Today, eventually, I managed to temper a batch of chocolate. This was necessary since, in order to finish my Chocolate and Red Wine cake for the local village show (recipe taken from Claire Clark's amazing cookbook, "Indulge" http://www.amazon.co.uk/Indulge-Perfect-Desserts-Claire-Clark/dp/1906650136/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1315603420&sr=8-1) chocolate rectangles are meant to be used to decorate the outside of the cake.
To make the chocolate rectangles, tempered dark chocolate is spread relatively thickly and hopefully evenly onto acetate sheets. These sheets are then left in the fridge until cold (with the edges pinned down to prevent curling), then carefully divided into rectangles. Then all that's left is to peel the chocolate away from the acetate, without it all snapping or crumbling into a million small pieces. I have attempted this process twice today; first batch went wrong. I did not temper it, because I read in a reputable cookbook that chocolate which is already tempered (i.e any supermarket chocolate) does not need to be tempered again, so long as it is heated very slowly. I failed to heed the "very slowly" part, and instead microwaved the chocolate. Needless to say, the resulting chocolate rectangles were soft and bloomed. Very unattractive - not at all suitable for decorative work.
This meant that I now had a batch of truly untempered chocolate all stuck to acetate sheets, and about half a bar of tempered chocolate. So, I scraped the chocolate off the sheets and tried again. (By this stage I seemed to have used every spare piece of crockery and cutlery in the kitchen.) Using Paul A. Young's (a Chocolatier) method for tempering the chocolate by "seeding", I succeeded in retempering the chocolate which I messed up earlier.
(A summery of the seeding method: Put 2/3 of chocolate required into a heatproof bowl above a pan of cold water. Very slowly, over the course of at least an hour, heat up the water to melt the chocolate. Do not allow the water to boil, or even simmer. Chocolate must not exceed 55 degrees C (which it won't, so long as the water does not boil). When the chocolate is melted, take the bowl off the heat and add the remaining 1/3 of the chocolate. This third must be tempered chocolate, not untempered, since this is used to "seed" the molecules in the heated chocolate into setting in the right formation. Stir until all the chocolate is melted. Cool this mixture until it hits 28-27 degrees, or until it's just beginning to harden. Now, very carefully and slowly, reheat until 32-33 degrees, or until it's just become liquid again, but no further - this is the "working temperature". Heating past this stage will undo all the hard work you've just done.) I actually got interrupted at the cooling stage - fairly sure my chocolate was below 27 degrees when I heated it again, however it still worked just fine.
This, spread onto the acetate and chilled, produced acceptable rectangles, which, most importantly, did not bloom. (Picture of the cake to follow- as yet it is still unsoaked, unglazed and undecorated).
Friday, 9 September 2011
Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Lemon Tart, Shortbread, and Sugar Sticks
Over the weekend I decided to have a barbecue with friends. Well, it didn't go as planned - by the time it came to actually try and cook something on the BBQ, it had gone cold. Despite adding more coal and firelighters to it, the BBQ refused to become hot enough to cook the marinated steaks, which eventually had to be done in a griddle pan, culminating in setting the smoke-detector off just as my parents walked through the front door. Eventually, after thirty minutes on the BBQ, we succeeded in cooking a garlic mushroom. One garlic mushroom. And the supposedly "roasted" peppers remained completely unaffected by the heat. On the bright side, at least it didn't rain.
For dessert that day, I made the Lemon Tart on Larousse page 1061, with an Earl Grey gelato, lemon jelly and honeycomb. I should have been suspicious of the tart recipe to begin with; it says you can substitute 3 oranges or 7 tangerines for the lemons, without changing the quantity of sugar required. This should have indicated to me that the resulting tart would not be the standard sickly-sweet lemon curd flavour - rather, a very tangy lemon tart. However, I realised this upon serving it.
It turns out that timing on this tart is absolutely crucial - it goes in on a 240 degree C oven, for 10-15 minutes. Mother checked on it at ten minutes, stating it was still "liquidy". I checked it after a further two minutes - the half closest to the back of the oven had almost burnt; about 1/3 would have been unservable, assuming you were making it for paying customers rather than friends. Luckily, I was still able to salvage enough portions from the unburnt side of the tart, which in retrospect I could have cut smaller, since I was unaware of just how tangy the tart would be.
Quite a few people left their tart, which doesn't surprise me, considering how strong is was. However the filling is easy to make and quick to cook, even if you do have to continually stare into the oven to judge it's progress and avoid burning. Plus, unlike the standard tarte au citron, this does not require double cream; a huge advantage if, like myself, you are never organised enough to buy more than the basic cookery ingredients in advance. It is likely I will end up making this tart again, although potentially with slightly more sugar in the lemon version. (I do actually like the tart as it is, but I'm not sure that many people would completely share this opinion; if I were making it for guests, especially guests with younger children, slightly more sugar would be required.)
Today, I made Shortbread from the recipe on page 966, for the local Village Show. I added vanilla paste, dried ground rose petals, a few drops of rosewater and a tiny amount of ground cloves for flavour.
Yes, I think I overcooked it slightly - it had 50 minutes on 160 degrees C (the minimum suggested), but it still looks too "golden". The division markings disappeared during baking - I carved them on again afterwards, but this does feel slightly like cheating. The shortbread made the house smell really nice whilst it was baking though. The fluted edge was achieved by using a flan tin, rather than two 15cm cake tins, as suggested in the recipe. I'm considering whether to remake this or not, since to me it looks to golden to win a prize at the show. However I'm currently out of both butter and eggs; bad planning on my part.
Also today I was trying to work out what to make for Christmas presents. On a student budget, this is always tricky. This year it looks like being a cellophane bag of homemade truffles, designed to turn into a hot chocolate drink when dropped into hot milk. Possibly also some homemade Sugar Sticks (sometimes called Swizzle Sticks - a kind of wooden stick with a blob of sugar on the end, used for sweetening tea and coffee). Potentially also a mug, if Whittard of Chelsea have a sale on. Here's my first attempt at Sugar Sticks - (I have yet to cut down the length of the stick).
These were created by combining 75 grams of granulated white sugar with 2 tbl of water, and carefully heating until it has become a mid-caramel colour. Once this has been achieved, add 1 tsp of glucose - this is optional, but it stops the caramel from becoming granular again. Remove from heat, pour onto a strong, greased oven tray. (Heat oven to 140 degrees C at this stage - if the sugar gets too cold and hard, put the oven tray in the oven to heat up again. ) Once the carmel is "pliable" rather than runny, place the end of a wooden skewer into a warm part, aiming to get a "ribbon" of sugar stuck to it; pull the skewer away from the caramel, preserving the strand, and attempt to wrap the strand of sugar around the skewer by twisting the skewer. Keep going until you feel that your sugar stick is big enough.
I did try just repeated dipping of the wooden skewer into the caramel, allowing each layer to dry in between dipping (in a similar method to creating a tapered candle) - it failed. I think as soon as the cold layer went back into the hot sugar, it melted again. Wrapping the caramel around the stick when it had reached a pliable stage was the quicker and easier option. Also, quantities of sugar given here create a very small batch - if you intend to make more than 5 sticks, scale up the batch as necessary. Scaling up has it's benefits, since the sugar will stay warm and pliable for longer. Finished sticks need to be cellophaned as soon as they are cold; sugar is hygroscopic (attracts water), so uncovered sugar, like an unwrapped boiled sweet, goes sticky very quickly. I think that the stickiness will be quite an issue if I do use this idea for Christmas gifts.
For dessert that day, I made the Lemon Tart on Larousse page 1061, with an Earl Grey gelato, lemon jelly and honeycomb. I should have been suspicious of the tart recipe to begin with; it says you can substitute 3 oranges or 7 tangerines for the lemons, without changing the quantity of sugar required. This should have indicated to me that the resulting tart would not be the standard sickly-sweet lemon curd flavour - rather, a very tangy lemon tart. However, I realised this upon serving it.
It turns out that timing on this tart is absolutely crucial - it goes in on a 240 degree C oven, for 10-15 minutes. Mother checked on it at ten minutes, stating it was still "liquidy". I checked it after a further two minutes - the half closest to the back of the oven had almost burnt; about 1/3 would have been unservable, assuming you were making it for paying customers rather than friends. Luckily, I was still able to salvage enough portions from the unburnt side of the tart, which in retrospect I could have cut smaller, since I was unaware of just how tangy the tart would be.
Quite a few people left their tart, which doesn't surprise me, considering how strong is was. However the filling is easy to make and quick to cook, even if you do have to continually stare into the oven to judge it's progress and avoid burning. Plus, unlike the standard tarte au citron, this does not require double cream; a huge advantage if, like myself, you are never organised enough to buy more than the basic cookery ingredients in advance. It is likely I will end up making this tart again, although potentially with slightly more sugar in the lemon version. (I do actually like the tart as it is, but I'm not sure that many people would completely share this opinion; if I were making it for guests, especially guests with younger children, slightly more sugar would be required.)
Today, I made Shortbread from the recipe on page 966, for the local Village Show. I added vanilla paste, dried ground rose petals, a few drops of rosewater and a tiny amount of ground cloves for flavour.
Also today I was trying to work out what to make for Christmas presents. On a student budget, this is always tricky. This year it looks like being a cellophane bag of homemade truffles, designed to turn into a hot chocolate drink when dropped into hot milk. Possibly also some homemade Sugar Sticks (sometimes called Swizzle Sticks - a kind of wooden stick with a blob of sugar on the end, used for sweetening tea and coffee). Potentially also a mug, if Whittard of Chelsea have a sale on. Here's my first attempt at Sugar Sticks - (I have yet to cut down the length of the stick).
I did try just repeated dipping of the wooden skewer into the caramel, allowing each layer to dry in between dipping (in a similar method to creating a tapered candle) - it failed. I think as soon as the cold layer went back into the hot sugar, it melted again. Wrapping the caramel around the stick when it had reached a pliable stage was the quicker and easier option. Also, quantities of sugar given here create a very small batch - if you intend to make more than 5 sticks, scale up the batch as necessary. Scaling up has it's benefits, since the sugar will stay warm and pliable for longer. Finished sticks need to be cellophaned as soon as they are cold; sugar is hygroscopic (attracts water), so uncovered sugar, like an unwrapped boiled sweet, goes sticky very quickly. I think that the stickiness will be quite an issue if I do use this idea for Christmas gifts.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
A is for Aboukir
Yesterday, I made an Aboukir cake. I also got my new camera working, so here's the first image of the blog!
Aboukir - a french cake, cooked in a Charlotte mould, sandwiched with chestnut cream and coated in a coffee frosting. (I didn't have a Charlotte mould. The sprinkles on the top are ground coffee).
About half of it is still in the fridge. Since most of my family are on odd diets (mother and myself cannot tolerate high fat foods and father is "salicylate free", an anti-allergy diet, and possibly the dullest diet of all time), I had to make a low fat cake for it to have been edible by anyone. So, I made a 4-egg whisked sponge and used Italian Meringue to create the chestnut cream filling and the coffee frosting. I'm hoping that enough boiling hot sugar syrup was used to fully cook the egg whites, but I have my doubts - the volume of syrup was quite tiny compared to the volume of egg whites in the bowl. (Usually I would have used powdered pasteurised egg whites when making icings/frostings, as this completely negates any salmonella risk, however I used my last sachets making my father's birthday cake). Even so, the cake turned out reasonably - mother's still tucking into it as I type. It probably would have tasted better had it not been "low fat", but nobody would have been able to eat it.
Bad news- my pickled beetroot has gone moldy. I'm not sure if my homebrewed ginger beer is also going that way - there's some cloudy bits floating throughout the bottle and some sediment in the base. Not sure if this is supposed to happen.
Still trying to find "abondance" cheese, but have ended up spending the rest of my student buget on a sugar pump, in order to create blown sugar bubbles for a friend's birthday cake. So until my loan comes through in the end of September, I will not be ordering "specialist" ingredients online. The next item, "apricot-pays", looks like it's going the same way as "abondance"; something to order online. Still not entirely sure what an "apricot-pays" is - is it the same as a "sapote", or a "mamee"? 'Tis difficult to order something online, when you're not sure what you're actually looking for...
Sunday, 21 August 2011
A is for Abbatoir
Exams are finally over, so now I can get back to cooking. My mind still seems to be stuck on exam-mode; the standard "you've failed all your exams" dreams are already occuring. Not entirely sure when I get my actual exam results, but I hope it's soon.
In homage to "Abbatoir" (the paragraph mentions a stew of meat, herbs and vegetables), I prepared Navarin of Lamb to Raymond Blanc's recipe. (Here's the link: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/mar/09/raymond-blanc-navarin-lamb-recipe). It involves cooking lamb, herbs and root veg for 2 1/2 hours in an oven on 110 degrees Celcius. I was slightly concerned about the low oven temperature, but concerns proved unfounded; the lamb was perfectly cooked. This low temperature/long time combination resulted in the most tender lamb I've ever eaten. Do not be put off by the long cooking time - the preparation time and actual "hands-on" time required is minimal. You can just stick it in the oven and wander off.
I slightly underestimated the amount of herbs to put in - I added a handful from the garden (a combination of rosemary, thyme, mint and parsley) resulting in a Navarin which was "fragrant" rather than "herby" - which is probably how it's meant to be, but I would have preferred a stronger sauce. (Although it's quite likely that the slightly thin sauce was a result of using a full quantity of liquid, but only half the amount of lamb, as only two people were eating it. The veg needed the full amount of water to cook in.) So next time (yes, I will be making this again), more herbs and more peppercorns are the order of the day.
Next, it's onto "Abondance" (a cow's milk Alpine cheese). Since none of my local supermarkets sell this, it looks like I'm going to have to mail-order, however the concept of recieving cheese through the post seems a) unhygenic (lack of refrigeration?) b) expensive, for cheese. c) unfortunate for the postman who has to deliver the cheese, if it's particularly smelly. (I once ordered garlic bulbs for planting through the post - the package smelled pungently, which was not something I had considered. Apologised to the postman, who turned out not to be a vampire). d) it's not really possible to judge the quality and hygenie of the premises where the cheese was kept if you buy it mail order. On this basis I'm considering waiting until Winter to buy "abondance" - at least if it is not delived in a refrigerated van, it will still be cold. Also, I have no idea how to use abondance cheese in cooking; all ideas welcome!.
FYI, I have not skipped "Ablutions at the Table" - I will be serving a finger bowl with whatever I cook next.
Also still have to make some kind of pickle, a chutney, lemon curd, shortbread, a savory quiche, a sandwich cake, a fruit pie, 5 scones, 6 brownies and a loaf of bread for the local village show. I appreciate that some of this stuff is best made on the day of serving, however I still need to finalise recipes, which is taking longer than expected.
There has been two failures on the scones so far; "honeycomb and crystallised ginger" are proving tricky. Honeycomb, the traditonal aerated confection of honey, sugar, and bicarbonate of soda, melts when used as an inclusion in baked goods. The first batch of scones I decided to use large chunks of honeycomb, along with some finely ground honeycomb in the place of sugar. And sliced crystallised ginger. Needless to say, these scones sort of "melted" as the honeycomb warmed up during baking - losing their shape until they could have passed for "messy rock buns", but certainly not scones.
The second batch, I used finely ground honeycomb in the place of sugar, but no large chunks of honeycomb. Still added some finely sliced crystallised ginger. These did turn out looking and tasting like scones, however the taste of honeycomb was not noticable. So that leaves me with a dilemma - increase the amount of finely ground honeycomb in the scone and risk sliding? Or attempt to use just honey instead for the honeycomb flavor (and risk a sticky dough)? Or just give up on the idea, since honeycomb will not maintain it's crunch in a scone anyway...
On the plus side, the Lavender Scones worked out quite nicely; normal scone recipe, but blitz some dried lavender flowers into some sugar. Use the "lavender sugar" in the scones, and possibly sprinkle some on top of the scones before baking. They're really nice.
In homage to "Abbatoir" (the paragraph mentions a stew of meat, herbs and vegetables), I prepared Navarin of Lamb to Raymond Blanc's recipe. (Here's the link: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2011/mar/09/raymond-blanc-navarin-lamb-recipe). It involves cooking lamb, herbs and root veg for 2 1/2 hours in an oven on 110 degrees Celcius. I was slightly concerned about the low oven temperature, but concerns proved unfounded; the lamb was perfectly cooked. This low temperature/long time combination resulted in the most tender lamb I've ever eaten. Do not be put off by the long cooking time - the preparation time and actual "hands-on" time required is minimal. You can just stick it in the oven and wander off.
I slightly underestimated the amount of herbs to put in - I added a handful from the garden (a combination of rosemary, thyme, mint and parsley) resulting in a Navarin which was "fragrant" rather than "herby" - which is probably how it's meant to be, but I would have preferred a stronger sauce. (Although it's quite likely that the slightly thin sauce was a result of using a full quantity of liquid, but only half the amount of lamb, as only two people were eating it. The veg needed the full amount of water to cook in.) So next time (yes, I will be making this again), more herbs and more peppercorns are the order of the day.
Next, it's onto "Abondance" (a cow's milk Alpine cheese). Since none of my local supermarkets sell this, it looks like I'm going to have to mail-order, however the concept of recieving cheese through the post seems a) unhygenic (lack of refrigeration?) b) expensive, for cheese. c) unfortunate for the postman who has to deliver the cheese, if it's particularly smelly. (I once ordered garlic bulbs for planting through the post - the package smelled pungently, which was not something I had considered. Apologised to the postman, who turned out not to be a vampire). d) it's not really possible to judge the quality and hygenie of the premises where the cheese was kept if you buy it mail order. On this basis I'm considering waiting until Winter to buy "abondance" - at least if it is not delived in a refrigerated van, it will still be cold. Also, I have no idea how to use abondance cheese in cooking; all ideas welcome!.
FYI, I have not skipped "Ablutions at the Table" - I will be serving a finger bowl with whatever I cook next.
Also still have to make some kind of pickle, a chutney, lemon curd, shortbread, a savory quiche, a sandwich cake, a fruit pie, 5 scones, 6 brownies and a loaf of bread for the local village show. I appreciate that some of this stuff is best made on the day of serving, however I still need to finalise recipes, which is taking longer than expected.
There has been two failures on the scones so far; "honeycomb and crystallised ginger" are proving tricky. Honeycomb, the traditonal aerated confection of honey, sugar, and bicarbonate of soda, melts when used as an inclusion in baked goods. The first batch of scones I decided to use large chunks of honeycomb, along with some finely ground honeycomb in the place of sugar. And sliced crystallised ginger. Needless to say, these scones sort of "melted" as the honeycomb warmed up during baking - losing their shape until they could have passed for "messy rock buns", but certainly not scones.
The second batch, I used finely ground honeycomb in the place of sugar, but no large chunks of honeycomb. Still added some finely sliced crystallised ginger. These did turn out looking and tasting like scones, however the taste of honeycomb was not noticable. So that leaves me with a dilemma - increase the amount of finely ground honeycomb in the scone and risk sliding? Or attempt to use just honey instead for the honeycomb flavor (and risk a sticky dough)? Or just give up on the idea, since honeycomb will not maintain it's crunch in a scone anyway...
On the plus side, the Lavender Scones worked out quite nicely; normal scone recipe, but blitz some dried lavender flowers into some sugar. Use the "lavender sugar" in the scones, and possibly sprinkle some on top of the scones before baking. They're really nice.
Wednesday, 10 August 2011
Today, I gained a beard...
Today I was recipe testing for the Sponge Cake category of the local Village Show ("a sponge cake, any flavour, three egg size, no icing"). Having grown bored of the traditional Victoria Sponge, I decided to try the Larousse "Almond Sandwich Cake" on page 1012. It's essentially a whisked sponge with added ground almonds. It wasn't a complete disaster, but something went wrong at some stage, but I'm not sure what it was...
The initial process of whisking sugar with egg yolks until "fine and thick enough to form a ribbon trail" actually resulted in a very stiff mixture - as if there was too much sugar, or not enough egg yolks. (6 yolks to 250 grams sugar - I halved the recipe since it was a test batch). Whisked to a creamy colour, but it was clearly not liquid enough to form the required "ribbon trail"; my electric hand whisk was struggling to beat it. Adding the flour and cornflour to this mixture made the problem worse - the mixture became the consistency of a dough, not a cake batter. Adding ground almonds did nothing to help the dough, and it is at this stage that you're expected to fold in 5 whisked egg whites. Folding egg whites into a stiff dough is an impossible task; it resulted in a lumpy batter, so I probably knocked a fair amount of air out of the egg whites whilst attempting to get the batter smooth. (Resorted to using an electric hand whisk, instead of just folding in the egg whites). By the time the egg whites were mixed in, the consistency was about right for a cake, but a few lumps remained.
At some point during incorporating the flour into the batter with an electric whisk, a cloud of cornflour was created, and decided to settle all over my head. This became apparent upon glancing in the bathroom mirror after cooking- a thin layer of flour had also attached itself to all the fine hairs on my face, resulting in a flour-beard and grey hair.
The cake cooked relatively well. It did rise. It looks like a cake. However it is dry and crumbly, so I'm still on the look out for a prize winning sponge recipe. Also, since it's quite crumbly, a springform tin is useful, since it's easily damaged from attempting to slide it out of a standard loose-bottomed cake tin.
I'm still not sure what went wrong with the recipe; I think my weighing scales are getting old (you weigh out the amount you require, look away from the scale for a second, look back and it says something completely different). On the other hand, a bad workman always blames her tools. Or maybe my egg yolks were just particularly small.
I would say that I'm not intending to make this recipe again, but there's another ten variations on this which I will have to complete whilst working my way through Larousse. Plenty of time to get it right. Mental reminder to buy really large eggs...
Today, I also learned how to prove Expectation for the gamma distribution (X~Gamma (a, r)) = r/a Here's a link to a powerpoint which covers how to prove Expectations for all the main distributions: math.usask.ca/~laverty/S241/.../09%20S241%20Expectation.ppt
The initial process of whisking sugar with egg yolks until "fine and thick enough to form a ribbon trail" actually resulted in a very stiff mixture - as if there was too much sugar, or not enough egg yolks. (6 yolks to 250 grams sugar - I halved the recipe since it was a test batch). Whisked to a creamy colour, but it was clearly not liquid enough to form the required "ribbon trail"; my electric hand whisk was struggling to beat it. Adding the flour and cornflour to this mixture made the problem worse - the mixture became the consistency of a dough, not a cake batter. Adding ground almonds did nothing to help the dough, and it is at this stage that you're expected to fold in 5 whisked egg whites. Folding egg whites into a stiff dough is an impossible task; it resulted in a lumpy batter, so I probably knocked a fair amount of air out of the egg whites whilst attempting to get the batter smooth. (Resorted to using an electric hand whisk, instead of just folding in the egg whites). By the time the egg whites were mixed in, the consistency was about right for a cake, but a few lumps remained.
At some point during incorporating the flour into the batter with an electric whisk, a cloud of cornflour was created, and decided to settle all over my head. This became apparent upon glancing in the bathroom mirror after cooking- a thin layer of flour had also attached itself to all the fine hairs on my face, resulting in a flour-beard and grey hair.
The cake cooked relatively well. It did rise. It looks like a cake. However it is dry and crumbly, so I'm still on the look out for a prize winning sponge recipe. Also, since it's quite crumbly, a springform tin is useful, since it's easily damaged from attempting to slide it out of a standard loose-bottomed cake tin.
I'm still not sure what went wrong with the recipe; I think my weighing scales are getting old (you weigh out the amount you require, look away from the scale for a second, look back and it says something completely different). On the other hand, a bad workman always blames her tools. Or maybe my egg yolks were just particularly small.
I would say that I'm not intending to make this recipe again, but there's another ten variations on this which I will have to complete whilst working my way through Larousse. Plenty of time to get it right. Mental reminder to buy really large eggs...
Today, I also learned how to prove Expectation for the gamma distribution (X~Gamma (a, r)) = r/a Here's a link to a powerpoint which covers how to prove Expectations for all the main distributions: math.usask.ca/~laverty/S241/.../09%20S241%20Expectation.ppt
Monday, 8 August 2011
Day Three
Today, I have created the most amazing marmalade in the world. (It's fine if you consider that statement to be too self-congratulatory, but unless you can provide me a recipe that produces a better marmalade than I have just made, I stand by my original statement.) It is the result of trying to make marmalade from what was left in the kitchen - I was trying to create something cheaply for the local Village Show. And as a result, there is now no sugar left anywhere in the house - cue parental annoyance. Here's the recipe, should you wish to make it yourself (and I highly recommend that you do).
Orange, Clemantine, Rosewater and Cardamon Marmalade
- Two Navel Oranges
-5 or 6 Tired-looking Clemantines (Enough so that the entire quantity of fruit weighs approximately 750 grams. "Tired-looking" is optional)
1100 mls Water
1300 grams Granulated or Preserving Sugar
5 Cardamom Pods
4 Cloves
8 drops Rosewater
Teaspoon of butter
Very large pan - the mixture foams a huge amount during boiling with the sugar.
A sugar thermometer is optional, but handy.
Method: Wash Oranges and Clemantines, particularly if they're not unwaxed, to remove any coatings on the fruit. Place fruit in a pan, cover with the water, bring to the boil and cook with a lid on the pan for about an hour; fruit should be easily pierceable upon prodding with a fork. Turn off the heat, remove the fruit from the pan and leave to cool until cold enough to handle. Reserve the liquid in the pan! (Do not pour down the sink).
When fruit is cool enough to handle, peel the skin away from the fleshy parts, throwing the fleshy parts and pithy bits back into the pan of liquid. (Keep the peel!). Add the cardamom pods (whole), cloves and rosewater to the pan of liquid and orange/clementine flesh, bring to boil, and boil for ten minutes (This is to increase the pectin content of the liquid, to aid setting- do not skip this step). Whilst this is cooking, slice the peels into (neat-ish) strips.
Once the pan of water/pulp/spices has boiled for ten minutes, place a sieve over a large bowl and drain the contents of the pan into the sieve. (It's fine to press down on the pulpy stuff in the sieve, so that it drains quicker). You can now throw away the remaining contents of the sieve. The liquid collected should now be returned to the pan.
Add the sugar and sliced peel to pan of liquid. Bring to boil, and boil until a blob of the mixture placed on a plate and allowed to cool will form a crinkled skin when pushed back with a finger (i.e "Setting point"). This will take around 15-30 minutes. Using a jam thermometer is useful as a confirmation that you have reached setting point, but I prefer not to solely rely upon a thermometer. The mixture starts off as pale, but it will have turned a fairly deep "orange marmalade" colour by the time setting point is achieved - almost as deep as "Frank Coopers thick cut orange marmalade". This is due to caramelisation of the sugar.
When setting point has been reached, turn off the heat, and add a teaspoon of butter. This is to disperse any scum/bubbles that may have accumulated upon the surface of the marmalade. Now, bottle in sterilised containers. This should make approximately four 1lb jars (four 370ml jars).
The next entry in Larousse, "Abattoir" (luckily for me) mentions a "dish of meat, with vegetables and herbs" in the text, and so as a homage to "abattoir", I will be cooking Navarin of Lamb. As opposed to wandering around an abattoir.
Orange, Clemantine, Rosewater and Cardamon Marmalade
- Two Navel Oranges
-5 or 6 Tired-looking Clemantines (Enough so that the entire quantity of fruit weighs approximately 750 grams. "Tired-looking" is optional)
1100 mls Water
1300 grams Granulated or Preserving Sugar
5 Cardamom Pods
4 Cloves
8 drops Rosewater
Teaspoon of butter
Very large pan - the mixture foams a huge amount during boiling with the sugar.
A sugar thermometer is optional, but handy.
Method: Wash Oranges and Clemantines, particularly if they're not unwaxed, to remove any coatings on the fruit. Place fruit in a pan, cover with the water, bring to the boil and cook with a lid on the pan for about an hour; fruit should be easily pierceable upon prodding with a fork. Turn off the heat, remove the fruit from the pan and leave to cool until cold enough to handle. Reserve the liquid in the pan! (Do not pour down the sink).
When fruit is cool enough to handle, peel the skin away from the fleshy parts, throwing the fleshy parts and pithy bits back into the pan of liquid. (Keep the peel!). Add the cardamom pods (whole), cloves and rosewater to the pan of liquid and orange/clementine flesh, bring to boil, and boil for ten minutes (This is to increase the pectin content of the liquid, to aid setting- do not skip this step). Whilst this is cooking, slice the peels into (neat-ish) strips.
Once the pan of water/pulp/spices has boiled for ten minutes, place a sieve over a large bowl and drain the contents of the pan into the sieve. (It's fine to press down on the pulpy stuff in the sieve, so that it drains quicker). You can now throw away the remaining contents of the sieve. The liquid collected should now be returned to the pan.
Add the sugar and sliced peel to pan of liquid. Bring to boil, and boil until a blob of the mixture placed on a plate and allowed to cool will form a crinkled skin when pushed back with a finger (i.e "Setting point"). This will take around 15-30 minutes. Using a jam thermometer is useful as a confirmation that you have reached setting point, but I prefer not to solely rely upon a thermometer. The mixture starts off as pale, but it will have turned a fairly deep "orange marmalade" colour by the time setting point is achieved - almost as deep as "Frank Coopers thick cut orange marmalade". This is due to caramelisation of the sugar.
When setting point has been reached, turn off the heat, and add a teaspoon of butter. This is to disperse any scum/bubbles that may have accumulated upon the surface of the marmalade. Now, bottle in sterilised containers. This should make approximately four 1lb jars (four 370ml jars).
The next entry in Larousse, "Abattoir" (luckily for me) mentions a "dish of meat, with vegetables and herbs" in the text, and so as a homage to "abattoir", I will be cooking Navarin of Lamb. As opposed to wandering around an abattoir.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Update
There is now also a vat of Blackberry, Apple and Vanilla jelly being strained in the kitchen (before the sugar is added and boiling commences, to turn it into actual jelly). And the starter for alcoholic Ginger Beer, brewing in the kitchen. Mother isn't too happy about this one. (Yes, during University holidays I'm living with my parents. They don't usually object to my cooking escapades too much - especially when they get something edible out of it. However if I use up all the sugar/butter etc... and then create something inedible, they become pretty peeved.)
I really should do some maths now... I do enjoy doing maths, but only when I can understand it. Not that I don't understand my current maths, it's just that it's not as simple as it used to be... which is probably why I procrastinate and cook. It's the difference between understanding the maths enough to be able to answer a question about it, and understanding it enough to be able to really do something with it... It generally takes me about two years between being taught the maths to reaching the stage of "understanding what you can really do with it". Looks like I need to speed up.
Wishing you all a lovely evening, L
I really should do some maths now... I do enjoy doing maths, but only when I can understand it. Not that I don't understand my current maths, it's just that it's not as simple as it used to be... which is probably why I procrastinate and cook. It's the difference between understanding the maths enough to be able to answer a question about it, and understanding it enough to be able to really do something with it... It generally takes me about two years between being taught the maths to reaching the stage of "understanding what you can really do with it". Looks like I need to speed up.
Wishing you all a lovely evening, L
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