Getting Messy

By now you may have realized that there's about a week delay on this blog. I make something on the weekend, I compose the blog during the week when I have a few minutes, and then I post it on Sunday. So, some of you already know that my most recent kitchen adventure was a messy one: marshmallows.

Now, to be honest, I'm not a huge fan of marshmallows. I mean, I enjoy a s'more once in a while, but I don't care for chocolate-covered marshmallow Santa figures at Christmas or marshmallow toppings on ice cream sundaes. The only time I've bought marshmallows in the past was to make cereal treats, and I could probably count the number of times I did that on one hand.

Nevertheless, among the many master recipes in my professional chocolatier course was one for marshmallows. And in the spirit of trying new things, I decided it was time to make them after years of seeing recipes on Pinterest.

I was very conflicted about the flavour I should make. Fruity? Boozy? I polled friends on facebook, but no consensus emerged. Finally, I decided I would try espresso. Partly this was practical -- I had espresso powder that needed to be used up. And partly it was about flavour -- espresso would work well in hot chocolate or on a s'more (or at least I thought it would) and the bitter, roasted flavour of espresso should help to combat the sweetness of marshmallow.

Now feeling much more confident heating sugar to obscene temperatures, the process really didn't bother me. I got it to 250 degrees like a pro and confidently poured the sugar syrup down the side of my mixer, which had espresso gelatin in it. About 12 or so minutes later, I had marshmallow. And wow was it sticky.

My KitchenAid is a bowl lift model. When I lowered the bowl, all of the marshmallow stayed suspended in the air, attached to the whisk. M'kay...

I sprayed a spatula with some oil and rooted in-between the wires until as much marshmallow fell into the bowl as possible. Then I did my best to scrape the marshmallow into a tray coated with icing sugar to set. Well, that was a laughable process. It really wasn't possible to scrape the bowl clean. At one point I made the mistake of trying to pull marshmallow off the spatula with my fingers. Ooops, that was a mess! Marshmallow on all the surfaces!

I set the pan aside and filled my sink with the hottest water possible to melt away the sugary mess. Surprisingly, the clean up was easier than expected.

And about 6 hours later, after cutting the slab into squares: perfection.

They were dense and pillowy at the same time. I had the little air bubbles that I was supposed to. I tried one and it tasted great -- not too sweet and the espresso wasn't overpowering.

I had my second in a cup of hot chocolate.

I packaged up a few for friends to try.

And then I had my third -- as a s'more made in my toaster oven. OMG. To die for!

This is what marshmallows should taste like.

During the making process, with the sticky mess around me (and on me), I swore I'd never make marshmallows again. But now that I've tasted them, I'm sure that I will.

And so the chocolate and confection adventures continue! What else should I try making? What's your favourite treat?

Maintaining Momentum

Since starting the Professional Chocolatier program in January, I've made seven confections: strawberry rhubarb pate de fruits, strawberry truffles, marzipan espresso bonbons, blueberry ganache bonbons, molasses caramels, port wine truffles, and gianduja bonbons. I've loved the opportunity to try new techniques and flavours -- and I think my friends have enjoyed the samples as well. At this point, the course is pivoting away from recipe development to production planning based in research, but I really don't want to lose the momentum I've gained in the kitchen. It's now up to me to continue challenging myself.

Last weekend, I had intended to take a break from the course (and so begins the slippery slope), because it has been more intense than I'd initially planned for and because the previous week had been very busy, with a trip to Halifax and a jazz gig, in addition to my usual work. But then one of my classmates asked if I could upload her assignment and photos to our discussion forum (Chef's Table) because she couldn't get it to work from her own computer. Always happy to assist (it's the professor in me, perhaps), I resized her photographs for upload and while so-doing began drooling over her image of almond roca. It looked absolutely amazing. (Note: In these assignments, we get to pick what recipes we're going to develop based on a series of parameters. This explains why she was submitting different confections than I was.)

Now, I'd never eaten almond roca, but it seemed as though everything about it was perfect. I'd also never made toffee, so it would be a chance to try something new if I convinced myself to do it. For a day or two I mulled it over in my head and then finally decided it had to happen. I located a recipe, trekked to Bulk Barn to purchase some roasted, salted almonds, and then came home to begin Liquid Hot MAGMA, the sequel. This time, I would be cooking brown sugar and butter to 290 F before adding almonds and slabbing it. Then I'd cover it in couverture and sprinkle more almonds. What's not to love? (Except, of course, for the whole cooking to 290 F part...)

Actually, the process went smoothly. Thanks to all of that butter, there was no concern whatsoever that I might have sugar sticking to my pot. But all of that butter did present challenges later in the process. You see, once everything had cooled and the couverture had set, my layered almond roca turned into some of the most delicious almond toffee and almond bark you've ever tasted -- but almond roca it was not.

While cutting it into pieces, the chocolate separated from the toffee for about half of the batch.

Initially, I was disappointed. But I got over that pretty quickly (trying to channel the life lessons of my alter ego Ginger Snaps). There will always be things that don't quite turn out right the first time you do them and, as failures go, this one wasn't all that terrible. It still tasted amazing. As well, thanks to what I've learned in the Professional Chocolatier program, I was able to diagnose the issue and note changes to make in the future to prevent the same issue.

I also realized that all of the little shards of chocolate, toffee, and almonds would make a fabulous topping for ice cream. So, in fact, if I were to ever open the chocolaterie that I am imagining for my course, I'd probably make this again -- exactly as I had -- and then break the whole thing up to sprinkle over homemade ice cream.

Or maybe I'll just do that this summer?

My goal going forward will be to try something new most weekends. If you would like to help me maintain my momentum, I'd love to hear your suggestions for confections I should try next.

Getting Nutty With Fillings

Up until now, I've worked almost exclusively with dark chocolate in this professional chocolatier program (the exceptions were a ganache centre and a piped decoration). Considering many of my friends prefer milk chocolate, I was very excited when the opportunity to work with milk chocolate came about. I was required to make a molded chocolate with a nut-based centre that was decorated with a transfer sheet on the bottom. I chose to make gianduja, otherwise known as the original nutella.

Gianduja is a combination of hazelnut paste and couverture chocolate. I was excited to make it, because it would surely be delicious and because I had been meaning to try making nut butter in my food processor for a while now -- and it's the same basic process. I bought hazelnuts, roasted them, removed the skins by rubbing the nuts in a clean tea towel, and then put my KitchenAid to work. Everything I'd read noted that the process should take about 10 minutes, and sure enough at the 10-minute mark, the consistency changed and was just about perfect.

I melted my couverture chocolate and then combined it with the hazelnut paste. I was thrilled with the end result. Yes, it's a pale version of nutella (there's no cocoa powder added), but it tastes absolutely incredible. It started out very fluid, but as it sat and the chocolate began to crystallize, the texture thickened.

I then set about tempering my milk chocolate and preparing my mold. I decided to try a technique in which you combine luster dust with vodka and paint the mold before proceeding with the shelling process. It had a very different consistency from the cocoa butter I had used in an earlier chocolate and I determined that it was best used for a splatter-type of painting. After painting half of the mold and letting it dry, I shelled my bonbons, piped the gianduja into them, and then capped them using a transfer sheet, as per the assignment guidelines.

I must say, I had been a skeptic in regards to the transfer sheet. Perhaps it was a bit of snobbery on my part -- it's a piece of acetate that has been printed with a cocoa butter design that you apply to chocolate, so the end product isn't really "hand-decorated" unless you paint your own transfer sheets. When I ordered mine, I deliberately bought a golden swirl pattern because I've seen it on so many chocolates -- it's clearly popular and it looks good on milk chocolate. Using the transfer sheet in the capping process resulted in an absolutely perfect bottom on my chocolates -- and as one of my friends noted on facebook, Who doesn't love a perfect bottom? (In retrospect, that probably should have been the title of this blog post, but I'm not sure it would attract the right sort of attention.)

I think I would likely use this process in the future -- even with clear acetate -- just for the aesthetic appeal of the finished product. Alternatively, I could have custom transfer sheets printed with my name and brand everything I make the way that Kate Weiser does. I've no idea how much that would cost, but I'm sure I'll soon find out.

After all, I'll soon be in the business plan portion of this program.

Stay tuned!

A Different Kind of Ginger Snap

I've been blogging for the past two months about the Professional Chocolatier program that I'm currently enrolled in. It's a very time-consuming endeavour. But last night I took a break from chocolate to revive another love: singing.

Those of you who know me already know that I was classically trained at Memorial University's School of Music. A mezzo-soprano, I've performed some of the more interesting roles in the opera repertoire, like the Sorceress in Purcell's Dido and Aeneas (oh, to have the chance to sing this role again!) and Arnalta in Monteverdi's Coronation of Poppea. One of my favourite moments of my undergrad was performing Schumann's Frauenliebe und -Leben song cycle with my accompanist and partner in crime, Heather Hillier. We did a killer final graduation recital together, which after ticking all of the boxes in terms of required repertoire ended with "God Bless the Child." I've always loved popular music of the early twentieth century.

After leaving music school, I took a bit of a break from performing, at least the formal kind. I sang a few Newfoundland songs in a world music sampler at one point and performed a concert version of Phantom of the Opera in my residence at University of Alberta, but mostly I just sang for my own enjoyment (refreshing after years in music school). During my doctoral studies, I began singing with a First Nation drum group in St. John's, which presented it's own interesting challenges in terms of vocal production.

Back at Memorial University during this time period, I also had the opportunity to perform "Someone to Watch Over Me" at a farewell recital in honour of my undergraduate vocal instructor, Catherine Fitch. I remember the reaction I got that day after performing with Maureen Volk. It was like none I'd ever received before. Many musicians I respected said they hoped that there was a piano bar in Cape Breton (they knew I was moving soon), because I clearly had found my niche -- I was destined to be a lounge singer.

The first time I moved to Cape Breton, I didn't find a piano bar. Instead, I found the Cape Breton Chorale. I had a great time performing with them for a year, before returning to Newfoundland for a year. The second time I moved to Cape Breton, however, things were different.

I can't really remember when the first opportunity to sing jazz emerged in Cape Breton. It may have been before or after my performance at the farewell gala in honour of the president of the university. I sang "Con te partiro" with an accomplished local quartet, much to the surprise of my colleagues who didn't know of my musical background. This was all arranged by my then-supervisor Keith Brown and it was a wonderful experience to be back performing again. I mean, really performing -- practice, rehearsals, dress, make-up, hair, lights, a few nerves, and sing! But at some point during this period of re-emergence as a singer -- and honestly, by this point I really had stopped thinking of myself as a musician and more as an academic -- an opportunity to sing at a scholarship fundraiser presented itself. I decided quickly that I wanted to sing a few Gershwin tunes, as well as "God Bless the Child," "When I Fall In Love," and "Makin' Whoopee." I contacted Chris McDonald to ask if he would collaborate and he said yes.

This was one of my favourite performances ever. A great introduction by a funny emcee -- Ian Brodie -- who encouraged the audience to snap instead of clap for me. You see, in my bio, I had written (as a joke) that my jazz alter ego was Ginger Snaps (which makes sense if you know I'm a ginger). The stage name stuck. And Chris and I were really together in our performance (which makes sense, considering I think I insisted we rehearse a number of times and he patiently and kindly put up with me). But most importantly, I was finally singing the sentimental (and sometimes saucy) songs from the 1920s, 30s, and 40s that I love.

Side note: I challenge you to find a better song than one written by Gershwin. It simply doesn't exist. The lyrics. The emotion. The jazz tinge of Tin Pan Alley. Pure magic.

From there, new opportunities emerged. Chris, who was well-connected in the jazz scene here, passed my name along to Carl Getto in case he needed a vocalist. And Carl and I met on a regular basis trying out tunes in a variety of keys to see what might work. Soon, I had the chance to sing in the chapel at the Fortress of Louisbourg with a full band. It was literally a dream come true. Chris and I periodically did performances together -- a half hour of music at the Christmas craft show at the university, the scholarship fundraiser. Carl and I did an evening of song during the jazz festival. The larger group performed at an international student banquet and a Habitat for Humanity fundraiser.

In my wildest dreams, I never would have imagined that all of this would come to me here, in this place. And as I reflect on last night's performance with Chris McDonald, Red Mike MacDonald, and Johnny Hawkins, I am truly grateful for the chance to be on a stage singing songs that I love. (Hat tip to Stephanie MacPherson for her role in booking us as the entertainment for the Roaring Twenties event.)

But more than that, I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn more and grow as a musician. Every performance has been challenging -- in a good way. I'm learning to be a much better listener, to know where we are in a tune based on the chord progression rather than always wanting to hear the melody. I'm learning to stray from the written score and play a little with the melody. I'm learning that as much as you might want to plan everything out, you can't. Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow. (Reluctantly, perhaps, but you have to go with it nevertheless. Listen to Heart, not to Brain, for any of you Awkward Yeti fans.) I'm also learning what to listen for in a monitor -- something I never had to do for classical music -- and to ask if I want the mix altered. (Well, ok, I'm still working on that last part, but Christopher Jones has been incredibly helpful and pleasant to work with.) I'm learning that perfection isn't the goal. And most of all, I'm learning the importance of not taking things so seriously and having a sense of humour about it all.

Just go with the flow. Have a sense of humour. Perfection isn't the goal. Life lessons brought to yours truly by the jazz scene in Cape Breton.

Photo credit: Keith Brown (lifted from Twitter)

What the Heck is a Truffle Anyway?

If you've been following my journey in the Professional Chocolatier program, then you realize by now that there are specific guidelines that have to be met for each assignment. Having completed a caramel, I was on to my next adventure: a truffle (not a ganache made with cream).

Now, I had understood to this point that a truffle was by definition made with ganache and that the definition of ganache was a combination of hot cream and chocolate. So, what exactly was I being asked to make? Confused, I spent a lot of time researching truffles. Most sources stated it was ganache formed into a ball or cone shape and coated in something (chocolate, nuts, cocoa powder). Were the instructions saying that ganache was off limits? Or was it only cream-based ganache that was off limits? And on the school's website I found a recipe for a ganache truffle that was a flat rectangle. So does truffle refer to the centre or the shape or some mystery still to be revealed? Maybe I was over-thinking this, but it seemed like an oxymoron (creamless ganache, ganacheless truffle). Reviewing the assignment again, I saw that the example was a butter truffle, so I began searching for truffle recipes without cream (God bless boolean operators) and found recipes for "water ganache" and wine and butter based truffles. I also found recipes for "pot truffles," but decided that probably wasn't what they intended with this assignment. Eventually, I decided to make a wine-based truffle.

Lucky for me, I had some Newman's port wine left in my cupboard. I prepared the ganache (without cream) and slabbed it, then let it crystallize for 24 hours. Once it was ready for enrobing, I cut it into 1" squares, dipped them in dark chocolate, and decorated them according to the assignment requirements -- a piped decoration made with a contrasting chocolate that had been tinted using candy colours. I chose to combine candy red and sky blue to produce a sort of winey pink colour.

I realized through this process that 1" squares are a little too big when enrobed, not that anyone would really quibble about having too much chocolate, I suppose. Nevertheless, I was really happy with the flavour of the port wine and dark chocolate together. And they looked good too. I do need to practice my enrobing technique more, though. I guess that just means more truffles and bonbons in the future? Or maybe just bonbons. Afterall, I'm still not sure what the heck a truffle is.