Panettone Bread and Butter Pudding

Until last Christmas, I had never bought a panettone and, for some reason, I decided to buy three.  I am still not quite sure what came over me.  I had only ever eaten panettone twice before - once in 1982 during an Italian language class, and about 4 years ago at a cafe in Leederville when I didn't feel like toast.  I don't mind the taste of panettone, but I generally prefer my bread to be plain and unfruity.  Panettone originated in Milano, and is eaten throughout the year in Italy, but especially at Christmas.  In Perth, we only see panettone in the shops at Easter and Christmas so perhaps I was suddenly overcome with temporary siege mentality and felt the need to stock up.  I have had no idea what to do with them so, since Christmas, I've had two large panettone boxes taking up room in my pantry and one de-packaged panettone in my freezer, waiting for inspiration to strike. 

My only inspiration to date has been to use it in bread and butter pudding.  You may be thinking why on earth would I be baking a bread and butter pudding in the middle of summer.  Well, apart from needing to reduce the occupant:panettone ratio in my household, I thought my northern hemisphere readers would enjoy a winter's dessert.  And for my southern hemisphere readers, it is possible to eat bread and butter pudding cold.  Yes, cold, and it is actually quite nice. 

Panettone Bread and Butter Pudding

1 x 900g panettone
zest of 1 orange
150g unsalted butter, and a little extra for greasing
2 tsp vanilla paste
600m whipping cream
600ml full cream milk
5 eggs
150g caster sugar

Grease a 1.5 litre baking or casserole dish with unsalted butter.  Cut the panettone into thick slices (mine were about 2cm) and remove the crusts.

Place the butter, orange zest, and one teaspoon of the vanilla paste into a saucepan and heat gently until the butter is melted.

Brush both sides of the panettone with the melted butter and arrange in the casserole dish.

Heat the cream, milk and the remaining vanilla paste until just below boiling point.  Using a mixer, beat the eggs and the caster sugar until thick.  Add the cream/milk to the egg mixture and mix on a very slow speed until combined.  Pour over the bread and leave for at least one hour until the bread has absorbed the custard.

Heat the oven to 150 degrees celsius and bake for 45 minutes.  Ideally, you should put the dish in a bain marie.  I didn't, as the casserole dish I used was too big.  The custard did curdle a little bit, but this did not affect the taste.

This is the kind of pudding you eat on a cold, dark winter's night as it does warm the cockles. The panettone adds an extra dimension of sweetness, and hits those sugar cravings whether eaten hot or cold.  Dust with icing sugar to serve.

Any ideas on what to do with my remaining panettone would be gratefully received!

Me vs Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel Icecream

I went a little bit mad scientist during the week trying to recreate my favourite icecream.  I absolutely love Maggie Beer's Burnt Fig, Honeycomb and Caramel icecream to the extent that I avoid going down the icecream aisle at the supermarket in case I hear it calling my name.  If I do hear the call, the end result is me, in a chair with a 500ml tub in one hand and a spoon in the other, and no turning back.  It's that good.  What I like most about it is the contrast between the bitterness of the caramel and the sweetness of the honeycomb. I search for those swirls of bitter caramel with all the focus of a truffle-hunting pig.

The ingredients in Maggie Beer's icecream include cream, milk, burnt fig syrup, sugar, honeycomb, water, egg yolk, skim milk powder, glucose syrup, natural vegetable gums and natural caramel flavour.  After reading this, I got a bit scared as I've never used vegetable gums, nor did I have any cocoa butter handy, which is listed as one of the ingredients in the honeycomb.  So, before starting, I knew that I wouldn't be able to replicate the icecream, just channel its essence.

You need to allow 2 days to complete this entire recipe.

Burnt Fig Syrup

4 figs, peeled and sliced
1 tbsp raw caster sugar
1/2 cup caster sugar
3/4 cup water
juice of 1 lemon, strained
1 tsp white wine vinegar
1 tsp vanilla essence
1 tsp sunflower oil

The burnt fig syrup was a challenge.  Fig season isn't in full flight and I could only find four sad little figs at my local fruit and veg shop.  Also, I wasn't sure if burnt meant burnt, or caramelised, so I decided to caramelise within an inch of their lives.

Toss the sliced figs in the raw caster sugar.

Gently heat the oil in a frypan and add the figs.  Fry on a medium heat for about 5 minutes until the figs are caramelised and reach a mush like consistency. 

Meanwhile, put the water, caster sugar, lemon juice, white wine vinegar and vanilla essence in a saucepan and heat gently until the sugar is dissolved.  Add the fig mush and simmer for 5 minutes. 

Allow syrup to cool, strain into a jar and refrigerate until cold.

Honeycomb

2 tbsp golden syrup
2 tbsp caster sugar
1 tbsp unsalted butter
1 tsp bicarbonate soda

Bring the golden syrup, caster sugar and unsalted butter to the boil, then add the bicarbonate soda. 

Pour mixture into a greased tin.  When cool, put the honeycomb in a food processor and process until you have powder.

Caramel Sauce

Maggie's icecream includes 'natural caramel flavour'.  I'm not sure what this is so I made some caramel sauce instead.

300ml water
225g caster sugar

Put sugar and half the water in a saucepan.  Heat gently until sugar is dissolved, then increase the heat and boil until you reach the desired colour. Don't leave the caramel too long as it can burn.  Add the rest of the water and allow to cool.

Icecream

300ml thickened cream
600ml whipping cream
4 egg yolks
115g caster sugar

Combine the creams, and heat gently in a saucepan until just under boiling point.  Meanwhile whisk the egg yolks and sugar until thick.  Add the honeycomb powder to the cream and stir until dissolved. Add 100ml fig syrup to the egg mixture and continue to whisk.

Put the cream in a bowl over hot water, and add the egg mixture.  Stir over gentle heat for about 10-15 minutes until the custard is thick.  Refrigerate overnight, and then churn the mixture in a ice-cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions.  I churned for 25 minutes.

Refrigerate overnight until firm, then add the caramel sauce.  Do this by creating holes in the icecream using the handle of spoon and inserting it in a number of places.  Pour the caramel sauce in. 

Serve icecream with any leftover caramel sauce.

The end result bears absolutely no resemblance to Maggie Beer's icecream, but I am really pleased with the result.  It is sweet and creamy, with fig and honeycomb undertones, and is pretty darn tasty.  Unfortunately, the bitterness I love so much isn't there so I will need to refine the recipe but, if you have two days to spare, I would definitely recommend giving this recipe a try.

Gift wrapping with organza and sinamay

It was a friend's birthday a couple of months ago, and I bought her a papier mache circular box as a gift.  I'm only blogging about it now as I was on a roll with my Christmas-related posts and couldn't fit this one in.
 

As all gift wrappers know, a circular-shaped object is difficult to wrap.  There is too much paper to fold, it always looks bulky and, worse, it crinkles around the edges.  Tissue paper is more forgiving than normal gift wrapping paper, but it still crinkles.  I usually end up wrapping odd-shaped gifts in coloured tissue paper, and wrapping it again in clear cellophane, bouquet-style.  I thought I'd try something different this time.

I started with white tissue paper.

 

I wrapped it again in off-white organza.

As organza does not have any structural integrity, I wrapped it again in my favourite material - sinamay - which I've featured in a few previous posts.  I used a light blue coloured sinamay, which contrasted nicely with the organza and provided the necessary support.

Keeping with the pastel theme, I finished it off with a pale green ribbon.

It's big, but the pastel colours keep the overall look subtle and a little bit dreamy.

Since using organza in this way, I've been looking for ways to use it again.   Organza comes in a range of colours, and can make tissue paper in a complementary colour look very elegant and grown up (eg black tissue paper and grey organza).  It is worth having a look in a fabric store for gift wrapping materials as you can create something quite unique, and fabric can overcome many of the difficulties in wrapping odd-shaped gifts.

Vanilla Slice

Perth is in the middle of a heatwave.  It is 42 degrees outside at the moment, and we're heading towards the most number of consecutive days over 40 degrees.  This has not deterred me from making a vanilla slice to celebrate Australia Day, which is today.

The Australian version of the vanilla slice is essentially custard between two sheets of puff pastry, with the top sheet covered in passionfruit icing.  My experience of the vanilla slice has only been with the store-bought variety, which usually comprises canary yellow custard of a glue-like consistency, dense pastry, and a thick layer of white icing dotted with a few token passionfruit seeds.  It is the solid bright yellow custard that earned the vanilla slice a certain nickname used by my compatriots in Victoria.  I think if I had known about this nickname when I was growing up, vanilla slices would have been more cool.  Instead, they were the afternoon tea choice of people who had difficulty chewing.

I know I'm not painting a particularly good picture here, but a homemade vanilla slice is a different experience altogether.  A light creme patissiere between two sheets of flaky puff pastry and topped with a thin layer of passionfruit icing makes you believe again.

I sort of made this recipe up as I was going along, so it is a bit more rustic looking than I expected.  I've used custard powder to give a hint of yellow but if this brings back unpleasant childhood memories, substitute with cornflour.  


Vanilla Slice recipe

2 sheets ready rolled frozen puff pastry sheets

Custard

1 cup whipping cream
1 1/2 cups full cream milk
1/2 cup caster sugar
1/3 cup plain flour
1/3 cup custard powder
1 tsp vanilla essence
1 egg, lightly beaten

Icing

125g pure icing sugar, sifted
1/4 can passionfruit pulp in syrup (or use 1 passionfruit)


Preheat the oven to 180 degrees celsius.

Grease and line a 23x23cm baking tin. 

Put the pastry sheets on an oven tray lined with baking paper and prick with a fork.  Put them in the oven for about 20 minutes, or until the pastry is a golden colour.  When ready, take out of the oven and place on a wire rack to cool.

Put the cream, milk and sugar in a saucepan and bring to the boil.  Add the other ingredients and stir constantly over a medium heat until custard thickens and comes to the boil.  Take it off the heat and continue to stir for a bit longer until you are sure the custard is smooth. Well, you can never be sure so I always strain custard.  Cover the surface of the custard with cling film to prevent a skin from forming, and put the bowl into the fridge until cool. 

When ready to assemble, make the icing first by sifting the icing sugar into a bowl and adding the passionfruit.  You get pulp and all so if you merely want passionfruit flavour, then strain.  I kind of got a bit distracted (I blame the weather) and used an entire tin of passionfruit pulp so had to use about 400g of icing sugar to get the right consistency.

Wrestle one of the puff pastry sheets into the tin, trimming and/or squashing if you need to.  I abandoned the baking tin as the puff pastry sheets, which I had cut to size, shrunk during the cooking process and were too small for the tin.  Therefore, if you decide to make this recipe, trim the pastry sheets after they have cooked. In hindsight, I should have placed another tin over the top of the pastry sheets during the cooking process as the look I have ended up with is more country kitchen than high tea.

Continue assembling by placing the custard on top of the pastry bottom, spreading evenly.  Top with the second layer of pastry, and then spread the icing over the top.  Cut into slices using a serrated knife.

Despite the trials and tribulations in making this vanilla slice, I can definitely vouch for the flavour.  The custard is light and vanilla-y, the pastry melts, and the passionfruit icing adds a sweet-sour note.  Be careful when you eat it though as the custard will spurt out the sides, which is the only similarity between a store- bought vanilla slice and the homemade variety.

My Grandmother's Singer Sewing Machine

It's a new year, and I need to come clean about something.  I have a love-hate relationship with sewing.  You may be asking yourself why on earth did I call my blog paperbakeSEW if my feelings towards sewing are so extreme.  Well, when I'm in the sewing zone and everything is coming together as planned, I really love it.  However, there are times when the sewing machine keeps jamming, straight lines become askew, or time spent unpicking exceeds time spent sewing. At these moments, I feel like scrunching my work up in a ball and throwing it in a corner.  I know I am not alone in this. 

I'll admit, I can be a little impatient, and I do get a little fixated on finishing something at all costs, but sometimes the impatience stems from frustration with not knowing what I'm doing.  You see, I was rather a late-starter.  I didn't do sewing at school and I wasn't raised in a sewing friendly environment.  My Mum was a knitter, and sewing was something she had to do.  I also had an irrational fear of getting my finger pierced by a sewing needle, which I have only overcome in recent years.  You will understand why when I show you the machine I learned to sew on.   And when I say, learned to sew, I mean sewing two bits of scrap fabric together.... possibly twice.

This is my Grandmother's sewing machine:

This is the scary needle, which seemed huge to me as a child: 

My Grandmother bought this machine in 1930 when she got married as she thought that all married women should have a sewing machine.  It was really expensive at the time, and given my grandparents had waited five years to get married because of the Depression and had virtually no money when they finally did, it was a rather extravagant purchase.  It sat unused for most of the time, as my Grandmother preferred to crochet.

My mother was given the machine when she got married.  For most of the time, it also sat unused and, when it did come out to make the occasional school uniform or pair of shorts, it was a big deal.  Mum would "do battle", while I sat on the sidelines watching her work up speed on the treadle and move fabric under the scary needle. The machine would make a hell of a noise when Mum was in top gear, and I think the speed and the noise contributed to my fear of getting my fingers caught.

I only overcame my fear after I did some machine quilting classes.  I went to a craft show where there was a quilt exhibition and thought, I want to learn how to make those.  So, with the help of a very patient teacher and a few deep breaths, I managed to sew two pieces of fabric together... in a straight line...which eventually turned into a sampler quilt.  After that, I had no fear, but I do have a habit of choosing projects above my skill level, and I get stuck (which my Pfaff senses - it's like a photocopier that way) and this leads to frustration and a pile of unfinished projects.

I have always loved my Grandmother's sewing machine as a piece of furniture.  It has so many decorative elements - the wood carving on the drawers and sides, the painted decoration on the machine, the wrought iron, and the engraved metal plates - all of which serve no purpose other than to make the machine a nice piece of furniture.

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It now takes pride of place in my family room, where I continue the family tradition of non-sewing use.  Instead, it serves as a table for my phone, flowers and various knick knacks.  And when I'm having a frustrating sewing day, I can look at it and take comfort from knowing I come from a line of non-sewers, and that I no longer have an irrational fear of fast-moving sewing needles.

Christmas Baking - Fruit Mince

I've been flicking through Mrs Beeton's Book of Household Management to see how Christmas baking was done in 1861.   It seems like plum pudding and fruit mince pies containing actual beef were the highlights.  Christmas baking didn't seem like that big a deal, which is a little disappointing as I thought the Victorians would have invented the Christmas baking frenzy, along with all the other Christmas traditions they introduced.

Mrs Beeton's book is a fascinating read.  It was published as a guide for the modern Victorian housewife who had servants to manage and morning calls to receive.  The cookery section made the book famous as the recipes included precise measurements and actual cooking times, one of the very first to do so.  Mrs Beeton introduces the Cookery section with the following:

"As in the Fine Arts, the progress of mankind from barbarism to civilisation is marked by a gradual succession of triumphs over the rude materialities of nature, so in the art of cookery is the progress gradual from the earliest and simplest modes, to those of the most complicated and refined."

I am about to disappoint Mrs Beeton by using a jar of ready-made fruit mince, an act which is neither complicated nor refined, just simply convenient.  If I was in 1861, making fruit mince would have involved removing currants from their stalks, carefully picking over said currants to remove all stones and grit, stoning the raisins, and mincing beef and suet, all at the beginning of December for use in a fortnight's time.  Life is too short, even with the packaged dried fruit available today and the non-involvement of any meat products. There is good quality fruit mince available, and I say embrace the ready-made.  Mrs Beeton seemed like a pragmatic sort of a woman for her era and class, so I am hoping the 2011 version of her would understand the competing priorities of the modern woman and support my decision, however unrefined.

Fruit mince pies - blind bake sweet pastry in mini-muffin tins, add the fruit mince and bake for 5 minutes at 150 degrees celsius.  For a traditional look, decorate with a star and dust with icing sugar.

 For a more contemporary look, top with some pashmak (Persian fairy floss).

Fruit mince shortbread slice - Make a shortbread mixture in a food processor (a traditional recipe works best as you need the structural integrity of rice flour) to which you add two egg yolks.  Press two-thirds of the mixture into a 23x23cm tin and spread over a 410g jar of fruit mince.  Sprinkle the remaining shortbread mixture over the top.  Froth up the egg whites and pour over the top.  Sprinkle with sugar and bake, in the words of Mrs Beeton, in a "brisk" oven (180 degrees celsius) for 20 minutes.

Christmas Gift Wrapping ideas - Birds

One last gift wrapping hurrah before Christmas, using birds as a theme.  I don't have any Christmas-related bird stories, but I can tell you about Sylvester.  When I was about 5 years old, a baby Senegal dove fell out of its nest and into our backyard.  We rescued it, and I named him Sylvester after Sylvester the Cat from the cartoon Sylvester and Tweetie Pie.  It made perfect sense to me at the time.  We kept Sylvester in a lined box in the laundry and fed him barley and water.  Every day, my Mum would take Sylvester outside for flying lessons, which involved putting him on her arm and waving it up and down.  One day, he flew off, and we never saw him again, much to my devastation.  To this day, my family still refers to Senegal doves as "Sylvesters", to the extent that I had to phone my Dad this morning to ask him "What kind of birds are Sylvesters?".   

I like to use decorations when wrapping gifts, and I found these metallic bird decorations at a craft fair earlier in the year.  For this gift, I've used red tissue paper and hemp twine for a minimalist, slightly Japanese look. 

For this gift bag, I've suspended the bird mid flight using red and white twine.

Another way to feature birds in your gift wrapping is by using decorative ribbon. This ribbon is cotton twill, which always looks good against brown paper.  The ribbon on the bag is glued on using all purpose craft glue.

Red and light blue is such a classic colour combination, and this red and cream ribbon really pops against the glossy blue paper.

Not strictly gift wrapping, but I made these cards using decorative paper to complete the theme.  For this card, I used a Christmas decoration as a template.

The card on the right featured in my 13 November 2011 post on Christmas cards and gift tags.

If your relationship with birds is more Tippi Hedren than Sylvester, you may find using birds as your Christmas wrapping theme quite cathartic.

Rhubarb and Blood Orange Tartlets

It is traditional in the lead up to Christmas to thrash some rhubarb.  I should explain.  I come from a family who likes a quirky turn of phrase, and our conversations are littered with expressions from books, comic strips, radio shows, plays, TV shows and things my Grandmother used to say in the 1930s.  One of my favourite expressions is "rhubarb thrashing", which comes from the English comic strip "The Perishers".  I've never read it, but my parents were big fans.  Apparently, St Smithian's Day (St Smithian is the patron saint of rain) was celebrated with competitive rhubarb thrashing.  Every time I make something with rhubarb, the inevitable question "Have you been thrashing some rhubarb?"  is asked.

Rhubarb has been in season for several months in Australia, but I don't generally get excited by rhubarb until quite late in the season.  I think it is the deep, red colour of the stalks that make me think of Christmas.  I also like the sweet/sour flavour of rhubarb which cuts through the richness of other Christmas offerings. 

Rhubarb and orange is a classic flavour combination.  For these tartlets, I'm using blood orange juice, as it also has a sweet/sour quality.  I've heightened the orange flavour in this recipe by adding orange blossom water.  However, if orange blossom water makes your head want to explode, substitute with orange rind.

Rhubarb and Blood Orange Tartlets

Pastry

250g plain flour
100g icing sugar, sifted
pinch of salt
100g unsalted butter
2 eggs

Rhubarb filling

6 stalks of rhubarb, chopped into 3cm chunks
80g caster sugar
2 tbsp blood orange juice
A few drops orange blossom water (or 1/2 tbsp blood orange rind)

Meringue

2 egg whites
pinch of salt
75g caster sugar

You will need four mini muffin tins as this recipe makes 40 tarts.

Put the flour, icing sugar and salt into a food processor.  Cut the butter into cubes and soften.  If you have just taken the butter out of the fridge, then put the cubes in the microwave for 12 seconds.  Place the cubes in the food processor and pulse until you get a grainy consistency.  Add the eggs and pulse again until a dough starts to form.  Take the mixture out of the food processor and put it on a floured surface. Bring the dough together gently with your hands to form a disc.  Wrap in cling film and refrigerate for about 2 hours.  This dough is extremely soft so it needs the extra hour in the fridge.

Roll out the dough to about 2mm thickness, and cut out circles using a biscuit cutter.

Put the pastry discs into the mini muffin tins and then put the tins in the freezer for about 15 minutes to firm up.  Meanwhile, pre-heat the oven to 180 degrees celsius.  Take the tins out of the freezer and prepare them for blind baking.  I know that blind baking tartlets of this size is a complete pain, but it is worth the effort. 

Blind bake the pastry for 10 minutes, remove the pastry weights, and then bake for another 10 minutes until the tartlets are golden and biscuity. 

While the tartlets are baking away, you can make the rhubarb mixture.  Put the chopped rhubarb into a frying pan. 

Sprinkle with the caster sugar and then add the juice (and the rind if you are using it).  Cook over a high heat, stirring occasionally, until the liquid has evaporated and you're left with a smooth pulp. 

If there are any remaining woody bits, remove these and put them in a glass bowl with a squeeze of blood orange juice and blast in the microwave for 15-20 seconds.  This breaks the rhubarb down.  Stir into the rest of the pulp, and set aside to cool.  When cool, stir in the orange blossom water.

To make the meringue, put the egg whites into an electric mixer with the salt.  Beat the egg whites on a high speed until stiff, then gradually add the sugar.  Continue beating until thick and glossy and the sugar has dissolved.  You can check this by rubbing a small amount of the meringue between your fingers.  If you feel any grains, then continue beating until completely dissolved.

Put a small amount of the rhubarb mixture into each tartlet.

Pipe over the meringue, and bake the tartlets at 180 degrees celsius until the meringue takes on a golden hue.  Cool, then serve.

I'm not quite sure what rhubarb thrashing involves, but its sounds like it could be good for releasing a bit of stress.  Comfort eating is another way, so knock yourself out with these thrashed tarts.