Cloud Dessert

Last year I saw this delicious looking cloud, and ever since have had my eye out for the equivalent dessert. Recently, Nancy gave me the cookbook A Year in My Kitchen, written by Skye Gyngell, head palate at the Petersham Nurseries Cafe in London.

In the autumn section, I found a dessert that looked a lot like clouds. And seemed like it might taste like clouds too. Last night, we did a Gyngell-inspired dinner over at Nancy's, and after feasting on the fantastic combinations of sweet, savory, and meatily complex flavors of lamb with prunes, corainder (cilantro), and spices; sweet potato puree with tamari, maple syrup, and chili; and roasted squash with roasted tomatoes, feta, and basil oil, we tried it out.

The cloud dessert is called apple and eau-de-vie snow. The quick summary is that you stew Pippin apples in a vanilla-sugar syrup, blend it in the food processor, whip egg whites until they're stiff, blend the two elements together, and then put the mixture in the ice cream maker. As it's turning into a frozen cluster of clouds you add the eau-de-vie (I actually added Calvados because it's what I had on hand). The result is a light, cold but not too icy, apple with a kick, truly white as snow dessert that's unlike anything else I've ever had. It is apple clouds.

Here's the recipe:

Put 8.8 ounces of sugar, 500 ml of water, and a vanilla bean pod split in half in a pot over medium heat. Stir to dissolve sugar, and then bring to a simmer.

Peel, core, and chop 6 Pippin apples, then add them to the syrup mixture and cook for about 5 minutes, keeping the syrup at a simmer, until the apples are tender but not mushy. Turn off the heat and let the apples hang out in the syrup until they are cool.

Remove the apples with a slotted spoon and blend in a food processor along with 2 tablespoons of the syrup until it's pale and smooth.

Whip eight egg whites (since they're eaten raw, look for free-range, small-farm, organic eggs) and a pinch of salt to firm peaks. Add the apple puree. Now here she says blend lightly with a whisk, but the weight of the apples doesn't facilitate an easy blending, so I'd suggest folding with a spatula instead.

Pour the mixture into an ice cream maker and process. This amount makes enough for two batches in a standard home machine. When the mixture starts to look like ice cream, add two tablespoons of apple eau-de-vie (or calvados) and continue to churn until it you have a "soft, feathery, light slush." Serve immediately.

Verjus sorbet and poached peach

I'm working backwards here, starting with dessert, but as with meal planning, so with meal descriptions. This is the verjus sorbet and poached peach dessert from the French Laundry cookbook. The split in the peach is accidental (I forgot I was cutting the peach into thirds and not halves), but I think the rest of it looks about right.

Here's the thing about poached fruit, I like it, but I don't love it. But we already had these large peaches, and I wanted to make something seasonal, especially since the days are growing shorter and the mornings are chillier and it's only a matter of time before the summer fruit disappears and daylight savings time ends. And, I was very curious about the sorbet.

First I looked for verjus at Monterey Market. The guy (I think his name is Marty? I can't remember now) who stocks the vinegars said they didn't carry it, but that lately he's been getting more requests and is going to look into getting some. Next I stopped in at Magnani, hoping that they might carry it, but alas they did not, and then at the Coffee and Cheese shop, where my favorite woman there told me they didn't have it either.

Walking back, I called Nancy, who suggested the Pasta Shop down on Fourth Street. I called down there, and they had it! In fact, they had two kinds, one was a Sangiovese verjus and the other (the one I bought) was the regular kind.

From the back of the bottle and the introduction to the recipe, I've discovered the verjus was a Roman invention that was popular in French kitchens in the 14th and 15th centuries. Made from unripened white grapes, verjus is an acidulant like vinegar or lemon juice, but milder than either, and doesn't mask the flavors of the dish that it's added to.

The taste is singular. It's tart and particularly fruity but not sweet at all, a grape flavor stripped of sugar. It was really a bit of an object lesson, because after tasting it, I found it suddenly easier to see where the complexity in wine comes from. It has an appealing scent; if there were a verjus perfume, I would consider wearing it.

The sorbet was simply verjus and corn syrup chilled then processed in the ice cream maker. The result was a slightly tart, perfumy, delicate ice. And in appearance it slightly resembled a cloud. Speaking of which, I found a recipe for a French macaroon type cookie nicknamed "little clouds." Expect to hear more about that one soon.