A Rebel with a Cause: Spiced Sweet Potato Ice Cream

If you ever need to be reminded of the sweetness of life (and the importance of lifelong learning), Bill Yosses, the executive pastry chef at the White House, is your man. Apropos to the back-to-school season, I saw him speak on Monday as part of the Harvard Lecture Series on science and cooking.

To say he is passionate about life is a chocolatey understatement. Full of dessert-filled surprises and a vast knowledge of subjects ranging from history to chemistry, he is a man of delightful contrast: one part traditionalist, one part rebel. He is charming and pure pleasure to listen to.

And he had a lot to say about a lot of things. He said some things that were expected. He preached about using quality ingredients (expected). He discussed the importance of moderation (unexpected).

He showed us a picture of the human brain; said our sense of smell is linked to the amygdala—a part of the brain responsible for fear and emotion (unexpected). He referred to dessert as “brain candy” (expected).

He talked about making classic French-style marshmallows (expected). He rebelled against the traditional rules of chocolate mousse making by using gelatin instead of cream to provide lightness (unexpected).

He spoke very fondly of Thomas Jefferson, a lover of food and gardening (expected). For a good twenty minutes (unexpected).

He made ice cream (expected). He made ice cream by pouring liquid nitrogen into citrus and olive oil (unexpected).

He inspired me and when I asked myself how I should celebrate the start of another sweet season, spud-based ice cream was the obvious answer. As a result, I have quite a bit in my freezer at the moment. Naturally, I’ve been experimenting with different ways of eating it.

There is the classic fall method: douse in maple syrup (expected); sprinkle with smoked sea salt if you are feeling frisky (as pictured). Or melt chocolate and peanut butter and pour over the ice cream (unexpected). Because the ice cream is fairly heavily spiced, it does well with a variety of flavors. Don’t worry, its burly and it can handle some abuse.

And now is certainly not the time to be timid: it’s fall. Get back in touch with comforting classics. Be inspired. Live like a White House pastry chef. Learn. Read up on Thomas Jefferson. Rebel. Make ice cream out of potatoes.

Spiced Sweet Potato Ice Cream

Adapted from Down Home with the Neelys

1-15 oz can of sweet potato puree

1.5 cups half and half

1/4 cup seasonal beer

3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed

1/2 tsp cinnamon

1/4 tsp ginger

1/4 tsp cloves

1/4 tsp nutmeg

Pinch of salt

Blend all ingredients until smooth. Chill and churn in an ice cream maker according to the instructions

Notes

-This is the second year I made this ice cream recipe and I have to say the version last year was better.

This time I used sweet potatoes that I had roasted instead of the canned potatoes (1 can is about 2.25 cups).

I also used a different beer and was without my friend, Justin, for the ice cream-making process. If you have a friend named Justin, I suggest inviting him to help. There is no downside to this. He may also drink the remaining beer and provide additional entertainment.

-Magic Hat #9 was great in this ice cream.

On a Wing and a Chocolate Covered Ground Cherry

Everyone needs a little whimsy. I recently found some in the ground cherry. Ground cherries are those little Chinese lantern-looking fruits that appear at farmers’ markets in August and September.

I held off buying them for years because I found them perplexing. What were they hiding inside their papery shells? Also, they made me feel bad. You tear their poor little husks back and then what? The cherry is gone in an instant. The whole husk removal process made me feel like I was tearing off angels’ wings. I have enough to worry about without having to fret that I am stirring up trouble in the cherub community.

Then I tasted them. It was like a pineapple and a very sweet cherry tomato got together and had a love child that they wanted to keep a secret. Ground cherries may come all wrapped up, but I can’t keep quiet about them. They are ethereal.

Much like the lemon-ginger mousse coupe I had at Myers + Chang earlier this week. I have practically been stopping strangers on the street to spread the lemon-ginger gospel. Tasting it was like eating a cloud of lemon meringue pie.

The mousse also came with a homemade fortune cookie. You don’t get much more whimsical than that. My fortune: he who laughs at himself never runs out of things to laugh at. Ha!

Joanne Chang’s fanciful dessert (and fortune) must have inspired me because I decided to hold the ground cherries I recently bought by their wings and dip them into chocolate. I used Taza chocolate because I love it and because it is the only chocolate I keep around.

Their factory in Somerville, Massachusetts uses authentic, hand-chiseled Mexican stone mills to grind the cacao they purchase (fairly and responsibly) from farmers. This makes for lovely chocolate. Their granite millstones also make for chocolate with a slightly gritty texture that doesn’t lend itself well to certain baking projects. One could argue it’s probably not practical to have Taza as my “house chocolate.” (To which I reply, since when is chocolate practical?) So on a wing and a prayer, I dipped the ground cherries into Taza’s gritty chocolate.

It worked, but it wasn’t optimal and I’d probably recommend a different chocolate if you are going to try this. Though, you have to love a product with an ingredient list like this:

Ingredients: organic roasted cacao beans, organic cane sugar and organic vanilla bean.

So the ground cherries took a little bath in some pretty pure stuff. Sure, you can see they have a little bit of texture to their bottoms, but this is chocolate dipped fruit we are talking about. Best to keep it light and keep your brow unfurled.

It turns out in the end, the ground cherries held their own little husked maxim: he who laughs at his own chocolate covered ground cherries laughs often (and eats well).

Chocolate Covered Ground Cherries

About 1.5 ounces high quality chocolate, of your choice, chopped into similar-sized pieces

1/2 pint ground cherries

Pull back the husks of the ground cherries but do not detach. Melt two-thirds of the chocolate in a microwave at 10 second intervals. (This is an easy way to temper chocolate so that it chocolate stays smooth and glossy. Though, I suppose if you are using gritty chocolate, it doesn't really matter much now does it?) When the microwaved chocolate is melted, add the reserved chocolate and stir until all of the chocolate is melted. Dip the ground cherries into the chocolate and allow to set.

Notes:

-It is recommended to heat the chocolate until 110 degrees. I've had a candy thermometer on my wish list for quite some time now. Sadly, I don't know that I'll ever be the kind of gal to take the temperature of chocolate before I eat it.

Thoughts of Fall & Flirting with Oven-Candied Tomatoes

I think I have been mind cheating on summer. Technically, we have a few weeks before fall begins, but I’ve already had thoughts of beef bourguignon and spiced sweet potatoes. I can’t wait to turn my oven on. I can’t wait to start braising again.

I feel like a monster. Who is this person so ready to give up on summer? We have had so many fond food memories together. I’ve eaten salads enrobed in blueberry vinaigrette and had my breakfast sweetened with lemon lavender marmalade. And yet …

Oh, the guilt.

My remorse led me straight to the pool this past Sunday; a last-ditch effort to rekindle what was left of my summer romance with summer. It was so cold I kept my jacket on the entire time. It clearly wasn’t working.

I should have seen this seasonal adultery coming: all the signs were there. Last week, I lost my cool when I sliced open a melon from the farmers’ market and its juice dumped all over the floor. I’ve grown emotionally distant—a tad neglectful even—with my corn, letting its natural sugar quietly turn to starch in my bottom crisper drawer. I’ve become resentful of peaches. (For once, I’d like to eat a peach in peace, without having to stand over my kitchen sink and have juice dribble down my chin.)

I’ve even been working later and longer hours, as I recently took a job as a food columnist for the South End News. (Curious? Check out my column about Joanne Chang of famed Flour Bakery + Café and her sticky buns.) I’ve loved this extra work, but have been too tired to even attempt making a berry fool or nectarine tart. Or maybe I've just lost interest?

Then I encountered the oven-candied tomato. It was the best of both worlds: bursting with the final flavors of summer, while still being hearty enough to carry me right into the arms of fall. The tomatoes barely lasted 12 hours: a very brief affair (but definitely one to remember).

It was also just saucy enough to ease the guilt. And you know what they say about guilt; it's a wasted emotion. Oh wait, that's regret. On second thought, I'd better buy a bushel of tomatoes before it's too late.

Oven-Candied Tomatoes

Adapted from The Splendid Table with Lynne Rossetto Kasper

10 plum tomatoes

1/3 cup olive oil

3 springs rosemary, chopped

Pinch red pepper flakes

Kosher salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Slice tomatoes in half and toss with olive oil on a sheet pan. Sprinkle with rosemary and red pepper flakes; generously season with salt and pepper. Roast for 30 minutes and then turn oven to 350 degrees and roast for another 30 minutes. (You may need to occasionally turn the pan to ensure even cooking.) Turn oven to 300 degrees and roast for an additional 30 minutes or until edges of tomatoes start to blacken slightly. If still not at desired doneness, turn oven to 250 degrees and roast for 10-15 minutes more.

Makes 20 halves

Notes:

-I am hoping I will stumble across a glut of September tomatoes; they often become discounted towards the tail end of the season, if you can hold out long enough.

-Theoretically, you should be able to freeze the tomatoes for a few months, should you have enough self-control to let them last that long.

(Fig)uring It All Out

There are some perks to getting older. If you do it right, you also get wiser. Well, wise might be a bit of a stretch. Suffice to say you may just become too tired to worry about things that don’t really matter.

Nevertheless, realizing you don’t need to have all your eccentricities compartmentalized and your cobwebs swept up is invigorating. Sure, my garden currently looks like it is being tended to by the crypt keeper and sure I’ve had to check that my pants weren’t being worn inside-out already once this week, but perfection is overrated.

Anne Lamott, one of my favorite writers, has a great quote about this:

“Perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

So when I found myself agonizing over whether Narragansett Creamery salty sea feta or a French goat cheese was better suited to be stuffed into the figs I was making for dinner, I had to snap myself back to reality. Cheese selection—even in the presence of the stately fig—is not of cosmic significance. (As much as I would like to believe otherwise.) So, I took a few deep breaths in front of the cheese counter, rolled my eyes, and got over myself. Next, I quietly filed ‘cheese selection’ into the ever-expanding list of things that probably won’t change my life.

Then I did something completely out of character: I bought BOTH varieties and decided to let the best cheese win. To my surprise, the feta—the unlikely partner—was better. The fig needed more bite than the goat cheese was willing to give. The roasted fig stuffed with feta and drizzled with maple syrup ended up being the perfect bridge from the end of summer to the beginning of fall.

Though not native to Massachusetts, figs reach peak harvest right around now on the west coast. I always have them on hand, fresh when available or dried when out of season. They are quite special either way.

Not surprisingly, fig trees are also a labor of love to grow, requiring five years or more of TLC before you see a darn fig. Once they do produce, the trees can continue on prolifically for decades, centuries even. It is even said the Buddha reached enlightenment while sitting under an old fig tree.

And he has likely been trying to tell us something about this all along. Slow down. Breathe. Eat more figs. (Though I am not quite sure how he’d feel about them being wrapped in bacon.)

So pardon the pun, but I’ve fig-ured out you don’t have to have all the questions of your life answered and your problems wrapped up with little pink bows. It helps to leave some room for possibility: see what develops. It’s much more fun this way. And much less scary. This is true enlightenment, at least for me; that, and eating pretty much anything encased in bacon.

Stuffed Figs Wrapped in Bacon with Maple Syrup

Fresh figs

Hazelnut oil (or any other you prefer)

Smoked sea salt

Black pepper

Feta cheese (or any other you prefer)

Bacon

Maple syrup

Preheat oven to 425. Slice figs in half and toss gently with oil until they are lightly coated. Season with salt and pepper. Stuff the center of your fig with a small amount of feta. Wrap in bacon and secure with a toothpick. Bake for about 15-20 minutes or until bacon is crisped. Drizzle with maple syrup. Sprinkle with additional sea salt, if desired.

Notes

-I didn't list amounts for the ingredients in this recipe, nor provide a yield; who am I to decide what amount of fig or bacon is right for you at this very moment? Enjoy experimenting.

-I buy bacon from Stillman's Farm. They raise animals consciously and humanely, which I like to think the Buddha would appreciate. It's also not very salty, so you may have to adjust your seasoning depending on the bacon you use.

It's None of Your Onions

Suffice to say the crazy August sun must have finally got to me: and fried my very last brain cell clean off my frontal lobe. I’ve been doing things that are so out of character lately. If I were counseling a friend, I’d rationalize that by making these decisions she is challenging herself. That her actions mean she is alive and among the living. But mostly, it’s just been unsettling.

I took a long, hard look at the recent path I was on and wondered if it was helping me get to where I wanted to go. The answer was, no, it was not: unless I wanted a vacation in a nice white room with padded walls.

I needed something to redirect me. I needed some food I could believe in. Something with bite, that could hold up to 'the crazy.' Pickled peppers and onions did the trick, that and booking an impromptu trip to Paris.

The French know how to eat and—not surprisingly—how to live. They have known for a very long time that food and life are both better when intertwined. And so it comes as no surprise that their idioms often involve food.

Take their expression, c'est pas tes oignons; it’s literal translation: “it’s none of your onions.” What those crazy French folk are saying is it’s really none of your business, if you please, merci beaucoup.

Only the French can make sounding huffy sexy. And only Boston-based chef, Barbara Lynch, can do the same for a recipe for pickled onions. You may be saying, but there is decidedly nothing sexy about pickled onions. Oh, but there is. These pickled onions are fantastic underneath poached eggs, partnered with cured meats, sandwiched between slices of pan integral; they are even seductive eaten straight from the jar while standing barefoot in your kitchen.

Trust me. The woman can pickle. Her bread and butter pickles appear with many of her entrees at B & G Oysters. If you need further convincing of her culinary prowess, Bon Appetit recently voted her new restaurant Menton (named after a small French village, naturally) as one of the top 10 best new restaurants in the country. But what I love most about Barbara is that she does not mind her own onions in the kitchen.

Some chefs can be hesitant to give out recipes. I recently saw her give a talk and she freely, happily—with abandon even—gave out not one, not two, but nine recipes to everyone in the audience. There will definitely be more Barbara Lynch recipes to come, so be sure to thank her for not minding her pickled onions if you see her.

As for me, the onions and hot peppers at the farmers’ markets are FANTASTIC right now, so I’ll be pickling and planning my trip to Paris through September. Truth is, this is one crazy ride and sometimes the rollercoaster goes off the tracks. But you have to give yourself permission to let it happen and then know how to get yourself back: and maybe even tell people to mind their own onions about it, though perhaps not if they are pickled.

Pickled Peppers and Onions

Adapted from Barbara Lynch's recipe for pickled onions in Stir

3/4 cup white vinegar

1/2 tsp kosher salt

1/4 tsp sugar

6-8 pink peppercorns

Pinch anise seed

A few sprigs of oregano

1 large white onion

1 hot pepper

Heat vinegar, salt and sugar in a sauce pan; add peppercorns, anise and oregano and bring to a boil. Slice the peppers and onions and place in a heat-proof bowl. Pour hot vinegar mixture over peppers and onions and let sit until it comes to room temperature. Refrigerate.

Makes about 2 cups.

Notes:

At first it seems like there isn't enough vinegar for the peppers and onions, but once they sit overnight they give up some water and swim happily in the vinegar. They also stay nice and crisp.

Lynch recommends saving the vinegar to use as a salad dressing or marinade base. She is right. It is killer poured over tomatoes and cucumber slices and tossed with a little oil.

I used a lime-green hot pepper solely because of how it looked (it's okay, you can judge). I think it made the mixture (and life) even better.

You could use a mandoline and thinly slice the onions (which is what Lynch recommended). I was feeling lazy and a little troubled and so a mandoline was out of the question.

The Brownies Abide

I love a good tradition.

Traditions work wonderfully as mileposts, measuring the distance you’ve traveled; acknowledging changes as life speeds along, while providing assurance that you have something constant amid the chaos to look forward to.

Whether it is glass pumpkins from MIT in September or lobster buoys from the Cape in June, certain objects and events help me punctuate the months and seasons. And in August, I get a little help from “the dude.”

For the past four years, I’ve attended The Big Lebowski movie screening and pre-show bowling party extravaganza at the Coolidge Corner Theatre in Brookline. (I thought long and hard about whether I should even admit any of this.) Like most traditions, it’s a little odd and perhaps a little sad, as occasionally you lose attendees along the way.

This year was no exception on both accounts. Sometimes you lose a rug that really tied the room together. Sometimes you lose a million dollar ringer. Sometimes you lose a friend. And if you can’t learn to accept this, you are entering a world of pain.

Luckily, where there is tragedy there is often chocolate. And so yesterday we ate brownies from Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc at Home cookbook. We drank white Russians. We honored the dude. We lived. And for a moment, we believed in nothing; it was exhausting.

As was making the brownies; I had to use every ounce in me not to deviate from the recipe. It is simply not in my nature to follow a recipe. But these brownies had to be baked. And baking is much different than cooking. As our good friend Walter Sobchak would say, this is not ‘nam. This is baking. There are rules. And so when Thomas Keller called for 61-64% cacao chocolate I did not question why; I simply abided.

Per usual, Thomas Keller can do no wrong. The brownies were amazing: thick and chocolaty and rich. Having them with white Russians was a grown up milk and cookie experience.

In the end, a tradition—be it brownie or bowling based—is a great way to stop, look around, and reflect on where you've come from: and where you are going. And if you’re really lucky, life may even throw you a new brownie recipe to help get you to the next milepost.

Ad Hoc Brownies

Adapted from Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc At Home

3/4 cup flour

1 cup unsweetened alkalized cocoa powder

3/4 pound butter

1 tsp kosher salt

3 large eggs

1 3/4 cups granulated sugar

2 tsp vanilla extract

6 ounces 61-64% cacao chocolate, chopped into chip-sized pieces

Preheat the oven to 350. Butter and flour a glass baking dish. Sift together flour and cocoa powder; add salt. Melt half the butter in a sauce pan and then pour heated butter into a bowl with the remaining butter; stir to melt. There should be small bits of butter remaining.

In another bowl, or bowl of a kitchen aid, mix the eggs and sugar on medium until very thick and pale, about 3 minutes. Mix in vanilla. On low speed, add about 1/3 of your flour mixture and then 1/3 of your butter and continue to alternate until both flour mixture and butter are fully combined. Stir in chocolate. Pour into floured baking dish and bake for 40-45 minutes, until a toothpick comes out with only a few moist crumbs. Let cool until room temperature.

Makes 12

Notes:

I used 2 bars of 62% semi-sweet Scharffen Berger chocolate. It's hard to find exactly 6 ounces of chocolate with 61-64% but Scharffen Berger has it. And thank goodness. Lord knows, I don't need extra chocolate hanging around.

Mr. Keller used 1/2 tsp vanilla paste instead of vanilla extract. I'm sure it's delicious, but I didn't have it. I figured the paste was probably more concentrated so I used more vanilla extract. Also, I just like vanilla. So okay, there was a tiny bit of recipe shenanigans.

If you like Thomas Keller, you should check out French Press Memos. Andra has a great food blog with bunch of Thomas Keller recipes to work your way through.

You can also order Ad Hoc at Home from the comfort of, well, your home from a variety of traditional online stores.

Take A Vacation From Your Problems ... With Sparkling Wine Gelatin

Gelatin. How can I put this delicately: it’s weird. Though its quirkiness is part of its charm. It’s like the slinky of the dessert world. And who doesn’t love a slinky? Life would probably be better with more random slinkies bouncing down stairs. Likewise, I probably don’t eat enough gelatin.

And I don’t know why. Whenever I have some form of the stuff, it’s like a mini vacation from my problems. There are a few other things that draw out similar feelings. Watching Audrey Hepburn movies is one. Champagne is another.

Recently, I found myself with a strange urge to make fruited gelatin. I ended up with something you might suppose Bill Cosby, Martha Stewart and F. Scott Fitzgerald would make, if they found themselves together on a lazy Sunday with some time to kill. Though, I am not confident that even Fitzgerald could have justified buying champagne for such a purpose. It turns out sparkling wine was even gilding the lily.

If you like your wine with a side of whimsy, tuck this recipe away in your ‘ace in the hole’ files. A woman has to have her go-tos. She needs a dress that fits like a glove, a fail-proof recipe, and at least one party trick. Since I can’t tie cherry stems with my tongue, I had better bring the gelatin.

I doubt anyone will object. Depending on the circumstances, it may even be necessary. To quote Betty Davis’s character in Old Acquaintance, “there comes a time in every woman’s life when the only thing that helps is a glass of champagne.” I’d like to amend this quote: “there comes a time in every woman’s life when the only thing that helps is a pan full of fruit-studded sparkling wine, eaten in cubes.” Eating said pan while watching Audrey Hepburn on a breezy summer Sunday? Now that’s gilding the lily.

Summer Fruit Sparkling Wine Gelatin

1.5 cups white grape juice

Pinch of salt

4 packages of gelatin (I used Knox Gelatine)

2.5 cups sparkling wine, divided

1/2 cup raspberries

1/2 cup blueberries

1/4 cup white currants

Heat grape juice until just about boiling. Add pinch of salt. Meanwhile, let the gelatin soak in 1/2 of the wine for a few minutes. Stir grape juice into the wine mixture until gelatin is dissolved. Add in fruit and remaining wine. Pour into 11 x 7 baking dish. Refrigerate for a minimum of 3 hours, ideally 5 or more.

Makes about 15 squares.

Notes:

-I was worried about maintaining the fizz, so I let the juice cool slightly before adding it to the wine. (It seemed reasonable to assume that heat might deflate the fizz.) This method seemed to work okay. I would have liked a little more fizz, but that said, I'd like a lot of things.

-These are essentially adult knox blocks. Don't feed them to the kiddies unless you feel like asking for it.

(How could I have forgotten how much I love Knox Blocks?)

-I pretty much add a pinch of salt to everything.