Brigadeiros

I think every cook has a few technically complex things that they aspire to be able to make really well. In my case, it’s a pretty long list (I’ve got a thing for mastering tricky techniques) but I would love to be really, really good at making sweets. Fudge, caramels, chocolates…for all the artistry involved in making them, they also contain a decent amount of science, as too much mixing (or not enough), or being a degree or two above or below the right temperature can ruin you sweets or change them completely. When I was growing up, we had a “Candy Cookbook” with recipes for making fondant, then dozens and dozens of recipes to make with that fondant. Needless to say, my poor mother suffered years of sugary mess in the kitchen which yielded inedible results with tedious regularity.

For this reason, I’m always rather happy to make something that is easy and has pretty much guaranteed success attached to it, and brigadeiros tick that box. They originate in Brazil, and I would describe them as chocolate caramel truffles. They are also dead simple, as they are made from just butter, cocoa and condensed milk. I’ve also added a pinch of salt, both to get just a hint of that salted caramel vibe going, but also to cut through the sweetness of all that condensed milk.

These little chocolate treats were said to have been created in Rio de Janeiro in the 1940s by supporters of Brigadier Eduardo Gomes, who was running for the Presidency of Brazil. Their slogan was “vote no Brigadeiro que é bonito e é solteiro”, which translates as “vote for the Brigadier, who is handsome and single”. Unfortunately for him, the power of confectionery was not enough, and he ended the campaign handsome, single and not the President. However, his name lives on in the form of these little bonbons which are a perennial favourite at parties in Brazil.

Actually making brigadeiros was a complete breeze. Just melt the butter, mix in the cocoa until smooth, then add the condensed milk. Keep stirring over a low flame until the mixture comes away from the sides of the pan. If things seem to be getting a little lumpy, just beat vigorously with a whisk until smooth. No worrying about setting points, whether things have been tempered or how to encourage the “right” sort of crystals to form. Just beat, boil, cool, roll! This is sweet making for the impatient, and suited me perfectly.

The traditional coating is to roll them in chocolate vermicelli sprinkles, but there are other options too. I’ve also used some finely chopped pistachios, and coconut would also look rather good with the white flakes contrasting with the dark cocoa interior.

Finally, a little advice – you can make the filling ahead of time (e.g. the night before) and then roll the truffles in chocolate sprinkles just before serving. However, be careful about making them too long before you intend to eat them – as the ingredients are fairly simple, they will dry out after a couple of days, so you won’t have that lovely smooth texture. You could play around with the recipe and start adding glucose syrup and such like, but I recommend keeping things simple and just making them a little bit before you want to serve them.

To make Brigadeiros (makes 18)

• 1 tin sweetened condensed milk (400g)
• 30g cocoa powder, sifted
• 30g butter
• pinch of salt
• chocolate sprinkles, chopped nuts, coconut etc. (for rolling)

1. Lightly grease the bottom of a dish and place to one side.

2. In a small saucepan, melt the butter. Mix in the cocoa and condensed milk. Keep stirring over a gentle heat until the mixture looks thick and comes away from the sides of the pan (around 10 minutes). Pour the mixture into the buttered dish, cover with cling film, and leave to cool completely.

3. Take walnut-sized pieces of the mixture and roll into balls between your hands. Roll in the topping of your choice and put into miniature cake cases.

Worth making? Considering how ridiculously easy these are to make, they are really delicious. This is a great idea for kids to make, as they look great on a plate, and you can add all manner of toppings.

Rødgrød med Fløde

Chances are you’re probably sitting there wondering what on Earth does that mean and how do I even begin to pronounce it?

Well, it is Danish, and a literal translation is “red groats with cream”. However, you can translate it more freely as the enticing-sounding Danish red berry pudding with cream. Something like this.

I say something like this as this is one of those recipes that looks oh-so-simple, but in reality, many people have their own version, and everyone thinks not only that theirs is best, but that theirs is the only way to make it. So for any Danes out there that happen to read this, I’m fully aware that you’ll be rolling your eyes, and possibly tutting, but I think this version tastes pretty decent, and at the end of the day, that’s what matters.

My first experience with the words rødgrød med fløde was actually way back in the late 1990s, when I was an exchange student in Germany. There were a couple of Danes in our group, and the communal view at the time was that it was a “robust” language to outsiders with a “unique” sound. The Danes thought it was hilarious to ask us to pronounce rødgrød med fløde, which we all got spectacularly wrong. I just could not force myself to make those sounds! All to do with the fact that Danes swallow a lot of the contestants at the end of words, so what you might think is something like roo-d groo-d med floo-hd is closer to rhye-gry-meh-floo-e. If you’re keen to find out, you can hear people getting it right here. Then try to copy them – see how hard it is?

But anyway, for all the humour of those words, I’ve never actually had the pleasure of trying rødgrød med fløde. So how do we make it? The starting point for any batch is lots and lots of delicious summer berries, ideally red. This is the sort of dessert that really is best made when fruit is at its most ripe and the peak of deliciousness! We’re not looking for fruit that looks perfect, it’s all about taste.

As I mentioned, there are lots and lots of versions of rødgrød med fløde out there, but at its most basic, this is recipe that calls for fruit juice that is lightly sweetened, and then thickened slightly with starch (potato flour or cornflour), then cooled and served with lashings of cream. Lashings of cream. However, even within what seems like a pretty easy recipe, there is lots of scope for variety.

Many people seem to cook the berries, then purée the lot by pushing it through a sieve. I have to admit that I’m not too keen on this approach – I like my fruit either totally smooth or in recognisable pieces. I’m just not too keen on anything that seems like mush or has lots of stringy “bits” bobbing around in it. At the other end of the scale, some recipes suggest cooking the fruit, but then straining the liquid through muslin to get a clear red juice (a bit like making jelly). This would apparently result in a clear ruby-red colour and velvet-smooth texture, but I thought it was wasteful as you would throw away a lot of the fruit (and all the fibre from those seeds!). Then other recipes took a more pragmatic approach – just boil up all the fruit, then thicken the lot. Easy, albeit with more of a thickened fruity mush.

However, there were a few suggestions that combined the second and third approaches – making some fruit into a juice, then adding more whole fruit to the juice just before adding the starch. This looked like the best option by far. I love how berries look like little jewels, so it would be a shame to lose that completely. So I cooked up some of my fruit to turn into juice – in fact, this approach was useful as I was using some rhubarb in my version, and I wanted that lovely tart flavour without the stringy “bits”. Once my fruit had cooked down, I put the lot into a muslin bag, but rather than just letting it drip to get a clear juice, I happily gave it a good old squeeze. Maximum fruit, minimum “bits”, and who really cares about the pudding being slightly cloudy? I then put the juice back into a pan, added some berries, and cooked the lot lightly before adding some cornflour to get a thickened texture. Remember you’re aiming for something like a pouring custard, not glue! The result was the colour of garnet or red damask – luxurious, sumptuous, intense.

In terms of the fruit I used, I looked to tradition. In Denmark, redcurrants (ribs) are very popular, and apparently some Danes grow redcurrant bushes just to make this dish. Next were some raspberries (hindbær) – in my view, no summer fruit selection is complete without them. This probably comes from summers when I was very young, spent picking rasps, several plastic punnets attached to a plastic string around my waist (allows for faster two-handed picking, important when you’re keen to earn your first ever £100 as soon as possible!). They also have the requisite glorious red colour you want for this dessert, but they are a complex fruit – sweet, yes, but also aromatic and also a little tart too.

Strawberries (jordbær) are also favourites, and rhubarb (rabarber) seems to feature quite a lot. Personally I love rhubarb and I think small pieces of tender pink rhubarb in there would be delicious, and all a little gentle sharpness to balance the sweetness. However, I only had bigger stalks, so I used them for their juice rather than having big bits bobbing about. Blackcurrants (solbær) and blueberries (blåbær) will also work, but they will also have an effect on the colour, but then again, the flavour will still be delicious, so that is something you could easily live with. Another choice would be cherries (kirsebær), but I didn’t have any to hand. You could even go a bit crazy and omit anything red, going instead for a combination of whitecurrants and gooseberries, but then your dessert would not be red, and you miss your chance to ask people to pronounce the name!

Once I had made my spectacularly-coloured pudding, I mused on whether I should add another flavour. Cardamom is a classic Nordic flavour, but I was not really sure it was what I wanted with fresh summer berries. What about spices like cinnamon? Well, not really. Again, I think ripe fruit stands on its own here, but if you were making this with plums or brambles later in the year, then a little dash of cinnamon or clove would be really lovely. But in summer time – it just has to be pure, lovely fruit!

Once you’ve made rødgrød med fløde you need to give some serious thought to how to present it. First off, leave it to cool, or if you prefer, chill it in the fridge. Now, go off and find some suitable serving dishes. A lot of people seem to like ice cream cups, but I think the most spectacular way to present it is by adding a few generous spoonfuls to a wide dish, then adding a tablespoon of cream in a dramatic swirl. This will leave a fantastic and fairly stable colour contrast that will impress guests and provide a neat little nod to the red-and-white of the Danish flag. And when it comes to cream, go for the real deal. Not some low-fat version or a cream substitute. You want rich, golden, full-fat double cream!

In terms of taste, this dessert is wonderful. Rich and fruity, but also a little but sharp from the rhubarb, all balanced with cool, luxurious double cream. This really is a perfect dessert for the final days of summer.

And just the day after I made this, the weather changed. Autumn has arrived.

To make Rødgrød med Fløde (serves 6):

Note the specific quantities of each fruit don’t really matter, just as long as you use equivalent weights of whatever you have to hand.

Part 1 – the juice

• 300g rhubarb, chopped
• 150g redcurrants
• 50g blueberries
• 200g strawberries, quartered
• 100g raspberries
• 150g sugar
• 300ml water

Part 2 – for the rødgrød med fløde

• 150g redcurrants
• 50g blueberries
• 50g blackcurrants
• 150g strawberries, quartered
• 50g sugar
• 100ml water
• 3 tablespoons cornflour

To serve

• double cream

1. Put the “part 1” berries into a saucepan. Bring to the boil then simmer very gently, covered, for 20 minutes. Break up the fruit with a wooden spoon, then strain through a muslin bag. When cool, give the bag a good squeeze to get as much juice as you can. Discard the seeds and skins.

2. Put the juice in a saucepan. Add the “part 2” fruit, sugar and water. Heat gently then simmer on a low heat, covered, for 10 minutes.

3. Mix the cornflour with a little water, and add to the fruit mixture. Stir well until it is smooth and thickened. If too thin, add a little more cornflour, it too thick, add a little water. Check the flavour – add more sugar if needed, or add a few drops of lemon juice if too sweet.

4. Pour the mixture into a bowl, cover with cling film and leave to cool.

5. Serve in individual bowls topped with double cream.

Worth making? This is a wonderful, fresh-tasting and luxurious dessert, with the benefit that it can be easily prepared in advance. Highly recommended!

Broad Bean Salad

I recently started getting a vegetable box delivered. I know, does seem terribly lazy, but I was spurred on by the realisation that there were really not enough greens (and of course other colours of veg) in my fridge. Pasta was becoming all too often the easy dinner of choice. The more veg I have in the house, the greater the chance that I’ll actually eat more of the stuff. That was the thinking at least.

Of course, it’s actually seductively easy to start getting your delivery at this time of the year. There are all manner of tasty seasonal goodies in the box every week. Beets, lettuce, vine tomatoes, carrots (complete with tops), potatoes, fennel…and of course, broad beans!

The funny thing about broad beans is that I never buy them when I see them in a shop. Of course they look appealing and I like the idea of them, but I know that I’ll need to carry home lots of beans to get anywhere near a decent amount to eat. Given I don’t have a car and I would like to maximise the amount of veg that I can carry home, the beans tend to get left on the shelf.

Of course, all of that is not a problem when a box magically appears outside your front door, and I’ve been enjoying shelling pods and skinning the beans over the last few weeks.

I think one of the nicest ways to eat broad beans is just to lightly cook them, skin them (decadent, but delicious!) and make a simple salad with a few other veggies and some cheese with a light dressing. Nothing fancy, just some clean, fresh flavours and bright colours. I find broad beans, beets, tomatoes and goat’s cheese go together particularly well, and that’s what I’ve done in this very, very simple salad. Just arrange things in an artful-yet-casual way on the plate just before serving, then drizzle with some oil and vinegar, and scatter with some fresh herbs. That’s it – light, healthy and full of the joys of summer!

To make broad bean salad

OK, there are no set measures here…I find a handful of each will make two generous salads

For the salad:

• broad beans, boiled and skinned
• waxy potatoes, peeled, boiled and sliced
• beets, boiled, peeled and sliced
• cherry tomatoes, quartered
• soft goat’s cheese
• fresh thyme leaves or other herbs

For the dressing:

• 3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
• 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• freshly ground black pepper

1. Arrange the vegetables.

2. Put the ingredients for the dressing into a jam jar. Share vigorously to mix, then drizzle over the salad. Finish with a sprinkling of fresh herbs.

Les Couques de Dinant

Earlier this year, I agreed, in a moment of generous madness, that I would cater a family wedding for around 30 people over four nights deep in the Belgian countryside. I mean…how hard could it really be? Of course, I was not going to make all the mistakes that other cooks might make. Oh no, I was going to be organised, I was going to cook everything a couple of times to be sure the recipes were foolproof, I was going to have a detailed set of plans, I would run everything to schedule. A doddle. 120 covers? Ha, I laughed at the task. It’s all in the organisation, or so I thought.

Fast forward to the actual event in May, and I found myself in a hire care, winding along rural roads from Brussels to a small village in the Ardennes. If you don’t know the area, it is very pretty – forests, hills, charming towns and lots to explore. On the way to the venue, I was confident that driving out of Brussels was going to be the only bad thing about this whole trip. Even thought I lived in the Belgian capital for four years, I never got used to some of the worst driving in Western Europe. However, once we’d cleared Brussels, taken the motorway to Namur, and finally reached a small road along the river Meuse in the strawberry region around Wépion, I felt a bit of a sense of relief. A large strawberry ice cream on a patch of grass overlooking the river told me it was all going to be fine now. I had my day-by-day planner, everything would be straightforward. Time to sit back and enjoy the countryside.

Our trip took a took a bit of a detour down to Dinant. I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot for this place, and from the picture above, you can see why. The Meuse snakes its way along a valley, with long, thin towns lining its banks. And the results are stunning – traditional houses in front of large rock faces. Dinant is also famous as the birthplace of Adolphe Sax, the inventor of the saxophone, and today the evidence of this creation is still celebrated in the city.

During this visit, I came across a traditional biscuit, the couques de dinant. The place where I discovered them was the wonderfully traditional Patisserie Jacobs, which had the various couques in just about every elaborate shape that you could think of – people, animals, baskets of flours and, of course, saxophones. It really was like stepping back in time, and after coffee and a strawberry tart, the helpful lady was happy to explain all about the ingredients, the history and the process of making couques de dinant.

These are traditionally made from very simple ingredients – flour and honey – and shaped into elaborate shapes using wooden moulds, and then baked at a high temperature so that the honey caramelises and they take on a deep, golden colour. There is also a variation, the couques de rins, which are made with added sugar. Apparently, there are rules about ensuring careful labelling so that customers can be sure they are getting exactly the right thing.

Now, these little couques are rather hard to describe…the best I can say is that they are like very hard biscuits, but you don’t actually bite into them. For goodness sake, don’t bite into them! Well, you could, but you would probably break your teeth, and that would be bad. No, the trick with the couques is to break them into pieces, and then pop a small piece into your mouth and let it soften, rather like a sweet. The flavour is very old-fashioned, and sort of reminds me of German Christmas biscuits, also often made with lots of honey.

When I got back to London, I decided to have a go at making these myself. The good thing about making couques de dinant is that you really can make very small amounts of them, as you just need equal weights of honey and flour. Before making a big batch, I did a little test run with a spoon of honey and an equal weight of plain flour.

What became clear to me very quickly is that the type of honey you use here really does matter. I don’t think it is so much the quality of the honey as such, but you do want something with a strong flavour. My first attempt using a very mild acacia honey was a bit lacklustre. However, a second attempt using a strong wildflower honey was much better, with a much richer flavour.

Actually making the couques was fairly straightforward. I don’t have an elaborate foot-high wooden stamp of the type they use in traditional Dinant bakeries, but I did have some biscuit presses  from when I made German Springerle a couple of years ago, and I thought using my little pine cone mould would look rather cute. Just roll out the dough, dust very lightly with flour, then press the mould on top. This helps to stop sticking, and in my experience works better than trying to apply the flour to the mould itself (think about it – if the mould is not actually sticky, the flour will just fall off…). Once you’ve got a nice sharp imprint, just use a soft brush to gently sweep away the excess before baking.

Once you’ve got all the dough ready, just pop in the oven and bake until a rich golden colour. When you remove them from the oven, there is another trick – brush them straight away with some plain water. This makes any remaining patches of flour disappear, and gives the finished couques an attractive sheen. And there you go – you’ve made the couques! If you want to see an expert at work, here is a rather nifty video from a baker in Patisserie Jacobs. It’s in French, but you can still get an idea of the process.

Now…the big question…what are they actually like? Well, as promised, they are pretty tough. The thinner the couque, the more likely it is to snap, but they don’t seem to end up as crisp and delicate morsels. Just as the lady in the bakery promised, you need to bread off a piece, and just let is melt in the mouth. Not as sensational as macarons or as delicate as florentines, but they’ve got a certain old-fashioned charm, and of course, a delicious strong honey flavour. They also last for absolutely ages, so if you’re looking to make decorative cookies, these are a great option.

Oh, and that wedding…you might be interested to know how it went? Well, for all my naïve ideas that I could plan everything and have it run like clockwork, that didn’t happen. But you already guess that! I spent the best part of the four days of the wedding celebrations running around in the large kitchen, bossing people about, with about seven different pots on the go at any one time.  Of course, what was fantastic was that with our little kitchen gang, we were able to turn out a series of delicious dishes which the guest and the newlyweds seemed to really enjoy. We did everything from scratch, and the reason we did that rather than using shortcuts was that we all wanted to do something special for the event. We were ambitious, goodness knows we were ambitious, but it all worked, so I hope that we did succeed in helping to make their celebrations a little more special.

So while I spent most of the four days of the wedding celebrations over a hot stove, feeling stressed, tired, frustrated, impatient and probably nearly shouted at lots of people, it was also wonderful, crazy, fantastic fun. I’ve learned a lot about cooking for big groups, and I’ve also realised that I probably don’t plan to open a restaurant quite yes. however, that’s not to say that I don’t still have a little fantasy to open a café floating around in my head…

To make Couques de Dinant (makes around 12-15):

• 250g runny honey
• 250g plain flour, plus extra for dusting
• dot of oil to grease
• water

1. Preheat the oven the 220°C (430°F). Line a baking tray with greaseproof paper, and rub very lightly with vegetable oil.

2. Put the honey in a bowl, and add the flour, a little at a time, until you have a smooth dough. You want a texture that is firm but which can be shaped, so you might need a little more or a little less – go you your gut.

3. Turn the dough onto a well-floured surface and roll to around 1cm (1/3 inch) thickness. Dust with flour and press the mould into the dough, trim and place on the baking tray. Repeat until all the dough is used up.

4. Bake for around 10-15 minutes until golden, turning the tray half-way during baking if needed to get an even colour (watch them – the high honey content means they can easily burn). When done remove from the oven and brush each with a little water. Leave to cool.

Gaun Yersel, Glasgow!

So, lads and lassies, did you see all that? We’ve had over a week of sporting action from the 2014 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow. The opening ceremony was of course a festival of almost every cliché you could imagine – tartan, glens, bagpipes, Scottie dogs, the Loch Ness Monster and a few dancing Tunnocks teacakes – and all of that was brilliant. I went up there for a few days, and the mood in the city was amazing. Friendly people and crowds cheering the athletes. Glasgow did itself and Scotland proud!

Just to finish off the celebration of all things Caledonian, here are a few Scottish recipes that I’ve tackled over the years from those of you that have been watching from further afield and who want to keep the celtic mood going, and perhaps experience some of the flavours of Scotland. Sadly, I don’t have recipe for Scotland’s second national drink, Irn-Bru, that I can share with you. I’ll leave that gastronomical experience for when you’re able to visit…

Macaroon bars. For me, these are one of the most Scottish things you could make. The centre is a simple fondant made from icing sugar and, rather bizarrely, mashed potato! They’re then dipped in chocolate and rolled in toasted coconut to provide a very calorific treat. Go for a long run after eating.

Shortbread. This is often seen as the “jewel in the crown” of Scotland’s rich baking tradition. It is amazing that this simple combination of butter, flour and sugar can turn into something so delicious and it has been responsible for millions of boxes festooned in tartan, Scottie dogs and thistles.

Oatcakes. As a healthy counter to those sugar-heavy macaroon bars, oatcakes are another of Scottish baking’s gems. They’re ridiculously simple, just oats, flour, water and salt, but they’re delicious on their own or with good, sharp Scottish cheese.

Ecclefechan Butter Tart. This one is worth making for the name alone! It originates in the town of Ecclefechan near the border with England, and consists of nuts and dried fruit in a rich filling made with butter and brown sugar. It’s a little bit like Canadian Butter Tarts…I wonder if there is some link there?

Clapshot. Another simple dish but one which is utterly delicious, believe me. Not much more than potato and neeps (aka turnips, or what the rest of the world calls swede…), mashed up with butter, salt, pepper and sprinkled with chives. This one originates from Orkney.

Atholl Brose. This is the grand name that is given to an oat milk that is mixed with cream, heather honey and whisky to provide a celebratory tipple that was said to have been a favourite of Queen Victoria.

Cranachan. Scotland is a big soft fruit producer, and cranachan is a great way to make the most of Scottish raspberries. This is a lovely mixture of toasted oats, softly whipped cream with a dash of whisky and honey, and fresh berries that is the essence of summer. A more sophisticated alternative to Eton Mess!

Rock Buns. A tea shop staple that I remember from the 1980s – simply fruit buns with a dash of spice. Named after their slightly rustic (rock-like) appearance.

Empire Biscuits. More tooth-attacking sweetness! These are two buttery biscuits, filled with jam and topped with glacé icing. Originally known as German biscuits, the name was changed to something more patriotic.

Smiddy Dumpling. Alright, this is perhaps one that is not so widely known, but it nicely showcases the various dark teabreads you might see in Scotland. I got this one from a friend’s mum who lives on the Black Isle, to the north of Inverness. An easy loaf cake to knock up if you don’t fancy getting to grips with boiling the more famous Clootie Dumpling (in an old dish cloth, or cloot, of all things!).

Tattie Scones. A great breakfast favourite – mashed potatoes and flour, cooked dry in a frying pan and then yours to scoff either covered in butter and jam, or as part of a cooked breakfast. Incidentally, these were being served in a bun at the Commonwealth Games…perhaps a bit of a starch overload there?