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Zabaglione al Caffe
Zabaglione with coffee: File under "How come I never heard of this (or thought of this) until now?"
I was telling my class at Seliano about zabaglione. We in the U.S. know it as a foamy Marsala wine-flavored sauce that is usually poured over berries. Italians, however, think of zabaglione (also spelled zabaione) as a pick-me-up, a restorative for when one has a cold, or low energy, or a low mood, or just because it's four in the afternoon. It is related to goggle moggle, the Eastern European egg-enriched, hot milk drink. And both are in the same category as egg nog, another egg-thickened drink with a reputation for bringing strength and cheer. All are made with or without alcohol.
I have a woman friend, I went on to give a concrete and amusing example of zabaglione's restorative properties, who used to live with a much younger Sicilian waiter – in illegal immigrant, no less. He would come home from work at two in the morning and wake her up to make love. As part of the seduction, he first made her some zabaglione and brought it to her in bed. No fruit, just Marsala foam. It was not just a sexy, romantic gesture. He had an ulterior motive. He was convinced the zabaglione gave her the energy, in the middle of the night, to be a great lover.
At this point, Eugenia, one of the two local women who work with me in our kitchen classroom, chirped up. "When I was a little girl, my mother made me coffee zabaglione after school."
So, how come we never heard of coffee zabaglione before? It's so obvious, and so delicious.
Zabaglione al Caffe
Serves 2 or 3
2 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
¼ cup strong black coffee
Rig a double boiler with a small saucepan of simmering water and a small, stainless steel mixing bowl. Make sure the bottom of the bowl does not touch the water. You will need a pot holder or oven mitt to keep the bowl steady as you beat the mixture over the heat.
Off the simmering water, combine the ingredients in the bowl. With a whisk, beat until well mixed and beginning to foam. This takes just a few seconds.
Place the bowl over the simmering water, and continue to beat vigorously, covering the entire bottom of the bowl, until the mixture increases in volume by about three times, and is thick enough that a ribbon of foam dropped from the whisk dissolves slowly.
Serve immediately, for its own sake or with plain cookies with which you can scoop up foam.
My Kitchen Smells of Schmaltz
I am not kidding. My kitchen is smelling like my grandmother's lately because I am writing a Jewish cookbook. It will be a much-expanded version of what is in Arthur Schwartz's New York City Food with what I am considering the essential 75 or so recipes of the New York Jewish kitchen (mostly Ashkenazi dishes), more visuals (old menus, views from postcards, archival photographs), a few more essays (on the Catskills, on fictional and legendary New York Jewish food characters – Molly Goldberg, Leo Steiner, Abe Lebewohl) – and more reminiscences, which are these days dignified by the term "oral history."
If you, or more likely a parent or grandparent, have little stories about the old Jewish restaurants, Jewish food stores, delicatessens, and haimish recipes, please drop me a line. I can't promise that every reminiscence will make it into the book, but I will read every last one, and I am sure they will all enrich my knowledge and understanding. Send your short stories to mavensmail@aol.com. Don't worry about good writing, spelling or grammar. Just write it as you would say it, or it was told. The flavor of the language is as essential as the flavor of the food.
