Right: Rachel Wharton and I chowed down on some melty, chestnut ice cream.

Coupla weeks ago, I was featured on New York 1 making some chestnut ice cream for Edible Manhattan editor Rachel Wharton.

The idea for the recipe came from Society as I have Found It, a book written by Ward McAllister in the 1890s.  He was a New Yorker, and a well-known socialite.  The book is about his fabulous life, and he dishes out all kinds of advice, like how to throw the best dinner party:

“In planning a dinner, the question is not to whom you owe dinners, but who is most desirable. The success of the dinner depends as much upon the company as the cook. Discordant elements — people invited alphabetically or to pay off debts — are fatal.

The next step is an interview with your chef, if you have one… whom you must arouse to fever heat by working on his ambition and vanity. You must impress upon him that this particular dinner will give him fame and lead to fortune. “

Sound advice, no?  The full chapter is here.

I’d like to throw a dinner party based on his suggested menu; it’s perfect for the winter and classically late 19th-century: it consists of Turtle Soup, Terrapin, Ham Mousse, Roast Turkey, Sweetbreads, Pate in Aspic and Canvasback Ducks.   The dessert, Nesselrode Pudding, is an ice cream made with chestnut puree.

The recipe requires a lot of steps, but every one is worth it.  The result is an incredibly creamy, flavorful ice cream.

***
Nesselrode Pudding (Chestnut Ice Cream)
Adapted from The American Heritage Cookbook and
Miss Corson’s Pratical American Cookery by Juliet Corson,  1886.

1 pint (2 cups) half and half
4 egg yolks
1 1/2 cups sugar
20 chestnuts, cooked and unshelled*
1 1/2 cups water
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup Maraschino Liquor, rum, or pineapple juice
1/2 cup currents
1/2 cup raisins
3/4 cup heavy whipping cream

*You can find chestnuts canned, perhaps in the import aisle of your grocery store.  I found a bag of “snacking” chestnuts that were roasted, unshelled and vacuum sealed.  Perfect.

1. Soak raisins and currents in a bowl with the Maraschino.  Set aside.

2. Beat egg yolks with 1/2 cup sugar.  Scald the half and half, then add it SLOWLY to the egg yolk mixture, whisking constantly.  Pour into a pan and cook on over a very low heat, stirring constantly, until the custard is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.  Remove from heat.

3. Meanwhile, make the chestnut puree: add chestnuts, 1/2 cup sugar, water, and vanilla to a food processor.  Puree until smooth, then add to the custard.

4. Add custard mixture to the bowl of an ice cream mixture.  Allow to freeze to a soft-serve consistency.

5. Meanwhile, beat heavy cream and remaining 1/2 cup sugar with an electric mixer until stiff.  When custard has frozen soft, fold in whipped cream and fruit.

6. Pack into an ice cream mold  and place in the freezer overnight, or until frozen hard.

***

I let the ice cream set in the freezer overnight; while shooting for NY1, I busted it out all professional like “Oh, and we have one that’s already done!”  It was now time to unmold it: I dipped the outside of the mould into hot water until the outer layer of ice cream melted, then gently turned it upside down on a decorative platter. Simple, right?

Not for me. While decanting my ice cream, I managed to fling it across the table, where it collapsed into a sad heap.  See it all happen here.

Rachel and I managed to scoop the ice cream off of the table and make it presentable, although it totally looked like a brain.  Then we gave it the old taste test: although I was repulsed by the texture of the raisins, Rachel and I both agreed this ice cream was delicious.  On camera, we took dainty spoonfuls.  Off camera, we were shoveling it into our mouth.  The ice cream was so creamy and perfectly sweet; the chestnut flavor was interesting, delicious, and subtle.

Rachel suggested leaving out the fruit in the next batch and molding the ice cream in individual dishes with a single, candied chestnut to garnish the top.  I agree.  Hanging out with Rachel is always a treat.

Two interesting and beautiful receipts I found at the Brimfield Flea Market.

I’ve been invited to teach a three-part course at the Brooklyn Brainery, an amazing non-profit that offers classes for cheap.  They’ve had educational sessions on everything from beekeeping to kimchi making to whiskey tasting to knife skills.

So I’d like to put the question to you: If I were to teach a course based on the contents of this blog, what would you be curious to learn more about?

I was on Edible Magazine’s “Let’s Eat” segment for New York 1 today! It plays again on Sunday if you want to catch it on the air; or, you can check it out on NY1’s website at the link below.

Edible: Historical Gastronomist Takes On Classic Recipes In Her Long Island City Kitchen.

I’ll post the recipe for the chestnut ice cream I make early next week; it was incredibly delicious.

Carving the beaver tenderloin roast.

One of the requirements of my Alaskan Culinary Challenge is to serve the beaver meat to at least one other person.  So I put out an APB on Facebook to see who might be interested in trying some beaver; I ended up with a party of eight willing participants at my house.

I decided to test three different recipes for beaver.

Beaver Tenderloin Roast

I wanted to cook one portion of beaver with very little seasoning, so we could really taste the beaver flavor.  I had one packet of meat labeled “beaver tenderloin,” so I decided this most tender cut of meat would get the simplest treatment.  The tenderloin was cut into several smaller slices, so I decided to tie them into a little 1-pound roast with a bit of kitchen twine.  Thomas De Voe did say beaver was best roasted.

I seasoned the roast with some fresh ground pepper and kosher salt.  I heated a cast iron skillet with some clarified butter until the surface was smoking.  Then I placed the roast in the skillet and slid the whole thing into a preheated, 500 degree oven.  I let it roast 8 minutes, then pulled it out and let the meat rest 10 minutes, covered with tented aluminum foil.  Then I carved it into tasting portions and delivered it to my eagerly awaiting guests.

There was a tentative moment of silence as my guests each had a slice of beaver perched on their forks, ready to thrust it into their mouths.  We took a deep breath, then took the plunge: It was delicious!  The meat was quickly devoured.  It was not as gamey as anticipated, but definitely had a tang to it.  We were not horrified by our first taste of beaver.  But it wasn’t nearly as delicious as…

Searing the soy & garlic beaver.

Beaver in a Soy and Garlic Marinade

I adapted this recipe from an MFK Fisher recipe for steak; I think she would appreciate my resourcefulness.  It is the best marinade for beef I had ever tasted, so I decided to try it on beaver.

To make the marinade:

1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup olive oil
6 cloves garlic

Rinse the meat and pat it dry, then put it in a Ziploc bag with the marinade. I let it sit six hours, turning the bag over every hour or so.  I heated a cast iron skillet with clarified butter until smoking, then added the meat to the sizzling skillet.  I browned the beaver two minutes on each side, then put the skillet into a preheated, 500 degree oven.  I gave it five minutes in the oven, then pulled it out and let it rest for ten minutes.  This gave me meat the was well done on the edges, and medium to medium-rare in the middle.

I had been worried that the soy and garlic would overpower the natural beaver flavor. If I’m going to eat an exotic meat, I don’t want to disguise the taste.  But in reality, it complimented the taste of the beaver and teased out its gaminess.  I think it’s a preparation worth trying on most wild meats, and some declared this recipe their favorite of the evening.  But it wasn’t as popular as…

Beaver, cooked slow.

Slow-Cooked Pulled Beaver

When the French Culinary Institute prepared their beaver meat, they sous vide it: a process by which you vacuum seal food in a plastic bag, then cook it at a very low temperature for a very long time–sometimes over the course of several days.  This technique not only produces tender meat, but is prized for creating perfectly creamy soft-cooked eggs.  But I don’t have a sous vide.  I have the everyday kitchen equivalent: a crock-pot slow-cooker.

FCI also got good results by brining their meat first.  So I created a brine for my beaver.

For the brine:

1 cup white vinegar
2 heaping tablespoons kosher salt

Put this in a Ziploc bag with the beaver meat and let brine for at least two hours, and up to six, turning every 30 minutes.  Remove the meat, rinse it, and pat it dry with paper towels.  The exterior will have turned a grayish color.

Then, to a slow cooker, add:

1 large can crushed, diced, or whole tomatoes in their juice (I used a bag of flash frozen plum tomatoes from my local CSA)
2 cups stock (beef, chicken, homemade–it doesn’t matter)
Seasoning.  I seasoned conservatively at first, not wanting to mar the beaver flavor.  But beaver seems to be one of those meats that can stand up to a lot of heavy seasoning.  I used about a teaspoon of “Pasta Sprinkle,” a spice mix from Penzey’s that contains basil, oregano, thyme and garlic; and a couple hearty shakes of Red Pepper Flakes.

I cooked the meat on high for 4 1/2 hours; but if you have the time, cook it on the low setting for 8 hours.  When it was done, it was tender enough to pull apart with a fork; I mixed it with the sauce and served a few tender morsels to my friends.

It. Was. Amazing.  Still gamey, and sooo tender.  My guests immediately grabbed slices of buttered potato bread and made little pulled beaver sandwiches.  The sweetness of the bread mixed with the richness of the meat was the perfect combination.  The brine had made the meat incredibly tender, while the acid of the tomatoes broke down the meat’s wild flavor just enough.

This recipe gets four stars from me.  It’s impossible to mess up and it delivers perfect, delicious meat.

***

So what does beaver taste like? Beef, but more flavorful.  Robust, but less gamey than venison.  More mild than a dark-meated poultry.  A red meat with a perfect tanginess and richness.  And you don’t have to take it from me: everyone who came to my beaver party left satisfied, not horrified, and would willingly eat beaver again any day.