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Pistachio Cream
Make Bavarian cream half the quantity of the first Bavarian receipt. Throw a pound of pistachio kernels in a vessel of boiling water and in two minutes take them out, peel, and pound them a few at a time in a mortar with a spoonful of water. Rub the paste through a seive, mix it with the Bavarian while beating and color with spinach green--the pressed out juice of spinach leaves mixed with sugar.
Where this cream is desired only for its green color as when it is to fill a mold in imitation of a bunch of asparagus with green tops, almonds can be used instead of pistachios; they are very much cheaper; and spinach juice coloring used the same.
This is a variation instruction rather than a standalone recipe: it assumes you already have the book's first Bavarian cream to hand, halved. The pistachio paste and the spinach coloring are the only new work.
- The base you needA Bavarian cream of the period is an egg custard set with gelatin and lightened with whipped cream. The book's first Bavarian receipt is not reproduced here, so the halved quantities have to be taken from whatever that receipt gives; as a rough order of magnitude a half quantity might run to a pint of milk, several egg yolks, sugar and a small amount of gelatin, folded with whipped cream. Cook the custard to 175-180F so the eggs are safe and the gelatin dissolves fully.
- Fold the paste in coldThe hinge is temperature. Add the pistachio paste while the custard is cooling and still fluid but before the gelatin sets, then fold in the cream. Beating paste into an already-set Bavarian breaks the gel and it is difficult to get a clean set afterwards.
- A pound of pistachios is a great dealFor a half-quantity Bavarian, a pound of shelled kernels gives a very dense, oily result. Six to eight ounces is closer to modern taste, and unsalted, raw, unroasted kernels are essential; roasted nuts turn the cream brown and taste of nothing green.
- Blanching and peelingTwo minutes in boiling water loosens the skins as described, but the kernels must be peeled while still warm and then chilled quickly if you want the color to stay bright. A food processor replaces the mortar, though it needs the spoonful of water the recipe calls for or the nuts turn to butter.
- SievingRubbing the paste through a sieve is not optional if you want a smooth cream; even a processor leaves grit. Skip it and you get a pleasant but coarse-textured dessert.
- Spinach greenSpinach juice pressed from raw leaves and sweetened is the period's food coloring. It reads more olive than emerald and fades as it warms. Modern practice is to blanch the leaves briefly, blend with a little water, then heat the juice gently so the green solids coagulate and can be strained off as a concentrated paste. A few drops of green food coloring does the same job with no vegetal flavor.
- The almond substitutionThe note about almonds is honest economy: they give body and take the coloring, but no pistachio flavor. If you use them, blanched whole almonds work; almond flour is too dry to make a proper paste.
- Yield and servingThe yield depends entirely on the book's first Bavarian receipt, which is not given here; halve whatever that makes and choose the mold to suit. Chill at least four hours, and unmold by dipping the mold briefly in warm water.
Bavarian cream, crème bavaroise, was codified and popularised in the professional French repertoire in the early nineteenth century — the name is attested earlier — and became one of the workhorses of the American pastry shop: a single custard-and-gelatin base flavored a dozen ways and turned out of a mold. Pistachio was the prestige version, which is exactly why the recipe ends with a frank note that almonds are much cheaper and may be substituted when the cream is wanted only for its green color, the pistachio flavor conceded as lost. The asparagus mold mentioned here belongs to a whole genre of Victorian trompe-l'oeil confectionery, sweets shaped and tinted as vegetables, hams or fish, where the point was the illusion at the table rather than the flavor. Spinach juice as a green colorant is much older than the book and was standard in European kitchens long before synthetic dyes; the strained green paste was often called vert d'épinards, and it was used for everything from creams to pasta.