Lemon Panna Cotta

The weather has been really lovely lately, with temperatures around 30-35 C. This has made it a tad difficult to go outdoors without almost having an asthma attack, but I don't care, it's worth it! Even though the weather makes my brain scream "ice cream ice cream ice cream ice cream ice cream!" all day long, I have yet to actually do it. Shared kitchens aren't all that fun, and I wouldn't want someone's food or hot oil ending up in my custard. So there was no ice cream to be had, but I still wanted something cool and refreshing, preferably that didn't require too much work either, and what is easier than panna cotta?

Instead of Daniel's recipe, with only cream, I decided to try one of Tartelette's, with half cream and half milk. I flavoured the panna cotta with lemon zest, but if we had had mint at home I would've used that too, and perhaps lime instead of lemon.

The panna cottas turned out very light in both feeling and flavour, but since I've had no previous experience with powdered gelatin they turned out a little bit too jiggly. Next time I'll just use gelatin leaves.

Lemon Panna Cotta, adapted from Tartelette. Yields 2

Ingredients

125 ml milk
125 ml heavy cream
60 ml sugar
The zest from one lime
1 vanilla bean, split in half, and the seeds scraped out (NOT to throw away, mind you...)
1 teaspoon powdered gelatin bloomed in 1 Tb water (means to pour the water over the gelatin and let it sit while you prepare the panna cotta) (Note: this turned out to be too little gelatin to make the panna cottas set, but I don't know if the amount is wrong or if I just fucked it up.)

Combine all the ingredients, except the gelatin, in a saucepan over medium high heat and bring to a boil. Remove from the heat and let the cream to steep for 20 minutes. Pass the mixture through a sieve or a chinois, heat the gelatin in the microwave for 8 seconds and quickly stir it in the cream mixture. Divide it evenly among small dishes, glasses, etc...Let set in the refrigerator for at least 3 hours.

Serve with berries or a coulis.

Lemon & Cardamom Scones

Just like chocolate balls, scones are another thing every young Swede gets to bake in home economics, and is very popular as breakfast bread among my friends. It is, however, almost completely unheard of among everyone I've met so far in Germany. They haven't even heard the name, let alone tasted or baked one, which I find a bit funny since it's so common back home. I just assumed it was popular everywhere, but I guess I was wrong. Pity, though, since scones are so easy to make, and almost impossible to fail with.

I have two defaults when it comes to scones--regular ones and whole-wheat ones. I've made both a million times, and I don't even bother measuring the ingredients anymore because I already know how the dough is supposed to feel and behave. Comforting as it is to be able to produce delicious scones while blindfolded and with one arm tied behind my back, I'm beginning to feel like experimenting. This wasn't really a conscious decision, the thought just came to me one morning that I wanted to make scones flavoured with lemon zest and cardamom seeds.

So I did.

They were delicious.

Lemon & Cardamom Scones

550 ml wheat flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
50 g butter, cubed
zest from one lemon
1 tsp cardamom seeds, finely ground
200 ml milk, yoghurt or sour cream

Pre-heat oven to 250 C.
Sift together all dry ingredients.
Add butter and incorporate well using the tips of your fingers or a fork until the mixture is crumbly.
Add the fluid and mix together--the dough will probably be a bit sticky, but that's okay.
Divide dough into 6-8 parts and roll into buns. Place on a baking sheet and prick them lightly with a fork.
Bake for about 10 minutes, or until golden brown.

Serve with orange marmalade, or lemon curd.



Next time, I think I'll try a nutty scone.
(That should pair nicely with my even nuttier boyfriend, right?)

Strawberry Lime Tiramisù

As you might have guessed by the picture, moderation isn't really my thing. At least not when it comes to strawberries.

I grew up with two older sisters and two younger brothers, and my father was the sole provider - this might not sound very strange to you, but in Sweden, women generally keep working even if they have children. My mother stayed at home. Despite the fact that we hardly ever had money to spare, we always had food on the table and (thanks to H & M, often new) clothes on our bodies. I don't really know how they did it, but my parents always made ends meet without showing they had to struggle. The only time I felt we could have used more money was during strawberry season. Having to share 2 litres, or about 1 kg, of strawberries with all of my siblings and both mother and father was simply torture. I always wanted more and, unfortunately, so did everyone else. My father used to weigh the strawberries to make sure no one got too much or too little, which I guess was fair albeit a tad annoying.

I think Daniel, with his three older sisters, have similar strawberry memories - the first summer we spent together (which was also the first summer away from our respective homes) we both marveled at the amount of strawberries we were allowed to eat without having to share! I think we both ate more than our fair share of strawberries that summer, not feeling the least bit guilty about not offering someone else to have a taste. Two years later, I feel every bit as amazed at the amount of strawberries I'm allowed to eat on my own, and I still don't feel like sharing.

We originally planned to make the Rhubarb Strawberry Tiramisù that FX Cuisine recently posted about, but when we got to the store there was no rhubarb to be seen anywhere, so we had to rethink. It took me about two seconds to combine the strawberries with lime instead of rhubarb, and the dessert turned out just as amazingly delicious as I thought it would. I still want to try the rhubarb version, but the strawberry lime one is definitely a keeper. That said, the finger biscuits that go well in the traditional Tiramisù does absolutely nothing for me in the fruit versions, and next time I'll just leave them out, or substitute with chopped nuts (depending on the fruit I use) or a less spongy biscuit or cookie.

Strawberry Lime Tiramisù for two greedy persons, inspired by FX Cuisine

You probably won't need all of the mascarpone cream (we didn't), but you can keep it in the fridge until you buy new strawberries, or whatever other fruit that tickles your fancies.

Ingredients
500 g fresh strawberries, rinsed and sliced
250 g mascarpone
2 eggs, separated
50 g sugar
1 lime, zest and juice
1 shot cointreau, or to taste
Finger biscuits

Instructions
Whisk together egg yolks, lime zest and sugar. Whisk this into the mascarpone, until the mixture is creamy and smooth.
Beat the egg whites until light and foamy, and gently fold them into the mascarpone cream.
Chop up some finger biscuits, and place in the bottom of a glass or serving bowl.
Mix together lime juice and cointreau, and cover the biscuits with a small amount each.
Layer everything in a fancy glass or serving bowl. Finish it off with a ridiculous amount of strawberries, and pour the remaining lime/cointreau mixture on top.

Up North Goes Down South: Sugar High Friday #43 - Citrus

Even though I don't bake frequently (that's usually Angelica's department), I never miss a post at Tartelette. The beautiful photography and personal writing style makes it an all-time favourite of mine. It also helps that Helen has a love bordering on obsession with citrus, mirroring my own feelings toward those magnificent fruits, so when she announced that Sugar High Friday #43 would have citrus as it's theme, I almost squealed. Me and Angelica had only days earlier reached the conclusion that we should participate in a blogging event, and if there ever was a sign from above, this was it.

For those not in the know regarding food blogging events, Sugar High Friday is the child of Jennifer at The Domestic Goddess, and works like this: every SHF has a host, who decides a theme, and all participants must simply make a dessert on the specified theme and blog about it before a deadline. The entries are then lined up in an (usually almost endless) entry on the host's blog, where you can then find all the inspiration you ever wanted regarding the theme.


Anybody who has ever been to Sweden knows what a Norway Spruce (Picea abies) looks like. It's a beautiful conifer, growing tall and straight, and together with the Scots Pine (Pinus sylvestris), it defines the Swedish forest. Lovely enough on their own, these trees are also good news: wherever there is a pine forest, there's also bilberries. We shall return to those at a later occasion, today we focus on the trees.


Racking our brains about tastes to go with citrus, our thoughts turned towards conifers. It is a well known fact that citrus fruits are best friends with dry gin, which is flavoured with juniper berries, and has a distinct conifer flavour. With this thought in place, spruce immediately came to mind. One of those things that every Swede knows, but which is uncommon knowledge abroad, is that spruce shoots are edible. Lovely soft and light green, picking and eating the shoots straight off the tree is an almost mandatory part of a spring walk in the woods. Both of us also have fond memories of chewing the needles from christmas trees (not actually eating them, mind you, just extracting the tastes and discarding the needle itself).

Edit: Angelica points out that the last paragraph made it sound like I was involved in the idea of using the spruce, but that was actually all her. I came up with the actual implementation, see next paragraph. Oh, the joys of collective blogging...

So, the decision was made: spruce and citrus it would be. I suggested that we could modify Angelica's Italian lemon/mint sorbet, hands down my favourite ice cream recipe. The modification was simple enough, we would just infuse the syrup with spruce instead of mint.

Now all we needed was some spruce. We hadn't thought of that as a potential problem, well used to hardly being able to turn around quickly without ramming our heads into a spruce tree, but this is Munich, not Stockholm, and instead of tall, dark spruce trees, light green beeches line the streets. Luckily, I live a mere stone's throw from the Englischer Garten, which is lovingly planted with the most varied flora. A twenty minute search turned out fruitful, and we returned home with a couple of spruce twigs and some shoots.


Since we don't have an ice cream machine, the sorbet turned into more of a granita, but aim for sorbet, it will be smooth and wonderful in every way. This is a light sorbet, perfect for the porch or balcony on a warm summer day. To big up the conifer flavour, we added a shot of gin, which was quite good. If you don't want alcohol in the finished product, add the gin to the water when making the syrup, and let the alcohol boil off.

The spruce aroma was subtle and combined deliciously with the citrus. We felt that it was a tad slight, but for those not used to chewing the needles, it's probably just right as the recipe stands. We also tried serving the granita slightly melted with a splash of Limoncello, and it turned into a lovely summer drink, reminiscent of a frozen daiquiri.

Citrus and Spruce Sorbet

150 ml water
150 g sugar
150 ml full fat milk
150 ml mixed citrus juice (we used lemon and lime)
40 ml dry gin
25 g spruce twigs
spruce shoots for decoration

Tear the needles from the spruce twigs, don't worry if a bit of the bark comes along with them. Roughly chop the needles up with a knife to open them out and let the aroma out. Combine water, sugar and spruce needles in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Let simmer for about two minutes, then remove from heat, add spruce twigs, and let cool to room temperature. When cool, sieve the syrup into a bowl, add milk, gin and citrus juice and whisk together. Run mixture in an ice cream machine for 20-30 minutes, until it's frozen into a smooth mixture. Serve in bowls, or in cocktail glasses with a splash of limoncello, and decorate with a spruce shoot.