A Christmas Eve Symphony
Christmas Eve and I’ve just kissed the
city-dwelling boyfriend goodbye after making him coffee and yogurt and packing
his a lunch. He makes a joke about what he calls my domestic aggressiveness,
but smiles goofily and I dare say happily as he walks out the door for a final
day of retail before the holiday. “What’ll
it be today? Bon-bons and trashy movies?”
He calls, joking, but I’ve things much more satisfying planned.
First, I lay puff pastry dough on the counter to
thaw, then move to measuring flour, baking powder, and salt into a chilled
stainless steel bowl for scone dough, then toss it with tablespoon-sized chunks
of sweet cream butter. Into the freezer goes the bowl to chill again while I melt
good Calibaut chocolate from Belgium with just a bit of espresso powder soften
in hot water. The chocolate releases into thick glossy swirls in the pan and
the heady scent of strong coffee and chocolate rinses my skin as I stir, before
assembling the other soufflé ingredients:
a quick custard made from heated milk, sugar, cornstarch, which is then combined
with the chocolate and egg yolks.
While the custard cools, I cut take the scone
dough from the freezer and cut it into pea-sized chunks with a pastry cutter,
working quickly to keep the dough as cold as possible, and then add chilled heavy
cream to lightly combine the dough and form it into small blackberry studded
mounds sprinkled with turbinado sugar. These will chill for the rest of the day
to allow the dough to relax and lighten, before I bake them until just lightly
golden and wrap them up for an early morning Christmas trip to Denver.
Next, I pull down a copper bowl and whip egg
whites for the soufflé, watching the translucent mixture turn frothy, then
creamy, then stiff and glossy. A bit of
the whites are then used to lighten the chocolate custard before the rest of
them are gently folded in. The texture and color is of the lightest loam and
the scent is deep and faintly sweet. I dip a finger in and think of the soufflé
hot and melting out of the oven. Using a
soup spoon, I mound the batter into butter- and sugar-rubbed ramekins and cover
them with plastic wrap. These beauties will chill until tomorrow night when
they will be the finish to a Christmas feast of rack of lamb, garlic mashed
potatoes with sour cream, poached asparagus with shaved parmesan, served with
David Bruce Pinot Noir.
Last I cut the pastry sheets into a peek-a-boo
tart. This is done by laying one sheet flat and filling it with sliced granny
apples, sprinkled turbinado sugar, cinnamon, and dotted butter. The other sheet is cut
with horizontal ribbons (within a half inch of all four edges) and laid on top
of the apples. I crimp the rectangular sides
of the tart with a fork, feeling the pleasing give of dough beneath the pressed
tines, and brush the whole thing with butter. This one’s a Christmas gift I’ll
pop into an unsuspecting fridge along with baking instructions for friends
traveling on Christmas day.
Cooking is a kind of music all its own. I love the
rhythm of making many things at once, moving from one set of ingredients to the
next, knowing when to come back to one, when to leave another. In these moments, I am at my most focused and
my most quiet. Christmas music plays on Pandora, and my mind is happily free of
chatter. Instead, there’s just the sticky feel of egg whites on my fingers and
the smell of milk warming on the stove, and I am breathing and content.
Karen: I think your postings are genuine and true to the love of cooking. Your descriptions are what it does truly feel like when one has the time to play and create in the kitche. I always look forward to your next posting and I'm so happy that you share your creations with all of us! Cristianna.
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