Yeot

Yeot
Paris Baguette

This new addition to the category of sweets I've dubbed "performance confectionery" comes courtesy of my former colleague Candace, now a teacher (and Sweet Travel corespondent) in South Korea.

Inside a primly-wrapped package from Paris Baguette (a popular chain of bakeries found throughout Korea) were 16 nuggets of yeot, a quintessentially Korean sweet. This stiff grain-based taffy can be made from rice, wheat, sorghum, or corn, to which may be added various nuts, seeds, legumes, fruits, and spices. My best guess as to the flavors pictured above (top to bottom): molasses with pine nuts and sesame seeds, toasted soybean flour, peanuts, and ginger.

Yeot is such a complex tradition that specific words differentiate different consistencies and ingredients, including the famed regional variations of various provinces (eg maize or radish). The harder versions are eaten as candy, while softer yeot mixed with therapeutic herbs offers relief from colds and sore throats.

While Paris Baguette is a high-end treat boutique, yeot is more commonly sold by street vendors working from small stalls or carts. In order to attract attention and customers, these vendors take advantage of yeot's Silly Putty-esque properties; although chewy, yeot will shatter like safety glass if hit correctly. Many YouTube videos show vendors cutting a slab of fresh yeot into bite-size pieces by striking a chisel with a huge pair of rattling metal scissors, keeping up a syncopated racket as cut candy shoots into a growing pile. It's a mesmerizing performance, but leaves me wondering if yeot is also a cure for headaches.

Hankering for more? Check out other travel-related food posts at Wanderfood Wednesday.

Kumquats in Syrup

Kumquats in Syrup

Like baby corn, Vienna sausages, and mini donuts, a kumquat's appeal is due, in part, to its infantile charm. But while the fruit might look like a prepubescent orange, it offers a mindbendingly different taste sensation. A fresh kumquat is entirely edible (although some have large seeds), with a sweet rind and contrastingly sour flesh.

You could call kumquats the weird cousins of the citrus family, but the jury's still out; some botanists think kumquats belong to their very own genus, Fortunella. The fruit originated in China and the name translates as "golden orange". The association of kumquats with gold and good fortune is widespread throughout Asia, making the fruit a popular motif during Lunar New Year.

Like good fortune, kumquats can slip away all too easily. In most regions the harvest season is relatively short, and the fresh fruits don't last long. In Asia it's common practice to preserve the wealth of a good kumquat harvest by salt-curing or candying the fruit.

Of the two most common varieties found in the US, the oval-shaped Nagami kumquats I found at Trader Joes are tarter than the rounder, sweeter Marumis, and therefore perfect candidates for candying. I followed the recipe on the Put Up or Shut Up blog, omitting the ginger. I also elected not to remove the seeds, even though they're big; I figured I'd rather spend seconds spitting them out than hours deseeding dozens of tiny fruit (I just have to remember to pass that along to anyone I share the kumquats with...).

Both the fruit and syrup are absolutely delicious--bright and lively and almost overwhelmingly flavorful. I can see kumquats earning a permanent spot in my pantry of grey-day antidotes.

Taro Dumplings

Taro Dumplings

Din Tai Fung

The 2010 census shows that Washington state's Asian population has grown by 49.2% in the last decade, with gains distributed unevenly. Statewide, Asians make up 7.6% of the population; in Seattle, 13.8%; and in Bellevue, the upstart tech town just across Lake Washington, the population is 27.6% Asian.

Which might explain why famed Hong Kong dumpling purveyors Din Tai Fung would choose to locate their "Seattle" branch in Bellevue. Although DTF is best known for broth-filled soup dumplings, the white-clad prestidigitators in the glass-walled kitchen also make a range of desserts. Their taro dumplings are succulent rosettes of steamed dough filled with a fluffy, barely sweet, and pale purple paste made from the exotic tuber.

Din Tai Fung

700 Bellevue Way NE #280

Bellevue, WA

425/698-1095

Mango Chile Paletas

Mango Chile Paletas

It was meant to be: the day after I spotted a recipe for Mexican-style mango chile paletas in my public library copy of Saveur magazine, I noticed mangoes on sale at the grocery store. These easy-to-make pops are a perfect match for Seattle's dim and blustery spring, with the mango standing in for sunshine and enough red chili to chase off the chill.

Bakery Verbena

Cinnamon Twist
Bakery Verbena , $1.75/each

Treat-seekers in Seattle's University District have a new destination: just four months old, Bakery Verbena has firmly taken root in a north Ave house formerly occupied by Blue Dog and the late, lamented, Curio Confections.

Verbena owner Jan Sailus learned the baking trade back in Pennsylvania. After several attempts to talk her way into an apprenticeship, Sailus finally found a baker willing to take her on--on the condition that she agree to take over the business. Under Sailus, that bakery not only thrived, but expanded into a sit-down eatery.

Sailus is at Verbena early each morning, baking a wide variety of sweet and savory pastries. Most of her products are familiar classics done extraordinarily well, with balanced flavors and ideal textures. The cinnamon twist is flaky and tender, rich but light, spicy but not too sweet; it's a luxurious snack that you can polish off without a regrettable sugar hangover.

In order to both minimize waste and connect with the community, any of the bakery's day-olds are donated to Teen Feed, a Seattle organization that assists homeless and hungry youth. Verbena also has a spot the in the P-Patch community garden across the street; look for uber-local herbs and veggies to show up in baked goods later this summer.

Bakery Verbena
5509 University Way NE
Seattle, WA
(206) 257-4798

Salted Bourbon Caramel

Salted Bourbon Caramel
Snake & Butterfly, $6/4

Generally speaking, the chocolate world is divided into two camps: chocolate makers, who turn cacao into edible chocolate, and chocolatiers, who turn pre-made chocolate into confections or bars. California-based Snake & Butterfly is a rare breed, an artisan "bean-to-bar" chocolate maker that also crafts exquisite confections (a "bean-to-bonbon" maker?).

One of the annual rituals of my childhood was biting into a neighbor's homemade bourbon balls, then opting to eat only the chocolate shell; every year, I tried again, hoping I would have matured enough to appreciate the candy's boozy center, but no dice.

I guess I must be a full-on grown-up now, because I could happily eat one of Snake & Butterfly's salted bourbon caramels every day of the week. The bitter chocolate shell encapsulates a core of creamy liquid caramel as salty as barroom banter and potent enough to knock me a few inches sideways. Think of it as an all-in-one dessert shot.

Liège Waffle

Classic Liège Waffle,

Sweet Iron, $2.99

Although I must have bused past the Sweet Iron waffle shop in downtown Seattle several dozen times since it opened, I've never previously given it more than a longing glance. Because of its skyscraper location and slick branding I jumped to the conclusion that Sweet Iron would be a Starbucks satellite, stamping out standardized but soulless waffles the same improbably golden brown as a Seattlite's winter tan.

Turns out that I couldn't have been more wrong.

Today when I passed Sweet Iron and saw a banner in the window proclaiming "International Waffle Day" I made a point of interrupting my return trip to investigate. Despite its high-end graphics and decor, Sweet Iron is the lone outpost of a young, locally-owned small business that promotes social responsibility, environmental sustainability, and artisanal--if delightfully irregular--baked-to-order waffles.

The waffles are Liège-style; unlike batter-based Belgian waffles, these start out as a blob of buttery brioche dough kneaded fresh each morning. Pearl sugar lurking within the dough turns to pockets and patches of gooey-glassy caramel when pressed in the waffle iron. You can can further gild the lily with powdered sugar, chocolate, or whipped cream and strawberries with balsamic vinegar. Sweet Iron also offers savory versions, like Brie and basil, and seasonal specials; I had a mindblowing springtime sample topped with housemade lemon curd and fresh blueberries.

Sweet Iron
1200 3rd Ave
Seattle, WA
206/682-3336

Pan de Coco

Pan de Coco

Whole Foods has published a series of recipe cards featuring foods inspired by clients of their Whole Planet Foundation, a microlending organization (if you've recently allowed a Whole Foods checker to round your total up to the nearest dollar, Whole Planet is probably where your change went). The recipes look amazing, and I love that they allow you to share a tiny taste of someone else's life.

Pan de coco is a light, fluffy, coconut-scented bread roll that's a favorite in Honduras. As flavored breads go, it's easy to make and versatile. The recipe card recommends having it with rice, beans and fried plantains, or as a simple snack with coffee, but I can attest that it also makes fantastic French toast (below).

The pan de coco recipe card also features Euceria Bernandez, a second-generation Honduran baker. She bakes pan de coco in a fire pit in her yard and sells it door-to-door in her neighborhood. A microloan allowed her to stock up on staple ingredients.

More treats from exotic lands are at Wanderfood Wednesday...

St. Joseph's Day

St. Joseph's Day

In many Italian communities, elaborate three-tiered altars are a key feature of St Joseph's Day celebrations. The altars are said to have originated in Sicily when a famine was cut short after prayers to St. Joseph resulted in a life-saving crop of fava beans.

St. Joseph's altars are piled high with a variety of foods including fruit, vegetables, Lent-appropriate fish, and dried favas. Because Joseph is the patron saint of pastry chefs, baked goods feature prominently: breads shaped like crosses or carpenters' tools (even the crumbs of which are considered to have the power to avert certain disasters), pastries resembling sacrificial lambs, fish, pinecones, or the Mater Dolorosa's sword-skewered heart. In some regions, St. Joseph's celebrants also enjoy zeppole, balls of fried dough topped with buttercream rosettes.

The photo above shows a St. Joseph's altar on display at the Southern Food and Beverage Museum in New Orleans, where the tradition arrived with Sicilian immigrants at the end of the 19th century:

"By 1910, forty percent of the population and 90% of the French Quarter was Italian, primarily Sicilian. At that time there were so many altars given in homes and churches that was impossible for one person to visit them all, even in one's own neighborhood. Instead another tradition developed: one could visit nine altars and at the ninth, one would make a wish and it would be granted. It is this thread of petition that runs through the tradition of the altar.

"Some altars are created out of a custom called questua, which means "searching" or "seeking". Instead of buying the ingredients and materials for the altar, one begs for them, further humbling oneself in an act of posverty. This recalls the impoverishment of the starving Sicilians who intially asked for St. Joseph's help. It also reminds the person on the questua of the purpose of the altar: to feed the hungry."

After the foods on the St. Joseph's altar have served their ceremonial purpose, they are distributed to the needy.

Blood Orange Marmalade

Blood Orange Marmalade

Community supported agriculture (CSA) aims to soften the abrupt ups and downs that characterize a farmer's income by offering sustained out-of-season support. For a set fee, subscribers receive a box of varied fresh produce at regular intervals.

I love the idea, but have never been in a position to commit, so I jumped at the chance to get a single trial box from Full Circle Farm. Suddenly my kitchen is full of strangers! It's great to get out of my broccoli-potatoes-spinach rut, but using up new ingredients has required some experimentation and ingenuity.

While most of the produce in a typical CSA box comes from local or regional farms, Full Circle supplements its winter offerings with imports from organic farms nearer the equator. Among the exotic treats in my box were five Californian blood oranges. Organic citrus is among the things I'm usually too stingy to buy, reasoning that the pristine peels would go to waste. But when life hands me organic lemons, I can't just make lemonade and call it good! I decided marmalade would be the best use of my citrus windfall.

Almost as easily done as said; I just followed the same simple steps that I used to make yuzu marmalade last fall. This batch turned out much looser than the yuzu--perhaps blood oranges contain less pectin?--which is absolutely fine since I want to spread it on toast, not stand spoons up in it. It tastes something like normal orange marmalade blended with mulled red wine.

Strawberry Shortcake

Strawberry Shortcake
Fumie's Gold, $3.75

Pastry chef Fumie Kumagai makes what one of my friends in Japan calls "OL cakes": light, dainty, and impeccable treats that a slim, dainty, and impeccably groomed "office lady" could enjoy on her afternoon break without ruining her appetite for dinner. Kumagai's bijou bakery in downtown Bellevue features classic American and European pastries given an appreciable Japanese twist (e.g. Swiss roll with matcha, Mont Blanc with red beans). Even without any exotic ingredients, the strawberry shortcake was nothing like my mother makes; it was barely sweet, as creamy as a cow, and so light it seemed to levitate onto my fork.

The one thing that Fumie's Gold lacks is seating. Not being particularly dainty myself, I decided to have a shortcake picnic in the large park across the street. It started to drizzle just as I tucked in so I was able entertain several joggers-by with my attempts to juggle cake, umbrella and spork. I left behind a dry seatprint and, sadly, a plop of snow white whipped cream; I looked back at the bench just in time to see both marks disappear in the rain.

Fumie's Gold

10045 NE 1st St

Ste CU2
Bellevue, WA
425/223-5893

Cashew Shortbread

Cashew Shortbread

Lucky Palate, $2

Sweet and buttery, cashews in their natural state are about as close to shortbread as a nut can get. Vegetarian meal meal service Lucky Palate just nudges them a little further by adding sugar, vegan margarine, flour, and vanilla. The resulting shortbread is rich and sweetly mellow, crisp on the edges with a slightly chewy middle. Unlike some alternative sweets, cashew shortbread doesn't taste like an impostor. It tastes like it was meant to be.

Lucky Palate

307 W McGraw St
Seattle, WA

206/352-2583

Sugar and New Orleans

Sugar and New Orleans: Some Notes

Shortly after arriving in New Orleans, I stopped by the visitors' center just off Jackson Square. Although I already had a sweets-centric itinerary drawn up, I wanted to be sure I wasn't leaving out anything important (or delicious). I approached the perfectly coiffed matron at the information counter, explained my interests, and asked if there was anything I should be sure to try.

After a few seconds' thought, she shook her head and delivered the bad news: "In New Orleans, we don't particularly care for sweets."

Although I would never say "hogwash" to a well-meaning volunteer, I was certainly thinking it. In rebuttal, I offer my previous week's worth of posts plus the following collected notes that didn't quite fit into those posts. Taken together, they form a portrait of a city that is positively steeped in sugar. To quote a 19th century souvenir apron on display at the Cabildo Museum (in the very room where the Louisiana Purchase was signed):

"Cotton is King; Sugar is Queen; Rice, the Lady-in-Waiting."

By the late eighteenth century, Europe's appetite for sugar and rum was such that in the cane-growing colonies of Haiti and Santo Domingo, slaves outnumbered free citizens by eight to one. Even as depicted on these decorative French plates (above, right and left), cutting (with knives like the ones above, center) and processing cane was arduous and dangerous work. In 1789 the island of Santo Domingo exploded in a series of violent slave uprisings. The aftermath shifted attention to Louisiana, where the humid climate was well suited to sugarcane. Refugees from Santo Domingo included many who would shape the region's nascent sugar industry, as well as others who would leave their mark, such as Antoine Peychaud, father of the cocktail.

One particularly suitable site was a lush stretch of land beside the Mississippi River that was inhabited by Houmas Indians and grazed by bison when French explorers arrived in 1682. The Houmas House that still stands there today was built in the 1820's by Wade Hampton, then the state's chief sugar producer and the region's largest slave holder. In 1858 the plantation and columned mansion were bought by John Burnside, "The Sugar Prince of Louisiana" and owner of more than 300,000 acres. Full of art and fine furnishings, "The Sugar Palace" draws many tourists to Darrow, an hour's drive from New Orleans.

After the Civil War, many former slaves returned to the sugar fields as employees, but the situation proved unproductive and untenable. Plantation owners began to recruit foreign workers--from China, Northern Europe, and Italy--adding to the diversity of cultural influences still felt in New Orleans today. During the same period, the block of Decatur Street that now houses the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park was almost entirely made up of confectioners' kitchens and shops; the row of candy stores was a major attraction for visitors until the block burned down in 1937.

Louisiana was home to many of the milestone innovations that contributed to the modernization of the sugar industry. The enormous Audubon Park in the Garden District, for example, was formerly the site of large plantation where the first controlled granulation of sugar was achieved in 1794. The legacy of that discovery is alive and well in neighboring St. Bernard Parish, where Domino Sugar's sprawling Chalmette Refinery (above) produces 6.8 million pounds of sugar every day. The refinery is easily seen from the tour boats that travel up and down the river.

The Chalmette plant opened in 1909, replacing two obsolete refineries on Decatur Street in the French Quarter. It was such a major employer that the city built a streetcar line to deliver workers to the factory door. In the past century the Chalmette Refinery has withstood a number of challenges--WWI, the Great Depression, rationing during WWII. During Hurricane Katrina, nine feet of floodwater ruined the ground floor machines, but the refinery's sturdy buildings withstood the winds and became a refuge for stranded neighbors and a mustering station for the National Guard. The plant was renovated and running 98 days after the storm.

At Blaine Kern's Mardi Gras World, old parade floats are stored in a huge hangar until they can be harvested for re-purposeable parts. We were there in time to catch some still-intact floats from a sweets-themed parade a few years back : (above, from left) Mandarin Orange Cheesecake, Gooseberry Fool, Shoofly Pie. I flashed back to my elementary school glory years by calling out their names before the tourguide had even finished asking if anyone could identify them.

Even more sweet stories are featured the Southern Food and Beverage Museum's exhibition "Tout de Sweet: All About Sugar" and Kit Wohl's cookbook, New Orleans Classic Desserts.

Meltdown Pops

Meltdown

Pops, $3/each

On our very last night in New Orleans, up popped a Groupon for a French Quarter sweet treat that I had totally overlooked: Meltdown, an artisan ice pop store just a block from the French Market.

Meltdown makes what might be called "popsicles" (were that word not trademarked by Unilever) but are more properly known as paletas. These frozen treats originated in Mexico and take their name from the wooden stick, or palo, which forms their handle. The hallmarks of a true paleta are fresh, natural ingredients, creative flavor combinations, and impeccable texture, whether icy or creamy.

Meltdown is one of the youngest members of a loosely affiliated extended family of paleterias. Their ancestral hometown is Tocumbo in central Mexico's Michoacán state, where confectioners have long used local produce to create delicious frozen pops. In 1941 Agustin Andrade left Tocumbo to launch Mexico City's first paleteria, La Michoacána. He was so successful that a Tocumbo relative soon arrived to start a second store. Many more paleta entrepreneurs followed, setting up shop wherever they could find sufficient demand; they trained their sons or apprentices, who in turn extended the paleta network. According to a recent story in Saveur magazine, there are now more than 15,000 paleterias in Mexico and the US.

Among those ranks is Las Paletas, a Nashville, Tennessee paleteria that was one of the first to be owned by women. Sisters Norma and Irma Paz grew up in Guadalajara and moved to the US as adults. Struck by the absence of their beloved paletas, they returned to Mexico to learn the ropes, then started Las Paletas. Along the way to becoming a high-profile success, the store helped expand Nashville's palate, revitalize a formerly grim neighborhood, and inspire a new generation of paleta makers.

Among these is Meltdown's Michelle Weaver. After being initiated into the art in Nashville, she spent several years selling her wares from a Good Humor truck in LA, before moving again to New Orleans. She initially sold at markets and from another truck, but demand allowed her to open a small storefront last year. It houses her production kitchen, a small retail counter, and a couple of coolers holding a cache of fresh pops.

On our last morning in town, I left my bags in the hotel coat check and headed to Meltdown first thing. The shop wasn't open yet so I had time to study the chalkboard list of the day's flavors:

strawberry hibiscus

pineapple cilantro

blood orange

lavender lemon

grapefruit poppyseed

salted caramel

Vietnamese coffee

saffron rosewater

chocolate lavender

black sesame seed

The saffron rosewater was a lovely pale peach color--like a faintly embarrassed vanilla--and threaded with a generous amount of the bright orange spice. I gulped it down while hustling back to the hotel for the airport taxi and found that the floral sweetness helped to temper my sadness over leaving New Orleans. I might even have tried to run back for a second pop, but I didn't want to risk having a paleta headache on the plane.

Meltdown

508 Dumaine

New Orleans, LA

504/301-0905

Sno-balls

Sno-ball
Mother Nature's Cupboard, $3

Back when I was still a pre-schooler, Kentucky experienced a couple of really tough winters. I'm sure it was a terrible and challenging time for most adults, but I remember it fondly: I loved the rapier-long icicles hanging from the eaves, the sledding marathons, and especially a homemade treat that my mother called "snow cream." She and I would bundle up and venture out onto the porch to heap a mixing bowl high with all the fresh snow it would hold. Once back in the kitchen, we would stir it together with milk, sugar, and vanilla extract, then race to eat the sweet slush before it melted.

It turns out that my mother wasn't the first to think along these lines. Back in ancient times, people living in Sicily used to bring snow down from Mt. Etna, store it in caves and crevasses until summer arrived, then enjoy it drizzled with wine or flavored syrups. Later generations of Sicilians would master the arts of gelato, sorbet, and granita, and spread their specialties around the world--and one Sicilian-American would re-introduce us to the delights of eating snow.

In 1936, a New Orleans grocer of Sicilian descent named George J. Ortolano designed and built a machine that transformed blocks of ice into edible snow--and not rough, crunchy crystals, but soft, fluffy powder. With wife Josie cooking up creatively flavored creams and syrups, Ortolano began selling the refreshing concoctions at his grocery store. Word soon spread, and Ortolano was deluged with requests for the snow-making machine. His industrial model, the Snow-Wizard, spread across the South and became a staple of summertime snack stands.

I arrived in New Orleans hungry for a sno-ball and totally ignorant of how hard it would be to find one. I came prepared with the names of two popular stands, Hansen's Sno-Blitz and Plum Street Sno-balls, both of which have been around since the the 1940's. I called ahead to check hours and got endless ringing at one and a "closed for the season" recording at the other. Sno-ball season, it turns out, runs from March through October. February is not even on the calendar--however hot and sunny it may be. Nevertheless, I kept my hopes up and my eyes peeled; it seemed like I couldn't go three blocks without being taunted by shuttered sno-ball shacks and their tattered lists of unimaginably intriguing flavors: Orchid Cream, Nectar, Tiger's Blood, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle...

Just when I was starting to think I had a snowball's chance of finding an open sno-ball stand, I spotted Mother Nature's Cupboard in the French Quarter's French Market. Although Mother Nature's is primarily a farm stand, they augment their produce sales with tourist-friendly snacks and drinks, and the proprietor was more than happy to make me my first-ever sno-ball.

He took an enormous ice block from the freezer and placed it in the belly of the squat, blocky "Southern Snow" machine (a Snow-Wizard competitor), which started to chug when he flipped the switch. The shavings sprayed out a chute in the side, and to demonstrate what separates a sno-ball from a crushed ice "snow" cone, he tossed a handful into to the air, where the glittering snow cloud hung briefly before the flakes drifted to the ground: "You can say you saw it snowing in the French Market!" After filling the cup with snow, he packed it down and poured on a swig of my chosen syrup, almond-based "Wedding Cake" (below, right). He repeated the layering process until the cup would hold no more, ensuring the the last bite would be as soft and sweet as the first. A swirl of condensed milk was the finishing touch.

Not every treat I spend days searching for lives up to the anticipation, but the sno-ball was even better than I had hoped, even better that the snow cream of my memories.

Mother Nature's Cupboard
1008 N Peters St
French Market Farmer's Market
New Orleans, LA