Goat cheese panna cotta with mango foam

March fog

March.

Neither lion nor lamb.

It’s a fickle fish this year, darting in one direction, then another, to the surface, then back under the weeds.

Cold clear days, warm foggy mornings, sweet springing afternoons, hail, snow, rain, mud, ice.

One day, a week ago, we had all the windows in the house open. Today, we’re back to having both wood stoves lit.

Closed-fisted buds. They’re not risking it yet.

March and fog

It’s a little hard to be patient. Even when we know it’s coming. Even when the afternoon light gets longer by minutes every day.

But we can cheat. Let’s springify things around here a bit.

Let’s bring out those beautiful French dessert dishes, the ones with the bees.

Goat cheese panna cotta - Bee cups

Let’s pick out some ripe mangos and make a puree.

Mango puree - Mango

Let’s blend cream, goat milk, goat cheese, sugar, gelatin, and vanilla.

Goat cheese panna cotta - Poured

White as snow. But let’s teach it how to bloom like spring.

Goat cheese panna cotta

Goat cheese panna cotta

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This month’s Let’s Lunch theme is Daffodils/Spring, in recognition of the Canadian Cancer Society’s annual Daffodil Days, when it sells daffodils to raise funds for the Cancer Society. This theme was suggested by this month’s gracious host, Karen at Geofooding. Visit her post for more information about Daffodil Days and for links to the rest of the Let’s Lunch group’s tributes to spring.

Goat cheese panna cotta with mango foam

Yield: Six or more servings (depending on the size of ramekins/dishes you use)

Goat cheese panna cotta
(adapted from Fine Cooking)

  • 2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin (or 2 leaves of gelatin)
  • 1/2 cup granulated sugar
  • 2 cups heavy cream (or 1 cup heavy cream and 1 cup light cream)
  • 1 cup fresh goat cheese, at room temperature (I used plain chèvre)
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  • 1 cup goat milk (or cow milk, or buttermilk)
  1. In a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over four teaspoons of water to soften the gelatin (if you’re using gelatin leaves, follow the package’s instructions to soak the leaves.
  2. In a medium saucepan, combine the cream and sugar and bring to a simmer. Do not boil the mixture. When it reaches a simmer, turn off the heat.
  3. Whisk the softened goat cheese into the cream mixture, until there are no visible pieces of cheese left and the mixture is smooth.
  4. Add the vanilla and softened gelatin, whisking until the mixture is smooth. Then add the goat milk and whisk thoroughly.
  5. Strain the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve into a large, glass measuring cup or a bowl that has a pouring spout.
  6. Pour the mixture into six large or eight (or more) smaller ramekins. (If you want to unmold the panna cottas to serve them, lightly grease the ramekins before you pour the mixture into them).
  7. Refrigerate for at least three hours, or overnight.

Mango purée and foam
If you don’t have a whipper, or prefer not to use a foam, you can use just the mango purée on its own to decorate the panna cottas. For that matter, you can skip the mango altogether and use whatever fruits or embellishments that you prefer. I chose mango because I love the flavor and because the color reminded me of spring tulips and daffodils.

  • 250 milliliters of mango purée (see instructions below)
  • 1 teaspoon unflavored gelatin (or 1 leaf of gelatin)
  1. Make a mango purée by cubing two ripe mangos (you can also use two cups of frozen, cubed mango), and blending the cubed mango with 1 teaspoon of lime juice, three teaspoons of sugar, and 1/3 cup water. Strain the purée through a fine-mesh sieve. You want to make sure there are no lumps that could clog the whipper.
  2. In a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over three teaspoons of water to soften the gelatin (if you’re using a gelatin leaf, follow the package’s instructions to soak the leaf).
  3. In a small saucepan, gently warm the purée (do not boil!), then add the softened gelatin to the warmed purée until it is thoroughly combined.
  4. Remove the purée from the heat and strain it one more time through a fine-mesh sieve to be sure there are no lumps of gelatin.
  5. Let the purée cool completely to room temperature.
  6. When the purée is cool, put it in the whipper, screw the whipper lid on, and charge with two gas chargers. Then SHAKE the whipper vigorously for a minute or so.
  7. Refrigerate the whipper for an hour, then shake vigorously again. You can use the foam now, or can return it to the refrigerator to use later. (Shake it again before using it.)

When the panna cottas are set and you’re ready to serve them, decorate them with the foam or the purées, fruits and sauces you choose.

To serve an unmolded panna cotta, heat a pan of water, dip the bottom of the ramekin in the warm water, run a sharp knife around the edge of the ramekin, put a plate over the ramekin, and flip the ramekin and plate over at the same time to unmold the panna cotta.

Nothing up my sleeve

Pita Bread - Puffy

After awhile, when you cook long enough, you kind of get used to things just working the way you expect it to. Or you get used to recognizing possible pitfalls in the recipe as written and know how to work around it so that you get the results you want. Things hum along.

Sure, sometimes there are failures.

Like when I made banana bread a couple months back from the tried-and-true recipe I’ve made 25 times before with no trouble, and, who knows what happened, but the center never baked. Which I didn’t find out until it had cooled and I sliced into the middle of the bread and… ew… out spilled the unbaked batter.

Kitchen Pixies? Yeah, that’s who I’ll blame. The kitchen Pixies. (Which, by the way, would make a good band name.)

Anyway, mistakes and miscalculations happen, particularly when I’m rushing and haven’t read the recipe all the way through or when I forget a step, but, really, true surprises are rare.

Which is why, had you peeked in our kitchen window mid-day last Saturday, you would have seen me doing my Kitchen Pixie “Dance of Glee” when I saw magic happen in the oven.

Get a load of this: You make a dead-simple silky dough (you can do it in your mixer), let it ferment for a couple of hours (or up to a few days), cut it into pieces, shape it into balls, roll the balls flat, then bake the flat discs in a nice-and-hot oven for three minutes.

Pita Bread - Resting

Pita Bread - Rolled out

And then, all by themselves, they POOF! They know how to do this from some deep encoding in their little pita DNA. Or something. They just… puff up. You don’t flip them. You don’t touch them. They perform this little trick of magic on their own. And then? You get to eat them.

Who says there’s no such thing as magic?

Pita Bread - Magic

Pita Bread

p.s. If you need something to dip the pita in, try this hummus recipe, also from Smitten Kitchen. It’s the hummus recipe we’ve been hankering for for years. It really works.

On the last day of January

Bend

I’ve been thinking about Wallace Steven’s poem, The Snow Man, for weeks now, because, of course, it’s winter and it’s January.

I wanted to write something about having a “mind of winter”, expecting to have experienced it, even for just a day, as I have in winters before.

But this January’s rickrack weather hasn’t cooperated. It’s too ragged and unpredictable for me to have relaxed into the rhythm of ice and snow, the logs being fed methodically into the wood stove, the shovel scraping the driveway, the sliding of one ski past the other on the trail, the shuffling of snowshoes up and over the snow-plowed mound at the end of the driveway.

Field

Instead, we’ve swung from -25 degrees one day to +50 degrees another, from snow to rain to ice to sun and blue skies, from sequin-scattered snow to squeaky styro-foam snow to fog, slush, mush, mud.

How can I settle into that mesmeration of cold, still resilience, with all of this meteorological commotion?

As much as I resent the oncoming of winter (I have a mind of spring), there’s something to be said for that band of weeks against which you can do nothing but read, sit by the fire, make soup and bread, and be excused up to bed early just because it’s dark by 4.30.

January woods

The yard and garden are silent. The animals understand if you don’t want to play outside; they’re in hunker-down mode, too. You’re vaguely aware of plans that need or ought to be made, for some future time when the cold is cracked open and seedlings sprout, but… not yet. Not yet.

Tonight, just pull the covers up to your chin, listen to the wind roar, watch the flakes flutter down.

Snow river

I’m greedy for that mental state: the whirling world putting a kind hand on my shoulder, telling me that nothing at all is required.

The wind is whistling across the yard now and the temperature is dropping again.

The wind slammed the barn door hard this morning when I was inside loading hay into the feeders. The goats were munching gently and they didn’t seem bothered by the wind and the noise. All they were interested in was the hay, and the animal crackers in the cookie jar, and a good rub against their foreheads.

It was warm enough this morning that I lingered there, jealous of the cozy barn and their herdness, and grateful for the way they welcome me into that herd though I’m clearly not a normal goat. And while I was there, I lost for a bit that mental list of things to do, or what was outside, or what was coming in an hour, or where I had failed or what I had meant to do and be.

That moment, and the true locked-down January, are like the hours of travel from here to there, when the only point is the movement. Nothing else is required. Nothing.

52 Week Adventure ~ A (1/52)

A is for…

The first letter of the alphabet. The beginning of something.

Aa

Last winter’s DVD addiction.

'Allo 'Allo

Mr. Hudson, the Abyssinian.

Abyssinian

A necessity if you’re a lonesome polecat.

Axe

The alethiometer.

Alethiometer

Alethiometer

The last note in this song.

Holiday lights, part 2

Untitled

Have you got the holiday season out of your system yet?

The menorahs are put back on the high shelf, the ornaments are packed away, and the tree has been disposed of one way or another.

Now that it’s been a week or more since you’ve heard a Christmas tune, how about one more whirl through the “Nite Lites” Christmas light display at the Jackson County Fairgrounds?

Untitled

A couple nights before Christmas, we drove by the fairgrounds and, really, it looked like a wonderland. We don’t see things like this in Vermont. We needed to immerse ourselves in it. It didn’t disappoint. It went on for ages.

They had light displays for everything, from storybook characters to dinosaurs to Santa, his sleigh, and the reindeer; from elves, to Mary, Joseph, Jesus and the wise men; from a candy cane-making machine, to a train, to a canon “shooting” presents over the cars and into Santa’s bag; from Santa reading a book called “The Salesman” (someone knows why, but we sure don’t) to a snowman and an elf “tossing” a snowflake back and forth.

Our favorite display was of a reindeer, standing on his hind hooves, tossing a bowling ball. The lights lit in just the right order so that it looked like the ball was tossed through the air and the pins were hit, scattering in white light.

It was weird, a bit kitschy, and wholly beautiful, bright and celebratory. It was just a whole lot of artificial lights, strung over metal frames. And it was magical. That kind of magic where half of it is generated by your willingness to just believe, and laugh and let it flow, to take it for what it is and find the joy in it.

A couple nights later, we went through it again. Why not? And then on our drive back home after Christmas, we discovered that Syracuse does their own light display along the lake. Yes, of course, we went through that one, too.

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled

Untitled