faux bois cookies

When tender vegetation succumbs to killing frosts, it's the trees that lend interest to the winter landscape. And after the bounty of summer fades into fond memories, the trees grace our holiday tables with good things to eat.

Trees are so ubiquitous that it's easy to take them for granted, but just try to imagine life without them. Our houses would have a different character and our hearths would be cold. Cooking, as we know it, would have deviated from its path and taken the course of history and the progress of man along with it.

But trees are more than wood— they enrich our catalog of flavor. Without the things we harvest from trees there would be no sweet reduced sap to pour over our pancakes. Chewing gum may have never been invented. We would not know the comfort of apple pie or the aroma of a ripe peach. Our pantries would be destitute of sweet, oily nuts and our spice racks would lack the warmth of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, and sweet bay. Winter, the bleakest season, would be unbearable without the spark of citrus.

So while we rejoice in our holiday hams and roasts and vegetables and grains, and all of the splendid things from pastures and fields, let us not forget to consider the trees and celebrate their bounty.

BISCUITS DE BOIS

These no-bake cookies are redolent of chocolate, chestnut, and bourbon. Bittersweet and boozy, they are decidedly adult treats. They were inspired by faux bois cement sculptures from the 19th century. Easy to make with these whimsical cookie cutters, they can alternately be made by cutting the dough freehand (or with a template) into branch shapes and pressing the surface with the tine of a fork to resemble bark. Make the dough well in advance to allow the flavors to mellow.

bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped 4 oz 113g
cocoa powder 3 Tblsp             11g
chestnut flour 3/8 cup            170g
egg white 1 large             40g
superfine sugar 2 Tblsp             26g
unsalted butter, softened 3.5 Tblsp          48g
bourbon 1.5 Tblsp          12g

Pulse the chocolate, cocoa powder, and chestnut flour in a food processor until the chocolate is the texture of sand.
In the bowl of an electric mixer, whip the egg white with the whisk attachment until it forms soft peaks. Gradually add the sugar while continuing to whip until stiff peaks form. Add the bourbon and whisk to incorporate. Remove the whisk and attach the paddle. Sprinkle the chocolate mixture over the meringue and beat on low for 1 minute. Add the soft butter to the crumbly mixture in the bowl and beat on low for 1-2 minutes, until a malleable dough forms. Wrap the dough in plastic wrap and age in the refrigerator for at least 2 days and up to 1 week.
Roll out the dough to 1cm/3/8” thickness. Cut out branch shapes and press woodgrain into top. Set out on a rack to dry for a few hours.
Makes about 1 dozen cookies.

PINE PALETTES

The base of these cookies are sables flavored with spruce-infused sugar. The best flavor comes from the tender young tips that appear in spring— winter tips have a woodier flavor that is best extracted by pulverizing in sugar.
The spruce sugar is used again in the icing to anchor the woodgrained chocolate veneers.

Spruce sables:
sugar                                              1 cup 200g
spruce tips                                      .28 oz                      8g
unsalted butter, softened 1 stick                      114g
flour                                              1 1/2 cups              190g
salt                                                  1/8 tsp                   .84g

Place the sugar and spruce tips in a blender and blend on high speed for 2-3 minutes until sugar is pulverized. Let stand 5 minutes and blend again for 1 minute. Sift the sugar through a medium sieve to remove spruce chaff. Sift again through a fine sieve to remove small particles. Measure out 1/2 cup/80g of spruce sugar and place in a mixing bowl. Reserve the remaining sugar for icing.
Add the butter and salt to the sugar in the bowl and beat on medium speed for 2 minutes until creamy. Gradually add the flour while beating on low speed until it is absorbed. Transfer dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap, wrap tightly and chill for at least 2 hours.
Roll out dough into a large rectangle 1/4"/6mm thick. Using a straight edge and a pastry wheel, cut dough into eighteen 1 1/2" x 2 1/2"/4cm x 6.5cm rectangles. Place on parchment-lined baking sheets. Bake in a preheated 350F/176C oven for 8 mins, or until cookies are baked through but still pale in color. Let cool.

Chocolate veneer:
dark chocolate, melted                                  3 oz                          85g
white chocolate, melted                                  4 oz                          113.5g
milk chocolate, melted                                  2 oz                             56.5g

Drop about 1 Tablespoon of dark chocolate on a sheet of acetate and spread thinly into a 3"/7.5cm band with an offset spatula. Place a woodgraining tool at the top of the band and slowly drag it through the chocolate while rocking it back and forth. Transfer the acetate onto a baking sheet and refrigerate until chocolate hardens. Blend the white chocolate with the milk chocolate until uniform in color. Remove the acetate from the refrigerator and let temper at room temperature for a few minutes. Spoon some of the white/milk chocolate mixture over the dark chocolate and spread evenly in a thin layer until woodgrain is completely covered. Return to refrigerator until hardened. Carefully peel woodgrained bands from acetate and set aside. Repeat 4 more times until you have completed 5 bands.
Cut the bands into 18 rectangles that are slightly smaller than the cookies using a straight edge and a knife that has been heated over a flame or in hot water.

Spruce icing:
reserved spruce sugar                                  6 Tblsps                      60g
unsalted butter, softened                              4 tsps                          21g
milk                                                              1 Tblsp                      18g

Cream the butter with the sugar, then blend in the milk.

To finish cookies: Spread a thin layer of icing on the center of each cookie. Top with a chocolate veneer, pressing gently to adhere.

Makes 18 cookies.

LOG SLICES

These cookies are made with 3 distinct batches of dough, flavored with products from 4 trees: acorn meal from White Oak (Quercus alba), maple sugar and syrup from Sugar Maple (Acer saccharum), mesquite flour from bean pods of the Mesquite tree (Prosopis), and ground pecans from the Pecan tree (Carya illinoinensis). Maple products and pecans are widely available, acorn meal can be found online or in Korean markets, and mesquite flour is found in health food shops.

Oak sapwood:
flour 2 cups 252g
acorn meal                                       1/2 cup                  66g
baking soda                                      1/2 tsp                   2.5g
salt                                                  1/8 tsp                     .84g
unsalted butter, softened                  1 1/2 sticks 170g
sugar 2/3 cup                  120g
egg                                                  1 large 50g

Maple heartwood:
flour 2 1/2 cups              338g
baking soda                                    1/2 tsp                  2.5g
salt                                                  1/8 tsp                     .84g
unsalted butter, softened       1 1/2 sticks 170g
maple sugar 2/3 cup                  120g
egg 1 large 50g

Mesquite bark:
flour                                            3/4 cups 100g
mesquite flour      1/2 cup    70g
baking soda                                      1/4 tsp 1.25g
salt                                                  pinch pinch
unsalted butter, softened 3/4 stick 85g
dark brown sugar 1/3 cup 52g
egg yolk   1 large 18g

finely chopped or ground pecans: 1 cup 90g
egg wash: 1 egg, lightly beaten

For each of the 3 doughs: In a medium bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients. Beat the butter with the sugar in a mixer bowl with the paddle attachment for 2 minutes on medium speed until light and creamy. Add the egg and continue beating until incorporated. Turn the speed to low and gradually add the dry ingredients in large spoonfuls until it is all absorbed and a malleable dough forms. For the Mesquite dough, stop beating while mixture is still crumbly. Tranfer to a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Wrap the Oak and Maple doughs tightly in plastic. Chill all 3 doughs for at least 2 hours.
To form cookies: Cut off 1/4 of the Maple dough and roll into a cylinder that is 3/4"/2cm diameter x 6" /15.5cm long. Cut off slightly less than 1/3 of the Oak dough and roll out into a rectangle that is roughly 6" x 5" x 3/8" thick (1.5cm x 13cm x 1cm). Transfer dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap and trim one of the long edges so that it is straight. Brush the surface of the dough with the egg wash (glue) and place Maple cylinder along the straight edge. Using the plastic wrap to guide the dough evenly, roll the Oak dough around the Maple cylinder, pressing firmly, until it is completely wrapped, then trim the edge where they meet. The dough will crack as it bends, this is to be expected. Lay the flat of your palms on the center of the log and roll back and forth, exerting even pressure, moving hands slowly from the center of the log to the edges, until the outer layer of dough is smooth and the log has grown about 1"/2.5cm in length, and decreased slightly in diameter. Repeat the wrapping and rolling of each layer with remaining dough, alternating between the Maple and the Oak, and eggwashing between each, until the log is comprised of 6 layers and measures about 8"/20.5cm in length and about 2 1/2"/6.5cm in diameter.
Scatter the crumbly Mesquite dough onto a sheet of plastic wrap and pat into an 8" x 6"/20.5cm x 15.5cm rectangle. Brush the surface with eggwash and place the log along one of the long edges. Use the plastic wrap to completely encase the log with the Mesquite dough, pressing firmly to adhere, then repeat the rolling motion to form a compact log. Scatter the ground pecans on work surface and roll the log over them to irregularly coat the surface. Trim the ends of the log, wrap tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours until firm.
To bake cookies: Slice the log 3/8"/1cm thick, rolling the log between slices to help it maintain its shape. Lay the slices out on a parchment-lined baking sheet and bake in a preheated 350 F/176C oven for 8-10 minutes.
Makes about 30 cookies.

INCENSE TREE

The dough for these stacked cookie sandwiches is fragrant with orange zest and spices that are harvested from different parts of trees: cinnamon (the inner bark of Cinnamomum verum), star anise (the fruit of Illicium verum), nutmeg (the seed of Myristica fragrans), cloves (the dried flower buds of Syzygium aromaticum), and allspice (the dried unripe fruit of Pimenta dioica).
The buttercream filling is flavored with frankincense, the dried tree sap from Boswellia sacra. Frankincense can be found in Middle Eastern markets or online— look for milky white tears, free of debris.

Spice dough:
flour                                          3 cups                      405g
baking powder                          1/2 tsp                  2.5g
salt                                              1/2 tsp                  3.2g
ground cinnamon                          1 1/2 tsp                  4.5g
ground star anise                      1 tsp                      3g
ground nutmeg                          1 tsp 3g
ground cloves                              1/2 tsp                     1.5g
ground allspice                          1/2 tsp                  1.5g
unsalted butter, softened              11 oz                       312g
sugar                                          1/2 cup                  95g
muscavado sugar                       1/2 cup                  83g
egg                                          1 large                  50g
microplaned orange zest              2 tsp                      5g

Frankincense buttercream:
water                                      1/2 cup 120g
frankincense tears                      1 1/2 Tblsp          17g
sugar                                          1/2 cup               100g
egg whites                              3 large                  90g
cream of tartar                          1/4 tsp                  .80g
unsalted butter, room temp          1/2 lb                  226g
lemon juice                              1 tsp                      15g

24 karat gold leaf (optional)

To make cookies: In a large bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients with the spices. Beat the butter with the sugar in a mixer bowl with the paddle attachment for 2 minutes on medium speed until light and creamy. Add the egg and orange zest and continue beating until incorporated. Turn the speed to low and gradually add the dry ingredients in large spoonfuls until it is all absorbed and a malleable dough forms. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and chill for 2 hours.
Roll the dough out to 1/4"/6mm thickness. With a set of 11 round cutters that graduate in size from 3/4"/2cm to 3 5/8"/9.25cm, cut 22 rounds by using each cutter twice. Place the cookie rounds on parchment-lined baking sheets and bake in a preheated 350F/176C oven for 6-8 minutes for the smaller cookies and 8-10 minutes for the larger ones. Allow to cool.
To make the frosting: place the water and frankincense tears in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Cover pan and set aside for 10 minutes to infuse. Strain through a fine sieve. Rinse saucepan and return 1/4 cup/65g of the strained frankincense water to it. Pour the sugar into the center of the pan, stir gently to wet the sugar and set over medium-high heat. When sugar melts and syrup begins to reach 200F/ 93C, turn the heat to lowest setting.
In an electric mixer with the whisk attachment, beat the egg whites on high speed until frothy. Add the cream of tartar and beat until stiff peaks begin to form. Turn the mixer speed to low, return to the syrup and turn the heat up to high. Bring the syrup to 248F/120C (firm-ball stage) and immediately remove from heat. With the mixer still on low, slowly pour about 1/2 of the hot syrup down the side of the mixing bowl directly into the egg whites but avoiding the whisk. Turn mixer to high and beat for 30 seconds. Return mixer speed to low and slowly add the remaining syrup to the meringue in the same manner. Turn the speed back to high and beat for 2 minutes. Allow the meringue to cool completely before proceeding.
When meringue has cooled, add the butter, 1 Tblsp at a time, while beating on medium speed. If at any time it appears to have seperated, turn the speed to high and beat until it becomes creamy again. When al of the butter is incorporated, turn the mixer to low and beat in the lemon juice. Scrape buttercream into a pastry bag fitted with a #12 (7mm) round tip.
To finish tree: Line up the cookie rounds into 11 pairs and pipe the buttercream onto the bottom rounds all the way to the edges. Lightly press the top rounds onto the buttercream to form 11 cookie sandwiches. Stack the cookies on serving plate, starting with the largest and graduating to smallest, using a small dot of buttercream between each cookie to hold them together. If using gold leaf, press the tip of a small, damp brush on a corner of a leaf and pull to tear randomly. With the piece of gold leaf still attached to the tip of brush, transfer to cookie tree, pressing on a section of exposed buttercream to adhere. Continue until desired effect is achieved.

tahoon pork jowl beechnut

There are plants that can be described as tasting earthy— mostly roots and tubers that absorb the minerals and organic matter of the soil in which they grow buried. Rarely is earthy attributed to a green leaf, which is why I was stunned when I tasted tahoon sprouts. Just days out of the soil, the tiny green leaves emit an intense flavor of sun-baked dirt, humus, and wood, with an oily background of roasted nuts.

Tahoon (Toona sinensis), aka Chinese Toon, is a member of the Mahogany family, native to China, where the young leaves and sprouts (xiang chun) are enjoyed as a vegetable.

Upon tasting tahoon and then learning that the plant was hardy in my northern climate and could eventually develop into a tree, I became curious about the mature leaves and aromatic wood.

But locating the elusive tahoon seeds proved to be a challenge. Eventually, I found them at a Canadian seed company that specializes in Chinese vegetables.

The seedlings that I planted that summer, three years ago, didn't survive the winter. I planted another round the following year on the edge of a garden, near a stand of sumacs, that were forgotten until this spring when I noticed new growth on what I thought were sumac suckers, whose pinnate leaves closely resemble those of tahoon. It wasn't until I tasted them that I realized that the neglected plants had not only survived a harsh winter, but at nearly four feet in height, they were well on their way to becoming trees.

The mature tahoon leaves display the same aromatic properties that are found in the sprouts, but in a more diffused way. Instead of delivering the characteristic flavor up front, it saves it for the end, when you've nearly given up on it, then lingers on and on. The wood is richly aromatic, reminiscent of cedar, and full of promise.

The flavor of tahoon is often likened to beechnuts— a comparison that eluded me until recently. Though I'm always on the lookout for the nut of the American Beech (Fagus grandifolia), a native tree proliferate in the eastern United States, it's temperamental when it comes to producing fruit. Some years it produces nothing at all, while in other years, the beechnuts are scarce and out of reach on the upper limbs and the cupules are dry and hollow by the time they hit the ground. I guess I just had to stop looking because that's how I finally found them. And, yes— now that I've tasted them— I can say [with conviction] tahoon does indeed taste like beechnuts. Actually, dirty beechnuts.

Thin, bias-cut slices of pork jowl, sandwiched between tahoon leaves. A quick saute in a hot pan renders the fat and crisps the leaves. Crispy on the outside, juicy and succulent on the inside.

What I've learned about cooking mature tahoon is that it doesn't do well when subjected to moist heat— the volatile aromas all but disappear. Dry heat preserves the flavor and draws out the already low water content from the leaves, making them crispy. And I like crispy.

pork jowl tahoon sandwich with roasted beechnut/jerusalem artichoke puree

pea prosciutto peanut

late night cravings for wasabi peas and peanut brittle… sometimes both together.

rereading a childhood fairytale… a terrible giant (who grinds the bones of Englishmen to make his bread!), redemption, and golden eggs.

revisiting a classic trio… fresh peas, cured meat, hard aged cheese.

observing nature in high summer… the race towards the sky.

random inspirations are often the inception of a dish.

english pea pudding ✢ pea sprouts ✢ prosciutto
manchego ✢ wasabi pea powder ✢ peanut brittle

mortadella kohlrabi pistachio

Kohlrabi is unique among vegetables in that the edible part is actually a swollen stem. The leaves, which are commonly eaten in parts of India, are often removed in US markets. On the few occasions that I've grown kohlrabi, I've found the leaves to be similar in texture and flavor to kale, collards and other cruciferous greens. This vegetable is really about the stem.

Always look for small kohlrabi, as large ones can be pithy. Once the thin skins are removed, the crisp, creamy-white orbs can be enjoyed cooked or raw. Sliced thin, they make excellent quick pickles.

Lately, I've taken to replacing the water in a pickle solution with fruit juice when I want a bit of sweetness. Apple juice works well, but white grape juice doesn't darken the pickle as much.

kohlrabi quick pickle

250g cider vinegar
4.5g kosher salt
200g white grape juice
2.5g pink peppercorns
8 allspice berries
2 bay leaves
5 small kohlrabi

Combine vinegar and salt in saucepan. Heat until salt is dissolved. Remove from heat and stir in grape juice and spices. Let cool completely. Meanwhile, peel the kohlrabi and slice thinly with a knife or a mandoline. Place kohlrabi in a clean jar or bowl and pour cooled brine over top. Stir to separate slices. Set aside, covered, in refrigerator. Pickles can be consumed after 2 hours, but are better after 4. There is little difference in flavor if kept for longer than 4 hours, but they will continue to soften.

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I've always thought of mortadella as bologna's refined older sister and the hotdog as their skinny younger brother. Indeed, they all belong to a family of cured sausages that utilize meat paste.

This dish came together while exploring various textures of mortadella that started with thin, silky slices wrapped around a light mousse of liquid mortadella and gelatin. When whipped, the gelatin gives the mousse structure without added fat and a clean mouthmelt. For the third texture: crispy pan fried mortadella strips. The fourth was added when I heated a dollop of the mousse in a hot pan and watched it spread and form a lacy wafer. Brittle and crisp, the wafers add textural interest with a bacony flavor.

Mortadellaravioli

mortadella mousse

This versatile mousse can be used as a dip for crudites or spread on toasted brioche. Here, it's used to fill thin slices of mortadella ravioli-style and made into lace wafers by thinly spreading dollops on a nonstick skillet and cooking over medium-high heat until water evaporates and they harden.

90g mortadella, cubed
93g hot water
12g tepid water
2g gelatin

Place mortadella and hot water in high speed blender and blend for 5 minutes, or until mortadella is liquified. Place tepid water in microwavable bowl and sprinkle gelatin over top. Let bloom for 3 minutes, then stir and heat in microwave in 30-second increments, until gelatin is completely dissolved. Add to mixture in blender and blend briefly to incorporate. Pour mixture out into a large bowl and allow to cool to room temperature. Half-fill a larger bowl with ice and cold water to make an ice bath. Set bowl with mousse mixture inside ice bath and beat with a hand-held electric mixer until mixture lightens in color and texture and holds its shape.

mortadella mousse ravioli
pan fried mortadella
mortadella lace
kohlrabi pickle
raw pistachio pesto

raw pistachios

Little pleasures come from finding familiar things in unfamiliar forms. These discoveries become new folders in the catalogue of flavor and texture.

peanut butter miso cookies

Some time ago, I mentioned adding miso to peanut butter cookies on twitter. I received a number of requests for the recipe/ratios, which I promised to post.

You wouldn't know that it's miso that makes these cookies special unless you were privy, but you'll notice the difference in the rounded flavor. Sweets that are nuanced with savory and salty are always a winning combination in my book.

peanut butter miso cookies

makes 24 7.5cm/3" cookies

106g unsalted butter, at room temperature
130g peanut butter
40g shiro miso (light miso)
88g dark brown sugar (preferably muscavado)
80g granulated sugar
8g glucose
53g egg
5g baking soda
10g boiling water
175g all-purpose flour

Place the butter, peanut butter, miso, brown sugar, granulated sugar, and glucose in a mixer bowl. Beat the ingredients with the paddle attachment at medium speed until light and creamy. Add the egg and beat just until incorporated. In a small bowl, dissolve the baking soda in the boiling water and add to the mixer bowl along with the flour. Mix on low speed for 2 minutes until all of the ingredients are well combined.
Preheat oven to 163C/325F, or 157C/315F if using convection. Using a 3.80cm/1.5" scoop, lay out level scoops of dough on a silpat or parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving about 5cm/2" between cookies to allow for spreading. Chill cookies for 20 minutes to firm dough. Scoops of raw dough can also be frozen for future cookie cravings, then packed into ziplocks. Remove cookies from refrigerator and press with the tines of a fork in a cross-hatch pattern, if desired. Bake for 10 minutes for a softer cookie, or 12 for a crisper cookie.

Miso and peanut butter are so similar in appearance and texture that I'm surprised I haven't made the connection before. In addition to improving a classic cookie, the peanut butter-miso connection captured my imagination for another product: peanut miso.

Most people don't realize that peanuts are in fact legumes. Culinarily, we use them like nuts, but botanically they belong to the plant family Leguminosae, or Fabaceae, and are more closely related to peas and beans. This connection begs the question: if miso is made from soybeans, can it also be made from other beans?

I do know that [I] can't make miso from citrus rinds, though I gave it a good try. During the 10 month fermentation, I had hopes of transforming all sorts of products by fermenting with Aspergillus oryzae(koji mold), the fungus used in the production of miso, soy sauce, and sake. In my haste to make a new product, I failed to follow two fundamental tenets: understanding of product and process, and groundwork. Had I started with a time-honored traditional soybean miso, I would've had a map for when it was on course and where it veered off. Had I done my research, I would have understood that pectin-rich citrus pericarps were not an inviting environment for the enzymatic reaction that koji forms with protein.

Still, I'm hopeful and excited about roasted peanut miso.
And spicy black bean miso.
And fermented hummus.
But first— I'll start with the basics.

green squash

Squash belong to a family of plants known as Cucurbitaceae which also includes pumpkins, gourds, melons, and cucumbers. Unlike their summer counterparts, winter squash are harvested when they are fully mature. The fruit of cold weather varieties start out green and are ready to pick when their leathery skins turn uniformly orange or yellow. However, color is not a reliable indication of ripeness with varieties that remain green, such as acorn, hubbard, and some turbans. Regardless, pumpkins and winter squash will continue to ripen during the curing stage, when the fruits are stored at warm temperatures to develop flavor and thicken the skin.
Properly cured, pepos are notoriously long keepers. I once displayed an enourmous Hubbard squash, its skin like ceylon porcelain, as a piece of sculpture for nearly a year before it eventually rotted from within. My parents kept an offspring from their compost heap in a corner of their living room for well over two years before it succumbed to the same fate. True story.

Over the decades of cooking in restaurants and catering, I've processed more than my fair share of winter squash, but I can't say that I've ever encountered an unripe one before this particular hubbard, grown in a heritage squash garden. It's unclear whether it was picked immaturely or not properly stored— I'm guessing it was a combination of both. Of course, I had to taste it.

The inner ripe layer was creamy and sweet, with typical squash-like vegetal flavor (why are there no studies on the aromatic properties of winter squash?). The outer green part was where it got interesting— it was denser in texture and also sweet, but in a fruity, estery way that instantly brought to mind a ripe honeydew. Not surprising, I had to remind myself, considering their close relationship. And then it got fun when I realized that through carefully calculated cuts, I could control the play of fruity and vegetal flavor in the distinct layers. Slant the knife one way and I'd get a bite of melon-on-squash, slanted the other way, and I'd have squash-on-melon.

I chose a decidedly fruity slant for this dish: green squash, asian pear, watermelon-sumac, pine nut milk, pumpkinseed oil, calendula petals, and a final flourish of grated long pepper.

cherry bombe

Being a mom is hard work.
There are days when you want to hand in your resignation. Or, at the very least, renegotiate your contract. But you don't. You hang in there. You wring your hands. You fret. You worry. You hope. You make wishes.

But then there are days of such luminous rapture that you think your heart will burst out of your chest. And in between there are moments of quiet joy. Smiles. Laughter. Hugs. Flowers and cake.

Give your mom a hug today. If that's not possible, give someone else's mom a hug. Tell her that she's doing/done a good job. Bring her smiles and laughter. Flowers and cake are good, too.
We all need a little appreciation.

Download recipe: Cherry bombe

nesselrode pie

One of my clients, an elegant elderly woman, has an insatiable sweet tooth. Seriously— how she has survived as long without developing diabetes should make her a medical curiosity. Because her disposition is as sweet as her tooth, I made her something special for the holidays: marrons glacés. I knew she would like them because of her fondness for all things sweet and French.

Making marrons glacés is a labor of love. It's a four day process that requires an investment of time and careful attention— though not the kind that one would lavish on creating one of the Great Gateaux. The bulk of the labor is in peeling the pellicle from the chestnuts— a tedious task that I have yet to find a shortcut for. I did experiment with microwaving them in 10-second intervals, with mixed results. While some of the nuts peeled easily and cleanly, one out of five turned out hard and dry. But once they're peeled, the rest of the process requires little time and effort. Twice a day, a sugar and glucose syrup is brought to an increasingly higher temperature and viscosity, then poured over the chestnuts for a twelve hour soak. The process is repeated six times, followed by a drying period. Impregnated with sugar, the chestnuts become a denser, silkier version of themselves.

As I'd hoped, Ms. Sweet Tooth loved them. She ate her way through the box while recounting stories of childhood holidays in Paris, where her mother treated her to the candied chestnuts. Curiously, she stopped in mid-sentence, her attention clearly swept away by another memory, turned to me with wide eyes and whispered "Can you make Nesselrode pie?"

Not knowing what else to say, I told her the truth: I had no idea what Nesselrode pie was.

Apparently, I wasn't alone— the internet is full of people who were as much in the dark as I was. And some of those who knew what it was confessed that they had never laid eyes on one. And yet others waxed about it in mythical proportions. Was Nesselrode pie the unicorn of desserts?

Further searching led to several articles in the New York Times. One, from 1988, stated the following: "While for years it was a popular American Christmas dessert, Nesselrode pie left our collective culinary consciousness about 30 years ago and has hardly been heard from since." Another, on thefoodmaven.com, Arthur Schwartz claims "It's extinct now— no restaurant serves it, no bakery makes it— but this old New York dessert still lives vividly in the taste memories of many."

So, Nesselrode pie isn't a unicorn after all. It's more of a Javan tiger. But what exactly is it?

In the 1988 edition of "Larousse Gastronomique", Nesselrode is described as "The name given to various cooked dishes and pastries, all containing chestnut purée, dedicated to Count Nesselrode, the 19th century Russian diplomat who negotiated the Treaty of Paris after the Crimean War." It goes on to describe a salted chestnut purée, served with sauteed sweetbreads or roebuck steaks or used to fill profiteroles that are served with game consomme. Larousse makes no mention of Nesselrode pie, but says of its predecessor Nesselrode pudding "It consists of custard cream mixed with chestnut puree, crystallized fruit, currants, sultanas, and whipped cream." This edition of Larousse doesn't mention that original versions of the recipe include maraschino liqueur and were served frozen.

By most accounts, Nesselrode pudding was created by Count Nesselrode's chef, Monsieur Mouy, although that claim was contradicted by Eliza Acton and Mrs. Beeton, who both give credit to the French chef Antonin Careme in the recipes that are published in their books. In fact, Careme himself accused Mouy of copying his chestnut pudding and was outraged that he named it after a [non-French] foreigner. The feud was put to rest when E. S. Dallas published Mouy's recipe in "Kettner's Book of the Table" in 1877, pronouncing it "the most perfect of iced puddings."

In the late nineteenth century and early twentieth, Nesselrode pudding was a fashionable holiday dessert in Europe and then in New York. As was popular at the time, iced puddings, or coupes, were molded into fanciful shapes by skilled pastry chefs. The pudding did not freeze hard because of the liqueuer, challenging Victorian pastry chefs to devise ways to prevent them from melting on the table. In "The Royal Pastry and Confectionery Book" (London:1874), Jules Gouffé illustrated a meringue cloche modeled after a thatched beehive that he designed to slip over an iced pudding to act as an insulator.

Because of the skill needed to make and serve an iced dessert, Nesselrode pudding was exclusively available in restaurants and hotels that catered to the upper classes or in private homes that employed a capable staff. It was just a matter of time before a creative and enterprising baker adapted the challenging iced version into a more approachable pie.

Enter Mrs. Hortense Spier, credited with serving the original pie at her restaurant on the Upper West Side of New York City. The restaurant closed before World War II, but Mrs. Spier continued to make the pie for many of the city's leading restaurants including Lindy's and Longchamps. According to Bernard Gwertzman in a NYT article, "My memory [of Mrs' Spier's pie] is of a lot of whipped cream, chocolate shavings on top, candied fruits in the custard of the pie, and a rum flavor throughout. The original Nesselrode had chestnut puree; later recipes omit this ingredient." Sounds delicious, doesn't it? So, what happened?

Like all things popular and trendy, Nesselrode pie ran it's course. As the neighborhoods surrounding the restaurants where the pies were served changed, so too did the tastes of the residents. Unceremoniously, Nesselrode pie faded from our tables and now lives in the realm of forgotten dessserts alongside Baked Alaska and Charlotte Russe. I'm told that they're holding a place for Molten Chocolate Cake.

So now that I know more than I ever thought
I'd care to know about Nesselrode pie, I could answer Ms. Sweet Tooth's question; "Yes, I can make Nesselrode pie". And I did.

But I did one better. I made my version of Nesselrode— with marrons glacés, and candied buddha's hand citron, and real maraschino cherries (sour cherries macerated in simple syrup, cherry juice, maraschino liqueur, and some toasted cherry kernels tossed in for a boost of benzaldehyde).

For Ms. Sweet Tooth, I made a traditional pie, based on the the description of Mrs. Spier's, with a creme bavaroise base in a pastry crust, studded with the candied chestnuts and citron and the maraschinos, crowned with whipped cream and a dusting of chocolate shavings. She was very grateful.

For myself— well, I just played around with the components in a modern design.

And— I made Monsieur Mouy''s recipe for Nesselrode pudding* (it's actually just a very decadent ice cream), mainly because I wanted to taste its origin, but also because It provided me with an excuse to dig out my vintage jello molds. Abandoned and forsaken— the Nesselrode, just like the molds— were begging to be unearthed. Dusted off and polished up, they look shiny again.

*Monsieur Mouy's (Mony) original recipe can be viewed in Kettner's Book of the Table. Scroll to page 312 for Nesselrode Pudding. (note: 1 gill= 142g/5oz)
Caremes recipe (from Mrs. Beeton) can be found here. Scroll halfway down the page for Nesselrode Pudding.

Download recipe: candied buddha's hand citron

Download recipe: marrons glaces

Download recipe: real maraschino cherries

Download recipe: nesselrode pie