Exclusions and Chocolate

In recent years, there has been a movement toward "naked" chocolate bars. That is, the fruit and nuts that traditionally were mixed into the chocolate before molding (referred to as "inclusions") instead are only partially mixed into the chocolate or sprinkled over the top (similar to bark). (Does that make them "exclusions"?) This gives a particular aesthetic to the chocolate, which reads to many as handmade or artisanal, and plays well in the current marketing context where consumers increasingly want transparency about the ingredients in their food and the health benefits of particular ingredients, like nuts, are being used to sell products whether they are "healthy" or not. Given that nuts in particular can be finicky to work with in chocolate, this approach to working with them in chocolate does address the issue of fat migration in the chocolate, but it probably lessens the keeping limit of the bars because the nuts themselves are exposed (and not enrobed in chocolate). It also fundamentally changes the experience of the bar.

A few weeks ago, I purchased a chocolate bar made by Chocolate Voyageur at the Fête du Chocolat at the Fortress of Louisbourg. When I read the label, which stated that it was 76% dark chocolate with candied sunflower seeds, I made the assumption that the sunflower seeds would be mixed into the chocolate. It came as a bit of a surprise when I opened the package and found they had been sprinkled over the top of the chocolate. 

The candied sunflower seeds (roasted with maple syrup) was said in the tasting notes to "balance the citrus notes" of the chocolate. I'm not sure that I got the citrus notes. Instead, the chocolate was more fruity to me. While the sunflower seeds added crunch and a little sweetness to the Papua New Guinea chocolate, the bar wasn't as balanced as I might have hoped (a touch more salt might have done the trick). The "exclusions" were sprinkled over the chocolate and not pressed into it, so the seeds didn't adhere to the chocolate and fell off as I snapped off a piece of the perfectly tempered bar. Consequently, I didn't experience the components of the bar in an integrated way where they enhanced each other, but rather as two separate components that played well together.

This flavour combination, however, does have me thinking. Recently, I've gotten into making my own nut and seed butters. Roasted sunflower seeds combined with sea salt and honey is having a moment in my life right now. And after trying this bar, it occurs to me that a sunflower seed gianduja could make for a delicious centre. Enrobed in chocolate and decorated with a roasted sunflower seed or two on top? Sounds good to me!

How about you? Do you prefer your chocolate to have inclusions or "exclusions"? 

Fête du Chocolat

A few weeks ago, a friend mentioned to me that September 9th would be the date of this year's Fête du Chocolat at the Fortress of Louisbourg. Initially, I was excited to make plans to be there. Then I realized that was the same date as an archery tournament that I'd already said I would attend. Feeling sick about the decision I had to make -- chocolate or archery -- I ultimately concluded (with apologies to my archery crew) that chocolate at the Fortress had to happen and I registered for the 1pm chocolate treat session. 

We arrived at the Fortress just after noon, paid our entry and event fees, and were bused onto the site. When we approached the gate and were asked by the guard what business we had here, I proclaimed, "I'm here to buy all of your chocolate!" He laughed and then suggested I must be wealthy, because chocolate in the 18th century was only enjoyed by those with status and money. After a quick review of the rules (like, stay off the walls), we continued into the reconstructed site. 

After orienting ourselves, we went into a building where visiting Acadian chocolatiers were demonstrating the bean-to-bar process and selling their wares. I purchased a salted maple truffle to try immediately (and it was delicious!), along with a few bars, all from Chocolat Voyageur, a bean-to-bar company in New Brunswick. 

From here, we strolled around the town, walking through the streets. Eventually, when 1pm came, we made our way to the kitchen of the engineer's residence. 

We were joined in the treat-making workshop by a reporter from Saltwire. Though we asked that we not be photographed, my hands and truffles did indeed show up in a photo essay that was published online (I have no idea if anything made it to the print edition). 

We had a quick orientation by the interpreters, before proceeding around the corner to wash our hands. What a surprise to suddenly be in a modern, commercial-style kitchen! We donned aprons, passed back over the threshold, and returned to the 1700s. (It retrospect, it felt a little like Outlander...)

As we selected our ingredients for finishing truffles, the interpreters told us more about chocolate during the time period and the house that we were in. It turns out the engineer must have been very wealthy and esteemed -- he apparently had 29 lbs of chocolate under his bed! In that time it would have been very expensive. And that's three times as much chocolate as I, a chocolatier, have on hand right now!

I couldn't resist photographing the cone of sugar and ball of chocolate that they let us handle. I've often read about cones of sugar and the work that went into preparing recipes when you had to begin by chiseling sugar from the cone, but I've never seen one in real life. 

The treat making workshop focussed on making truffles with a hint of Fortress Rum. Now, this is a little anachronistic, since cream truffles as we know them (at least according to the common origin story) only came to be in the late 19th century and some of the ingredients on the table (coloured sugar and nonpareils), while they may have existed in the 18th century, are unlikely to have been in the modern form provided. That said, it's a fair enough substitution. After all, some of the information provided in the tavern's PowerPoint presentation indicated that chocolate at the time might be combined with spices and egg yolk and molded -- and egg yolk truffles are indeed still a thing (not that I've ever made one -- the keeping limit is significantly reduced, from what I remember). Cream-based ganache is simple to execute and also avoids a common allergen when working with the public.

We were presented with a ramekin of ganache and a spoon for scooping (which we both accidentally bent during the scooping and discreetly bent them back into shape). I'm not sure if the chocolate used in this instance was the heritage chocolate produced by Mars, but that is what was listed on the recipe card. The splash of Fortress Rum gave it a nice flavour without being overpowering. 

We scooped and rolled, and chatted about chocolate. I made two rolled in ground almond, two rolled in sugar, and three rolled in nonpareils. Interestingly, they also provided raisins and roasted coffee beans to put inside the truffles -- something I've never done before. I opted for the coffee beans and I have to say that I was very impressed by the end result. The addition of a little crunch in the centre of the smooth, creamy ganache was a nice texture variation, and something I could imagine doing in the future (imagine a pistachio inside a cranberry truffle, for example). 

When we were done, we stepped through the portal back into 2023 and washed our hands before packaging our treats and heading back out into the 18th century town.  

Out on the dirt road, I spotted an interpreter. "Which way to the tavern?" I asked. She chuckled and gave us directions. A few minutes later, we strolled into an 18th century tavern that was playing 1980s music. Interesting juxtaposition. The joint was jumping. We ended up sharing a table with another couple and ordering a flight to try the Île Royale Saison, a special Fortress beer made by Breton Brewing. The kind bartender substituted one of the other beers in the flight for an Island Folk Cider. We sipped our beverages while watching the PowerPoint on chocolate and snacking on our truffles (which, by this point, were very soft and sticky). 

From the tavern, we strolled around a little more, finding a café, pausing in the chapel, jumping from fright at the unexpected firing of a musket. 

It was a great day. 

My only regret is that I didn't bring a lunch bag with a small ice pack to carry our truffles. Yes, I of all people should have known better -- but it just didn't cross my mind as I left for the day. Our truffles slumped and melted into each other. But after a few hours in the fridge, they were just fine for eating after supper. 

I would love to be part of the Fête du Chocolat someday. Maybe not as a vendor, since I don't do bean-to-bar production, but I would LOVE to dress up as an animator and run the truffle workshop. I wonder how a person could volunteer for that gig? 

Stayed tuned... Next week I'll tell you all about that bar made by Chocolat Voyageur!

Spruce Tip Truffles

This week's chocolate study was an experiment that I've been meaning to do for, oh, five years or so? (But who's keeping track?)

During my professional chocolatier program, I got the idea that I should try making truffles with ingredients that are either traditionally part of Newfoundland foodways (like berries and molasses) or that were grown in Newfoundland (like hazelnuts and spruce tips). Fresh spruce tips, however, were not in season at the time that I was completing my various assignments. Freeze dried spruce tips weren't available either and I just couldn't imagine that pickled spruce tips would work. I put the project on hold. 

Spruce tips, if you aren't aware, are high in vitamin C. Depending on the variety and time of harvest, they can have a citrus-like or piney flavour. When left too long, I'm told they can smell like cat urine (definitely not the desired flavour profile). 

A year later, while visiting my sister, I spied the almost lime green, new growth on some trees. I quickly gathered a small bag to take back with me. I froze them and took care to transport them in a cooler, and then they landed in my freezer. Admittedly, I forgot about them for a few months (or more than a few months). And then the great power outage of 2020 struck. My apartment was without power for a month while I was on vacation in another province and the entire freezer had to be gutted (by a friend who deserves more and better for her efforts). So long, spruce tips.

Eventually, I had the opportunity to pick a new batch of spruce tips locally and once again popped them into the freezer (to languish...). But they found their way out of the freezer this week when I decided the time had finally come. 

I had leftover heavy cream. I had a small stash of spruce tips. And I needed a topic for a blog post. 

I heated the cream to a simmer and then added the spruce tips. Then I removed the pot from the heat and let the spruce tips steep for 30 minutes. Next, I weighed out chocolate for a small batch of truffles and added the appropriate amount of cream. A quick 90 seconds in the microwave and I was able to whisk together a luscious ganache. After leaving it to cool for a half hour, I scooped out 26 truffles and left them to crystallize. Then I refined their shape and rolled them in cocoa powder. 

Ta da! Spruce tip truffles!

Now, when I tasted the cream before combining it with the chocolate, it had a pronounced woodsy flavour. But the dark chocolate (not surprisingly) overpowered the spruce tips in the final mix. Consequently, the flavour is faint and doesn't register at all if the truffles are eaten cold.

I think the concept is solid, but the execution leaves something to be desired. First, additional experimentation will be necessary to determine the best ratio of cream to spruce tips -- and that will likely have to wait until next spring when I can harvest the tender tips once again. I am curious, however, about the possibility of acquiring some freeze-dried spruce tips and amping up the flavour by pulverizing some and rolling the truffles in the powder. Second, I may have to swap the 54% chocolate for white chocolate, which would provide a more neutral base for the delicate flavour. 

Nevertheless, I'm happy to finally have brought this idea to life and thrilled to have a container of delicious truffles in my fridge for a hit of chocolate whenever I like. I can see chocolate season approaching and I'm looking forward to putting new ideas into practice. And while there won't be a spruce tip truffle in this year's chocolate box, I'm sure there will be other delicious options.

Carrot ganache?

Recently, I've been in a bit of a decluttering and organizing mood. It's something that strikes a few times a year and almost always occurs in August as the new academic year approaches. I try to lean into it when it does hit, because typically it is fleeting!

And so earlier this week, as I began moving some documents from my bookcase and into wooden magazine racks that my mother gave me when I was home in July, I also started pulling items from the shelves to relocate or rehome. A copy of Canadian Folk Music magazine that evaded a purge during the pandemic, the documentation from a real estate transaction that was never completed, lecture notes from a course I taught a decade ago... Then I spied a copy of Wildness: An Ode to Newfoundland and Labrador. My sister had received it years ago, I think as part of a prize package featuring Newfoundland authors, and gave it to me. I recall flipping through it at the time, but it came to rest in my office and has lived there ever since. I pulled it down, fully intending to toss it in a rehome bin, but then decided one last look was warranted. 

The first cook book of chef Jeremy Charles, Wildness captures some of the spirit of the people and landscape of Newfoundland that was featured in Parts Unknown with Anthony Bourdain. The book highlights traditional ingredients from Newfoundland foodways and demonstrates how they are reimagined in Charles' emerging modern cuisine. Think rabbit ravioli and molasses lavash. 

As I reviewed the recipes, I thought that many were interesting, but few seemed like recipes I would actually try myself -- though I will admit that molasses madeleines do have me curious. I concluded that I'd rather visit St. John's and eat at one of his restaurants (while I believe Raymonds closed as a result of the pandemic, the Merchant Tavern appears to still be open). Not surprisingly, I found myself skipping to the dessert recipes and focussed my time there. 

Sure enough, there were a few chocolate recipes. One was a spiced carrot cake with ricotta cheese that calls for a carrot ganache (‽), made of carrot puree and white chocolate, but after reading the recipe a few times and reviewing the plating, it's unclear where and when the carrot ganache actually appears in the dessert. My mind, of course, has gone to its potential as the centre for a bonbon (perhaps in a Christmas collection). Could you imagine eating a spiced carrot truffle? 🤔 The other was an alder ganache chocolate, made with alder-infused cream. If you're willing to forage your own alder pepper, the recipe sounds interesting, but the resulting quantity seems high for the home cook, especially when experimenting with this sort of flavour. 

Interestingly, both recipes call for glucose. From prior chocolate reading, I understand the primary role of glucose to be in the production of improved mouth feel or texture in the ganache. I've never used it in a ganache because it isn't necessary, but now I do wonder whether it would be worth trying it. 

Perhaps my most important takeaway from this recipe study is the method employed for infusing the alder pepper in the cream for the ganache. I've been contemplating how to make a spruce tip ganache for a while now and had been leaning toward an infused cream. Charles' cook book has confirmed that as an appropriate approach; however, where he infused the cream for 30 minutes, it will likely take some experimentation for me to determine the length of time required to infuse the spruce tips, given they would have a more delicate flavour than the alder peppers. 

As fall approaches and the temperatures become more conducive to working with chocolate, there may be an experiment in my future. 

And, for now, Wildness will escape the back-to-school purge.