Twas the Night Before Christmas

…aaaand I didn’t give a reindeer’s fluffy behind, honestly. I have zero holiday spirit this year. Literally zilch, zip, nada, rien, nichts. There are no lights or ornaments up, no stockings have been hung with care, and I’m planning on spending the majority of my Christmas Day getting acquainted with TSA measures and enjoying all the other delights of trans-continental air travel these days. The Grinch ain’t got nothing on me.

But since I can’t let the year ring itself out without one more blog post no matter how Scroogey my outlook, I would like to share a recipe that just might make your heart grow two sizes, should you need a no-fuss showstopper of a brunch or dessert item between now and Twelfth Night. I whipped it up during my November novel writing-related insanity, so if I say you can do this one with only half a functional brain, you can take my word for it.

As is my wont this time of year, I had bought a panettone before Thanksgiving, but since it’s just me and His Lordship, I quickly sated my eggy, fruity cravings and still had a little over a quarter of the loaf left, forlornly sitting in its box. I thought about making French toast, which is a perfectly lovely application for leftover panettone, but decided bread pudding would be even better. I adapted an America’s Test Kitchen recipe and made four individual puddings in the high-sided ramekins I picked up at IKEA some time back, and have found a bazillion uses for since.

And then, because I’m me, I also decided that a salted caramel sauce would make it even more inspirational to my writerly efforts, and modified Nigella Lawson’s quick butterscotch sauce to fit the bill.

The puddings, I’m not ashamed to say, are stupendous. The custard is neither too eggy nor too sweet, and the bread absorbs just enough of it to stay airy and light without going mushy. The bits that stick out the very top get lovely and crispy, while the dried fruit in the panettone stays moist and chewy. You could leave off the sauce if you like, and as His Lordship did, but I think it adds both elegance and a nice intensity to contrast with the soothing softness of the pudding.

So there you have it, my little Cindy Lou Whos. I may have a raging case of the bah humbugs, but you can’t say I didn’t deliver any holiday cheer. Ho, ho, ho!

Panettone Bread Pudding with Salted Caramel Sauce
(Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen’s The Best Recipe and Nigella Lawson’s How to Eat)
Serves 4

For the puddings:

4 cups panettone, sliced into 2-inch cubes (approximately 1/4 of a standard panettone)
2 eggs
1/3 cup granulated sugar
1 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons bourbon
1 tablespoon vanilla
Pinch of salt

For the sauce:

4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons light brown sugar
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/3 cup Lyle’s Golden Syrup
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 large pinches Maldon salt

Move the oven rack to the lower-third position and preheat oven to 325 F. Generously butter 4 large, high-sided ramekins.

Spread the panettone cubes in a single layer on a baking sheet and bake 5-7 minutes to dry them out a bit, removing immediately if they start showing signs of browning. Divide the panettone evenly between the ramekins and set back on the sheet.

In a large measuring cup, whisk together the eggs and sugar until well combined, then blend in the milk, cream, bourbon, vanilla and salt. Pour a quarter of the custard mixture into each of the bread-filled cups.

Bake the puddings 30-35 minutes, until golden brown on top and rising up in the cups, and just barely jiggly when shaken. Set aside to cool to just warm while making the sauce, or cool completely and refrigerate for later.

To make the sauce, combine the butter, sugars and golden syrup in a small, heavy pan and melt together over medium heat. Allow to simmer enthusiastically for 5 minutes, then remove from heat and stir in cream, vanilla, and salt. Stir well to melt the salt, then decant into a pitcher.

Notes:

This recipe can be scaled up easily to accommodate however much leftover panettone you have. Should you not have any leftover panettone (though why wouldn’t you, since they’re everywhere now and will be everywhere and on sale after the holidays?), you could use raisin challah or brioche instead.

If you can’t find Lyle’s Golden Syrup, you could substitute light corn syrup or honey. Likewise, if you don’t have Maldon salt, another good-quality coarse sea salt will do.

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Better Than Pie

A couple of months back, His Lordship and I checked out the newest upscale barbecue joint. I was pleasantly surprised by the vegetarian chili, which was pleasantly spicy and full of chewy seitan pieces and chunks of vegetables in a not-too-thick tomato base. I was equally impressed by their pecan pie, which nimbly sidestepped all the usual dangers of the genre. It was sweet but not tooth-destroying, had quite a decently flaky crust, and was bursting with nicely-sized pecan pieces.

Good though it was, the pie reminded me of an even-better bar cookie I’d previously made. The cookies poured a decadent honey and brown sugar caramel over a buttery base and covered it with a blanket of chopped toasted nuts, taking all the charms of a really good pecan pie and ramping them up to dazzling. A week or so later, I made the bars again, and was wowed all over again.

The price to be paid for this degree of wonderfulness is getting out the dreaded candy thermometer, but I promise it’s absolutely worth it. The bourbon-infused caramel offers all the symphonic roundness the standard one-note corn syrup substrate can’t. Since the cookie base holds up much better than pie crust, I’d even venture to suggest that these bars, cut into more pie-sized slices, would make the perfect make-ahead dessert for Thanksgiving.

Honey Caramel Pecan Bars
(Adapted from Nancy Baggett, The All-American Cookie Book)
Makes 36-48 small bars

For cookie layer:
9 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 1/2 cups all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

For caramel pecan layer:
2 cups whole pecans
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter
1/2 cup mild honey
6 tablespoons light brown sugar
3 tablespoons heavy cream
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons bourbon

Preheat the oven to 400 F. Line a 9 x 13 baking pan with nonstick aluminum foil, leaving several inches of overhang all around.

In the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, combine the butter, sugar and egg and beat until fluffy, about 2 minutes. Whisk together the dry ingredients and add to the butter mixture, beating just until smooth. Spread the cookie dough in a thin, even layer in the lined pan. Bake on the center oven rack for 12-15 minutes, until golden in the center and a bit darker at the edges. Set on a wire rack while preparing the caramel layer.

Lower the oven temperature to 350 F. Spread the pecans on a baking sheet and toast just until they darken slightly and release a nutty aroma. Chop the pecans moderately fine and set aside.

Bring the butter, honey, brown sugar, and cream to a boil in a medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Insert a candy thermometer and continue to cook at a low boil until the caramel reaches 250 F. Remove from the heat and stir in the bourbon and half the chopped pecans.

Pour the caramel over the crust, spreading all the way to the edges, and sprinkle the remaining cup of pecans over the top. Bake for 15-20 minutes, until bubbling and browned. Cool to room temperature on a wire rack, then refrigerate until well chilled, at least 1 1/2 hours.

Use the overhang to lift the cookie slab out of the pan and onto a cutting board. Pull the foil away, then use a sharp knife to cut the slab into narrow bars, cleaning the sticky residue off the blade between cuts for a clean slice.

Notes:

The original recipe was made with hazelnuts, which are wonderful but obviously more work. It also had a chocolate garnish on top, formed by sprinkling the still-warm bars with very finely chopped chocolate and leaving it to melt. Uncharacteristically, I found it to be a wee bit overkill, since the chocolate distracted from the clean flavor of the hazelnuts and definitely would have overwhelmed the pecans, but feel free to add that back in if you disagree.

If you don’t have a thermometer, you can test the caramel for doneness by dropping 1/2 a teaspoon of it into a glass of ice water once it thickens and starts to darken. It should form a soft ball in the water which flattens once lifted out.

The unsliced slab can supposedly be wrapped tightly and frozen for several weeks, although I have never had the necessary level of willpower to put theory to practice.

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Flantastico!

Flan may be the default dessert throughout Latin America, but I didn’t actually grow up eating it because my mother did not make it. Don’t get me wrong; Mom is a champion baker and made plenty of other desserts, including some ridiculously complicated ones I had the temerity to demand for certain birthdays. As she explained over Christmas dinner preparation this year, though, flan was her mother’s territory and therefore ground she feared to tread.

Since Grandma only visited once a year and never once made flan that I can recall, I didn’t have much interaction with flan until my teens, when we moved to Mexico. As it could be had in any restaurant there, I enthusiastically embraced its wobbly, burnt-caramel ubiquity as both a comfort food and a special indulgence. Ever since then, even if I suspect from the quality of the rest of the meal that it won’t be particularly good, I’ve had a hard time passing flan up when I see it on a restaurant’s menu.

Although some might consider them basically the same thing, I don’t feel the same way about creme brulee. I’ve always found creme brulee to be too rich, too pasty, too bland and boring under that crackly sugar. I regularly find that all that butterfat just throws the ratios out of whack and drowns out the vanilla bean or lavender or yuzu or whatever flavoring-du-jour the pastry chef tried to infuse into it. Flan, on the other hand, is the perfect balance of eggy and creamy. Even a meh flan is enjoyable.

This flan, the home version of the best flan I’ve ever had, is not remotely meh. I ate it twice while completing an internship in Washington DC over the summer; the first time at Jose Andres’s flagship restaurant, Jaleo, and the second time at the cafe of the National Gallery of Art, which he took over in conjunction with two exhibits of Spanish art. The Jaleo version was dolled up with foams and garnishes while the Cafe España one was served perfectly plain, but both times the custard was smooth, creamy, golden perfection accented by a smoky-topaz caramel so dark it was seriously flirting with danger. It was the complete opposite of all those profoundly disappointing brulees, and what every half-assed Mexican restaurant flan aspires to be.

In passionate love, I demanded that the waiter find me one of the last remaining printed recipe brochures (available here if you also want a fabulous gazpacho recipe and a chicken empanada I obviously can’t vouch for, but which is probably great). I then bided my time until the next big family gathering, and insisted on making this in addition to our non-negotiable Christmas dessert, a chocolate buche de noel we’ve had as long as we’ve been north of the equator. While I can’t claim to have executed it as flawlessly as Jose, I daresay I did Mama Andres, whose recipe it is, credit.  I also think Grandma would have approved.

If you’re at all a flanatic like me, you absolutely must try this. Apart from the bit involving molten sugar, which is always a little intimidating given the high burn potential, it’s a fabulously easy recipe. If the burnt sugar bit really freaks you out, you can and must make this anyway. It won’t be exactly the same, but you could just spoon some dulce de leche or store-bought caramel sauce in the bottom of the ramekins before pouring the custard over. You could also try jam, as Alton Brown suggests.

Flan al estilo de la madre de Jose Andres
(Adapted from Jose Andres, Tapas: A Taste of Spain in America)
Serves 4-6

For the caramel:

1 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup warm water

For the custard:

1/2 cup half-and-half
1/2 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 strip lemon zest
1 cinnamon stick
3 large eggs
2 large egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Cook the cup of sugar for the caramel in a small saucepan over medium-low heat until it melts and begins to brown. Continue cooking until the sugar becomes dark brown, stirring constantly to avoid burning. Remove the pan from heat and carefully add the warm water, standing well back to avoid the sputtering. Return pan to the heat and continue cooking about 5 minutes, until dark and thick, like grade-B maple syrup.

Divide the caramel between four large or six small ramekins, swirling to coat the bottoms and halfway up the sides. Be extremely careful not to let the sugar touch your skin, because caramel will stick like napalm and cause scary third-degree damage in a very short time. (If you’re worried and/or clumsy like me, keep a bowl of ice water next to you and plunge any exposed bits in immediately to stop the burning.)

Line the bottom of a high-sided 9×13 baking pan with a clean kitchen towel and set the coated ramekins in the pan.

Preheat oven to 275 F.

Combine the half-and-half, heavy cream, lemon zest, cinnamon stick and 3/4 cup sugar in a medium-size saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, removing the pan from the heat just as contents reach a boil. (You could also do this in a liquid measuring cup in the microwave.)

In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs and yolks. Pour a bit of the hot cream gently into the eggs to temper them, whisking vigorously, then whisk in the rest of the cream. Strain the mixture into a large liquid measuring cup, stirring in the vanilla extract. Fill the caramel-lined ramekins with the custard.

Set the pan with the filled ramekins onto the middle rack of the oven. Carefully fill the pan with enough hot water to reach halfway up the sides of the ramekins, making sure not to drip any water into the custards.

Bake for 50-60 minutes, until the flans look set but the middles are still a bit jiggly. Remove from the oven and lift the flans out of the water bath to cool to room temperature. Wrap with plastic wrap and refrigerate until completely cold.

To serve, run a knife along the edges of the flans to loosen them. Place a dessert plate upside-down over the top of a ramekin, and invert. Shake gently but firmly until the flan drops onto the plate, and lift the ramekin up to let the caramel drizzle down onto the custard. Repeat with the remaining flans.

Notes:

The recipe as originally written was for six servings, but you should use quite small ramekins or custard cups if you want any height in your flan at that quantity. Dividing the custard six ways among regular-sized ramekins will result in rather flat, but still lovely, flans. If you want taller, more substantial ones, make just four flans. You could also make a single, bigger flan, but in my experience, it is much harder to tell when a bigger one is done, and it’s also harder to unmold without cracking the flan or spilling caramel sauce on your work surface or yourself.

His Lordship’s brother, who graciously hosted us as he does every Christmas, does not have ramekins, so I made these in small oven-safe soup bowls. It worked well, as you can see.

You can make a coconut variation by substituting coconut milk for some or all of the dairy and leaving out the cinnamon and lemon. I did this on Wednesday to use up the two leftover yolks from my birthday souffle, because that’s just the kind of crazy I am.

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