Categories
Breads and Crackers The Book

107. Cream Biscuits p.596

No, recipe appears on line, and that’s a shame.

I really enjoyed these biscuits. They’re light but not too fluffy, nicely moist, and just crumbly enough. The recipe is simplicity itself, it’s just flour, baking powder, and salt, mixed with whipping cream. After kneading it for a few seconds it’s patted into a 1/2 inch thick round, and cut into ~3 inch rounds. Then they’re transferred to a baking sheet, brushed with a bit more cream, and popped into a 425 oven for 12-15 minutes.

Early on in the history of Good Eats, Alton Brown had a biscuit episode where his grandmother (mee-maw) came on to show him the proper technique. The recipes there were buttermilk based, but the principles still hold. He emphasized that the most important thing was to use a very sharp cookie cutter, with a decisive push through the dough to avoid compressing the biscuits, and to ensure a good rise. I took that advice to heart, and then completely ignored it when the moment came. I used the dull edge of a drinking glass to cut them out (the recipe calls for a cookie cutter), and my biscuits didn’t rise nearly as much as I’d hoped they would.

The recipe calls for White Lily flour, which that same Good Eats episode tells me is commonly available in the American South, but as far as I know it’s not to be had here. Standard AP flour was given as an alternative, and it worked just fine, these were still absolutely delicious biscuits.

These are probably best suited to sweet applications, because of the straightforward richness of the cream. If I was going to cover biscuits in gravy I’d want the tang of buttermilk to help balance things. The Book uses these as the basis for its strawberry shortcake recipe, and I think they were perfectly suited to the task. I ate some leftovers with some of my homemade strawberry jam and a bit of sharp cheddar, which may have been even better.

Categories
Sauces and Salsas The Book

106. Whipped Horseradish Cream p.893

Unfortunately there’s no recipe online for this one.

Beef and horseradish is one of those great combinations, the fiery sinus clearing slap-in-the-face of horseradish works really well with the succulent richness of beef. It’s not much good with other meats, but beef and horseradish is a love story for the ages. In this preparation horseradish is mixed with cider vinegar, honey, salt and pepper, and then folded into stiffly beaten cream.

The recipe calls for 3-4 tablespoons of horseradish, to one cup of cream, then suggests that you taste and adjust at the end. It calls for grating your own root if you can find one, or gives the jarred stuff and an acceptable alternative. I had a jar in the fridge so I went with it. I had just enough left for the recipe, and didn’t think to pick up a new jar. I didn’t account for the fact that horseradish loses its pungency quickly once it’s been opened, so mine was a little anemic. I could have used twice as much of my post-haircut-Samson horseradish and not risked burning anyone’s nose. Everything else in the recipe is there to mellow the horseradish out, so this ended up tasting much too smooth and creamy. My dining companioned compared it to horseradish scented air.

I like my horseradish hot, so even if I’ve got the freshest most powerful root on the block, I’d rather not have it tamed too much. I don’t think the honey was really necessary, it doesn’t really add to the horseradish experience, and it risks taking the whipped cream over into dessert territory. Similarly the whipped cream served to add volume, and dilute the horseradish, I’d frankly prefer grated horseradish with a little cream to make it saucy, and a boost of salt and pepper. The whipped cream made it a delicate airy foam, which just doesn’t seem like the right texture for horseradish. I’d rather treat it more like hot sauce, or wasabi, pungently lurking in the corner of my plate, waiting for each bite to be dipped with excited trepidation, and punishing those brave or foolhardy souls who overdo it. Admittedly this version is a bit safer to serve to your grandmother, but the risk of horseradish is half the fun.