarb and the whipped cream would be friends or enemies in the glass.

In a pinch, I emailed the lovely Helen of Tartelette (yes, that's the same one who is the macaron goddess!) and asked her advice. She said that the two flavors would go great in a parfait. I believe her exact words were, "I'd eat it."

Reassured, I went the parfait route -- but I actually folded some of the whipped cream (just a couple Tbsp) into the rhubarb, which lightened it and made it slightly less tart. A good call, if you ask me. And that lemon cream....honestly, to die for. Even with, like, a sixth of the butter.

Rhubarb Mousse 1 cup water 1/2 cup sugar 1 pound rhubarb, sliced into thirds 3 Tbsp whipping cream

Combine rhubarb, sugar and water in a small baking dish. Cover, and bake at 350 degrees for about 20 minutes, until rhubarb is tender and falls apart easily when poked with a fork. If your oven is already at a lower temperature, feel free to just bake the rhubarb at whatever temp the oven's at: it may take a bit longer at lower temps, but this isn't something that needs to come out the minute it's done; it can hang out in the oven as long as it needs to, no biggie.

Transfer to a bowl and leave in the refrigerator overnight or for several hours until chilled completely. The steps up to this point can be completed several days in advance.

Before serving, fold in 3 (or more, to taste) Tbsp. of whipped cream (preferably real, unsweetened) into the rhubarb, and stir gently to incorporate.

Lemon Cream

as I mentioned above, I cut the butter pretty significantly for this recipe, and only used 5 Tbsp. instead of the more-than two sticks called for. I was really satisfied with the result, so that's what I'm publishing. If you want to use all 2 sticks and 5 Tbsp, go for it: I did the first time I made this, and it was truly divine (if a slight bit on the rich side).

1 cup sugar Finely grated zest of 3 lemons 4 large eggs 1/2 cup fresh lemon juice (from 4-5 lemons) 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into tablespoon-size pieces, at room temperature

Getting Ready: Have an instant-read thermometer, a strainer and a blender (first choice) or food processor at hand. Bring a few inches of water to a simmer in a saucepan.

Put the sugar and zest in a large heatproof bowl that can be set over the pan of simmering water. Off the heat, rub the sugar and zest together between your fingers until the sugar is moist, grainy and very aromatic. Whisk in the eggs, followed by the lemon juice.

Set the bowl over the pan, and start stirring with the whisk as soon as the mixture feels tepid to the touch. Cook the lemon cream until it reaches 180 degrees F. As you whisk—you must whisk constantly to keep the eggs from scrambling—you'll see that the cream will start out light and foamy, then the bubbles will get bigger, and then, as it gets closer to 180 degrees F, it will start to thicken and the whisk will leave tracks. Heads up at this point—the tracks mean the cream is almost ready. Don't stop whisking or checking the temperature, and have patience—depending on how much heat you're giving the cream, getting to temp can take as long as 10 minutes.

As soon as it reaches 180 degrees F, remove the cream from the heat and strain it into the container of the blender (or food processor); discard the zest. Let the cream stand, stirring occasionally, until it cools to 140 degrees F, about 10 minutes.

Turn the blender to high (or turn on the processor) and, with the machine going, add the butter about 5 pieces at a time. Scrape down the sides of the container as needed as you incorporate the butter. Once the butter is in, keep the machine going—to get the perfect light, airy texture of lemon-cream dreams, you must continue to blend the cream for another 3 minutes. If your machine protests and gets a bit too hot, work in 1-minute intervals, giving the machine a little rest between beats.

Pour the cream into a container and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or overnight. (The cream will keep in the fridge for 4 days, or tightly sealed, in the freezer for up to 2 months; thaw it overnight in the refrigerator.)

Cocoa Pear Crisps

It's not every day that a half-eaten fruit turns into something truly out-of-this-world. I suppose I should thank the odd confluence of events that brought about these treasures: one, I bought a mandoline last week. After reading oodles of reviews about the best mandolines on the market, I learned that the two cheapest models (the Benriner and the OXO) are actually the best. My waffling back and forth about whether the 75 bucks was worth it was for nothing: I threw restraint out the window and got my new toy guilt-free. That's one.

Two, Sarina and Robbie had iron chef night this weekend. Each of us picked a course, they revealed the secret ingredient, and we had a couple hours to make a dish featuring that ingredient and bring it over for show and tell. Is it screamingly obvious that there's nothing I'd rather do on Saturday night than play iron chef? I was thrilled. And the secret ingredient was cocoa. Awesome.

Three, iron chef awesomeness notwithstanding, my fridge was pretty empty this weekend. Having come down with an ugly cold last week, I didn't do much cooking at all -- and this weekend, we were off the hook again, so my supply was limited, which meant I needed to get pretty creative for the competition.

Four, I took a sliced pear to work, and had only eaten half of it -- so I had three and a half pears, the half of which was desperately in need of being used. After poking around in vain on Martha and Epicurious for some good pear recipes, I found one for pear chips. They were meant to be sliced paper-thin, sprinkled with a ginger-cinnamon-sugar mixture, and baked/dried in a very low oven until golden and crispy. What would happen, I wonder, if I added some cocoa to the mix? I'll tell you what -- pure magic.

Truth be told, I went cocoa-happy. I wanted the chocolate flavor to be assertive, despite its supporting role. I added 2 Tbsp of it, and I'm glad I did. Pears and cocoa get along marvelously, and the final product was tangy and spicy and a bit rich and bitter from the cocoa, not to mention perfectly crisp and crunchy. Is your mouth watering, too?

I should mention that I also added galangal, a lovely spice I got from Penzeys earlier this year. It's similar to ginger, prominent in Thai cuisine, and has spicy notes but is also an assertively fruity flavor. It's truly something special. If you have it, definitely use it here. If you've got a mandoline, you MUST try this recipe. If not, get yourself to amazon and have a mandoline for the price of dinner tonight. It's kinda totally worth it.

Cocoa Pear Crisps adapted from Epicurious

1 tablespoon sugar 1/4 teaspoon ground ginger 1/4 teaspoon galangal, optional 1/4 teaspoon cinnamon 2 tablespoons cocoa 20 paper-thin pear slices (from 1 pear)

Preheat oven to 275°F. Mix sugar and spices in small bowl. Place pear slices on rack set over baking sheet. Alternatively, place slices on silpat-lined baking sheet. Sprinkle with spiced sugar. Bake until almost dry, about 1 hour. I flip the slices half way through to ensure even baking. Cool on rack or sheet. Store airtight up to 2 days.

"Too rich and dark" chocolate pudding

A while back, I made some chipotle chocolate pudding parfaits. Humbly speaking, they were pretty darn awesome. At least, I thought so. D? Not so much. She prefers snack packs, I guess. But I don't give up so easily. There's no way those gelatinous, tasteless pudding packs can beat homemade chocolate pudding. Armed with my best chocolate (callebaut 70%), organic whole milk, and a little bit of love, I set out to make chocolate pudding that D might like.

"It's too dark and rich," she said. Really, I can't win around here.

Too dark and rich? What does that even mean? No such thing. This chocolate pudding is dead easy, practically foolproof (see my note in the recipe about avoiding lumps) and relatively healthy, compared to butter-filled sweets. It calls for whole milk, but it'll work with any kind, even skim. And if you don't love your puddin' super-sweet, omit 2 Tbsp of the sugar. Anyway you make it, this pudding is a fantastic dessert/snack. I don't bother to scoop it into ramekins: I just cool the whole thing in the fridge, and occasionally dip a spoon in when I'm craving something sweet after dinner.

While I'd really like to get D off the snack packs, I guess the fact that she doesn't like my pudding just means there's more for me.

Silky Chocolate Pudding Adapted from John Scharffenberger, via Smitten Kitchen Serves 6

Note: I think I figured out a way to avoid lumps from forming. Instead of adding the milk all at once, add a little bit of it first -- enough to make a very thin paste. Stir with a whisk to break up all the little lumps, and when it's completely emulsified, add the rest of the milk.

1/4 cup cornstarch 1/2 cup sugar 1/8 teaspoon salt 3 cups whole milk 6 ounces 62% semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped (I used good quality chocolate in block form, and just chopped it up; use 70% bittersweet if you want more of a dark chocolate kick) 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract (2 Tbsp. rum, optional) (1/2 tsp. chipotle, optional)

1. Combine the cornstarch, sugar and salt in the top of a double boiler. Slowly whisk in the milk, scraping the bottom and sides with a heatproof spatula to incorporate the dry ingredients. Place over gently simmering water and stir occasionally, scraping the bottom and sides with a whisk. After 15 to 20 minutes, when the mixture begins to thicken and coats the back of the spoon, add the chocolate. Continue stirring for about 2 to 4 minutes, or until the pudding is smooth and thickened. Remove from the heat and stir in the vanilla.

2. Strain through a fine-mesh strainer (or skip this step if you’re a slacker like me who is absolutely certain that there is nary a lump her puddin’) into a serving bowl or into a large measuring cup with a spout and pour into individual serving dishes.

3. If you like pudding skin, pull plastic wrap over the top of the serving dish(es) before refrigerating. If you dislike pudding skin, place plastic wrap on top of the pudding and smooth it gently against the surface before refrigerating. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes and up to 3 days.