On Recall

It seems as if every food writer who wishes to address the subject of culinary nostalgia is somehow obligated to to mention Proust, his Remembrance of Things Past, and madeleines. I intend to do almost no such thing. You, if you find yourself at all interested, can look up what the hell I am talking about. There is such a broad literary tradition of igniting childhood memories through the medium of food you might nearly call it a genre. The convention even exists in kids films: the penultimate scene in Ratatouille involves the antagonist, upon taking a bite, jolting loose a memory of his own childhood and subsequently being completely won over. My childhood, in contrast, holds nearly no like examples of formative food experiences, of nibble-triggered, emotional food bombs. I remember, rather, only an endless stream of processed foodstuffs, just-add-water dinners, and 70's hold-overs. Not much to grow teary-eyed about. Still, I find myself occasionally nostalgic.

This week is one of those occasions, and, specifically, I am nostalgic for a childhood, American desert: Strawberry Shortcake. Not to be confused with the greeting card character of the same name, strawberry shortcake was a staple of my childhood. Originally, the dessert, as the name implies, would have been made with shortbread (which was once commonly called shortcake). Over time in the States this evolved into a couple variations: layers of sablée pastry, or a type of sweet, American-style biscuit with berries and cream between and on top. Either sound great to me.



What I remember is much more dire. I recall, for sale, packets of preservative-rammed, dimpled, sponge cakes, conveniently placed between the punnets of fresh strawberries and little tubs of gloopy “strawberry glaze” which I can only now imagine must have been some sort of evil combination of red dye, corn syrup, and corn starch. All of this was cross-promoted with aerosol tins of whipped cream, completing the package. What I knew as strawberry shortcake was a pile of glossy, artificially, glazed berries atop a vanilla-flavored, dry sponge cake, garnished with lashings of instant whipped cream. Nothing much to long for.



I don't necessarily want to reproduce the exact flavors of the strawberry shortcake of my childhood. Actually, I don't remotely want to reproduce those exact flavors. I would, however, like to encapsulate the idea of my childhood strawberry shortcake. In fact, I want to break it down a little. I want all the great flavors that I remember, only better - not so saccharine and fluffy and processed. Strawberry shortcake, in my memory, is the flavor of the freedom of summer in youth and of desert sunsets and the smell of everyone in the neighborhood manning a BBQ. What I remember most about eating strawberry shortcake is how perfectly cool and sweet it was, always at the end of a dry, Wyoming, August day. To have again the ability to enjoy so completely such immediate and visceral pleasures...

Strawberry Shortcake

Right. I'm going to mess with every single element here, and layer the dessert in a shot glass. Something about dessert in a cup reminds me about my childhood as well. Also, a few bites of any one thing is better than either none at all (obvious) or far too many. I suggest, therefore, making this in shot glasses or small tumblers, so that everyone gets a tiny, manageable serve. This should make about 6 serves, depending on the size of the glass you use. You might have a bit of extra jelly and custard left over, and quite a bit of shortbread, but it is difficult to work in smaller quantities. Besides, it's better than not having enough.

Shortbread Purée

That's right. Purée. Ok? Well, not exactly. More like a shortbread crumb mixed with just enough cream to make it moist. Think cookies and cream at its best.

Shortbread

225g unsalted butter, softened
110g sugar
450g flour

Preheat your oven to 180ºC. Cream together the butter and sugar. Mix in the flour just enough to combine. The mix will be crumbly. Press into a buttered 20 cm round tin and transfer to the oven. Reduce the heat immediately to 160ºC. Bake 25 minutes, taking care not to let it color. Remove from the oven and cool in the tin.

Purée

The word “purée” is a bit of creative license, as this is too thick to be really qualify. It is more of a cakey cookie. Delicious, whatever you call it.

50g shortbread
100ml cream

Process the shortbread in a food processor until it becomes fine crumbs. Mix with the cream just enough to combine.

Divide the paste between 6 shot glassed, taping it down flat.

Strawberry Jelly

250g berries, hulled, and roughly chopped
100g sugar
2 tbsp water
gelatin (sheets or powder)
6 strawberries, fine dice

Bring a medium pot of water to a boil. Combine all the ingredients in a bowl, toss, and cover tightly with cling film. Place the bowl over the pot (like a lid) and remove from the heat. Sit, bowl on the pot, until the lot reach room temperature. Remove the cling film from the bowl and strain, reserving the liquid and discarding the solids.

Measure the liquid. For every 100ml of liquid, you'll need 1 sheet of gelatin, or one tsp or gelatin powder. If using sheet gelatin, soften it first by soaking it in cold water, removing it, and then dissolving it in a bit of the warmed, reserved berry liquid, and then add the lot to the total reserved liquid. If using the powdered form, simply sprinkle the gelatin over the reserved liquid. Either way, apply the gelatin and cool the liquid in the fridge until it starts to thicken, but not set. Divide the diced strawberries between the glasses. Pour the jelly into the glasses, over the shortbread purée and berries, and set in the fridge at least 4 hours.

Burnt Honey and Vanilla Custard

This is, by far, the greatest stretch: I'm replacing whipped cream with a flavored custard. I wanted to introduce both an adult flavor in the caramelized honey and a dense richness to replace the airy whipped cream. The combination makes the whole experience a bit grown-up, smoky, and mysterious.

150ml cream
150ml milk
½ vanilla pod, split and scraped
4 yolks
80g honey

In a large pot on medium heat, bring the honey to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer until the temperature reaches 130ºC. Pour in the milk, cream, vanilla pod, and scraped seeds, and bring just back to a simmer. Remove from the heat.

Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, whisk the yolks until they are light and fluffy. Ladle a few scoops of the hot honey cream into the yolks, whisking as you go, to “temper” the eggs; that is, bring them up to temperature without scrambling them. Pour this mix of eggs and honey cream back into the pot with the remainder of the honey cream and stir, on low heat, until the mixture thickens and reaches 82ºC, or thickly coast the back of a spoon. Pass the custard through a strainer and cool.

When cold, layer on top of the set strawberry jelly.

Dried Strawberries and Strawberry Dust

200g strawberries, hulled and sliced ¼ cm thick
50g sugar

Preheat your oven to 50ºC. Lay the berry slices in rows on a baking tray lined with baking paper. Sprinkle the berries with the sugar. Dry in the slow oven overnight. Remove and cool.

Remove the berries from the baking paper and reserve a dozen of the prettiest ones. Transfer the remainder to a mortar and pestal and pound until a fine powder forms.

Bringing It All Together

At this point, if you have followed instructions, the dessert is nearly finished. You've got the shortbread on the bottom, followed by strawberry jelly, and a topping of honey custard, in lieu of cream. All you need to finish is to stick a slice or two of the dried strawberries into the top, sprinkle some berry dust, and provide a spoon.