Posts Tagged “chocolate”

Is there anything finer than a good chocolate babka?  Probably not, but after bringing back no fewer than three such treats from New York City this weekend, I got to wondering, just what is babka, anyway?

Like so many of my favorite baked things, babka comes from Ashkenaz.  Wikipedia cites “Eastern European” origins, Russian etymology (Babka = бабка = grandmother), and savory variants from Belarus and Lithuania.  But none of those technicalities really get to the soul of the babka.

We all know that Jerry and Elaine spend a good portion of The Dinner Party seeking, discussing, dissecting and obsessing about babka. (I edited the spelling from “bobka” in the amateur transcription linked here) That’s a start.

JERRY: That’s the last Babka. They got the last Babka.

ELAINE: I know. They’re going in first with the last Babka.

JERRY: That was our Babka.

ELAINE: You can’t beat a Babka.

JERRY: We should have had that Babka.

My particular prize was a Green’s chocolate babka, private labeled for Zabars.  It’s a little flaky but mostly gooey, disturbingly heavy, and oddly parve.  A seemingly similar article can be found at Delancey Desserts.

A little poking around led to a recipe from of all people, Martha Stewart, which including milk, butter and cream, so definitely not that close to Green’s, but which does reveal the basic chemistry of the babka:

• 1 1/2 cups warm milk, 110 degrees
• 2 (1/4 ounce each) packages active dry yeast
• 1 3/4 cups plus a pinch of sugar
• 3 whole large eggs, room temperature
• 2 large egg yolks, room temperature
• 6 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 3/4 cups (3 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch pieces, room temperature, plus more for bowl and loaf pans
• 2 1/4 pounds semisweet chocolate, very finely chopped
• 2 1/2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
• 1 tablespoon heavy cream

This makes three loaves, but we’re still talking 3/4 of a pound of chocolate per loaf, similar to a full bag of chocolate chips.  That’s got to have something to do with it.  Another variant from Su Good Sweets is Nutella Babka, which seems to mix in about 1/3 nutella with the chocolate.

Green’s babka is kosher, and depends on oil (palm, I hear) for fatty goodness, but that renders it parve, and allows it to be served more flexibly in kosher households.  A definite benefit for some that might impede the flavor for others.  I’ve never felt compelled to complain when my babka answers to a higher authority.

Should you find yourself in posession of a babka, be sure to warm it slightly before serving to bring the chocolate to the necessary state of gooeyness.

I should probably quit while I’m ahead, but I found a couple more babka notes that I must impart.  We’ve dwelled on chocolate babka so far, and while I won’t even mention the usual secondary or “lesser” babka variant, it appears that there are savory dishes also called babka.

Again, via wikipedia, there is the savory dish from Belarus and Lithuania: “It is made from grated potatoes, egg, onions, and smoked bacon. It is baked in a crock, and often served with a sauce of sour cream and pork flitch. Depending on recipe and cooking method it may be either a flaky potato pie, or a heavy potato pudding.”  Sounds delicious in its own right, but seems pretty far off from the sweet stuff, and awfully distant from anything kosher, too.

From Aloyada, we also have a Ukrainian fish babka, described as “…souffle-like. Which meant that when baked, it rose almost as much as a conventional souffle– but stayed puffed up and impressive. The egg yolks, milk, fried onion, bits of bread and stiff egg white give it a lovely light and very tasty texture; an aerated clear yellow omlette-style base in which the embedded pieces of fish and herbs (nutmeg and dill or tarragon) are delicious, subtle and moist.”  Also interesting, and maybe a little more likely to be related to the chocolate babka of ashkenaz.

Enticing as the savory options are, there will always be just one true babka for me, and unless I freeze some of it now, it’s not going to last till my next trip to New York.

OK, it’s not exactly a cheese sandwich with the image of the BVM on in, but as household miracles go, I’m thinking this one is much more useful if less lucrative.  After dinner, I was looking around for a snack, and I found a nice bar of dark chocolate, but it had gone all bloomy.

As per the all-knowing wikipedia, with my emphasis:

Chocolate is very sensitive to temperature and humidity. Ideal storage temperatures are between 15 and 17 °C (59 to 63 °F), with a relative humidity of less than 50%. Chocolate should be stored away from other foods as it can absorb different aromas. Ideally, chocolates are packed or wrapped, and placed in proper storage with the correct humidity and temperature. Additionally chocolate should be stored in a dark place or protected from light by wrapping paper. Various types of “blooming” effects can occur if chocolate is stored or served improperly. If refrigerated or frozen without containment, chocolate can absorb enough moisture to cause a whitish discoloration, the result of fat or sugar crystals rising to the surface. Moving chocolate from one temperature extreme to another, such as from a refrigerator on a hot day can result in an oily texture. Although visually unappealing, these conditions are perfectly safe for consumption.

So I figured I’d suck it up, and I put a couple of pieces on a dish and sat down to do some work.  When I reached over to take a piece, I saw that the chocolates - which had been sitting on my Apple Time Capsule - had miraculously returned to their dark and luscious state!

O. M. G.

Just to make sure I wasn’t losing it, I went and got another piece of the bloomed chocolate and put it on the dish for comparison.  Check it out:

Observe the ugly, waxy, bloomed and blemished chocolate on the left, and a piece of the same bar on the right after mere minutes sitting on the Time Capsule.

Is it the heat from the drive?  The radiation from the WiFi?  Cosmic emanations from Steve J-bs?  I’m not really sure I want to know, I’m just glad my chocolate is back in shape.

I’d been anticipating Mole Cannoli for weeks.  I cut short a family trip to get back in time for it, but Delta and the weather had other plans.  But I persevered, arrived a couple of hours late, and partook of the fullness of mole, cannoli and everything in between.  Sorry, no pictures, I was late, harried and as soon as possible after arrival, tipsy.

But wait, you protest, what IS Mole Cannoli?  Oh, what isn’t it, I counter?  Mole Cannoli is the wonderous and twisted brainchild of chefs J and D, blogged here a few months ago at Book Swap.  I’m not sure how the idea started, but it was decided that the duo would have a dinner party including (but not limited to) mole and cannoli.

For those who might not have been paying attention, here is one explaination of mole from Ramekins:

The word “Mole” comes from the Aztec word “Molli,” meaning “concoction,” “stew” or “sauce.” To the unenlightened, Mole is a Mexican chocolate sauce. In Mexico, Mole is a hundred dishes in a hundred homes. It varies from town to town and family to family. The most famous Mole, “Mole Poblano de Guajolote” (made with Wild Turkey–the bird, not the booze) is a special complex dish carefully woven together using dried chiles, nuts, seeds, vegetables, spices and chocolate (preferably ground, toasted cacao beans, but Mexican chocolate, such as Ibarra brand, is acceptable).

and in the unfortunate event that you’ve somehow missed the numerous cannoli lessons life gives out,

Cannoli are Sicilian pastry desserts. The singular is cannolo, meaning “little tube”, with the etymology stemming from the Latin “canna”, or reed. Cannoli originated in Sicily and are an essential part of Sicilian cuisine. They are also popular in Italian American cuisine.  Cannoli consist of tube-shaped shells of fried pastry dough, filled with a sweet, creamy filling usually containing ricotta cheese (or alternatively, but less traditionally, sweetened Mascarpone) blended with some combination of vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, Marsala wine, rosewater or other flavorings. Some chefs add chopped succade or chocolate chips. [wikipedia]

Furthermore, if you don’t know what I’m talking about when I say, “Leave the gun. Take the cannolis.” I urge you to return your ticket to this blog for a full refund.

OK, if you’re still with me, and I hope you are, here’s the rundown of the Mole Cannoli table:

• A dazzling array of beverages including delicious white sangria and frozen beer (did I hear that right?)
• Homemade guacamole, “beer cheese” and salsa with chips
• Chicken enchiladas with Red Mole and jack cheese
• Smoked chicken and corn tamales with Green Mole
• Taco Bar:  Grilled mahi mahi, grilled flank steak, guacamole and salsa (what was left after the appetizers above were savaged by early guests)
• Salad with jicama and orange (jicama as as declicious as it is fun to say)
• Black bean corn salad
• Red cabbage salad
• Stunning chocoalte cake with too much icing (but not to worry, there were extra cannoli shells!)
• Medican wedding cookies
• Macaroons
• A ginormous flan, definitely not of the pocket variety.
• Cannoli

I thought it was all just a dream but then I found the leftover tamales in the fridge the next day.

It happens a couple of times a year. Some ad salesman makes it through the phone screen into the ear of an impressionable person and suddenly we’re discussing advertising with in-flight magazines or worse yet, in-flight audio infotainment. Although the demographics of people why fly might be attractive to some businesses, the odds of somebody consuming this in-flight media and retaining any of it to an actionable place seem vanishingly small. I’ve sung this song before. Well, my lucky number came up yesterday when I made a point of carrying the entire May issue of Delta’s Sky magazine off the flight with me. After all, somebody had done the sudoku and I polished off one of the crossword puzzles. Why did I take the magazine? Almost entirely for this, which by the way is not paid advertising.

It was part of a feature on the fashionable shopping strip of Las Olas in Fort Lauderdale, FL. A dark chocolate duck. How cool is that? Even Lake Champlain Chocolates doesn’t have that. And the little tin, precious! As I write this I note that the chocoduck bears a peculiar resemblance to an antique silver bank we had around the house when I was little. It kinda creeped me out, actually.

Anyway, so I got home and scanned this page and set off to the Galler website (type it in yourself, I’m not giving them a link) and discovered that there’s no sign of the chocolately canard at all. No picture, no mention in the catalog. It’s the May issue of the magazine, how often do these things change? Not that I really want a chocolate duck, but I would feel better knowing that there really is one.

A few searches later, I found some feeble substitutes such as the loathsome white chocolate duckie embedded in the “nirvana chocolates summer gift basket.” I think not. But I also found evidence of somebody thinking outside the box with the application of Vahlrona chocolate to actual duck breasts. The link to the full recipe is a tease, but especially after MoleCanolli, I’m quite curious. (More on MoleCanolli soon, I’m still compiling my notes.)

What can turn a game of Russian Roulette into a pleasurable after-dinner snack?

The Candy Map can.

That’s right.  I’m talking about the key to the candy kingdom, the treasure of the sierra mocha, the map of the edible empire at at scale of near 1:1. The saving grace of the assorted miniatures, the candy map.

Not every box of candy has a map, and some put the map annoyingly on the bottom of the box, making it hard to navigate.  But wouldn’t it be wonderful if all kinds of foods had such a guide for the perplexed?