I’m applying for a patent on this one. It is going to be very difficult to describe the extraordinary nature of this dish without employing the use of exuberant expletives, but I will try.  It all started with a strawberry picking and tasting adventure a mere one hour from Seattle and yet worlds away.  As my city-slicking Mercedes rolled through the gentle flats of the Skagit Valley, signs encouraged drivers to “slow down and follow your nose” which I did with aplomb.  The fertile flats of Skagit produce some of the finest grown goods in Washington, and stellar strawberries are no exception. Our small group had the great pleasure to tour and visit Skagit Sun berries as well as listen to the insightful musings of Farmer Don on the history of his berries and cucumbers (that sentence was not meant to sound dirty, but upon rereading it, I suppose it could be misconstrued).

Photo courtesy of Luuvu Hoang

We participated in a blind tasting of eight varieties of strawberries; I had no idea there would be such a vast difference in flavor.  In the end, I preferred two varieties: Shuksan and Hood. Shuksan berries are sweet and red throughout, with uniform flesh, a short shelf-life and unbeatable versatility in terms of complementing sweet and savory dishes as well as being great fresh or cooked.  The Hoods were piquant and almost candy-like in flavor with a thorough, intense sweetness that lingered on the palate for ages.  It is the height of Shuksan season right now, so get them while you can. Farmer Don was kind enough to let us pick our own flats of Shuksans so my mental wheels got to turning whilst we were out there under the haze-laced sun plucking away.  I love jams and jellies as much as anyone, but I was not about to preserve these precious plumpies for posterity.  I decided on both a sweet and a savory application, and somehow the divine inspiration of the strawberry gods put the idea of chocolate pasta into my head (well that and a conversation with my friend Luuvu).

When I got home, I promptly made a custard of Shuksans and lavender that would become ice cream the next day.  I also whipped up a crema pasticcera (pastry cream) infused with lavender with which to fill the chocolate pasta sheets.  The next day, the real work began.  {INSERT TERRIBLE CONFESSION HERE} Regular readers of my blog will know that I’m a primadonna pasta purist. I do not crank out sheets of pasta, I gently roll them with an old wooden pin, then cut whatever pasta I’m forming using a pastry cutter.  As far as tools go, I’ve always been happy (to make pasta 3+ times a week) with my pin, cutter and a glass of wine.  Well, the universe conspired and produced a gift certificate and a HUGE sale I couldn’t refuse, so long story short, I’m now the proud recipient of a pasta attachment for the Kitchenaid.  This chocolate pasta is the second I’ve made with it, and the most unfortunate part is that I no longer seem to need the glass of wine while pasta-making. You see, the wine acts as a thirst-quencher between rolls, but when a machine takes all the work away, you no longer require parch-abatement.  I suppose the pasta machine will help cure my excessive wino-ism, but it has also taken a little piece of my soul along with it.  I’m vowing to hand-roll at least once a week- we will see how it goes.

For the pasta, I made a typical dough of flour and eggs, to which I added Dutched cocoa and a touch of sugar.  I was worried about the consistency, but it rolled out beautifully and crimped together perfectly to form round discs filled with pastry cream.  I made the pasta around noon and did not boil them until 9pm, so they sat on a parchment-lined sheetpan for many hours with no refrigeration. There were no ill-effects of this, as they boiled up nicely and the texture was perfect.  Since my pasta would not be complete without a sauce, I boiled down Shuksans into a compote with butter, sugar and Grand Marnier.  I put it through a sieve to remove the seeds, then drizzled the sauce over intermittent rounds of ravioli and scoops of ice cream.  This is the part where I would use some holy s3*TTTT expletives to describe the wow-factor of all the complementary flavors and textures in this dish, but I promised not to, so I’m going to have to go stuff my gullet full of sweet sweet bliss aka chocolate ravioli and bid my adieu to you. Until next time, keep it super real out there in the spectacular sunshine.

I’ve been on a frozen, sweet kick lately in my posts, but then, that’s what springtime is all about. Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll see the return of pasta and duck eggs very soon.  I am a lucky girl. Imagine stumbling upon a ripe, succulent basket of rambutans in Seattle in May. It happened to me a few days back and for that I am grateful. What, say you, is a rambutan? It’s a tropical fruit like a lychee that is all things gorgeous wrapped into one spherical, brilliant package.  I imagine you can guess what I did with said fruits if you know me at all by now. Yes, I made gelato. And it tasted like a little scoop of tropical paradise. As it should. 

I probably sing the praises of Uwajimaya market in Seattle entirely too much on this blog, but I can’t help it. It’s like a giant cornucopia of amazing ingredients with which to endlessly experiment.  I don’t often have the chance to bite into the spiky splendoriffic rambutans, so when I do I really maximize my mouthful, if you know what I mean. 

Uwajimaya gets little shipments of precious produce in frequently. You never know what you will find.  More often than not you find something utterly addictive, yet upon returning to the store, alas, it is no more.  Ah well, the name of the culinary game is versatility, and this rambutan gelato speaks volumes to that. 

It almost tastes grape-like, if the grapes were in their especially succulent, very raw state. No amount of fermenting or cooking would benefit the rambutans in gelato, so I made sure to keep them in merely a cold yet pureed form.  Texture is everything when it comes to frozen custard, and this fairly safe rendition of a classic custard ratio does not disappoint.  In the words of Yo Gabba Gabba (you will get this reference if you are the parent of a small child) “Try it. You’ll like it.” 

Rambutan Gelato

• 16 rambutans,  shelled and pitted
• 2 c milk
• 3 egg yolks
• ½ c sugar
• Salt- pinch
• 1 tsp vanilla

 Blend rambutan’s with ¾ c milk.  Place blended mixture in a mixing bowl with a fine mesh strainer set over the top.  In a medium saucepan warm the remaining milk with the sugar and salt. Once it’s nearly boiling, quickly whisk it into the waiting egg yolks and transfer the mixture back into the saucepan, whisking all the while. 

Stir constantly until the custard thickens enough to coat the back of your spoon. Pour through the strainer into the rambutan mixture, add vanilla, and chill over an ice bath stirring occasionally. 

 Chill custard in the refrigerator thoroughly before churning into ice cream/gelato following your ice cream maker’s instructions.

When you hear the word colostrum, does it conjure a sexy image, or what? Probably half of you haven’t heard the word before and maybe think it sounds a tad clinical. The rest of you have probably had a child, so you know that colostrum is the stuff that oozes out of your breasts before the milk fully comes in.  What in the hell does this have to do with ice cream? Well, cows produce colostrums during calving season too. Technically the first few milkings of a mama cow after her calf has been born are considered colostrum. It’s easy to tell the difference between colostrum and milk, if only from the hue. Colostrum is yellow-orange, and significantly thicker than plain milk. It is so thick, in fact, that it makes a mean custard, and you don’t even have to add eggs.  Its popularity is growing in this country as a health food product, where it’s typically sold in powdered form.  It is said to contain antioxidants and aid in athletic performance as well as prevent illness, though the research seems to be somewhat scant on the subject. 

In British English colostrum is colloquially referred to as “beestings” and a quick online search will reveal a sizable lot of funky old colostrum recipes that date back to the mid 20^th century.  They all sounded fun and quaint, but I wanted to up the ante a touch with my coveted colostrum, so immediately I thought ice cream.  You may be wondering where in the hell I managed to find such a rare thing in its fresh, natural state.  We are blessed in Western Washington to have a slew of artisanal farmers, ranchers and producers who care about providing local, organic foodstuffs to regional consumers. I love that the supply line is utterly transparent in these instances, and in most cases consumers are welcome to visit the farms directly.  If a direct visit is too much of a chore, do not fear.  The ample daily farmer’s markets around the Puget Sound showcase wares from many of these purveyors, including those from Sea Breeze Farm.  I gratefully brought home some Sea Breeze colostrum, happy that a mama cow had birthed a baby the night before so I could reap the reward. 

Since I’ve never played with the consistency of colostrum I chose to run a few experiments in ice cream making.  The recipe printed below was the clear winner, so my time spent is your gain, should you ever wish to play with some colostrum.  I added egg yolks to one version, but that was just ridiculous as the colostrum thickens so much on its own that no added egg is necessary. I also played with a combination of milk or cream for the additional liquid element, and found that (unsurprisingly) cream gave a better texture and richer flavor.  The final ice cream produced is smooth, unctuous, and rich in a way typical ice cream is not. Perhaps it’s a touch thicker and less airy, but the softness makes up for any lack of lightness. 

I rarely make vanilla ice cream. Instead I go for flavors that are more fun to experiment with like the time I made this frozen BLT, or my infamous garlic chocolate gelato.  Because I wanted to note the flavor of the actual colostrum, however, I felt vanilla was an apt choice.  It’s plenty lovely all on its own, but when you can drench ice cream in espresso, why wouldn’t you? This is called an “affogato” in Italian, which means “drowned.”  It’s a right nice way to drown your sorrows at the end of a long spring day, no?  Plus think of all the added health benefits you’re getting from the colostrum! I’d say this is a dessert fit to be eaten regularly if it weren’t for the scarce availability of colostrum. Nevertheless, if you can hunt some down, check this out, you’ll be glad you did. 

Vanilla Bean Colostrum Ice Cream

• 1 Pint colostrum
• ¾ c sugar
• Pinch salt
• 1 Vanilla bean- halved lengthwise, seeds urged out using a paring knife
• 1 c heavy cream
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Place colostrum, sugar, salt and vanilla bean seeds and pod in a medium saucepan.  Bring to a very low boil, immediately remove from heat, cover and let vanilla infuse for ½ hour. 

Meanwhile place the remaining cup of heavy cream in a medium bowl set over an ice bath.  Place a fine-mesh strainer on top. 

After half an hour, slowly reheat colostrum custard, stirring constantly to dissolve and marry all ingredients. Once you reach boiling point, remove from heat and pour through the strainer into the chilled cream.  Add the vanilla extract and vanilla beans, stir, and chill thoroughly before churning by following the instructions on your ice cream maker.  (when you churn, remove the vanilla beans)

To turn this into an affogato, simply drench a scoop or two of ice cream in a shot of fine espresso.  If you want to make an “affogato corretto,” which means affogato corrected, simply add a shot of alcohol to the dessert in addition to the espresso.  Italians will use grappa or whiskey typically, but rum will also work well with this dessert.

Wow- over two weeks without a post. Boy did I ever miss you lovely people? I was off on a crazy top-secret adventure that will reveal itself very soon. I hate secrets, so I should probably just stop talking about it and get to the meat of this post, I just wanted to share exactly how much I wanted to be here blogging, and to let you know in no uncertain terms that my absence was in no way self-imposed.  When I first started blogging and I would read other bloggers’ posts about how supportive and amazing the blogging community was I thought it was a bunch of cheesy drivel.  Now, after two weeks away, I realize just how much I depend on this strange connection to people I’ve never met, but seemingly I have more in common with than folks I’ve known since infancy.  I’m happy to be back and I hope you enjoy the Tim Tam Slam as much as I did. 

Australians have damn good taste in cookies! Or do they call them biscuits down under? Maybe they have some hybrid word for it I haven’t yet heard, like biscookies or cookscuits.  I’m going to go with biscookies. I like the ring to it.  Plus it doesn’t sound so fattening that way. How could something that sounds so cute be fattening? Yup, going with biscookies. That way I can eat like 20 and not worry about the excessive indulgence- yes! Well anyway, this post is all about the best little biscookies to come out of Australia, swim across several seas and land in my lap.

 I discovered Tim Tams completely serendipitously, which is how I can really tell we are meant to be together for life.  I was in the grocery store the other day talking to one of my best friend’s on the phone while I shopped for a gift. What was I doing shopping for a gift in the supermarket, you ask? Well it was a gift for some foodie friends of mine, one of whom lives in Canada and has the lovely blog www.eatlivetravelwrite.com while the other lives in Australia and can be found at http://jeroxie.com/addiction/We were participating in an exchange, basically mailing off food items that would be incredibly common where we lived, but not so common where we were shipping them off to.

 I was on the phone with Lily because she had just gotten back from Australia the week before and I wanted to run my selections by her to ensure that they would indeed be unavailable in Oz.  Well truth be told she wasn’t much help because she just kept raving on and on about how great everything is in Australia and how they have this and that and all these glorious things we doltish Americans blindly go without.  She focused especially on these nuggets of caramelly-chocolately goodness called Tim Tams.  I happened to be walking down the cookie aisle and I thought I would take a quick peek to see if perhaps they had actually made it here without her knowledge.  You see she lives in the backwoods middle of nowhere and doesn’t get out much, so I figured cosmopolitan Seattle (ha!) might have a leg up on tree-ville snowland. Sure enough, staring back at me from a tucked away corner of the cookie aisle was a gleaming box of Tim Tams.  Lily was outraged that I had direct access to such lovely biscookies, but I offered to mail her some so I think she’ll be alright. 

I took them home and managed to leave them in the cupboard and forget about them for roughly one week.  I had a glut of homemade ice cream to get through, plus early spring is more of a savory time for me and I don’t crave a ton of sweets. That all changed when I opened the damned package of Tim Tams.  I typically hate pre-packaged snacks, but these little monsters are “open the package and eat the whole thing in one sitting” good!  I had picked up two packages thinking I’d mail one to Lily, but alas, that never happened since they all ended up in my tummy.  It’s quite sad, really, I’m training for a half marathon so I go out and run five miles most days, but I come home and undo all that hard work with one whiff of Tim Tams.  If you have never tried them, I caution you not to, or at least if you do, don’t hold me responsible.  This is not the attitude I’m adopting toward my immediate friends.  I’m trying to infect Seattle at-large with a Tim Tam addiction as big as my own, so whenever a new person walks through my front door, I practically shove a Tim Tam straight down their throat.  I’ve made converts by the dozen- it’s getting dangerous. 

Lily told me about this amazing thing called a Tim Tam Slam.  Basically you bite off each end of the Tim Tam then use it as a straw to ingest a shot of espresso. Or maybe coffee, but I steadfastly refuse to believe people drink that watered-down drivel, so espresso it is in my mind.  I’m not much for coffee beans in any form factor, truth be told, but I have been meaning to get around to espresso ice cream, and the Tim Tam Slam gave me a way to make it all the more palatable.  I made my espresso ice cream which definitely passed the paddle-licking good test all on its own according to all three members of my household.  Then I made it even better by churning in a bunch of Tim Tams a la frozen Tim Tam Slam.  I had eight people for dinner that night and they all went back for seconds on the Tim Tam Slam! This from a group of gay men who rarely eat and tend to watch their figures more than I do.  “Oh I don’t eat dessert” quickly gave way to moans of pleasure as we all savored the genius of those clever Australians.   Well, and the genius of me too, since I came up with the whole frozen twist, not to toot my own horn or anything since I’m sure it’s been done before, though pretty good for an American, right? Ok, I’m going to sneak downstairs and steal a Tim Tam from the locked away secret stash before dinner.  Please don’t tell anyone, ok?

How many reinventions can the classic BLT sandwich undergo? This version, while not your typical rendition, certainly packs a punch in the department of deliciousness.  My new favorite thing is blind gelato tastings; it’s amazing the flavors people think they’re eating, and when you break down and tell them the actual taste, the look on their faces tends to be photo-worthy.   With the BLT redux I did everything I could to make it obvious what we were eating.  The hardest part was the bread.  I finally settled upon shortbread cookies cut into squares and dipped in chocolate around the edges so as to resemble crust.  The color of each flavor turned out remarkably akin to their natural-state counterparts, yes, the frozen BLT is something to behold. 

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I was pretty nervous to serve my guests garlic chocolate gelato last night.  That’s why I made three flavors, so that if they didn’t like the garlic chocolate they could delight in the obvious goodness of gianduja chocolate chip, for example.  Or take global comfort in the spicy delicacy of cardamom pistachio, from India and Italy with love.  The good news is that I had plied all 5 of them with enough wine throughout dinner to loosen their lips, so I’m pretty sure I got candid comments between creamy bites.  Curious what they thought?  Well first let’s talk about the “safe” flavors. 

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