I was working on a recipe for Chilean mote con huesillos, a cool off summer drink made from dried peaches poached in burnt sugar syrup for Devour and considered using the fresh fruit popping up in the market. Since huesillos are dried by definition, it didn’t seem right to make that change. When I came across this recipe for huevos falsos, a nursery dessert of poached pears set over chantilly cream in Mirtha Umaña-Murray book, Three Generations of Chilean Cuisine, I decided I didn’t have to decide. I had the mote con huesillos on hand for the first heat wave of the summer and was poaching peaches when it cooled off just enough so I could stand being in my kitchen again.

The original recipe called for canned peaches but by poaching them I could make it as sweet as I wanted and infuse the peaches with any variety of fresh herbs, honey or wine I wanted. The result wasn’t too different than the syrup soaked peaches and cream I remembered growing up – bright gold but drizzled in pink, firm but quick to break apart, sweet but fragrant, theirs but mine.

Huevos Falsos/Poached Peaches with Chantilly Cream
Adapted from Three Generations of Chilean Cuisine by Mirtha Umaña-Murray. The original recipe was equal parts whipped cream and meringue. I didn’t want the meringue to overwhelm the sweetness of the peaches so I opted for a simple whipped cream. I’m sure I’ll be making this a lot this summer with grilled and poached peaches, apricots or nectarines and trying variations on the syrup with wine or honey.

3-4 large ripe but still firm peaches, halved and pitted
1/2 sugar
3-5 sprigs rosemary
3 sprigs thyme

2 cups heavy cream, well chilled*
1/4 cup confectioner’s sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Combine sugar and 2 cups of water in a wide-bottomed saucepan. Over medium heat, stir until the sugar has dissolved and bring to a simmer. Add peach halves, rosemary and thyme. Keep at a gentle simmer until tender, turning once, about 3 minutes on each side.

Remove peaches from the syrup with a slotted spoon. When cool enough to handle but still warm, remove peel (the skin will have wrinkled slightly and should pull away easily). Continue to simmer syrup with the herbs until it reaches desired consistency or is reduced by half.  Strain the syrup and discard the herbs. Chill peaches and syrup until ready to use.

Combine heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla in a medium mixing bowl. Using an electic mixer or beater, whip cream until soft peaks form.

Scoop out the cream and top with a poached peach. Add syrup to taste.

Makes 6-8 servings.

Established in the Colchagua Valley, between the Andes and Pacific, the olives are gently shaken from the trees with the same machine used to harvest grapes in the surrounding vineyards (though I like to imagine the work done by a crack team of gentle giants). The olives are pressed within four hours of harvesting – by-products are repurposed as organic fertilizer and even the pits are used to fuel the generator. The company launched its O-LIVE & Co and award winning Santiago lines in the US last year. Not limited to a single producer, Jim Leahy of Sullivan Street Bakery has also started to market Chilean olive oil under his own label.

A few months ago, I received some bottles of Olisur and planned on doing a well considered tasting and comparison to the Spanish olive oil I keep on hand. Unfortunately, I found myself short one night mid-recipe so I cracked open the first bottle without any ceremony, telling myself there was plenty left to do a real tasting later. Since then I’ve used it for vinaigrettes, sofritos, sauces, stews, beans and fish. No tastings but lots of flavor – grassy, peppery, green. Having drained the first bottle to the last drop, the remaining two were in danger. There’s nothing better than a night of picadera so I planned on putting together a grazing menu for some friends for long weekend catch-up, serving the olive oil on it’s own with just some bread for dipping.

For the rest, I was going to round up the usual Mediterranean suspects – manchego, membrillo, prosciutto – but decided to go south instead – all the way south. I knew we’d probably skip dinner so I made sweet and savory pork empanadas from Chilean viticultarist Valeria Huneeus and galleticas de aji amarillo topped with a feta cilantro dip. Curious about other Chilean products, I made my way down to Soho’s Puro Chile and found tinned king crab ready for dressing and almonds dusted with merkén, a Mapuchen spice made from cacho de cabra (goat’s horn) peppers and blended with coriander and cumin.  Similar to a smoky pimentón, it’s been making its way into everything since.

Of course I had to include wine and stopped by Puro Wine. The Carménère they recommended had its own story. Originally from the Medoc region of Bordeaux, cuttings were brought to Chile in the mid-19th century shortly before a plague of phylloxera made the grape all but extinct in France. The vines thrived in Chile but in disguise. For over a hundred years, they were confused with Merlot, giving Chilean Merlot its distinct quality but robbing the Carménère of its own identity. Rediscovered in the 1990’s, an in depth study confirmed that it was actually “the lost grape of Bordeaux,” thriving in the same Colchagua Valley where the olive groves took root, because no one told it not to.

Galleticas de Ají /Ají Crackers
Inspired by Three Generations of Chilean Cuisine by Mirtha Umana-Murray.

4 oz. unsalted butter, room temperature
1 1/2 -2 tablespoons ají amarillo paste
1 cup unbleached, all-purpose flour
½ cup parmesan, shredded
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

In an electric mixer fitten with the paddle attachment, beat the butter at medium-high speed until it is pale and fluffy, about 2-3 minutes. Blend in the  ají amarillo paste and continue to beat until just combined, occasionally scraping down the sides, about 1-2 minutes. Combine flour, parmesan, salt and pepper. Using a wooden spoon or spatula, stir in the flour mixture for a couple of turns. Return to stand and mix on low speed until flour is just incorporated. Pour onto a piece of plastic wrap and shape into a log. Chill until firm at least 1 hour or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees with the rack in the middle. Line a baking sheet non-stick liner or parchment paper.

Cut the log crosswise into ¼” slices placing them on the prepared baking sheet about ½” apart. Place in the oven and bake until golden, about 20 minutes. Cool on sheet for 5 minutes then transfer to rack.

Less easy to let go of is the overwhelming feeling that every action I engage in between December 26-January 1 forecasts the year to come.  I spent hours organizing my house not wanting to start the New Year with an unmade bed, unswept floor, or cluttered closet.  I spent so long deciding what to wear to a low-key party with friends, that I almost missed the countdown altogether.  Anxious about starting the year shoeless, I challenged my host’s shoes-at-the-door policy to no avail.  Then, after a great night (albeit in socks), I slipped backwards on some ice coming home.  Falling squarely on my Cuban passport, I pulled myself up for the first time in 2011 and decided not read too much into things.  A convenient resolution when the signs aren’t going your way.

With my annual New Year’s OCD somewhat in check, I went ahead with my plan to spend the day in the kitchen.  After years of forcing down lentils for luck (Spain, Cuba, Chile) every January 1st, I was looking for another dish to celebrate with and invited some friends over for dinner.  Really it was an excuse to try the turrón mousse recipe I’d found in Jose Pizarro’s Seasonal Spanish Food a couple of months ago.  I loved the idea of taking turrón, so closely associated with the sweetest and saddest time of the closing year, whipping them together with airy egg whites and little sherry, then serving them in a new way, taking a little of the past with me to the future.  Of course, in Mexico, I might make a list of unhappy events from the previous year then throw it in the fire before midnight but I worked too hard on 2010, good and bad, to let it go up in smoke.

Mousse de Turrón/Turrón Mousse
Adapted from Seasonal Spanish Food by José Pizarro.  Because the golden raisins (I prefer calling them sultanas) are left to marinate in sherry the night before, it literally took two years to make.  The original recipe called for just two egg whites but I increased it by one and added a little sugar to get more volume.

24 golden raisins
4 tablespoons sweet sherry
2 large egg yolks

3 large egg whites, at room temperature
2 tablespoons superfine sugar
1/8 teaspoon cream of tarter
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons heavy cream
5 oz. soft turrón blando, suprema at least 60% almonds

Combine the raisins and sherry in a small bowl and marinate overnight.  Drain the fruit on the following day, reserving the sherry.

In a food processor, combine the turrón, egg yolks, heavy cream and sherry.  Pulse until well blended and smooth.  Pour out into a medium mixing bowl.

In a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the egg whites on medium speed until frothy.  Add the cream of tarter and pinch of salt and continue to beat on medium speed until they hold soft peaks. Gradually add the remaining 2 tablespoon of sugar and continue to beat until they hold stiff peaks.

Blend a fourth of the egg whites into the turrón mixture to lighten it.  Gently fold in the remaining egg whites until well combined, working quickly so the whites do not deflate.

Place 4 marinated raisins among four glasses or serving bowls.  Divide the mousse between the glasses and chill at least 6 hours.  Top with raisins or caramelized almonds and serve.

Caramelized Almonds (Optional)
The water evaporates quickly leaving behind a coating of sugar.  It’s important to keep stirring until the sugar melts and caramelizes.

7 oz. blanched whole almonds
1/2 cup superfine sugar
1/4 cup water

Heat a large pan over medium to low heat.  Add the ingredients and stir them constantly.  The water will evaporate and the sugar will melt and caramelize, about 15-20 minutes.

It’s hard not to be drawn to a recipe by a beautiful photograph.  Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc at Home, Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid’s Mangoes & Curry Leaves: Culinary Travels Through the Great Subcontinent, and Francis Mallman’s Seven Fires: Grilling the Argentine Way have all escaped from my kitchen shelves to my coffee table (where both the books and I feel they belong).  Not surprisingly, Santiago Soto Monllor won this year’s James Beard award for Best Photography for Seven Fires.

Still, despite the incredible food images in print and on line, it was the Chilean name, panqueques celestinos for crêpes filled with dulce de leche that caught my eye.  Pale blue heaven wrapped in a crêpe? It had to be dulce de leche.

Popular in Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile, I always order them at Che Tito’s, the Argentinian restaurant I visit whenever I’m home.  A non-descript spot wedged between a pet store and a frame shop, it’s a pizza place that grills an incredible churrasco de entraña, there’s usually a soccer game playing on the big screen tv, and it’s always full but you never have to wait for a table, the restaurant just magically expands.

With the grilling season in full swing, I thought it would be a good time learn how to make them myself.  Though there are several versions, including a great one in Seven Fires I referred to often (that can be made at home or over a wood fire of course), I consulted the always calm and cool Julia Child, the politely short-tempered Madame E. Saint-Ange of La Bonne Cuisine, and the cheerful Maria Baez Kijac for the crêpes.  A seemingly simple task that’s tripped me up before, Julia explained the importance of letting the batter rest, allowing the flour particles to expand insuring a tender and light result, Madame Saint-Ange emphasized using just the necessary amount or clarified butter or purified fat so that your crepes don’t have that “sweaty, unpleasant look” (author’s emphasis), and Baez Kijac’s advised how to work ahead to keep the summertime living easy.  More text than illustration, I love these books too for what they don’t have.  With a few helpful details that describe the why as well as the how, they helped me find my own way to an image that started with a couple of words.

Panqueques Celestinos/Panqueques de Dulce de Leche
For the crêpes, I followed Julia Child’s recipe for Pâte à Crêpes from Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  Quickly blended then allowed to rest, I used half the batter for dessert and used the remaining crêpes for leftovers.

1 cup cold water
1 cup cold milk
4 eggs
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

4 tablespoons clarified butter or canola oil or more as needed
1 cup dulce de leche

Put the liquids, eggs, salt, flour and melted butter in a blender jar.  Cover and blend at highest speed for 1 minute.  Scape down the sides with a rubber scraper as needed and blend for 2 to 3 seconds more.  Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or overnight.

Heat a heavy cast-iron skillet or crêpe pan over moderately high heat.  Brush with about tablespoon of clarified butter or oil.  Take pan off heat and, holding the handle of the pan, pour 1/4 cup of the batter into the middle of the pan.  Tilt the pan in all directions to so that batter evenly  coats the bottom of the pan.  Return to heat and cook for 30 to 60 seconds until lightly browned.  Turn and cook on the other side an additional 30 seconds.  Cool on a rack before stacking on a plate.  Add more butter or oil as needed and repeat with remaining batter.*

Spread crêpes with heaping tablespoon of dulce de leche.  Roll jelly-roll style or fold in half.  You can also add toasted walnuts or pecans, shredded coconut or chocolate sauce.  Sprinkle with powdered sugar or whipped cream and serve.

*Crêpes can be kept in a 200 degree oven until ready to serve.  They can also be made in advance and reheated before using or frozen.  If frozen, thaw overnight in the refrigerator then reheat in a 300 degree oven for 5-10 minutes.

Makes 12-16 crêpes.

I am always looking for the best ingredients, but there are some things I just can’t find nearby and some I probably shouldn’t be able to find nearby.  I try to stay local but the temptations of a jet-setting Prosciutto di Parma or a well traveled Chinatown dragon fruit can be difficult to resist.  Still, it’s hard not to wonder what your missing when someone else does the picking and packing.  The subtle differences between varieties and vendors that you can only discern when it’s close to home.  That’s why, when trying a new cuisine, dessert can be the best place to start.  I may not find the right Peruvian pepper or Argentinian zapallo, but milk, grains and sugar are universal and need little translation (or transatlantic travel).  I’d been looking for a Chilean recipes to try and found several I wanted to include but kept circling back to this custard made with semolina and wine syrup (wine being the exception that was meant to travel the earth).

A simple recipe, I could have made it with cornstarch or cornmeal, dried fruit or orange peel, syrup or caramel.  The flavor was subtly sweet but not at all bland, and I look forward to making it again with fresh summer fruit and adding a little more spice in the fall.  Mirtha Umana-Murray translates Chile from the Aimará language as “the land at the end of the world” so it only seems right that my first Chilean recipe should start where most meals finish.  Plus, with the world temporarily running on South African time, the ends of the earth don’t seem so far away.

Sémola con Leche con Miel de Vino/Semolina Pudding with Red Wine Syrup
Adapted from Three Generations of Chilean Cuisine by Mirtha Umana-Murray.  The original recipe called for cornstarch and possible substitutions include white cornmeal, polenta, and semolina.  Texture and cooking times may vary depending on which grain is used.  I came across a note suggesting a Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon as a pairing for the vaca frita and made this for dessert.

1/2 cup semolina (cornstarch, white cornmeal, or polenta)
1/2 cup sugar
4 cups whole milk
1 medium lemon or orange rind
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup Miel de Vino (see below)

Pour the milk into a medium, heavy saucepan.  Whisk in the semolina and sugar, stirring constantly to avoid lumps.  Add the lemon rind and slowly bring to a boil over medium heat.  The custard will begin to thicken quickly so stir constantly to avoid sticking.  Simmer for about 3 minutes and remove from heat.

Remove lemon rind and stir in the vanilla.  Pour into moistened individual molds and let them cool until the pudding sets.  Unmold and serve at room temperature topped with wine syrup and fruit on the side.

Miel de Vino/Wine Syrup

1 bottle red wine such as Cabernet Sauvignon
1/2 cup sugar
1 slice lemon rind
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine wine, sugar and lemon rind in a heavy medium saucepan.  Bring to a boil over medium heat and simmer until the liquid has reduced by half, about 30 minutes.  Remove the lemon rind, stir in the vanilla, and let it cool.  Serve cold.

I took advantage of a rainy Sunday to catch up on some reading though, instead of newspaper stacks, I had  bookmarked pages and Google alerts filling up my inbox.  For the New York Times, Jonathan Miles visited Roneria Caracas, a new Brooklyn bar specializing in rum drinks, in The Choices? Rum or Rum and doesn’t miss the whisky while Paola Singer went to western Spain to sample the Dom Pérignon of Iberian ham for In Spain, A Delicacy Rooted in Earth and Tradition. Meanwhile, Patricia Jinich compares Argentine, Colombian, Honduran and Salvadorean chorizo to the Mexican varieties she grew up with in More Chorizo to Love for the Washington Post and there’s a new store and cafe specializing in gourmet Argentinian and Chilean products, Kouzine Delicacies and Wines, open in Miami that I can’t wait to visit.  I love rain delays.

I was excited to read about the opening of a store in Soho dedicated to the sale and promotion of Chilean gourmet food products and wines.  I’m always searching for new ingredients and it’s good to have a new focus for my obsession.  Puro Chile, a Hitchcock-sleek light box store on the corner of Center and Grand, is definitely obsession worthy.  What’s most surprising is how warm the space becomes the moment you step inside.  The staff is genuinely enthusiastic and the sparse room is dominated by  a large tasting table at the center.  Though they’re inventory is still growing, the shelves are lined with avocado oils and wine vinegars alongside chutneys made with murtilla, a cranberry like fruit related to the guava, and figs spiced with merkén, a Mapuche blend of smoked and dried chiles.  An adjacent wine shop is now open and carries over 200 labels.  On their website, they trace the origin of pre-Columbian Chilean culture to early human settlers in the region, no less than 13,000 years ago.  A remarkable thing to note from such an absolutely contemporary outpost.

I’ve been going through this week’s New York Times travel section featuring Latin America, specifically  an awakened Chile, colonial Colombia, 36 Hours in Montevideo, Rio hot spots, Peruvian restaurants, and rejuvenated Mazatlán.  Travel exhausts me but its a fun read.

I spent the day at the Brooklyn Book Festival at Borough Hall wandering in and out of readings and seeing friends.  With little time to cook, I thought it would be right to end the day with Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda.  In his Elementary Odes, he writes to wine, tomatoes, maize, large tuna, chestnuts, artichokes, lemons.  Here the salt sings back.

Ode to Salt

This salt
in the saltcellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won’t
believe me,
but
it sings,
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those solitudes
when I heard
the voice of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a broken
voice,
a mournful
song.

In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.

And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food. Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste infinitude.

-Pablo Neruda, Elementary Odes, 1954

I was curious when I read Katie Workman’s post in The Daily Beast about the rivalry between Peru and Chile over the potato’s origin.  I asked my aunt, who has lived in Lima enough decades to put down her own roots, if it was true.  When I received an all caps email from my usually soft spoken aunt, I knew not only was it true, it was serious.  I could see why countries would fight over it.  Comforting and generous, potatoes lend themselves to almost everything.  Regardless of its origin, I was curious to know what Peruvians did with them.  She directed me to a friend’s website, Yanuq, an extensive source for traditional and contemporary Peruvian recipes and ingredients.  I started looking at recipes for causas, mashed yellow potatoes seasoned with aji amarillo, lime juice, and oil and then stuffed with anything from octopus in olive sauce to chicken and beets.  Deciding to start picnic simple, I chose the causa de atún, a jelly roll or brazo gitano style loaf filled with tuna, tomatoes, and avocados.  Despite a wide market search, I wasn’t able to find the Peruvian aji amarillo but followed a suggestion on eGullet to use habaneros soaked in milk as a substitute.  Still, my market search did bear fruit since I found fresh chirimoyas instead with the sticker declaring them the product of Chile.  I wonder what Peru thinks of that?

Red onion, avocado, tomatoes and parsley.

Causa ready to roll.

The final loaf.

Click here for the  Spanish and English versions of the recipe.