Panna Cotta
While flipping wildly through a magazine at the public library, I happened across this recipe for panna cotta which, I hear, is kind of like an Italian custard. Now, I don't think I've ever actually had custard, let alone an Italian one, but the ingredient list was simple, the instructions plain, and the picture made it look like one of those "Look at me, I'm a domestic goddess!" desserts that you whip out in a flash for your in-laws and they think you're incredible. But we all know that it's not being incredible that counts, but, as Kelse says, "bloody brilliant". And this one is true genious.
The only problems I encountered were that it makes up servings for twelve, in six ounce ramekins or individual souffle dishes. Now, I work at a kitchen store that holds so many products it reminds me of a warehouse, and I have never seen such a ramekin. People ask for them all the time, but this object of adoration (for obvious reasons and necessity) remains elusive. I am the proud owner of two very wonderful 50's-style teal ten ounce ramekins, and am attempting to cook this for two servings only. Mostly because I'm still not sure I like custard, and if I make a lot of it, I'll be eating it until hell freezes over. So instead of boggling my non-mathmatical brain with the problem of six versus ten ounce on top of halving and halving and halving a recipe, I just added up the total ounces in all servings, divided that until I got close to twenty ounces, and split that between the two dishes.
Panna cotta is absolutely easy to make. You sprinkle water in the gelatin and forget about it. You simmer heavy cream and sugar together. You add the gelatin. You whisk in an ice bath for about seven minutes, then throw in the mint extract. Pour into ramekins and refrigerate.
I finally got the gall to make it the other day, since Kevin was away for the evening in Seattle and I only felt like making something rich and decadent. So custard and boiled eggs it was. Around midnight, a road-weary Kevin woke me up and sheepishly asked, "What's panna cotta?" referring to the clever note I had left, stating the existence of both eggs and dessert in the refrigerator. "Custard," I mumbled in that breathy half-sleep voice you get when someone interrupts the pleasant dreams one gets at midnight, alone. So he crawled into bed with me, silver spoon shining in one hand and turquoise ramekin awkwardly positioned in the other. He spoon fed both of us, and we debated the texture, taste, and overall everything of the panna cotta.
The verdict? It's kind of like melted mint-chip ice cream without the funky green coloring, mixed with plain yogurt and left in the refrigerator. Very rich, cold on your lips, and wonderful.
I'll make this again, when his family comes for a visit.
Peppermint Panna Cotta
Makes 12 6-oz servings
2 envelopes (1/4 oz each) unflavored gelatin
6 cups heavy cream
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons pure peppermint extract
1. Prepare an ice water bath; set aside. In a small bowl, sprinkle gelatin over 6 tablespoons water; let soften, 10 minutes.
2. Bring cream and sugar to a simmer in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add gelatin mixture; cook, stirring, until gelatin and sugar are dissolved, 2 minutes.
3. Transfer mixture to a large glass bowl set in the ice-water bath; whisk until cool, 6 to 7 minutes. Stir in extract. Divide mixture evenly among 12 (6-ounce) ramekins. Refrigerate until set, at least 2 hours.
4. Place ramekins in a shallow roasting pan filled with 1 inch of warm water for 1 minute, being careful not to let water reach the top of ramekins. Run a knife around edges of each ramekin to loosen panna cotta; invert onto serving plates, shaking plate and ramekin until panna cotta slides out.
**Just to let you know, I didn't follow #4. We ate right out of the dish and it still looked pretty. I included this direction just to let you know how to get them out.**