. . . april 21, 2007
Pear Ginger Scones
Ginger last appeared in a scone in the month of January. This scone, however, is not the total ginger immersion of its predecessor; it is in balance with the pear and not its dom. It came about as the result of a blackberry ginger scone that Vincent brought home from Petsi Pies. I probably would have gone for a literal interpretation but didn't have the wherewithal to get blackberries. They were put on a shopping list and eventually carried over to another shopping list and I can't even remember what the insurmountable obstacle was at the time. In the end, I had a ripe anjou pear on the counter and that seemed to be just as good as blackberries if not better especially given its accessibility.
Since then there has been no turning back and although I do now have a bag of frozen blackberries, I have fallen in with the pear and ginger duo.
My scone preparation methodology has stepped-up since viewing the New York Times multimedia feature of The Minimalist, Mark Bittman, at San Francisco's Tartine.
While watching the video, I experienced a small crisis of culinary craft. The Minimalist, part foodee, part fastidious schlub, did not induce it but his subject, Liz Pruiett of Tartine, did. It turns out I've been using this rigid, `i-want-to-control` my scone approach wherein I try to pat out this little perfect circle of dough. Liz Pruiett has opened my eyes to the shaggy, rough-hewn log method. Not only is this kitchen style less pent-up, she streamlines the process. For example, she glazes cream and sprinkles sugar over the entire scone mass before slicing. This is an efficiency that had never occured to me in all its sensibility.
Another habit I have taken from the Tartine clip is to sift flour. I used to think it was a fussy, unnecessary step but really it turns out it is kind of fun and soothing. Liz Pruiett appears to be using something like an oversized tambourine qua sieve. For the home kitchen, personal batch size, I use my six-inch diameter sieve. I parted ways with a traditional flour sifter years ago. I place my dry ingredients in the sieve and slap the side in rhythm over a large bowl. This is a good moment to imagine yourself as a very beautiful member of a seventies pop group whose musical ability lends itself well to simple percussion instruments. When all the flour has fallen out, you can embellish with strikes to the leg and hip. Then you can stare down into the bowl at the serenity of perfectly aerated particles. This is more pleasing than you would think.
ingredients:
1½ cups flour
1½ teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon powdered ginger
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons brown sugar
4 tablespoons sweet butter
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 egg
1/4 cup sour cream
2 tablespoons crystallized ginger
half of an anjou pear
continued . . .
Preheat oven 375°. the pear slices are cut very thin and you don't even need to bother with peeling; the skins are so fine to begin with. « hide
. . . april 6, 2007
Often is the case that once something is made it is summarily consumed before I have even gotten photo documentation. This is not too difficult
given the belly I share residence with and my pokey antics surrounding amateur food photography. Somehow this is when the pressure sets in.
Normally I believe that these superior digestibles speak for themselves. Their stature, however, perishes upon entry into the world of
pixellated facsimile. I keep thinking I can coax the gustatory essence out of my subject which despite its still-life status manifests itself as a blur.
So it is not unusual to find myself re-making a recipe a month or two later for the express opportunity of catching a clear digital glimpse.
The yogurt was staged in the garden as a teddy bear's picnic. I will note that this took place well past the month of April. The doodle is
concerned that this is possible grounds for fraud. I believe it is these types of hunches that have been the foundation for his law school exams
the past two years. But even more so he was very worried that he would be carted off for relations with a minor, as in my garden display even worse than twee passed too closely for child's play.
Preparing yogurt falls somewhere between a recipe and a grammar school science project. The first stage involves little glass jars that should be scalded in hot water to ensure their sterility. Next on the list of scalded is the milk. I use whatever milk I have on hand usually either whole or two percent. The fat content of the milk does not affect the overall consistency of the yogurt. A firm yogurt can be had of low-fat milk. It seems that the crucial difference between a thin more kefir-like outcome and something of a thickset nature is the heating of the milk. Next enters the absurd. You must have yogurt to make yogurt or at the least yogurt culture. The former is easier to come by just make sure it contains active culture - there is a bad joke somewhere in there about the difference between California and yogurt. Some common cultures are Lactobacillus
acidophilus, L. casei, L. reuteri and Bifidobacterium bifidum. Yogurt from previous batches may be carried forward as the starter but only within limits. Around three times is the maximum. Yogurt does not have the legacy potential of say a knish
(Yonah Schimmel
has been using the same starter for close to
a century - both quaint and creepy in food hygiene kind of way).
The final step is incubation. The premise is a continuous period of undisturbed rest at a constant warmish temperature. You can jerry-rig
an incubator with odds and ends much like constructing your own nest de yaourt. I have read about people who use their oven (turned off) and some styrofoam. Keeping in line with the cool aesthetic of a science project, I use the Euro Cuisine Yogurt Maker. It is a white sleek
contraption with a clear bubble lid. If it had its moment in as futuristic electronic gizmo, it would have been a good five decades ago. The
mechanics are minimal, an electric cord and one flip switch to start the warming action. In all it has the sophistication and puissance of my former Holly Hobby oven circa 1970s that was powered by a one hundred watt light bulb.
I am going to be completely honest when I tell you that I am more than certain that making yogurt is not even cost effective. At this point, it mostly satisfies a need to for kitchen experimentation in little glass jars. The jars are a more welcome experience than the ready made plastic container tubs of yogurt. They have their place in my deluded construct of self-sufficiency. I'm a
dairy maverick living off-the-grid. I am a small batch lacto-artisan. And above all, I am the liberal Bourgeoisie shut-in who shops
Williams-Sonoma online for esoteric household items.
ingredients:
Approximately 4 cups milk (whole or low-fat)
2 to 3 tablespoons yogurt with active cultures
continued . . .
Scald the milk in a pot. Let milk cool a bit but it should still be nice
and warm. Place yogurt in a small bowl and beat in some of the milk to
liquefy/incorporate yogurt and then mix into milk in the pot.
Pour the milk mixture into the little glass jars and place
in yogurt maker. I like to turn on my yogurt machine in advance to
create an environ of tout comforts for the lactic bacteria. The ideal temperature is between 108 and 112 degrees. Place the jars into the
machine (without their lids). They should sit for around six hours without agitation. If it is not firm by this point, chances are that it will never be. Further fermentation will only increase the tang. When done, place the yogurt immediately in the
refrigerator to halt acidic production.
To mix things up you can use goat's or sheep's milk. You can also add flavorings. A sample flavor is maple syrup and vanilla bean powder or extract. A word of caution about honey: it will impede the yogurt bacteria.
Jams or fruits are best added after the yogurt is ready. « hide
