Out & About #909 | Strawberry Frenzy

The selection from Andrew's Scenic Acres presented prominent differences from the standard box of Driscoll's from Loblaws.

​Firstly, they were unmistakably smaller - roughly half or even one third the size of the bulbs I've grown accustomed to seeing. They also sported a smoother exterior, with the seeds deeply embedded into the flesh. Another interesting observation was the raised calyx, on top of which the pedicel formed a leafy halo. This verdant crown was largely uniform and easily detachable from the receptacle, unlike storebought renditions that offered utmost resilience against tugging and hulling.
While compact, the strawberries were generally riper, juicier, shinier, and more fragrant, radiating a luxurious, floral aura upon nearing its 1-metre radius. But with its intense saturation came staining of the fingertips; cutting boards and countertops were not exempt from this treatment either. The particularly soft ones bruised easily, causing even more juice to seep out. The batch was quickly identified best for uses in beverages (softened or puréed), while only a few managed as decent cake toppers after hours of steady dehydration on paper towel.

1) Strawberry Compote

​Jam is likely the easiest solution for copious amounts of too-ripe fruit. That said, the best - and most consistent - outcomes often result from frozen packages instead, as there is less variance in terms of sweetness and texture.

I opted to adapt my tried-and-true jam recipe for 4 cups of fresh strawberries, keeping the quantity of lemon juice unchanged but reducing the sugar level by nearly 40%. Instead of using the breadmaker, my fuss-free tool of choice, I made like Sunday Baking instead and took to the stovetop. As per her directions, the foam was skimmed from the surface to maintain the formula's luscious, ruby hue.

​Commencing on medium-high heat with the lid on caused foaminess to prevail. In order to enable concurrent projects, I switched to low heat and continued to simmer for roughly 15-20 minutes more. When it became obvious that the chunks of strawberry would not be disintegrating completely, a gelatin-water mixture was compiled in the microwave and quickly stirred in.

Far less gelatin had utilized in comparison to the breadmaker recipe, for I had anticipated pectin from the fruit to stabilize the mixture somewhat sufficiently. However, the output was akin to a compote - a chunky one, at that - instead of a spreadable jam. Having also overestimated the strawberries' innate sweetness, the resulting product proved a tad tart.

​An attempt at incorporating a few teaspoons of the loose syrup into my cake project ended in vain, for the watery mixture neither served to soften the sponge nor succeed to decorate in a non-Halloween way. Unapologetically trickling off the side, I continued to decorate the front-facing side of the cake instead.

The tangy compote was attempted for use in Strawberry Milk-like creations. Instead of the ever-basic, two-ingredient café favourite, I took to a caffeinated version, using yellow sugar syrup to compensate for the unintended tanginess. Generally speaking, I wasn't quite fond of the combination. While visually attractive with distinct layers, the formula was needlessly viscous and failed to accentuate both the rich, roasted properties of coffee and sweet pulpiness of strawberries. Moreover, it was nearly impossible to enjoy the softened berries: the pieces were far thicker than the straw's diameter, yet too malleable to be obtained using a spoon. Perhaps the compote would fare better in tea lattes, for the sharpness does not pair well espresso's existing acidity levels. 

​Used as a topping for oatmeal, the juices bled into the oats upon contact, making for a rather watery combination. The sizable chunks of fruit were a swell addition, however it provide enough depth; a drizzle of sweetened condensed milk was used to fill the void.

1a) New York Cheesecake

Having witnessed minimal success in purposing the compote for jam-like uses, I began to consider recipes that relied on a chunkier, syrupy presence. New York Cheesecake came to mind.

The intense richness associated with the dessert is unforgettable; it was almost as if I had suffered the coma-inducing satiation just yesterday. Equipped with one block of Philadelphia cream cheese and a fresh carton of whipping cream, I took to Sunday Baking's Brown Sugar Cheesecake recipe, swapping out brown (or black) sugar for standard granulated sugar and adding in a few drops of vanilla extract and orange extract for sweet zestiness.
Utilizing the entirety of the 250 g block meant doubling the recipe. Consequently, a total of four eggs and 200 grams of heavy cream were whisked into the batter. Her 6-inch cake baked in a water bath for forty minutes at 320 F. My own was baked between the 330 F to 350 F (due to inconsistent oven temperature) for slightly over sixty minutes. When the cake was no longer jiggly, it was removed from the oven, as well as the water bath in which it had been submerged.

Despite having covered the bottom of the springform pan with two layers of aluminum foil, moisture resided within. That said, this dampness was likely a result of condensation rather inadequate sealing, for batter that managed to escape the pan had been trapped within the layers of foil.

The springform ring was removed to reveal a somewhat sodden crust. In fear of compromising structural integrity, I allowed the cake to chill for several (5ish) hours before removing it from the plate bottom and transferring to a plate. Portioning the cake did not occur until the following afternoon, after approximately twenty-four hours of refrigeration.

​The cake emerged bearing shocking visual similarities to a cheese wheel: it was uniformly circular, distinctly yellow, and lined with a thin surface crust. Slices were removed with ease, for sturdiness had been attained with time. In spite of being 75% thinner than my first New York Cheesecake attempt, it was nonetheless filling. The variation was eggier than it was cheesy, and possessed a cohesiveness commonly attributed to the inclusion of cornstarch. I remain of the opinion that all-purpose flour would fare better in terms of delivering structure, even if removing the treat's gluten-free declaration.

I wasn't as fond of the dampened graham cracker crust as the crunchy crumbles of no-bake versions. However, I was extremely glad to report that the compote was the perfect accompaniment to the cheesecake, offering just enough tartness to offset the satiating qualities of the dense, thickset slice.

2) Strawberry Shortcake

Perusing Sunday Baking's records, I learned that she did not possess a Strawberry Shortcake video in her recent recipe repertoire (and only found the video after completing my cake!).

One of her VLOGs saw her taking to a genoise recipe from Romitube, sparking my curiosity. I, too, followed in her steps, taking to the warm water bath for eggs, tedious oil-butter combination, and questionable inclusions of cornstarch and baking powder.
Sponge cakes are known as a foundational baking component, as volume is attained by aeration of eggs rather than chemical leaveners. For this reason, I was hesitant to consider the cake a sponge at all.

​In spite of my doubts, the cake emerged golden with crisp edges and a wonderfully fine cross-section. Three layers of genoise were easily portioned out, each bordering on the thickness of 1 cm. The cake offered good structural integrity, exhibiting durability against layering mistakes and frosting.
Leftovers, when sampled at room temperature, were spectacular, but less so after chilling. Even just a few hours of refrigeration would cause the sponge to turn rigid and gummy. I was about to conclude the genoise a failure, until it was sampled again the next day. Miraculously, it had softened overnight - not to the same airiness as a wholly oil-based sponge, but better than when fresh.

The cream filling was adapted from Rie's Japanese Strawberry Shortcake recipe, scaling the quantity of sugar for 486 ml of heavy cream. By chance, this assumed the perfect amount for frosting and masking the tri-layer, 6-inch creation.

After whipping to soft peaks, vanilla bean paste and vanilla extract were folded in. A small amount of gelatin was also incorporated to prevent weeping.
The cream was surprisingly uncomplicated to frost: loose crumbs did not emerge from the sponge layers and pink did not bleed from the paper towel-dried strawberries.

My piping skills still need work - that aspect is undeniable. Nevertheless, I tried my best, garnishing the top with hulled and whole strawberries for visual contrast.

Tasting took place after four hours of refrigeration. Sweet, airy cream laced with specks of vanilla bean were perceived first, followed by bites of fresh strawberry and thick layers of sponge. Each layer featured a different profile, and varying degrees of complexity.
My sole regret was the somewhat stiff genoise, for a lighter, fluffier oil-based sponge would have worked better. Of course, a softer sponge may not have provided the required structural integrity: after all, strawberry-topped slices had toppled upon being transferred.

​Strawberry Shortcake was, arguably, a two-hour success, commenced at the early hour of 8 AM and all equipment on the dish drying rack by 10:20 AM. Though, as previously mentioned, I'll be reverting back to Sunday Baking for any potential future renditions.

3) Strawberry Lemonade

From the moment I had set my mind on strawberry picking, I had also gained resoluteness to craft SK's naturally vibrant strawberry lemonade. Peeling fruit is a straightforward task, as is using a blender - how hard could it be?

After constructing both a compote and shortcake, 658 grams of strawberry remained. This equated to 1.45 times the amount SK had used (455 g / 1 lb). Four large lemons were used in her recipe, and I had planned to scale up accordingly. That said, the maximum lemon count in the entire household was just four, thus I added in a squeeze of bottled lemon juice to compensate. (In hindsight, I seriously wish I hadn't. Oops.)

​The combined volume of strawberries and lemons filled my blender to the brim, preventing the addition of water and sugar. I had intended to proceed anyway, blending first, then transferring a portion of the mixture out. When spurts of coral began escaping from the top, I stopped the blender and poured half its contents into a Pyrex pitcher. Then, I added water and sugar, and continued blending.

Straining the mixture was the most time-consuming portion of the process. While little pulp remained of the strawberries, stray seeds and fibrous segments of the lemon remained. The foamy, clumpy mixture was passed through a mesh strainer in batches - at least fifteen! Ten minutes later, the process was finally complete. But my lemonade was more tangy than sweet, more coral than pink, and more concentrated/unfiltered than lemonade usually presents itself to be.

​By the fourth day, the profile, admittedly, does begin to deviate from the intended tanginess, veering into slightly bitter category. As such, it is best consumed within three days.