Life is about accumulation (see George Carlin’s “stuff” monologue). Beginning with a crib, a ball and maybe a stuffed monkey, you graduate to a skateboard, ipod, computer, furniture, chairs, car, etc. until you have a touch more than the neighbors.
For people with specific interests, accumulation can turn into addiction. Photographers drool through the aisles at camera stores; car lovers slink around dealerships; cooks, in near fugue state, fondle expensive knives. Like most addictions, kitchen acquisition is driven by an exquisitely seductive agent: the recipe. A few objects later-ice cream machine, blowtorch, Escoffier cookbook, stick blender, melon baller, hinged terrine mold, sous vide machine, tweezer, centrifuge, chemical mask, beaker, petri dish-and you’ve got yourself a weapons lab.
Which is how we come to our dinner at Annissa. It’s a great restaurant, an extremely tough reservation, and the only place to truly stump me. The tiny, paper-thin, crepe-like cup was both too delicate to have been popped en masse from molds and too painstaking to be individually produced. I finally beat it out of our waiter: they use a small, steel cup-shaped mold, which is welded onto the tip of a long heatproof rod. The cup is dipped into batter, dunked in boiling oil and dropped onto a tray, where, voila, a tiny pastry cup is born.
Like discovering the magician’s trap door, it was a satisfying moment: aside from the immense practice and skill, they had a secret weapon anyone could buy. The down side, you might say, is the temptation to find the nearest blacksmith, but even I realized it was a bit too obscure for even the most tricked-out kitchen.
The crisp beignets, oozing warm, salted butterscotch caramel, prompted the evening’s second query. Though this was less mysterious-we correctly guessed a post-fry caramel injection-it was, nonetheless, a clever bit of cookery and a delicious creation. Which is why, when Anita Lo’s book appeared in the mail, I was happy to see it contains the beignet recipe, and even happier to see her call for a simple squeeze bottle rather than whatever tiny injector I’m sure she uses in her kitchen.
In the end, cookware acquisition should be about the food. Which is why, if you’re blown away by these beignets and don’t have a squeeze bottle, it’s a reasonable purchase. True inspiration isn’t a common thing; if you’re blown away by Jim Lahey’s no-knead pizza dough recipe, get a pizza stone. If you’re entertained by Chef Lo’s mini crepe cups, take a cold shower.
(NOTE: she serves this with dishes of milk ice on the side.)
Pecan and Salted Butterscotch Beignets (from Anita Lo’s Cooking Without Borders)
Serves 8
1 stick unsalted butter in pieces
1 teaspoon sugar
1 teaspoon salt
6 ounces flour
4 large eggs
¾ cup chopped pecans
1 cup packed light brown sugar
3 tablespoons butter
½ tablespoon salt
½ cup light corn syrup
½ cup heavy cream
canola oil
confectioners’ sugar
- For the Beignets: In a large saucepan, bring 1 ¼ cups of water, the butter, sugar, and salt to a boil until the butter is melted. Remove from heat, add the flour, stir vigorously with a wooden spoon until the mixture becomes a ball and pulls away from the sides. Transfer to the bowl of a stand mixer with the paddle attachment and mix on low speed for a few minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, incorporating each before adding the next. When all are mixed in, add the nuts and mix.
- For the Salted Butterscotch Sauce: Put brown sugar, butter, salt, corn syrup in a small saucepan and bring to boil. Lower heat to medium-high, stir, cook until syrupy, then stir in the cream, remove, let cool then transfer to a squeeze bottle with a small tip.
- To Fry and Serve: Heat a few inches of oil in a large pot to 375. Working in batches, spoon ¾-inch balls of batter into the oil. Fry until golden, about 5 minutes. Puncture each with tip of squeeze bottle and squeeze ½ teaspoon of the sauce inside. Dust with confectioners’ sugar and serve on a plate with the hole up so the sauce doesn’t ooze out.
