Tale of New Biscotti

As a host gift for a New Year’s Eve party, I made biscotti last night, for the first time.

It did not go as planned.

First, the dough seemed wrong to me. Cristi called just then, like a fairy godmother – one who’s studied cooking in Italy no less – and confirmed that the dough was too dry. I added the necessary moisture and was on my way.

Then the bitter skin did not just ‘flake away’ from the roasted hazelnuts, as promised in my tried-and-true recipe book. Refusing to change course, I engaged in the Cinderella-like task of scraping the thin crust from each nut and fragment. After about 45 minutes of this, however, when no new fairy godmother appeared, I decided that half the hazelnuts were good enough for me.

Biscotti means ‘twice cooked.’ After the first baking, after all that trouble, I tasted one and found it really bland, much more so than a biscotti should be. I turned to Paul who suggested a glaze. Using his ideas, another cookbook's (Julia Child), and my own nose, I concocted one out of fake butter (for our dairy-allergic host), brown sugar, cinnamon, orange extract and grated ginger.

Result: strange and wonderful.

Here's what I learned:

• best to trust my multi-colored senses over the black and white recipe.

• my fairy godmother can be counted on, in whatever form she appears, though I must say she often looks like Cristi.

• it’s worth taking the time to avoid planting bitterness, but it’s not a good idea to spend my whole life doing that.

• it's (almost) never too late to ask for help.

Next discovery: how will the biscotti taste dipped in champagne?

L’Chaim!