Pie in a Bowl

 

Pie in a Bowl

Skillet, $6

Acknowledging that baking pie filling inside a pie shell isn't always worth the risk, Skillet takes a surer route to satisfaction by cooking the components separately.  Not until you place an order for "pie in a bowl" do the tender chocolate pudding and shards of perfectly cooked crust come together in the eponymous bowl, where their sweetness is balanced out by a smattering of sea salt and bitter cocoa nibs. 

Antoine's

Meringue Glace

Bread Pudding

Antoine's, included with $20.12 lunch

Early in the 19th century, Chef Antoine Alciatore was already making a name for himself in his native France when he felt the pull of the New World and its seemingly limitless possibilities. New York was a crude disappointment so he struck out again for New Orleans; the booming cotton town proved a welcoming home for his extravagant tastes and French traditions. In 1840, the 27-year-old established Antoine's, which quickly became one of the city's best-reputed restaurants. In 1874, Antoine left the restaurant in the capable hands of his wife and children (including son Jules, inventor of Oysters Rockefeller) and returned to France in 1874 to die. His namesake restaurant went on to become the United States' oldest family run restaurant.

What with its white tablecloths and attentive service, Antoine's is not the kind of place I normally have the opportunity to visit, but a generous lunch special puts it within the realm of possibility: an appetizer, entree, and dessert for $20.12, along with martinis for $0.25 each. Dessert choices included a classic cheesecake with berry sauce, a nut-studded bread pudding smothered in caramel sauce, and "meringue glace", a crisp meringue nest topped with ice cream, toasted almonds, and fudge sauce.

In between tucking in your chair and setting fire to Baked Alaska, Antoine's servers are more that than happy to answer questions about the business or the maze-like building, the restaurant's home since 1868. At lunch, most diners eat in the "Large Annex", a dim cavern wallpapered in the autographed photos of Antoine's hundreds of illustrious visitors; it's perfectly acceptable to browse and gawk as long as you don't get in anyone's way.

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

Bananas Foster

Bananas Foster
Court of Two Sisters, $8

Like a rock star who relies on showmanship in lieu of youth, looks, great hair, or straight teeth, Bananas Foster is homely dessert that puts on one hell of a show. Its basic constituents are sliced bananas, vanilla ice cream, butter, sugar, cinnamon, and booze. What makes Bananas Foster extraordinary is that these ingredients typically come together at tableside and over an open flame: it's a performance dessert.

The dish originated in 1951 at famed New Orleans restaurant Brennan's, and was named for a local politician who was friends with the owner. I ordered it at the Court of Two Sisters, another venerable restaurant, named for sisters Emma and Bertha Camors, born 1858 and 1860, who ran a fashionable "notions" shop on the site. The restaurant's courtyard is the largest in the French Quarter, a romantic expanse dolled up with wisteria, fountains, and gas lamps. It's a great place for dinner at dusk, and a perfect stage for dessert course pyrotechnics.

Our affable server, Jay, set up a prop table with all the necessary accouterments, including a battered copper pan that looked like it might have belonged to Emma or Bertha; Jeff explained that all the waiters fight over that one because it works the best. He cooked the butter and sugar over a small brazier, then added the cinnamon and bananas. Finally, he checked that no one was walking nearby, told us to get our cameras ready, and added the rum to the hot pan: it instantly ignited into a tower of flame. Seconds later the bananas were spooned over the ice cream and dessert was served. I was digging into the warm, gooey mess before my eyes had even recovered from the rum flare.

Court of Two Sisters
613 Royal Street
New Orleans, LA 70130-2181
504/522-7261

Desserts by Holly

Desserts by Holly
Pilchuck Glass School, Summer 2010

Although dessert wasn't on my mind (for once) when I jumped at the chance to attend Pilchuck Glass School, they now feature heavily in my mental scrapbook, nestled quietly but comfortably between shots of liquefied glass and other swaggering pyrotechnics. While Pilchuck is known for the quality of its food, in practice it's a matter of who happens to be in the kitchen. The sweet-toothed glass students of 2010 have an ally in Holly Fox.

I was mostly too hurried or too hungry during my time at Pilchuck to document Holly's work sufficiently, but I appreciated every installment. Working with glass did not come naturally to me, and I spent much of the session feeling anxious, frightened, and down; I cannot overstate the comfort I derived from a slice of blueberry tart, a bowl of fruit shortcake, or a pocketful of no-bake peanut butter oat cookies.

Of all the session's sweets, it's the macaroons (above) that still have their hooks buried deep in my taste buds: crisp-tender golden haystacks of shredded coconut and toasted almond slivers, skirted with dark chocolate. When I asked if she would share her recipe, Holly apologized for not having used one. The macaroons were simply an elegant response to an array of demands: some coconut and some egg whites needed to get used up and a dessert needed to get made. The way Holly tells it, she just stirred in some sugar and the macaroons practically made themselves.

Holly also gives stylish haircuts and sews stylish bags (and torn trousers). When I asked her what kind of training she'd had for any of this, she said she owed her abilities to her mother's good example. It struck me that she has experienced the same journey--from apprenticeship, to competence, to creativity--undertaken by many good glass artists.


Want to hear more about my Pilchuck experience?

Tiramisu Class

"From Cheese to Tiramisu"
The Seattle Free School

Almost fifteen years ago I spent a week in Florence with my mother and my surrogate grandmother, Carleen, in honor of Carleen's 75th birthday. Carleen is a native South Carolinian who had heard about Florence when she was 13 and dreamed of visiting for the next 60 years. Teaching her a few requisite words of Italian was like a Laurel and Hardy routine:

Me: Buon giorno. Ok, now you try!

Carleen: Bone journey ooooh...

Several years before our trip, Carleen's husband, Bruce, had had a heart attack and a series of bypass sugeries; as a show of support, Carleen had joined him on his special low-fat diet. But in Florence, all bets were off: Carleen took a gleeful break from skim milk and fiber crackers and "heart healthy" spreads. We gobbled ravioli and pizza and panini and slurped full-fat cappucinos, and from the moment that Carleen discovered it, we ended every meal but breakfast with a helping of tiramisu. Carleen got pretty good at "per favore" and "grazie"!

Since that trip I haven't eaten much tiramisu. The name of course, means "pick me up", and a good tiramisu should put a smile on your face and a wag in your tail. The ones I tried stateside tended to be too heavy and sodden, too insubstantial (angel food cake and whipped cream), or too fusion-y (kiwi and goat cheese?). So my attention was snagged by an ad for a tiramisu-making class offered by the Seattle Free School ("The Seattle Free School is for the community by the community. All are welcome. No money ever exchanges hands. All we exchange are skills, knowledge and experiences.").

"From Cheese to Tiramisu" was held at the Cascade People's Center and led by Jessica, Free School founder and veteran cheese maker. Her premise is that homemade mascarpone elevates an everyday tiramisu to something extraordinary.

Jessica's Free School Tiramisu

For the mascarpone:

1qt cream

1qt half-and-half

1/2tsp tartaric acid

For the tiramisu:

2c mascarpone
3-4 eggs, separated
1 Tbs vanilla sugar (put a vanilla bean in a jar of sugar and give it some time)
3/4 c cold strong coffee (leftovers from the morning are perfect)
1/2-3/4 c Kahlua
18 (or so) ladyfingers
unsweetened cocoa powder

Pour the cream and half-and-half into a large pot and stir while heating it to at least 185 (it boils at 205); too cool, and it won't curdle. Since you have no way of knowing the acidity of your dairy products, start by adding a small amount of tartaric acid. Stir well for 3-5 minutes to see if anything will happen.

Still no curds? Add a little more acid and do the stirring act again. Unlike, say, ricotta, mascarpone will not separate dramatically; the curds are small and will always look creamy rather than watery, and the whey you pour off will look more like 1% milk.

When you think you have enough curds, it's time to strain. Dampen a good cheesecloth (not the supermarket kind; get one from a kitchen supplier and keep it lint-free by handwashing) and lay it over a collander. Put the colander over another pot to catch the whey (so if you don't have as many curds as you expected you can start again). Cool the mascarpone to room temperature (so it doesn't cook the eggs).

Whip the egg whites into peaks. If you choose to use sugar (some people find this tiramisu plenty sweet without it), stir it into the cheese, then add the yolks and gently fold in the whites. Mix the Kahlua and coffee together in a small bowl.

Smear a little cheese on the bottom of dish ("Just like lasagna, " says Jessica, "-lasagna with cheese and cookies." "And booze!" adds a wag in the audience.) Quickly dip the cookies for the first layer in the coffee; don't get them too damp because they'll be getting the brunt of the soaking as the tiramisu sits. Place them in the dish, breaking as needed to create a tiled layer. Spoon on some cheese. Let the cookies for the next layer soak up a little more coffee, rolling them around a few times until they darken. Gently spread on the last of the cheese and top with a generous sifting of cocoa powder.

Then comes the hard part: let it sit overnight. My heart sank a little as Jessica told us how much her co-workers would enjoy the demo tiramisu the next day, but I soon got over it. To be honest I did show up to the class hoping for a little taste, but you know what they say: teach a woman to make tiramisu...

Grazie, Jessica! From me and grandmother Carleen.

ChikaLicious

Grapefruit Brulée
ChikaLicious, $12 for 3 courses

Just like eating breakfast for dinner or walking a cat on a leash, a dessert-only restaurant is a delightful perversion of the natural order. At the ChikaLicious Dessert Bar, there's no need to save room for dessert, because dessert is all you're getting.

A $12 prix fixe "meal" includes an amuse-bouche, main course, and a plate of assorted petit-fours. Another $7 buys either a wine pairing or an additional main; tea and coffee are also available. The menu changes daily and seasonal ingredients feature heavily. Tables are an option but bellying up to the bar gets you a stage show in the bargain, as the pastry chefs behind the counter dodge and twirl around each other in a kind of plating ballet (above). Come on the right day and chef-owner Chika Tillman will be there to chat about her creations.

ChikaLicious doesn't accept reservations and the website lists substantial "typical waits" for particular days and times. They also won't seat groups larger that four, a pragmatic move for a place that can only accomodate 20 patrons at once, and one that helps to encourage an atmosphere that's convivial rather than deafening.














According to its website, the ChikaLicious concept boils down to "American desserts, French Presentation and Japanese tasting portions". For most of us Big Gulp-suckled Americans it will be the portion sizes that illicit the strongest initial reaction. On my visit, the amuse du jour was a scoop of vanilla ice cream about the size of a quail egg, buoyed on a few spoonfuls of dark, aromatic, espresso gelee (above left); absolutely delcious, quickly dispatched. My friend Gary and I amused ourselves further by considering what items might best be used to add a sense of scale to my photos: a quarter? his pinkie finger? a family of seamonkies?

For mains, Gary had macerated kiwis with yogurt gelato, lavender syrup, and a jaunty "coconut sombrero" (below left), while the woman on my other side chose the iced Fromage Blanc "cheese cake" (above right); both issued favorable reviews.














I had the grapefruit brulee, two wedges of caramelized fruit gussied up with candied pistachios, a light sabayon, and another quail egg of slightly bitter, boozy sorbet. It was a lovely play of flavors and textures--smooth cream and spiky citrus, crakly dry nuts and juice-swollen fruit. My only criticism is predictible but, I think, springs from a generous impluse: if it had only been one bite bigger, Gary might have been able to have his taste without me growling at him.

The minute petit-fours were, sadly, anti-climactic: a dark chocolate truffle as appealling as a dusty raisin, a tiny Ritz-ish cracker topped with cream and candied citron, and, best of all, a lovely fresh marshmallow sided with toasted coconut.

Just across the street the ChikaLicious Dessert Club offers stylish reinterpretations of classic baked goods and treats in a more casual setting.

ChikaLicious Dessert Bar
203 E. 10th St.
New York, NY
212/995-9511