Cape Gooseberry Meringue Pie, from my new cookbook

Although I'm not a fan of sweet things, this is a dish I just cannot resist. I adore Cape Gooseberries because they remind me of my childhood. Friends on a farm nearby had an enormous gooseberry bush right next to their front door, and I have lovely memories of sitting on sun-warmed slasto steps, peeling away the crisp papery casings and biting down on hot, sweet berries that exploded in a shower of seeds on my tongue.

Photograph by Michael Le Grange; plate by David Walters. Image © Random House Struik 2012

This pie, my twist on a much-loved family pud, is wonderfully tart and crammed with intense gooseberry flavour. It's an unusual recipe because a gelatine filling is briefly heated in the oven while the meringue is browning.  But if you measure everything exactly and let the pie chill until the filling is completely set, you can’t go wrong.

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Cape Gooseberry Meringue Pie

4 cups (about 650 g) dehusked Cape gooseberries
½ cup (125 ml) caster sugar
½ cup (125 ml) water
2½ tsp (12.5 ml) cornflour
juice of ½ lemon
1 Tbsp (15 ml) powdered gelatine

For the biscuit crust:
1 x 200 g packet Tennis biscuits, or similar crumbly coconut biscuits
(90 ml/90 g) very soft butter

For the topping:
4 extra-large free-range egg whites
a pinch of salt
1 cup (250 ml) caster sugar

First make the crust. Break up the biscuits and process them to fine crumbs in a food processor. Place in a bowl with the soft butter and stir well to combine. Lightly press the mixture onto the base of a non-stick 24-cm springform cake pan lined with buttered baking paper (or use your favourite pie dish). Chill while you make the filling.

Put the gooseberries, caster sugar and water into a pan, turn on the heat and simmer, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes, or until the berries are just beginning to collapse. Mix the cornflour and lemon juice until smooth, add this to the gooseberries and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes or until slightly thickened. Remove from the heat and cool for a few minutes. Now sprinkle the gelatine evenly all over the hot liquid and stir until it has completely dissolved. Cool for 15 minutes, then pour the mixture over the prepared crust. Refrigerate for 1 hour. 

Heat the oven to 190 °C. Beat the egg whites with the salt until very firm, but not dry. Add 1 Tbsp (15 ml) of the caster sugar and beat again until firm. Add the remaining caster sugar gradually, beating all the time until you have a very stiff, glossy meringue. Pile the meringue over the gooseberry filling and, using the back of the spoon, coax it towards the edges of the tin, making sure there is a tight seal. Bake for 5–7 minutes, or until the meringue is a light coffee colour. Cool for 20 minutes, then refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or until the gooseberry filling has set. Serve cold.

Makes one 24-cm pie; serves 8.

Cook’s Notes

Take your time beating the meringue to a shiny, billowing cloud; this should take you at least 4–5 minutes. Don’t be tempted to run a knife round the edges of the meringue until you are about to release the pie from the cake pan for serving, as it will shrink back from the edges.

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Passion Fruit, Crème Fraîche and White Chocolate Cream Pie

In the second of my series of Valentine's Day food for lovers, I present to you this wickedly creamy and rather delicate pie, gently scented with fresh passion fruit (granadillas, we call them in South Africa) and enriched with white chocolate.

Isn't 'passion fruit' a perfect name for this most erotic exotic of fruits?  The name, however, refers not to the juicy fruit of this South American vine, but to its beautiful, orchid-like flowers, which are said to resemble symbolic elements of the Passion of Christ.

According to this Wikipedia article, Spanish Christian missionaries in the 15th and 16th centuries adopted the unique physical structures of this plant, particularly the numbers of its various flower parts, as symbols of the last days of Jesus and especially His crucifixion. For example, the tendrils represent the whips that were used in the flagellation of Christ, while the flower's radial filaments represent the crown of thorns.

(And as for the word 'granadilla', I believe this is derived from the Spanish 'granada', meaning pomegranate. I have no idea why South Africans say 'granadilla' and not 'passion fruit'; I put this question to my friends on Twitter the other night, and even that clever bunch couldn't come up with an answer. I'll do some digging and get back to you.)

I love the heady sharp-sweet taste of granadillas, but I find them quite intense, even aggressive, so I've used them sparingly in this tart.  Because I wanted a soft, voluptuous tart, I've avoided cream cheese and instead used crème fraîche, a slightly sour, thick cream with a lovely light zinginess.

Granadillas are in high season now in South Africa, and I was anticipating a bumper crop from the three vines I planted against a sunny wall last year. Alas, the vines have produced, between them, three fruits: let's call them A, B and C. A fell off and rotted in the flowerbed, and B and C are as hard and green as tennis balls, though not anywhere as big.  So, supermarket granadillas it was.

This is fairly easy to make, but do measure all the ingredients - especially the gelatine - very precisely, using level cups and teaspoons, to ensure a perfect, whippy texture.

Lining the base of the tin with clingfilm allows you to lift it easily onto a pie plate (see Cook's Notes, below)

Passion Fruit, Crème Fraîche and White Chocolate Cream Pie

For the biscuit crust:
one packet (200 g) Tennis biscuits, or similar crumbly coconut biscuits
100 g unsalted butter, softened

For the filling:
200 g white chocolate
20 ml (4 tsp) tepid water
2 tsp (10 ml) gelatine powder
one 250-gram tub crème fraîche (I use Lancewood, or Woolies)
½ cup (125 ml) fresh passion fruit pulp
½ cup (125 ml) condensed milk
the finely grated zest of half a lemon
20 ml (4 tsp) fresh lemon juice
1 cup (250 ml) whipping cream

To top:
a little fresh passion fruit pulp

Break up the biscuits and process them to fine crumbs in a food processor (or crush them with a rolling pin). Place in a bowl, add the soft butter, and stir well to combine. Wet the base of a non-stick 24-cm springform cake tin and cover with a sheet of clingfilm. Tuck the edges of the clingfilm under the base, and place it in its ring. (If there are  wrinkles, gently stretch out the clingfilm.)

Press the biscuit mixture evenly onto the base of the tin and place in the fridge while you make the topping. A good way to get a nice even crust with a sharp edge:  lay a small shot glass on its side, rim touching the side of the tin, and roll it lightly round in a circle.

Break up the white chocolate and place it in a glass or metal bowl over a pot of simmering water. Allow to melt gently (and take care not to allow steam into the chocolate, as it has a tendency to 'seize').

Put the water in a little bowl, sprinkle the gelatine evenly on top and set aside to sponge.

Put the crème fraîche, passion fruit pulp, condensed milk, lemon zest and lemon juice into a mixing bowl and whisk until smooth and well combined. Stir the chocolate and scrape it into the mixing bowl (work quickly here, or it will set). Whisk until quite smooth.

Put the sponged gelatine into the pot of simmering water (the water should come half way up the sides) and allow to melt. When the liquid is clear, remove the bowl and set aside to cool for a minute. Whisk the melted gelatine into the other ingredients.

Whip the cream to a nice firm peak. Stir a large spoon of cream into the crème fraîche mixture to slacken it, then very gently fold in the rest of the cream.

Pour the filling onto the prepared crust (pile it all in the middle, and then gently press down in the centre with the back of a big spoon so that the filling spreads evenly outwards to 'kiss' the edges of the tin. Cover with clingfilm and refrigerate until set (two to three hours).

Warm the sides of the tin (as described below) and release the cake. Slide a palette knife between the crust and the clingfilm, turning the pie as you go and using gentle levering movements, and then slide the cake onto a platter. Pour a little fresh granadilla pulp on top. Slice the pie using a knife dipped in hot water.

Makes one 24-cm pie; serves 6-8


Cook's Notes 

These are a repeat of the instructions on the post about my Buttermilk Cheesecake with a Strawberry Topping

There are various methods of loosening a gelatine-set dessert from its mould. Professional chefs use a blowtorch, which is briefly flicked over the outside of the tin, but this is a risky business, as a few seconds too long can liquefy the outside of the cheesecake and, besides, it's useless if you're using a plastic jelly mould. A better way is to dip a kitchen cloth in boiling water, and press it to outside of the cold tin for a few seconds. But the best way of all, I've found, is to use a hot pack designed for soothing acheing muscles.

If you don't have a Happy Hugger, here's how to make one yourself. (I keep one of these in my kitchen drawer for the sole purpose of loosening jellies!). Steal a long cotton sock from someone's drawer. Fill it with rice or barley, and tie a firm knot in the open end. Place the sock in a microwave oven for 2-3 minutes, or until very warm to the touch. Press the hot pack around the edges of the tin, for 30 seconds at a time, moving it around the edges as necessary. At the same time, release the spring-form lever (or lift the cake ring)  in small increments.

 When you cut the pie, use a hot knife (heated over a flame, or in a bowl of boiling water) for slicing. Print Friendly

Easter goodies: Chocolate, Amaretti and Coconut Fridge Biscuits

Fridge biscuits made with butter and crushed biccies were all the rage in the Seventies, when nobody cared how much sugar and fat they ate, and aunties always kept a stash of them in their humming old General Electrics. A cold, nubbly fridge biscuit with a glass of iced milk is a thing of beauty, not least because it requires no baking and is easy enough for a six-year-old to make. [Please note that I use the word 'biscuit' in its British sense: that is, in the US sense, a cookie.]

Unbaked fridge tarts are still popular in South Africa. Made with Marie biscuits, Tennis biscuits, ginger nuts or Boudoir Biscuits, they usually include condensed milk, whipped cream, grated chocolate, tinned fruit, or a combination of all four.

The undisputed queen of fridge tarts is the icky but strangely compelling Peppermint Crisp Tart, about which my fellow South African food blogger Jeanne of Cooksister has written a full treatise. For a selection of eat-until-you-turn-green fridge-tart recipes from around the world, have a look at this newsletter from Funky Munky.

You can use any combination of biscuits and nuts and flavourings for this recipe, provided you stick to the basic quantities (too little crumb material, and you'll end up with a biscuit that's too hard to bite into). You can also add raisins or dried cranberries or apricots, but I personally think fruit should have no part in this tart.

These biccies cry out to be served on a doily (see my note about doilies at the end of this post).

Chocolate, Amaretti and Coconut Fridge Biscuits

175 g butter
150 g good dark chocolate, broken into pieces
1 packet (200 g) of Tennis biscuits (or light, crumbly coconut biscuits)
14 Italian amaretti biscuits
1/2 cup (125 ml) desiccated coconut
1/2 cup (125 ml) icing sugar
3/4 cup (180 ml) nuts (I used walnuts, but pecans, macadamias or almonds will do)
a few drops of almond extract/essence, or a good glug of Amaretto liqueur

Melt the butter and the chocolate in a double boiler, stirring gently now and then. Or melt it in the microwave (find tips for melting chocolate at Godiva.com). Put the amaretti biscuits in a big plastic bag and, using a rolling pin, crush to a coarse powder. Now put the tennis biscuits in the packet and lightly crush them so that you have a mixture of crumbs and small bits. Tip the biscuits into the chocolate and butter mixture and add all the remaining ingredients. Stir well to combine. Press into a buttered 20cm x 20cm square glass or ceramic dish and refrigerate until firm; about two hours. Remove from the fridge and slice into squares (this is easiest done by cutting the whole slab into quarters, then slicing the quarters on a chopping board). Keep in the fridge.

Makes 12 biscuits.

PS Do you like my heart-shaped doilies ( see photo)? I bought a packet of these, and some gold ones, at a Chinese discount shop, knowing that a doily occasion was bound to arise sooner or later. This is exactly the sort of biscuit that requires a doily.

Do you know that doilies are dying out? An article in The Telegraph in 2007 reported that sales of paper doilies have plummeted in recent years:

'Once, no self-respecting cake stand or plate was complete without one.

'But now the traditional paper doily, for decades a symbol of suburban gentility, is on the verge of extinction.Asda reported yesterday that it sold only 400 packs last week, compared with an average of 12,000 a week 15 years ago.

'The terminal decline in demand is down to changing social trends, says the supermarket. Since the 1950s doilies have been regarded as a sign of high class and good manners.But many now view them as outdated and the preserve of snobs - as epitomised by Hyacinth Bucket in the sitcom Keeping Up Appearances.' Print Friendly