Semifreddo. Just the sound of the word sets my heart aflutter.I discovered this Italian cousin of gelato decades ago in Florence, Italy. Lighter and creamier and far more voluptuous than gelato, semifreddo (which means half-cold) is, basically, ice cream into which whipped cream (and sometimes beaten egg whites) has been folded. In my book, it’s the Sophia Loren of ice cream.
Unfortunately, it’s really tough to find properly made semifreddo in the U.S. That’s why I felt like I had hit the lottery when I found two fabulous semifreddo creations in two nights in Philadelphia last fall.
At Zahav, a modern Israeli restaurant in the Society Hill neighborhood, the ethereal orb of almond-scented semifreddo might well have lifted off from the plate had it not been restrained by a crackly wafer of bittersweet chocolate. The texture was divine; the flavors subtle, sublime.
At Alma de Cuba, near Rittenhouse Square, I was equally enchanted by a banana semifreddo that smelled and tasted like a tropical garden. The mousse-like texture was right on; the banana flavor was bright but not overdone. The glamorous presentation added to its allure: a pouf of caramelized marshmallow, finely diced fruit salsa, and wispy macadamia nut tuile. Sensing I was in the presence of pastry chef greatness, I also ordered the Tres Leches cake, pictured here. Miraculously moist with its three milks, and adorned with crisped pineapple, fresh mint and fruit salsa, it was a memorable exclamation point to our dinner.
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Caffe Affogato is one of life’s simplest pleasures.
Plop a scoop of really good vanilla ice cream in a glass, pour a shot of hot espresso over it, and float a halo of freshly whipped cream on top. (Affogato is Italian for “drowned.”) Flavors, textures and temperatures mix and mingle, creating the ultimate caffeine high.
Last summer the chef at Pfarrwirt, a magical 14th century inn in Vienna, Austria, took this humble concept to exalted heights with a multi-faceted riff on Eiskaffee (coffee ice cream, in German).
In an earlier post I summed up the sensation:
"The tiny demitasse cup contained a shot of espresso crowned with freshly whipped cream; the silky panna cotta was flecked with vanilla beans; crushed pistachios garnished the sphere of soft vanilla ice cream; and, on the side, homemade cookies. Dark-roasted coffee beans dotted a decorative squiggle of buttery caramel sauce. It was a yummy surprise in a country where traditional usually trumps trendy."
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I’ve been a sucker for lemon meringue pies ever since my mother made the condensed-milk wonder for my birthday when I was about 7 or 8. It became my official birthday cake.
Last fall, I found the old familiar flavors, along with a newfangled style and artistry, in the Lemon Meringue Ice Box Cake at The Ivy Inn in Charlottesville, Virginia. I wrote this in my post/paean to the yummy dessert:
"The elegant creation starts with a wafer-thin, buttery graham cracker crust and moves onward and upward with tangy, zest-infused lemon curd and caramel cream layers. On top, an ethereal cap of toasted meringue, along with barely-there pieces of candied lemon zest and coarse organic sugar. On the side, a delicate lemon lace cookie. And it's all framed by a fresh, fragrant lemon-berry coulis."
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