Tango's El Diablo

El Diablo

Tango, $10

This is one of the worst pictures I've ever taken of one of the best desserts I've ever eaten.  From the minute the plates hit the table I just couldn't be bothered to futz around with f-stops and framing.  

Tango is celebrating its 10th anniversary today by giving away free servings of its signature dessert, the El Diablo.  This multi-component extravaganza looks like a goth fantasy castle in the clouds.  There's cube of dense dark chocolate mousse, spiced with enough cayenne to make your lips tingle, perched on a nest of scorched meringue, and surrounded by a little moat of tequila caramel sauce; a sprinkling of cacao nibs adds texture and a bitter bass note, and  the whole thing is guarded by a few spicy-sweet praline almonds (imagine Marcona almonds from a country that believes in butter rather than olive oil).  

Back by the bathrooms, there's a framed article from "Seattle Metropolitan Magazine" in which Tango's first pastry chef, Bennie Sata, describes the origins of the dessert.  Ten years ago, when pairing chocolate and chilies wasn't yet the done thing, Texas-raised Sata took her cues from devil's food cake and the vats of mole she ate growing up.  She also talks charmingly about one aspect of the final concept that gives over-the-top El Diablo an element of home ec practicality:  egg yolks go into the mousse, while the whites get "recycled" as meringue.  

And one word of advice to those who carp that El Diablo is "too rich to finish":  share.  Your relationship will be glad you did.  

ANZAC Biscuits

ANZAC Biscuits 

Observed on April 25, ANZAC Day is an antipodean memorial day, commemorating the past and ongoing contributions of Australian and New Zealand armed forces.  The holiday's origin, however, was more specific.  It was established in memory of the many Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (ANZAC) soldiers who lost their lives in Turkey during WWI, as part of a long, horrific, and ultimately unsuccessful campaign. 

In many places, the sale or consumption of crispy golden cookies known as "ANZAC biscuits" will be as much as part of observances as poppies or parades or sunrise vigils.  If it seems odd that there's a more-or-less official sweet treat associated with such a somber occasion, just consider how much comfort this humble taste of home must have given to those ANZAC soldiers. 

The ultimate origins of the ANZAC biscuit are unclear (I found a similar recipe for "Canadian shortbread" dated 1933 in a vintage Australian cookbook), but it was a perfect match for the shortages and challenges of wartime.  Made from oats, flour, shredded coconut, sugar, butter, baking soda, and water, the ANZAC biscuit calls for treacle or golden syrup as a binder, instead of then-scarce eggs.  The biscuits were durable enough to ship, would keep for long periods without refrigeration, and--just as important--were both nourishing and delicious.  Women in Australia and New Zealand packed ANZACs into whatever tins they had on hand and sent them off to the battlefields by the boatload. 

ANZAC biscuits are now a popular year-round treat, manufactured by commercial bakeries as well as by home cooks.  On ANZAC Day, biscuits are frequently sold to raise funds for veterans' services, continuing to provide comfort and sustenance for those who have served.  

Guinness Cake

Guinness Cake

I discovered the recipe for this chocolate and Guinness cake through an NPR feature on British cookbook author Nigella Lawson and her favorite St. Patrick's Day treats. The cup of stout gives it moistness and a subtle depth of flavor--not the exactly the boozy wallop of, say, a rum baba, but rather what Lawson calls, "a resonant, ferrous tang." Plus, it lends itself to visual puns; Lawson recommends a faux froth of cream cheese frosting, while I opted for a simpler dusting of powdered sugar.

Umai-do Update

In the year since I had my first, addictive taste of Umai-do's homestyle Japanese sweets, I've been keeping a hungry eye on this young business. My article on Umai-do's proprietor, native Seattleite Art Oki, appeared in the January/February issue of Edible Seattle magazine; if you weren't able to catch it in print, the full text is now available on Edible Seattle's webpage.

While the Umai-do storefront isn't yet open, renovations are coming along, and in the meantime Oki is happy to take special orders. You'll also have a chance to enjoy Umai-do products at Seattle Center's Cherry Blossom Festival, April 16-18. Try the "pink" manju (above), a delicate dumpling of homemade white bean paste wrapped in fresh mochi, or any of the other treats pictured on my original post.

Umai-do

3046 South Dawson St.

Seattle, WA

206/850-5306

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Marzipan Mold

Giving my beloved wooden sweet molds from Japan a run for their money is this slate mold from Germany, carved sometime in the 16th century. It depicts the Virgin Mary nursing the infant Jesus, and was likely used to shape marzipan or gingerbread. It is in the collection of Paris' Museum of the Middle Ages.

Minoo Bakery

Shirini Khoshk
Minoo Bakery

Reknowned anthropologist Margaret Mead theorized that a culture's essential character is determined by the rigor and timing of its toilet training practices. (It's true! She even made a highly entertaining documentary about it.)

Personally, I'd argue for judging a culture by its cookies. Besides being more palatable, cookies are at least as revealing. Even simple things, like size, or variety, or shelf-life can lead to new understandings (or at least new questions) about how people within a group relate to one another.

Without getting into the twisted messages lurking in every family-size pack of Double-Stuff Oreos, I'll present a contrasting scenario, the cookie counter at Minoo, "Seattle's Only Persian Bakery". Lined with a huge variety of bite-sized cookies, Minoo's counter speaks of sharing and hospitality, of social gatherings at which there is a little something for everyone and plenty to go around. The bakery itself is an extension of that generous impulse, "...the culmination of [the owner's] lifelong dream of wanting to share the sweet traditions & culture of Iran with the Seattle community."

Minoo sells both shirini tar, or "moist sweets", and shirini khoshk, sweets with a drier texture (interestingly, moist/dry is also one of the major ways in which the Japanese categorize their sweets). Moist sweets are those filled with cream or custard or topped with fruit, many clearly influenced by French pastries. As Minoo's website points out, "Iran’s prominent position along the ancient Silk Road created an opportunity to exchange ideas and cuisine from Europe to Asia."

More traditionally Persian are the dry sweets, a mulitude of small, delicate cookies that Minoo sells by the pound. Berenji are pale, sandy circles made from rice flour, sugar, rose water, and a sprinkling of poppyseeds. Nokhodochi are clovers of chickpea flour shortbread, while keshmeshi have raisins and saffron. The larger kolouche have walnut or fig filling, but kulukhi are thick and plain. Zabaan are oval millefeuilles with coconut topping, and the little walnut gerdoi are earthy, not-too-sweet, and crisp-soft like fresh amaretti. Since the cookies are made from a range of flours, fats, and sweeteners, treat-seekers on restricted diets may be able to find something to suit their needs.

There are at least a dozen more varieties of cookies, as well as breads, cakes, muffins, pastries, rice pudding, saffron ice cream, summer drinks, coffee and soup. And whatever you buy will buy, the nice guy behind the counter will make sure that the most delicate items are nestled safely on the top of the box, kept in perfect condition so that you can share them with friends or guests.

Minoo Bakery
12518 Lake City Way NE
Seattle, WA 98125
206/306-2229

Sample more travel-related treats at WanderFood Wednesday...

"Give Mercedes a Chance" Cake

Decorated Layer Cake

$35, QFC

Last week it was my boyfriend's turn to host the monthly office birthday party.   Since it was also the 41st anniversary of John and Yoko's first "Bed-In for Peace", he chose "Give Cake a Chance" as the party theme and headed off to the supermarket to commission an appropriate cake.  Although he sketched a peace sign on his order, the final result delivers a somewhat mixed message... 

Setsuko Pastry

Green Tea and Cream Mochi

Setsuko Pastry, from $3

For two years, Osaka native Setsuko Tanaka has been supplying Seattle with the sort of Japanese-inflected French pastries that have become so popular in Japan (as well as in France). When she moved to Seattle 6 years ago, Tanaka hungered for treats she couldn't find: fresh Japanese sweets, light French desserts, and something in-between.  Having studied wagashi and pastry in Japan, Tanaka began to make the sweets she craved.  Gradually, her hobby became a new career.  

The featured sweet for March provides a great introduction to Setsuko Pastry's products.  The green tea and cream mochi (pictured above) is a delicate hybrid of East and West, old and new.  The mochi gets its verdant color from a generous amount of green tea, while the red bean paste filling is lightened by a non-traditional layer of whipped cream; the finishing touch is a preserved cherry blossom.  Like all Setsuko pastries, the green tea and cream mochi is fresh, made from scratch, and free of preservatives.  

The dessert platter pictured below displays some of the other items on Setsuko's menu:  a Mont Blanc topped with red bean paste and pureed candied French chestnuts, a green tea "rare" cheesecake, a syrup garnish made from a dark Japanese sugar, the green tea mochi, and two rounds of black sesame shortbread.

Setsuko pastries are currently available at Shun, Village Sushi, Issian, Kozue, Root Table, and the Panama Hotel.  Contact Tanaka via her website to be notified of monthly specials.  She also accepts special orders for birthday and wedding cakes, with vegan options available. 

Setsuko Pastry
206/816-0348

Hungry for more?  Check other food- and travel-related posts over at Wanderfood Wednesday. 

Sakura Daifuku

Sakura Daifuku

To understate the obvious, cherry blossoms are a big deal in Japan. Every spring newspapers and tv programs deliver breathless up-to-the minute reports on the best viewing spots. Photographers offer tips for capturing all that fluttering beauty on film. Friends and co-workers camp out to secure the best spots for ohanami (flower viewing parties), enjoying picnic lunches and sake (and sometimes portable karaoke) under canopies of frothy, pale pink blossoms.

But there's also a somber side to this blossom worship. As the short sakura season wears on, every puff of wind releases showers of loose petals, which drift like tenacious snowflakes onto the picnics and parties below. Short-lived sakura are a reminder of mortality (albeit a fluffy, pink reminder) and therefore a traditional favorite of samurai, yakuza, and all those who aspire to a short, beautiful life.

Every year around this time the global wagashi purveyor Minamoto Kitchoan sells sakura daifuku, little balls of white bean paste wrapped in mochi that has cherry blossom petals mixed into it. The petals infuse the mochi with a delicate but unmistakable perfume. It might not be one of the loveliest Japanese sweet, but it's one of my favorites.

Since I'm nowhere near a Minamoto right now, I decided to try making my own. While it's hard to harvest petals without feeling like a scoundrel, I quashed my guilt by wandering the long way home and taking a single blossom from each tree I passed. At home I rinsed them and separated the petals from the stamen and calyx (I guessed that these would be unpleasantly crunchy).

For the outer casing, I cooked up some short grained sweet rice (mochigome), then worked it over with a potato masher until it became a coherent but lumpy mass (having seen how much labor goes into real mochi, I hesitate to apply the term to my mush). Then I stirred in a little salt and sugar, a touch of beet food coloring, and a handful of petals. I formed my shiroan into small balls and encased each one in the rice paste, then topped each ball with a single petal.

I put a few in the freezer to taste when my diet is over and I can eat sugar again, and distributed the rest to friends.  Mmmm, mortality.  

Angelcots

Angelcots

Another fruit I wish I had on hand is the angelcot. I picked up a box of these at Trader Joes's last year and am eagerly awaiting their return in June.

The angelcot is a sweet, juicy little Frankenfruit, hybridized from Iranian and Morrocan apricots. Ross Sanborn came up the cross about 30 years ago and continued to tinker with anglecots for the rest of his life. A small annual crop comes out an organic orchard in Brentwood, CA.

Kettle Kashigata

Kashigata are carved wooden molds for making certain kinds of Japanese confectionery. Between the wood connection and the sweets connection, I am just about powerless to resist them. I recently acquired this antique single-board mold depicting a kettle adorned with a lotus leaf.

Rainier Cherries

Rainier Cherries

Nope, they're not in season yet--despite our recent premature spring weather. But a few days into my elimination diet, this morning I found myself desperately searching the kitchen for anything sugar-free but vaguely candylike. And then I remembered: towards the end of cherry season last year, Rainiers got so cheap that I bought several pounds and stashed a couple of tubs in the freezer. Huzzah!

Eight months in hibernation doesn't amount to beauty sleep for cherries (hence the lack of an up-to-date picture), but they tasted better than they looked, and gave me the little hit of sweetness I was craving.

Apple Glass

Apple Glass

For the next month I will be voluntarily giving up a variety of my favorite substances in an effort to head off the allergies that plagued me last summer. I'm cutting out wheat, dairy, caffeine, alcohol, soy, some fruits, corn, and (drum roll please!)...sugar.

I plan to continue blogging (while trying to ignore the throbbing temptation emanating from my archive of treats gone by). I'll be posting items that have been languishing in my draft folder, some features on sweets-related objects, and, wherever possible, writing about treats that satisfy my sweet spot without containing refined sugar.

Today I made a vegan jelly from apple juice and agar. While seaweed-derived agar is often suggested as a gelatin substitute, I find that the key to enjoying agar is to banish all thoughts of jello. Because it has a different structure and a much higher melting point, agar jelly has a peculiar mouthfeel; in an earlier post, I likened it to eating "very soft glass". I found that cutting the jelly into small cubes mitigated the odd texture.

Agar (known as kanten in Japan) is available in long bars, flakes, and powder; I find the last two to be easier to work with. You can find it at health food stories, or, more cheaply, at Asian markets.

4 c unsweetened apple juice
4 scant tsp agar powder (or 4 scant Tbs agar flakes)

Gently heat the juice in a saucepan. Sprinkle in the agar and stir until the juice comes to a boil. Lower the heat. While stirring, simmer the juice until the agar is completely melted (4-5 minutes). Pour into a pan and allow to set (agar will set at room temperature). When cool, cut into pieces and store in the refrigerator.

Colombian-style Hot Chocolate

Colombian-style Hot Chocolate

While my part-time weekend job in a chocolate shop is not always as idyllic as it might sound, it certainly has its moments. One recent evening a couple came in asking to see the owner--not usually a good sign. When I explained that she was out for the day, they were crestfallen. Turns out that they had driven in from the far side of town just to bring her, out of the blue, a big block of cheese.

The backstory: they had attended one of the tasting events our shop does for a local business and heard about our range of drinking chocolate. The woman, who grew up in Colombia, decided that we needed to experience drinking chocolate done Colombian-style, which involves soaking a piece of fresh, lightly salted cheese in the cup, then eating it when it's warm and soft and saturated with chocolate.

This generous pair of chocolate evangelists searched the Latino markets for a queso fresco that would best approximate the kind used in Colombia, then schlepped it all the way to our shop. Finding that the boss wasn't in, they left us the entire block of cheese (!) and some verbal instructions.

I finally had time to fix myself a cup today. Keeping to the theme of the experiment, I used a single-origin Santander chocolate from Colombia for the drink. Then I dropped in a cube of cheese and started sipping. As I drank, I couldn't detect any cheesy flavor, but when I got to the bottom there it was: still cube-shaped but soft around the edges, pale ivory mottled with brown blotches like some alien sweetbread.

Since I'm about to start an elimination diet that will exclude all of the components of this treat (dairy, chocolate, and sugar--among many other things), I was sort of hoping it would turn me off chocolate for a while. No such luck. The cheese was a little rubbery and squeaked against my teeth (which, as my fellow former eraser chewers will agree, is a rather pleasant sensation), and then the fattiness melted across my tongue and released alternating ripples of salty chocolate and sweet cheese.

I can't believe I'm going to have to wait at least a month before I try Colombian drinking chocolate again!

John Nielsen's Authentic Danish Pastries

Pastry Potato

John Nielsen's, $3.50

Robin Williams once noted that you don't see a lot of happy people at a happy hour, but he certainly wasn't talking about happy hour at John Nielsen's, a Danish-style scratch bakery established in 1965. Between 2:30 and 3:30 the purchase of an espresso drink comes with your choice of pastry (including danish and snitter) on the house. Since Nielsen's offerings are made daily and without preservatives, this is a smart way to keep the goods moving while they're in peak condition.

Not part of the happy hour special, but worth the extra outlay, are more elaborate cakes and pastries such as the tosca, the Sarah Bernhardt, and the multi-story marzipan cake (fake but appealing display model pictured below). Their most popular item is the "potato" (above), an outsized profiterole bursting with whipped cream, swaddled in a blanket of marzipan, and dirtied up with a heavy dusting of cocoa powder.

Having alway previously thought of trompe l'oeil pastry potatoes as more of a German thing, I'm always surprised to run into them in Seattle's Scandinavian bakeries. Also surprising, the fact that so many pastries I would normally refer to as "danish" are sold in these bakeries under the name wienerbrod, or "Vienna bread".

It turns out that this is another of my beloved instances of history being inscribed in our sugary treats. In 1850, Danish bakery workers went on strike, leading bakery owners to import labor from nearby countries, including Austria. The foreign bakers brought with them their own traditions, which merged with existing Danish recipes and gave rise to many of the pastries that we know and love today.

Nielsen's Pastries

520 Second Ave W

Seattle, WA

206/282-3004