The Pannacotta Solution

‘For God’s sake, how can I make my dinner parties a success?’ a nervous home cook begged me the other day. He was, he said, completely incapable of spontaneity and improvisation in the kitchen. His recipe dependency was absolute and, without fail, he found himself intensely focused on his recipes, and meticulous preparation, as guests arrived. I could tell the type: high-achieving, a perfectionist, the sort who can offer instruction in the seven classic tie knots and does iyengar yoga on Sundays. An eager-to-please S.N.A.G. whose ambition put him way out of his depth in the kitchen. I could feel his palpitating heart as his panic attacks took hold, as things started to spiral out-of-control, as his kitchen took on a chaotic life of its own.

First, I patiently explained to him the 10-step program for success in the kitchen, courtesy of Phyllis Diller’s Housekeeping Hints (Doubleday and Company Inc, 1966, with an introduction by Bob Hope):

• Don’t spend too much time planning meals. You don’t want a charge of premeditation.
• Use small plates and give little servings. It helps your morale if everything is cleaned up. I [Phyllis] serve my meals on coasters.
• Food tastes better if you eat outdoors. If possible, picnic 365 days a year.
• Serve coffee early in the meal and very hot. If a guest burns his tongue he won’t be able to taste anything.
• Add the word ‘supreme’ to everything you serve – hamburgers supreme, turkey necks supreme, toast supreme etc.
• Pick up a cookbook at a rummage sale so you have one that looks used.
• Wear glasses when you’re taking something out of the oven. They will steam up and you’ll have a few moments to brace yourself.
• Do not taste food while you’re cooking. You may lose your nerve to serve it.
• Discuss religion and politics at a dinner party so people get into heated arguments and don’t notice what they’re eating. They may also think the arguing caused their indigestion.
• During the meal, someone is bound to call your food something other than what it is. Don’t argue. If they’re eating spaghetti and say, ‘What delicious sauerkraut!” just say “Thank you.”

Then, after the nervous cook had listened intently to this advice, I felt obliged to help him in a practical way, to offer him at least one recipe that would become his loyal and trusted friend; a recipe that was not highly strung, demanding or temperamental, and which would not have a hissy fit if it were prepared ahead and then forgotten for a while.
I thought pannacotta. A savoury pannacotta with a simple little salad as a starter. My choice was validated when a chef friend told me that, in his kitchen, pannacottas were considered “apprentice proof”.
Mind you, it’s beyond me why this nervous cook asked for my advice about dinner parties; my friends know to have their starters before they arrive for dinner at my place, to bring rations to tide them over while I get lost in a steaming kitchen, and to expect their main course at midnight. And, if this nervous cook had seen my three efforts to get this recipe right, he would almost certainly have thought twice about the value of my advice.
On my first attempt, as winter wound down (this post has been a long time in the making, damn you’d better appreciate it), I adapted an online savoury pannacotta recipe I found to create a fresh horseradish and gruyere pannacotta. A fine result indeed, but for the fact that the recipe used eggs, plus 50% cream to 50% milk, and left my arteries and the bathroom scales gasping for breath.
For the second attempt, I found the recipe for a dish I discovered with wonder a few years back at clever Karen Martini's Melbourne Wine Room – a gorgonzola pannacotta with a salad of apple radicchio, walnuts and balsamic. I was blasé now, the first version had been such a breeze, but the evil kitchen gods were running amok. I followed the recipe to the letter and smugly set my little moulds in the fridge to set. Damn, I wish I’d taken a photograph of the unmoulded results the next morning. But I was too disgusted. The little custards flopped out of their dariole moulds with a three-tone stripe. Something I had done had caused the mixture to separate – into a pale, curious, pepper-flecked bottom layer; an unpleasant dirty-white jelly layer in the centre; and a mouldy-green, cheesy layer at the top.
But I was not going to be beaten by a wretched little Italian cooked cream.
I tried it again, working on the assumption that, in my blasé frame-of-mind, I had allowed the milk/cream mixture to reach too high a temperature which, somehow, had resulted in the separated, striped version. (If anyone has any better ideas as to why I stuffed up so, please tell me…)
At last, I could deliver on my promise to the nervous cook: this time, a trembling, pristine little thing flopped onto the plate. Rich, yes, but cut by the crispness and acidity in the salad, quite a bloody little wonder.

Gorgonzola Pannacotta with a Salad of Apple, Radicchio, Walnuts and Balsamic
Serves 4

Pannacotta
3 leaves gelatine, gold strength,
250ml milk
150ml pouring cream
140g gorgonzola (piccante), rind removed and finely chopped
sea salt and cracked pepper
1 head radicchio leaves, torn
4 sticks celery, sliced
2 granny smith apples, julienned
20 basil leaves
½ cup walnuts, toasted and chopped
120ml extra virgin olive oil
60ml balsamic vinegar

Soak gelatine in cold water until soft. Combine milk and cream in a small saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Remove and add gorgonzola, whisking gently to combine. Season. Squeeze water from gelatine and add gelatine leaves to milk mixture. Stir until dissolved, then strain and pour into 4x100ml moulds or a loaf tin. Cover and refrigerate for 6 hours or until set.
To make the salad, combine all ingredients except oil and vinegar in a large bowl. Whisk oil and vinegar in a small bowl until smooth and pour over salad. Toss gently to combine.
To serve, unmould pannacotta onto serving plates. If set in a loaf tin, slice into 2cm-thick rectangles. Place on serving plates with salad at the side or on top.

* From Where the Heart Is, by Karen Martini (Penguin Lantern, 2006)

My notes on the recipe: Watch your milk and cream, it’ll boil fast. Don’t leave your gelatine in the water for too long before squeezing it out and adding to milk mixture (10 minutes should do it). I prefer to use cracked white pepper for this dish. Lightly oil your moulds or loaf tin. To remove pannacotta from the moulds so they remain pristine, try and avoid running a knife around the edges to release; instead, gently use your fingertips to press down around the top of the pannacotta to let air slip in around the sides. Tip it up then to unmould on to a plate. If it is still a little stubborn, put a finger up underneath, while still holding it upside down and continue gently pressing in the centre. This should allow you to release the pannacotta smoothly.
Don’t dress your salad until a minute or so before you are ready to serve, as the balsamic vinegar will discolour everything. And, when plating it, if you don’t want to discolour your pannacotta too much, try and keep the dressing away from it.
I cut my apples in quarters, cored each quarter, then sliced the quarters thinly and, in one of my three attempts, used pecans instead of walnuts.
You can make this recipe the day before – at a pinch, two days before. Unmould just before serving.