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A Grain-Free Thanksgiving

Paleo pies for the holidays

Photographs and Story by Rose Shewey

In need of a flaky, buttery pie crust that isn’t made with grains? I have you covered. Using simple pastry-making techniques, you can have a grain- and gluten-free pie crust that rivals traditional crusts in every way. While most no-wheat pie crusts come out looking rather pale, this crust will give you the warm, golden glow of a pie worthy of your Thanksgiving dessert spread. 

Paleo Pie Crust

(Adapted from Bojon Gourmet)

Makes 1 pie crust

5-6 tablespoons (80 milliliters) ice cold water

2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, strained

1/2 cup (75 grams) cassava flour

1/2 cup (60 grams) blanched almond flour

1/4 cup (28 grams) arrowroot flour

2 1/2 tablespoons (15 grams) finely ground chia seed or flax seed

1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt

8 tablespoons (115 grams) cold, unsalted butter (or plant butter), sliced 1/4-inch thick

Prepare the Dough

Stir together 5 tablespoons of ice water and lemon juice and set aside. Combine the cassava, almond and arrowroot flours with the ground chia seed and salt in the bowl of your food processor. Scatter the butter pieces over the top and start pulsing while gradually pouring in the ice water/lemon mixture until all the liquid is incorporated. Pinch the dough with your fingers — it should hold together easily, with lots of butter chunks the size of chickpeas. If the dough is dry, drizzle in more ice water by the teaspoon while pulsing the mixture until the dough is evenly moist but not sticky. Do not over-process the dough. Gather and flatten the dough, wrap and chill until firm, for about 30 minutes.

Fold the Dough

Roll out the dough on a piece of floured parchment into a large 1/4-inch thick rectangle. The dough will crack and tear the first time you are folding it but will hold its shape with repeated folding. Periodically dust the dough lightly with cassava flour. Flip the dough over by placing a second piece of parchment on top of the dough and carefully turning it over. Fold the dough in thirds like folding a letter, then fold in thirds the other way. Flatten the folded dough slightly, re-wrap, and chill until firm, 30 minutes. Repeat the rolling and folding process one more time. The dough will become smoother and pliable the second time around.

Shape the Crust

Roll out the dough into a 12-inch circle on a lightly floured piece of parchment paper, dusting the dough with cassava flour as needed, rotating and flipping it to prevent it from sticking. Carefully place the dough into a 9-inch pie plate, fit it into the corners, and trim it to a 1-inch overhang. Save the scraps to patch any tears in the dough once it is par-baked. Fold the overhang of the crust under and flute the crust if desired. Prick the bottom of the crust with a fork. Chill the crust until firm, at least 30 minutes.

Bake the Crust

Par-baking or “blind baking” is recommended (see instructions online) before adding in the filling but this step is optional. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Fill and bake your pie as directed in your recipe.

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Haunted, Not Horrified

Eerie treats for Halloween

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

On All Hallows’ Eve, I want to be spooked, not nauseated. Every year, I cringe at the sight of gory Halloween paraphernalia. A matter of personal preference? Perhaps. Now that we are parents to a young child, I have mixed feelings about terrifying the innocent. No trick-or-treater should be scarred for life by a 10-foot-tall disemboweled animatronic zombie reaching for him as he walks up the sidewalk with a bag full of candy wearing a pumpkin suit. What’s wrong with the tried-and-true classics, like black cats, friendly ghosts and cackling witches?

This goes for food as well. In all my recipe-developing, food-styling and photographing years, I have successfully dodged making ghoulish treats for Halloween, goodies as ghastly as cream cheese stuffed “roach” dates, or zombie brain Jell-O shots. Thanks, but no thanks. Esthetics do matter. Unless you have lost a bet, you should not be subjected to red velvet brain cake, or worse — and it can get much worse. So let’s move on to a delightfully, frightfully, whimsical Halloween the whole family can enjoy.

For my part, I’m planning on casting a spell on my All Hallows’ Eve tablescape with chai spiced candy apples — no artificial dye needed, unless you want a deep crimson. I quite like the natural, organic glow of these apples, which retain coloring from the rooibos tea. I have also tested these with natural food coloring, which worked well enough. Keep in mind that at 300 degrees Fahrenheit — the required temperature to create a hard candy shell — most natural dyes fade; some more, some less. If you use red apples (pick your favorite variety), you might fall in love with the naturally tinted, glossy and traditional look of these slightly haunted — but not too much — candy apples.

Chai Spiced Candy Apples

Makes 6

INGREDIENTS

6 apples

400 grams (about 2 cups) granulated sugar

240 milliliters freshly brewed rooibos tea, or filtered water

1/2 teaspoon ground chai masala

1 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice (to avoid crystallization)

Optional: India Tree red liquid food color (all natural)

DIRECTIONS

For best results, make sure your apples are unwaxed or remove wax prior to making the candy by dipping apples into boiling hot water for 5-10 seconds, then wipe off wax immediately with a kitchen towel. Apples may turn brown from this procedure but wax could cause unsightly air bubbles in the candy shell, so use this method as needed. Make sure your apples are completely dry, twist off stems and insert lollipop sticks or small but sturdy wood sticks. In a medium-small pot combine all ingredients (except for food coloring, if using) and slowly heat the mixture until it comes to a boil. Allow the sugar to boil gently until the mixture turns an amber color or a thermometer registers 300 degrees Fahrenheit — the hard crack stage. Turn off heat and immediately add food coloring and start dipping apples. Set apples on parchment or wax paper until the candy shell has completely hardened. Store in the refrigerator.

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Late Summer Blooms

Cream cheese with a figgy twist

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

Many of my childhood summers were spent with my mom’s side of the family on the Adriatic coast in Croatia, where lush Mediterranean gardens grow fig trees taller than a Sandhills dogwood. In the late summer my family would harvest several pounds of figs every day from just a single tree. Those of us visiting from north of the Austrian Alps ate figs until our bellies ached.

Figs are, hands down, my favorite late-summer fruit. Or, to be botanically more accurate, inverted flower. Each seed inside a fig corresponds to one small flower contained in a bulbous stem. Call it what you will, figs, with their sweet, jammy texture and signature crunch, are darn exquisite, whichever way you want to categorize them.

To this day, I am surprised to find pricey, imported plasticcased figs in the produce aisles of food markets in North Carolina when our very own state — our own county, in fact — has proven to be an excellent host for fig trees. A local farm on the outskirts of Aberdeen has been successfully growing an entire fig tree orchard for several years, which begs the question: Why isn’t every farm growing fig trees in Moore County? My family would single-handedly keep them in business.

Even if you can’t get fresh figs, you can still enjoy them in other ways. Dried figs make an excellent addition to a homemade cream cheese. This year, I’ve used everyone’s favorite, pimento cheese, as a basis and inspiration for a cream cheese which holds all it promises — a honey- and fig-sweetened, tangy goat cheese and sharp cheddar blend that melts on your tongue. Spread it on sandwiches and crackers or eat it by the spoonful.

Fig, Honey and Goat Cream Cheese

INGREDIENTS

3-4 fresh or dried figs, minced (see notes)

2 cups freshly grated extra sharp cheddar cheese

4 ounces goat cheese

4 ounces cream cheese, cut into 1-inch cubes, room temperature

1 teaspoon honey

1⁄4 teaspoon garlic powder

1⁄4 teaspoon onion powder

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Salt, to taste

DIRECTIONS

In a large bowl, combine the finely minced figs with cheddar, goat cheese, cream cheese, honey, garlic powder, onion powder, and several twists of black pepper. Beat the mixture together with a hand mixer or by hand with a sturdy wooden spoon until thoroughly combined. Taste, and add more black pepper if desired, and/or salt for more flavor. Transfer the mixture to a serving bowl and serve immediately, or chill it in the refrigerator for up to 1 week. This cheese mixture hardens as it cools; let it rest for 30 minutes at room temperature before spreading it.

Notes: Dried figs work best; fresh figs can be used but the cheese will be softer overall. In a pinch, you can use 1-2 tablespoons of fig preserve instead of dried or fresh figs.

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Simple and Savory

Crêpes are more than just breakfast

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

As an on-again, off-again student of the French language, I wince at how English speakers pronounce crêpes. Call me a stickler for detail, but the correct pronunciation is not craypes but, repeat after me, crehp, which rhymes with step — short “e” and silent “s.”

If the sound of crehp earns you blank stares or confused looks the next time you’re out for lunch, don’t fret; it’s a common reaction. Just stand your ground and bask in the glow of your linguistic excellence. Attempting the guttural “r” when saying crêpes helps tremendously but, regrettably, also makes you sound a tad pretentious, so keep that in mind. Or you could simply mumble the word in a noncommittal fashion and be done with it — a strategy my husband successfully uses to avoid attention on all counts.

Language intricacies aside, crêpes epitomize simplicity. As a lover of folkways, crêpes fit the bill for me, and not just as a culinary feature. You can make crêpes, as some people still do, with literally two ingredients: flour and water. That’s it. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.

The history of crêpes illustrates this well enough. They likely originated in the sea-swept northwest of France as a street food for laborers and townsfolk, though some claim the French pancake dates back to the 5th century when they were first offered to French Catholic pilgrims visiting Rome for Candlemas. Nevertheless, it’s a simple food with a thousand and one variations. You do not need a hot iron and rozelle to make beautiful crêpes — a simple skillet and spatula are perfectly adequate tools.

For a playful twist on hearty crêpes (also called galettes in some regions), mix fresh nettles, wild garlic or spinach into the batter. Not only will it enhance the flavor but add a little velvety texture to your crêpes. As for filling them, the sky’s the limit.

Spinach Crêpes

(Makes about 8)

Ingredients

3/4 cup fresh spinach

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

3 eggs

2 cups whole milk

Pinch freshly grated nutmeg

Pinch salt

Place spinach in a food processor and pulse. Add flour, eggs, milk, nutmeg and salt. Blend to make a smooth batter. Heat oil or butter in a skillet over medium/high heat. Add just enough batter to cover the base of the pan and cook until small bubbles appear on the surface, then flip and briefly cook on the other side. Fill crêpes with your favorite ingredients. We like ricotta cheese, fried egg, mushrooms and sautéed veggies, such as tomatoes, asparagus, onions and peas.  PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.

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“Midsommar” in the Pines

Scandi-style potato salad for summertime festivities

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

Midsummer, which marks the longest day and shortest night of the year, is quite possibly the least eventful, most anticlimactic holiday in our neck of the woods. With our proximity to the equator, we gain a modest three hours of daylight in the first part of the year until we hit the summer solstice, and an imperceptible reversal begins. On the bright side, quite literally, our winters are sufficiently sunlit to stave off any form of seasonal depression, so we have that going for ourselves.

Meanwhile, midsummer is nothing short of spectacular in other parts of the world — above the Arctic Circle and the northernmost parts of Scandinavia, Canada and Alaska never lose daylight during this time of the year. In my home pastures of Germany, the sun doesn’t set until almost 10 p.m. during the summer months.

Even though midsummer, or “midsommar,” as it is known throughout northern Europe, has been celebrated in many cultures across the globe, Sweden, Norway and Denmark take the cake when it comes to honoring this day. City dwellers will migrate to the countryside. There will be picnics, bonfires and nights reveling under the open sky; girls will wear flower crowns and dance around the midsommar pole into the wee hours.

At the mention of Sweden, if anything in terms of food comes to mind, it’s usually “Köttbullar” — Swedish meatballs. In part, this is owed to the blue- and yellow-logoed furniture chain that popularized this dish throughout the world. Sweden has many other national delicacies on the menu, though. Especially popular during the summertime is potato salad seasoned with dill pesto. With an abundance of dill, which grows rampantly in northern Europe, and coastal areas supplying fresh fish, it’s a logical step to mince dill into pesto and get creative with it. Dill has a brilliantly fresh, citrusy aroma that pairs incredibly well with seafood — but also makes a stunningly flavorful potato salad.

So, whether you add smoked salmon to this dill pesto potato salad or serve it with boiled eggs as a light lunch or dinner, it has the potential of becoming your new summertime (or year-round) favorite.

Dill Pesto Potato Salad

(Serves 4, as a side dish)

Ingredients

18 ounces cooked new potatoes (skin on)

1 bunch fresh dill

2-3 cloves garlic, peeled

3/4 cup walnuts, almonds or pignolias, chopped

Dash of lemon juice

2 ounces Västerbotten cheese (or Parmesan), grated

80-120 milliliters extra-virgin olive oil

 

Remove tough stems from the dill, discard the stems and add dill to a food processor together with garlic, nuts and lemon juice. Chop roughly, then add cheese and a little bit of olive oil at a time and pulse until you have a thick paste. Add more olive oil for a smoother, sauce-like pesto. In a large bowl, combine potatoes and pesto. Mix until potatoes are well coated and serve right away.   PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.

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Spill It!

Berry-infused herbal iced tea

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

This summer, I plan on adapting the most iconic of all Southern traditions. My goal is to have a jug of iced tea chilling in the fridge at all times, ready to be served to anyone knocking on the door of my screened-in porch, honoring that Southern hospitality I’ve come to appreciate so much.

As someone who is notoriously sensitive to substances of any kind (kombucha on an empty stomach has me buzzed), I had to lay off the caffeine recently which, naturally, disqualifies coffee, but also caffeinated teas. So, black tea is out for me. While everyone’s favorite champagne of teas —  Darjeeling — or any of the other black tea varieties have never been my top choice to begin with, I do enjoy caffeine-free herbal teas with a glowing passion. Not only have herbs helped me heal a number of ailments throughout my life, many herbal teas have the most delightful aroma and are just plain delicious in all their earthy, sweet goodness.

While tea — black, herbal or otherwise — isn’t for everyone, even the staunchest tea opponents (mainly devoted coffee drinkers) will come around to it when tea is served the Southern way: ice cold with a hint (or heaps) of sugar, preferably on a hot summer’s day. If the conditions are right, it doesn’t even matter what variety of tea is served. As long as ice cubes chink and tumblers glisten, bottoms will go up.

Apart from using the best quality leaves available to you, there is one other significant way to elevate your tea-brewing game: collecting water from a pristine source. My mom, to this day, will hike into the woods outside the village where I grew up to bottle the purest mountain spring water that comes spluttering down between moss-covered rocks. In lieu of that, filtered water will do the job. The bottom line is, quality ingredients will make a quality product. Whether you prefer a hot brew, cold brew or whimsical “sun tea,” pour it over ice, add seasonal fruit and enjoy a quintessential part of Southern living.

 

Strawberry Hibiscus Iced Tea

(Makes 2 servings)

Ingredients

1 quart filtered water

5-6 teaspoons dried hibiscus flowers

200 grams (roughly 1 cup) frozen strawberries

Sweetener of choice, such as honey, granulated sugar or maple syrup, to taste

Ice and fresh strawberries, for serving

 

Bring water to a boil. Place dried hibiscus flowers and frozen strawberries in a large jar (bigger than a quart). Remove water from heat and pour over hibiscus and strawberries. Mash strawberries and allow to steep for 6-8 minutes, then strain liquid into a pitcher. Refrigerate and serve over ice with sweetener of choice and fresh strawberries.

For a more intense strawberry flavor, steep the tea without strawberries for 6-8 minutes, strain, then add strawberries, mash and infuse for several hours or overnight, and strain one final time before serving.  PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.

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Hold the Sugar

The sweet, sweet world of cakes and frosting

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

American buttercream frosting is what happens when you leave your toddler unattended in the kitchen with access to baking supplies. Too harsh? Well, let’s look at the basic recipe together. To frost a medium-sized layer cake, you need about 2 cups of butter mixed with — brace yourselves — 2 whole pounds of powdered sugar. That’s two bags of sugar! I’m genuinely curious who the first baker was to not just contemplate this mélange, but actually go through with it. It would never cross my mind to use even one-half the amount of sugar this recipe calls for in pretty much anything — mainly because I like to taste flavors other than, you know, tooth-achingly sweet. In case you were wondering, American buttercream is practically what is referred to as “mock cream.” Enough said.

Now that I have trampled all over your family tradition, you might be wondering: What frosting could possibly be better than the one Nana has been making for over half a century? It depends on what you need it for — “better” being a relative and subjective term anyway. To make a stable cream takes a bit more effort, involving more ingredients and equipment (a double boiler, for example), which can be intimidating to some. Frankly, though, I have relied on various types of simple, fluffy, cream-based frostings or, more recently, cake creams made with silky, rich mascarpone, for all sorts of frosting endeavors, and for layering cakes. Mascarpone holds up wonderfully at room temperature. It wouldn’t be my first choice at a sweltering midsummer picnic, but then again, what doesn’t sweat, melt or disintegrate when Dante’s Inferno takes hold in North Carolina during July and August? Exactly.

While actual cake recipe options can be a bit overwhelming, I tend to stick with my top three tried and true choices, one of them being this grain- and gluten-free cake recipe that stays fresh and dewy for many days thanks to the addition of yogurt. I have adapted this recipe many times over but this lemony, sunshiny variation — my tribute to springtime — is a family favorite. Goodbye winter, hello spring!

Gluten Free Lemon Cake with Mascarpone Cream

(Makes 10-12 servings)

Cake ingredients

4 eggs

3/4 cup full-fat milk

1/2 cup yogurt

1/2 cup coconut oil, melted and cooled

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

3 cups almond flour

1 cup tapioca flour

1/4 cup coconut flour

3/4 cup granulated sugar

2 teaspoons baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

zest of one organic lemon

Frosting ingredients

16 ounces heavy whipping cream

1/2 to 3/4 cup powdered sugar, to taste

16 ounces mascarpone cheese

1/4 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon lemon zest (optional)

Preheat your oven to 350F and line the bottom of two 6-inch springform cake pans with parchment paper. Grease the sides, if needed. Add all wet ingredients to a large bowl and whisk until smooth. In a separate bowl, combine all dry ingredients, then add the entire contents to the wet ingredients. Stir to combine and divide the batter between the two springforms. Bake for about 35-40 minutes or until a toothpick inserted comes out clean. Allow cakes to fully cool down, release from springforms and divide each cake into two layers (four total) and set aside.

For the frosting, chill a large mixing bowl (metal or glass) for about 20 minutes. Add heavy whipping cream and powdered sugar and beat until stiff peaks form, then add mascarpone and continue whisking until smooth. Distribute cream evenly between layers and frost the outside of your cake. If the cream feels a little soft, chill for 10-20 minutes and resume working on your cake.   PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.

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Sláinte to Stew

The king of Irish cuisine

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

At the height of the Celtic Tiger, a time when Ireland’s economic growth was the envy of every Western nation, I was offered a job on the Emerald Isle. It was a no-brainer. I packed my bags, said my goodbyes and off I went to live and work in Ireland. To be more exact, I set up shop in picturesque Dún Laoghaire just south of Dublin, a town with a pretty port and a laid-back vibe and, as it turned out, right around the corner from Bono’s seaside residence — true story.

After my two-year stint there I can confidently share that a bunch of stereotypes floating about Ireland and the Irish have at least a couple of grains of truth to them. For one, Guinness does taste different on the island. Take this from a wine enthusiast. If I can tell the difference, you can, too. And, yes, drinking is a Celtic national sport. It is socially acceptable to drink at pretty much any point in time, with the exception of the time spent at your place of work — a minor constraint, but fear not, there is always lunch hour. So, that’s that.

More importantly — and this is a delicate one as far as stereotypes go — let’s talk about the legendary Irish cuisine. You’ve never heard of it? My point exactly. If the choices were soda bread and colcannon, I’d say Irish cooking was completely lost on me. But, fortunately, there is one dish the Irish know how to pull off. Their one saving grace — subjectively speaking, of course —  is a hearty stew.

A purist at heart and always in search of the most authentic and original version of a dish, I made a couple of discoveries. To begin with, Ireland has as many “classic” and “traditional” Irish stew recipes as it has pubs. That’s a lot. Andrew Coleman, author of The Country Cooking of Ireland, probably nailed it with his attempt to capture the true nature of this recipe. His version simply calls for four ingredients: mutton, potatoes, parsley and onion. Irish stew, in days long gone, would have consisted of what people had on hand — mainly potatoes. If they were fortunate enough to have meat to add to the stew, they’d call it a feast.

That said, the most memorable Irish stew I have tasted was at the Guinness brewery in Dublin. A little bit richer and bolder than its rural counterparts, the Guinness beef stew may not be the most historically accurate rendition of this celebrated dish, but it is by far the most satisfying.

 

Irish Beef Stew with Guinness

(Adapted from The Official Guinness Cookbook, serves 4-6)

2 tablespoons olive oil

2 pounds chuck steak, cubed

2 onions, sliced

2 celery stalks, finely chopped

5 carrots, cut into large chunks

2 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 bottle Guinness Draught Stout (440 milliliters)

1 cup beef stock

2 tablespoons apple jelly

2 tablespoons tomato paste

2 teaspoons prepared mustard

2 sprigs fresh thyme

2 bay leaves

8 ounces baby potatoes

Salt and pepper, to taste

In large skillet, heat oil and brown meat in batches, about 10 minutes per batch. Set meat aside, then add onion, celery and carrots to the skillet and cook until slightly softened, about 5 minutes. Sprinkle vegetables with flour, stir and cook for about 2 minutes, add Guinness and beef stock along with the remaining ingredients, except for the potatoes. Add meat back to the skillet, cover with a lid and simmer for 2 hours. Lastly, add potatoes and continue to simmer for an additional hour. Serve with chopped parsley and bread.  PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.

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A Missing Delight

The case for mousse au chocolat

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

I recently came across a clip of Arnold Schwarzenegger making a protein shake. I watched with intrigue as he cracked a raw egg into his shake and, for good measure, threw in the shell, too! For extra calcium, he said. What a savage move! I know most people wouldn’t go near his concoction because of the raw egg in it, which prompted me to take a quick mental inventory of other foods we eat regularly, perhaps unwittingly, that call for glibbery whites and runny yolks.

On the top of my list: traditionally prepared ice cream, followed by tiramisu and mayonnaise (all of which can relatively easily be made egg free), and lastly, mousse au chocolat, which seems to have gone missing — it’s virtually absent from every dessert menu I have laid my eyes on recently.

So, why is mousse au chocolat not as popular as it used to and deserves to be? Could it be the raw eggs? It stands to reason. Raw eggs have most certainly acquired a bad rap over the past couple of decades. On top of that, a large number of mousse au chocolat recipes in the U.S. call for whipped cream to be folded into the melted chocolate as opposed to peaky egg whites (in fact, the original recipe does not contain cream at all). The result is something between a chocolate ganache and chocolate pudding, at best — tasty, but nothing to write home about. It’s the glossy, whipped egg whites that create the unique frothy texture in mousse au chocolat, which is paradoxically rich and airy at the same time. So, this missing delight finds itself between a rock and a hard place; it’s either made poorly or, evidently, not at all.

The decision is yours, of course. I have safely (but also cautiously) prepared and eaten raw eggs my whole life. Beyond that, I have experimented for over a decade with substituting plant-based whole food ingredients for animal-derived ones and have had great success with a lot of dishes. However, mousse au chocolat is not one of them. As much as I enjoy some avocado or aquafaba “mousse,” they are not a match for the centuries-old original; lacking in structure, like a cheap wine. So, if you have access to fresh, quality eggs, skip all the mousse imposters and make this confection just as people have for over 200 years, with satiny egg whites and creamy yolks for the most extraordinary results.

 

Mousse au Chocolat

(Serves 4)

200 grams semi-sweet chocolate (12 percent sugar)

50 grams butter

200 milliliters heavy cream

3 eggs

30 grams granulated sugar

In a double boiler, slowly melt chocolate and butter. Whip cream and set aside in the refrigerator. Separate eggs and beat egg whites (with clean beaters) until they form stiff peaks. In a separate bowl, beat egg yolks with sugar until the mixture turns light in color, stir in chocolate-butter mixture, and immediately fold in egg whites and whipped cream, using a spoon or spatula. Do not over-mix to avoid deflating the mousse, then refrigerate for at least 2 hours. Serve with whipped cream and chocolate shavings or any toppings of your choice.  PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.

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Celebrating the Pear

Delicate, temperamental and extraordinary

Story and Photograph by Rose Shewey

Pears are a recurring, bittersweet theme in my family. My mom grew up in the Yugoslavia of the 1940s as the youngest of five siblings. When her eldest brother secretly packed his bags one night to attempt to cross the border into Italy, my mom, then 7 years of age, sensed that big changes were ahead. Too young to comprehend the gravity of the situation, her brother simply told her that he was about to visit their aunt and would bring back a basket full of pears from her tree — my mom’s favorite fruit. It wasn’t until weeks after he had left that my mom understood that she’d never see the pears she was promised, nor would she see her brother again, who had been granted a visa to immigrate to the United States.

The pear saga continues. The first solid food I ate as a baby — I have photo proof — was a pear and, in middle school, the first poem I learned to recite by heart, wholeheartedly, was a ballad written by Theodor Fontane, Herr von Ribbeck auf Ribbeck im Havelland. It tells the story of an old man, a gentle soul, who graciously hands out pears from his stately tree to the children of the village. Knowing that he would die soon and that his son was utterly ungenerous, he asks to be buried with a pear. In time, a pear tree grows on his grave, and the children of the village joyfully pick pears every fall — the old man’s legacy.

Aside from the sentimental appreciation I have for pears, I always considered them to be in a class of their own. Pears, as opposed to their close relatives, apples — the workhorse of the rosaceous crop — are much more delicate in nature. More temperamental, too, but also capable of creating moments worth celebrating when eaten at just the right time. Pears can do extraordinary things, too. Slide a bottle over a young pear on a tree, as they do in the French Alsace region, and allow it to grow directly inside the bottle. You’ll end up with eau de vie de poire (“pear water of life”) after the pear reaches full maturity and is turned into delicious brandy.

A simple but snazzy way to enjoy pears is to poach them. Ah, the possibilities are endless. From using wine or cider or any type of fruit juice and spices you choose, poaching pears is most satisfying and requires no special skill. My latest discovery in enjoying poached pears? Marry them with whipped cottage cheese. As lumpy and, to some, unappealing as cottage cheese appears in its natural state, once whipped, it turns into a silky, marshmallow-y cream firm enough to make picture-perfect dollops when plated.  PS

 


 

Pomegranate Poached Pears with Whipped Cottage Cheese

(Serves 2)

16 ounces cottage cheese (4 percent milk fat)

1 quart pomegranate juice

1 cup sugar

Juice of 1/2 lemon

1 cinnamon stick

2-3 whole cloves

1-2 star anise

1 vanilla bean, cut lengthwise (optional)

2 large pears (Bosc, Bartlett or Anjou)

Toppings of your choice

 

Place cottage cheese in a food processor and blend until you have a smooth, silky texture that resembles soft whipped cream. Store in the refrigerator.

In a medium pot, heat pomegranate juice. Add sugar and stir to dissolve. Add lemon juice and remaining spices. Peel pears (halve and core, if desired), slide into the liquid and simmer until done — pierce pears with a paring knife, if it meets no resistance, the pears are done. This may take between 10 and 25 minutes, depending on the pears.
Be sure to keep pears submerged or turn them over every once in a while so they cook evenly.

Serve with whipped cottage cheese, pomegranate seeds, muesli, chopped nuts and cacao nibs, or any other toppings of your choice. Add a few spoonfuls of poaching liquid if desired.  PS

German native Rose Shewey is a food stylist and food photographer. To see more of her work visit her website, suessholz.com.