I’ve tried to poach my own, but the results have been eh to awful. Online recipes were vague, incomplete, and called for an amount and variety of guavas I couldn’t hope to find on the random Chinatown fruit cart that occassionally sells them. A few weeks ago, I was food tripping through Jackson Heights when I came across an enormous bin of round, yellow, Mexican guavas. I don’t see fresh guavas very often but  I stock up when I do.  Determined to get the poaching right, I tried a few different ways – peel on and off, seeds removed before and after, and random blends of spices. I made it through 3 lbs and had only a small jar of sugary jam (at least that’s what I called it) to show for it.

With no plans to return to Queens anytime soon, I thought that was it until I found a small basket’s worth of small green apple guavas around the corner from my appartment. Union Market likes to throw in a random to their well-stocked produce section – ugli tangelos, dragon fruits, carambolas…Like foreign exchange students, they end up forlorn on a shelf after the initial novelty passes. I picked up a few and let them ripen over the course of the week. After a couple of days, my apartment was under a guava cloud and I was ready to try again. Taking a little from each of my previous attempts, I peeled them but didn’t strees if I couldn’t get all of the seeds out knowing it would be easier when they were poached, I eased up on the spices, and used vanilla bean instead of extract.  I also made extra syrup since I wasn’t sure of the cooking time and figured too much was then letting them dry out.

I would have loved to find pink guavas but adding food coloring would have defeated the purpose.  Besides, these were pretty in their own way. After all the effort and misfires, I was happy to have a jar of freshly poached, lightly golden, vanilla bean speckled guava shells.  Tucking the empty  pod and cinnamon stick into the jar, the flavors only deepend over the next few days while it chilled in the refrigerator. Having finally figured out how to go about it, I was sure I’d be able to repeat it whenever I came across fresh guavas – be it by the handful or cartful.

 Cascos de Guayaba/Poached Guava Shells

1 1/2 pounds guavas, well rinsed and peeled
3 cups water
1 1/2 cups sugar
1 cinnamon stick
1 teaspoon allspice, whole
2 cloves, whole
1/2 vanilla bean

Combine water and sugar in a large, wide bottomed saucepan. Wrap the allspice and cloves in small square of cheese cloth tightly gathered and tied together with kitchen twine, alternately use a sachet or tea strainer. Slice open the vanilla bean, scape out the seeds, and add both the seeds and the pod to the pot. Add the cinnamon stick. Bring to a high simmer over medium heat.

Cut the guavas in half and scrape out the pulp and seeds with a serrated spoon.* Discard the the pulp or save for another purpose. Add the guava shells to the simmering syrup, cut side up. Lower heat and simmer gently, turning once during cooking, until cooked through and tender, 15-20 minutes.

Remove guava shells from the syrup and allow to cool.  Remove remaining seed and pour shells into a serving bowl or jar with lid if using later.  Continue to simmer syrup until its reduce by half.  Remove from heat and strain.  Discard sachet.  Add one tablespoon of lime juice to the syrup and pour over guava shells.

Chill until ready to serve with cream cheese or goat cheese and crackers.

*Any seeds left behind can be easily removed after poaching.

It’s always strange to me when I see flan listed as special on a dessert menu.  Far from specialized in Cuban restaurants, it’s not rare to find an all-flan menu – de leche, de queso, de calabaza, de mamey and of course – de coco.  Yet somehow I never get tired of it.  If it hadn’t been brought to the New World via Spain, Cubans would have had to invent it.  Most Latin American countries have their own version of this dessert and, while I can’t pretend to be neutral, in the case of flan I think it has to go to Cuba. For me it’s about the caramel.  Made directly in the mold, the sugar cooked long enough to go dark amber without becoming bitter (though personally I like it a little bitter).  I love the ritual of holding it just over the flame and watching it go clear then dark.  It can get away from you easily but it’s always fun to see how far you can take it. 

Flan de Coco
This recipe belongs to my Tita Olga though it was given to me by her niece Cely. I called her for an emergency menu rundown for a seperate project and she came through with this smoothly rich flan. Originally, it called for canned shredded coconut, but I replaced it with fresh coconut to extract the oils and infuse the custard with as much coconut flavor as possible.  The shredded coconut will rise to the top creating a bottom layer of custard soaked coconut flakes when it’s inverted.

¾ cups of sugar

1 large dried coconut (see notes)
1 12 ounce can evaporated milk
1 14 ounce can of condensed milk
5 eggs
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 pinch of salt

Equipment: 8-inch round metal cake pan (preferably 2-3 inches deep), roasting pan

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Using a corkscrew, open the holes in the coconut’s “eyes.” Invert the coconut over a bowl or measuring cup and drain. Reserve the coconut water for another use.

Place the coconuts in the oven for about 15 minutes. Carefully remove then set the coconuts over a dish towel and tap with a hammer or the blunt edge of a knife at its widest point until a fissure opens that will allow you to crack the coconut into large pieces. Use a heavy spoon to scoop out the coconut meat from the hard outer shell. If you’re having trouble cracking the coconut or separating it from its shell, return the coconut to the oven for an additional 5 minutes, then try again. Peel the brown outer layer and chop roughly into large cubes.

Pour sugar into round metal flan mold*.  Place over medium heat and move the pan frequently without stirring, until it takes on an amber hue.  Off heat, swirl the caramel so that the bottom and sides are lightly covered.  The caramel will be very hot so it should be handled carefully. Set aside.

Combine about 2 cups of the cubed coconut and the evaporated milk in a blender. Pulse on high speed until the coconut is finely shredded, about 30 seconds at a time. Strain over cheesecloth into a large bowl or measuring cup, extracting as much liquid as possible. Reserve one heaping cup of the shredded coconut.

Add the extracted liquid, condensed milk, eggs, vanilla, and salt to the blender and mix on lowest setting until blended.  Pour into a large mixing bowl and tir in the drained coconut.

To prepare the baño de María, place the pan in a larger roasting pan.  Pour enough hot water into the pan so that it comes about halfway up the sides of the mold.  Carefully pour the custard into prepared mold the set inside the roasting pan.  Place the pan in the oven and bake for 60-75 minutes until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean though it may still appear wobbly.

Allow to cool completely then refrigerate covered at least 4 hours or overnight.

To unmold, run a thin knife along the flan and side of mold.  Gently shake to loosen. Invert a large plate over the flan and quickly invert the mold in one motion.  The flan will gently drop onto the plate and the caramel will flow out so allow extra space around the flan.

Notes: 
Choose a coconut that’s heavy for its size. The “eyes,” or the three black spots at the stem of the coconut, should be free of mold, and you should be able to hear the liquid inside the coconut when you shake it.

The caramel could also be done in a small saucepan then poured into the mold.

But Is It Cuban?
Looking back at my summer posts, I noticed a lot of limes on the side or off in the corner – standing by to restore the balance to anything too heavy, too rich, or just too fried.  With Labor Day coming up, it’s was only right to bring them front and center in a key lime pie.  I thought it would be a departure from my Latin American desserts when I came across a few references to the Cuban pastel de limón.  Made with juice from limones criollos – also known as key limes – and condensed milk, the custard is topped with meringue, and poured into a cookie crust made from galleticas Maria.  Could the key lime pie be Cuban?  According to Maria Josefa Lluria de O’Higgins, a version of the pie was brought to the Florida Keys in the late 1860′s with Cuban settlers during our war for independence.  Other alleged sources include self-made Florida millionaires, their cooks and local fisherman.  While I can’t pretend to be impartial, I will say this – creole limes, condensed milk, meringue – it certainly sound like us.

The origin of the galleticas Maria used for the crust is less ambiguous but far more grand.  I always thought Maria was the little girl in pig tails on the bright gold package of vanilla biscuits my grandmother would give us for an afternoon merienda.  Not so.  They were actually created by English confectioners Peek Freans in 1874 to commemorate the wedding of Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia and H.R.H Alfred Ernest Albert Saxe-Coburn-Gotha, the Duke of Edinburgh, Queen Victoria’s second son, in the Winter Palace of St. Petersburg.  Even now, her name, Maria or Marie (depending on where they’re made) is at the center of every one, surrounded by an intricate border, a period reference to Russian architectural design.  It’s possible that they could have made their way into the Cuban version of the Florida pie around this time though it’s hard to tell.  Popular throughout Europe and Latin America dipped in milk, coffee or tea, they were partly credited with Spain’s post-civil war recovery when a wheat surplus led to a Maria mass production.

More complicated than I’d imagined for a five ingredient pie, it made me wistful for a simpler time.  My grandparents had a key lime tree in their backyard and my grandmother would have us gather them when they rained down, hiding in the  grass and tripping us up.  Small, hard, and thorny, they weren’t pretty like lemons or juicy green like limes so I didn’t associate them with the creamy yellow pie I loved.  A hurricane in the 1926 wiped out most commercial key lime harvests in the U.S. making these scattered back yard trees that much more precious.  Though I keep a bottle of key lime juice in the refrigerator, I always buy a bag of the fresh ones, mostly imported from Mexico, when they make a rare New York appearance.  As happy as I am to find them, I kick myself a little for not appreciating them more when they were literally falling from the sky.

Pastel de Limoncitos Criollos/Key Lime Pie
Inspired by A Taste of Old Cuba by Maria Josefa Lluria de O’Higgins.  Floridians are very protective of their pie and there are disagreements about whether it should be a crumb or pastry crust, baked or not.  One thing everyone agrees on is that the pie should be yellow. Key limes turn yellow as they ripen so a toxic green custard is the sign of a bad dye job.  They can be hard to find and regular limes can be substituted, but I suggest using bottled key lime juice rather than fresh regular limes in this case.  Galletas Maria can be found in most Latin American and some large chain grocery stores and graham crackers can also be substituted.

For the crust:
30 galletas Maria (about 2 cups), well ground but not powdery*
6 tablespoons of unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
1 14-ounce can of condensed milk
4 egg yolks
1/2 cup of fresh key lime juice*
1 tablespoon lime zest

For the meringue:
4 egg whites, at room temperature
1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
Pinch of salt
1 cup of sugar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Grease a 9-10″ pie pan with non-stick cooking spray.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the cracker crumbs and melted butter until the mixture holds together.  Fill the prepared pan with the crumb mixture and press into the bottom and sides of the pan to form the crust.  If necessary, use a measuring cup to level the bottom and sides.  Bake 10-12 minutes until lightly browned.  Remove from oven and set aside to cool completely.  Freeze until ready to use.

Increase oven temperature to 375 degrees.

In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the egg yolks on medium until pale and fluffy.  Reduce the mixer speed and slowly add the condensed milk then the Key lime juice until well incorporated.  Pour the mixture into the pie crust (see note).

In a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat egg whites on low speed until foamy, about a minute.  Add a pinch of salt and cream of tartar and increase speed to medium until they hold soft peaks.  Gradually add the sugar and remaining lime zest and beat on high speed until it forms stiff peaks.

Cover the pie with the meringue and bake until lightly browned, about 12-15 minutes.  Allow to cool and completely and chill until ready to serve.

Note:  Instead of meringue, the pie can also be topped with freshly whipped cream.  At this point, bake the pie as directed then top with whipped cream before serving.

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 cup 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.

1 cup sugar
3/4 cups water
2 1/2 pounds carambola (star fruit), brown parts removed and roughly chopped
1 tablespoon cachaça or white rum

In a small, heavy saucepan, combine sugar with 3/4 cups water and boil for 5 minutes. Set aside to cool.

Puree carambola in a blender until smooth. Strain into a large mixing bowl, pressing down on the fruit to extract as much juice as possible. Stir in cool syrup and cachaça and chill until cold, at least two hours or overnight. Process carambola mixture in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s instructions. Transfer sorbet to a covered container and freeze until ready to serve.  Top with fresh fruit.

Normally, I’m drearily practical about buying flowers. Even in spring, I opt for fresh herbs I can eat instead of pretty flowers I can’t. After an awful winter, I just can’t make myself care about being practical, bringing home spray roses, tulips, and daffodils at every opportunity. Of course, I don’t really need to choose, so it was only a matter of time before I was adding dried lavender and fresh edible flowers to a recipe for torrejas with lavender honey syrup I posted on Devour the Blog.  I had a few to spare and decided to add them to this dessert as well. A blank slate of trembling coconut custard, I loved the color they added. Now that I’d ditched the sensible snow boots and heatech layers, I couldn’t have enough flowers.

Tembleque/Coconut Custard
Adapted from Carmen Aboy Valldejuli’s Puerto Rican Cookery. Full disclosure, I actually have a box of instant tembleque somewhere in the pantry. I can’t imagine why I would need to use it because it’s possibly the simplest dessert I’ve ever made. It sets up so quickly and with no eggs to worry about, you don’t need to panic about cooking it too fast or scrambling the pudding. I used individual custard molds but decided to pour the last cup into my flower mold baking pan from Williams-Sonoma, an impulse buy from a previous Easter that’s always given me trouble.  The custard flowers unmolded beautifully with a few taps. I briefly considered taking video instead of pictures to capture the gentle shake when you spoon into it but you’ll have to see it for yourself.

4 cups fresh or canned coconut milk
½ cup cornstarch
2/3 cups of sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon dried lavender, well wrapped and tied in a square of cheese cloth (optional)
1 tablespoon orange blossom water

Ground cinnamon or nutmeg to sprinkle (optional)

Rinse 8” mold or individual custard cups with cold water and set aside.

In a large heavy saucepan, combine cornstarch with one cup of coconut milk until well blended. Add remaining coconut milk, sugar, salt, and lavender sachet (if using) and cook over medium-high heat, stirring constantly until it comes to a boil. Immediately lower heat and whisk vigorously until thick. Remove lavender sachet if using and stir in orange blossom water. Immediately pour into prepared molds. Allow to cool slightly then refrigerate until set.

When ready to serve, unmold by carefully sliding the knife along the edges to loosen and inverting over a serving plate. It can be coaxed out but you get a cleaner line if you let it drop. Sprinkle with cinnamon, nutmeg or both to serve.

I still remember going to see it with my sister and our two best friends.  Spending a spring break day in Coconut Grove at what we thought of as an art house theater, mostly because they played Almodóvar movies to packed audiences and French movies to half empty ones, we were all waiting to hear from colleges in New York (I got my acceptance that afternoon making the day that much more vivid).  It was also the first wide release we’d seen from Mexico so it satisfied our yearning for suburban bohemia until we could get to the real thing.

Won over by the beautiful story, beautiful Italian actor from Cinema Paradiso,  and beautiful food, it became one of our favorites.  Tita, Rosaura, Gertrudis, and Chencha translated into half-serious shorthand for each other when we were being self consciously noble, uncharacteristically vindictive, fiery and up for anything, or cheery beyond all reason.

Of course in a film full of swoon worthy food, the scene where she cooks with rose petals is the swooniest.  Reading over Laura Esquivel’s novel and some of the ingredients she listed – roses (preferably red), anise, honey – I had something sweet in mind and decided to make arroz con leche.  After adding the ground anise and letting is cool, I set out a few different toppings to try every possible combination – from chestnut honey to diced pitaya – the blank slate of rose infused pudding  mingling beautifully with anything I wanted to add, depending on who I felt like being just then.

Arroz con Leche y Rosas/Rose Rice Pudding
I love adding rosewater to desserts but I’m always wary – too little and it’ll be overpowered, too much and it will taste like perfume.  I made a bouquet garni (favorite new cooking term) dried rosebuds and added it to the rice and water while it boiled then removing it before adding milk, sugar and lemon zest.  Though I didn’t realize at the time, rose pudding is actually a Persian dessert called sheer berenj, seasoned with cardamon and chopped pistachios,  so I set those out as well.

1 cup medium or short grain white rice, well rinsed.
2 cups water
¼ cup dried rosebuds
4 cups of whole milk
Grated zest of one lemon
¾ cups of sugar
¼ teaspoon ground anise
1-2 tablespoons rose water (optional)

Optional toppings:

Chopped pistachios
Toasted almonds
Roasted chestnuts
Honey
Ground Cinnamon
Cumbled Maria crackers

Wrap dried rosebuds in small square of cheese cloth tightly gathered and tied together with kitchen twine, alternately use a sachet or tea strainer.  Add to large sauce pan with water and rice.  Bring to a high simmer over medium heat.  Stir occasionally until most of the water is evaporated, about 5-8 minutes.

Carefully remove the rosebuds and add the milk and lemon zest.  Return to a high simmer, stirring constantly.  Stir in the sugar.  Reduce heat to medium low.  Watch closely, stirring occasionally so that the rice does not stick to the bottom of the pan.  Continue cook until the rice is tender, 20-30 minutes.*

When the rice reaches the desired consistency, remove from heat.  Pour into a large mixing or serving bowl and stir in the ground anise and additional rose water if using.  Set aside to cool, serve warm or chilled with toasted nuts, honey, crushed cookies or cinnamon.

Notes:
*The arroz con leche will thicken slightly as it cools.  I err on the side of removing it soon because I prefer a looser pudding.  If it gets too thick, you can always stir in a little more milk at the end to reach the desired consistency.
**If storing for later consumption, press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface to prevent a skin from forming.

Tarte Tentación/Ripe Plantain Tart

3-4 ripe plantains, completely yellow and black
¼ cup sugar
¼ cup dark brown sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
3 tablespoons, unsalted butter, melted plus more for greasing
2 tablespoons dark rum

For the crust:
1 1/4 cups unbleached, all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 ¼ sticks or 5 oz. unsalted butter, cubed and held cold until needed
2-3 tablespoons of ice water

To make the crust, sift together all dry ingredients and pulse in the food processor, 1-2 pulses to distribute evenly.  Add the butter and pulse together until the butter flakes into pea-size pieces.  Add ice water gradually until it begins to just hold together.

Turn out the dough onto a lightly floured surface.  For the fraisage or final blending, smear the dough a few spoonfuls at a time across the board with the heel of your hand.  Gather the dough with a scrapper and form into a mound.  Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 1 hour or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.  Grease a 9” pie plate or rectangular baking pan with butter.

Combine the sugars, cinnamon and salt in a small bowl.  Peel and slice the plantains in half horizontally.  Sprinkle the bottom of the greased pan evenly with half of the sugar mixture.  Lay the plantains cut side up in the pan so that they’re packed in side by side.  Drizzle the plantains with the rum and top with the remaining sugar.  Finally, pour the melted butter over the plantains.

On a lightly floured board, roll out dough to about 1/8″ thick.  Prick the dough with a fork in several places to allow the steam to escape.  Lay the dough over the plantains, lightly pressing down so that they are entirely covered, folding the corners back on itself.  Place in the lower third of the oven and bake until the crust is lightly browned and the sugar has caramelized, 45-60 minutes.

Remove from oven and unmold while still warm.  Set a serving dish over baking pan and carefully flip.   Serve warm with whipped cream or ice cream.

Serves 4-6.

If I was going to give in and create a Valentine’s Day post, I wanted reflect my own ambivalence and said it with playing cards.  This cake would have hearts of course but clubs, spades and diamonds too.  After all, is love a question of fate, written in the stars, a direct hit from a bratty cherub or just the luck of the draw?  I considered using fresh guavas but they can be hard to find in New York.  Worried that guava paste would be too heavy, I used it for decoration instead.  Fortunately, I had a couple of cans of poached guava shells left that were just right, sweet but not cloying.  Rich, decadent, and French-sky pink, it helped me believe there are worse things than having a day set apart to celebrate obscure Roman saints, love and friendship.

Of course, in many Latin American countries Saint Valentine’s Day goes by el día de los enamorados.  “Los enamorados” referring to couples in love – happy, content, and ready to celebrate Hallmark holidays on any given weekday – or just the people who love – the enamored.  I may be biased but I prefer the latter interpretation.  Everyone warns against being the one who loves too much so I’d rather think that the holiday celebrates them instead since more often than not the deck is stacked against them.  Feliz día de los enamorados.
Tarta de Queso y Guayaba/Guava Cheesecake

For the crust:
30 galletas Maria (about 2 cups), well ground but not powdery
6 tablespoons of unsalted butter, melted

For the filling:
1 ½ pounds cream cheese, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
1 14.5 ounce can poached guava shells, well drained
2 tablespoons orange juice
Freshly grated zest from one large orange
1 tablespoon dark rum
¼ cup flour
½ teaspoon salt
4 eggs
1 egg yolk

Optional glaze and decoration:
¼ cup guava jelly
4 oz. guava paste

8-9″ springform pan

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Lightly grease a springform pan and set aside.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the cracker crumbs and melted butter until the mixture holds together.  Fill the prepared pan with the crumb mixture and press into the bottom of the pan to form the crust.  If necessary, use a measuring cup to level the bottom.  Bake 9-10 minutes until lightly browned.  Remove from oven and set aside to cool completely.  Tightly wrap the bottom of the pan in aluminum foil and set aside.

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees.

Combine the guava shells, orange juice, zest and room in a food processor or blender and puree until smooth.  Set aside.

In an electric mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, beat the cream cheese on medium speed till smooth about one minute.  Slowly add the sugar and continue to beat on medium high until light and fluffy, about 5 additional minutes.  Reduce speed and blend in guava-orange mixture and flour.  Add the eggs one at a time, blending well after each additional and periodically scraping down the sides of the bowl until combined.  Pour the filling into the prepared pan.

To prepare the baño de María, place the pan in a larger baking pan.  Pour enough hot water into the pan so that it comes about halfway up the sides of the mold.  Carefully place both pans in the oven and bake for one hour and 15 minutes.  Turn off the oven and cool in the oven for an additional hour.  Remove from oven and chill for at least four hours or overnight.

Cut guava paste in 1/4″ thick slices.  Using small aspic cutter, punch out small forms in desired shapes from guava paste as additional decoration.  Press into the surface of the cheesecake.

Heat guava jelly over medium heat until melted, about 3-5 minutes.  Lightly brush top of the cake with glaze.

Slice and serve.

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.