Gentle Reader, I’m sure you have been mourning my conspicuous absence from the blogosphere. (Just nod your head yes.)
Well, fear not, the good people of Twitter (I refuse to say “tweeps” — it just squicks me out) have spoken, and their resounding chorus has been: We want Nigellablog! (Poor babies, so starved for foodie snark and crap photography, they are.)
So here I am, because Lord knows when the Good People of the Twitstream demand something, you’d best be on it. And what better way to resurrect one’s badly-photographed snark than to make Toblerone fondue, during Valentine’s week? Oh, yes.
Toblerone Fondue (from the Nigella Quick Collection iPhone app, AKA The Best $2.99 I Ever Spent)
(Serves 6-8 chocaholics, “depending on age and appetite”; Fearless Husband would say “All your Toblerone fondue are belong to me.”)
- Approximately 6 (yes, 6) bars of Toblerone
- 1 cup double cream (that’s heavy cream for the non-Anglophile geeks amongst ye)
- 1/4 cup milk (I used whole because, you know, the heavy cream just wasn’t enough)
- Fondue dip-age: I used mixed fruit (strawberries and pineapple, mostly), but Nigella also recommends bananas and marshmallows
First, bust up your Toblerone into its requisite bits. Resist the urge to pre-game (you will most likely fail). Snort at husband when you ask what size bowl to place them in, and he points to his open mouth. Watch in amazement as your pre-gaming child sneaks a bite and announces she likes it (the first food with nuts in it she’s consumed and approved).
Place what’s left of your Toblerone in a generously-sized bowl which is not your husband’s open mouth. Pour in your milk and cream (or enlist your suddenly nut-loving child to perform said task).
Next, you will need to make the difficult decision of whether to do things Just Like Nigella Tells You To (which is my general modus operandi), or whether to diverge paths from Her Gorgeousness. Nigella recommends melting your bowl o’milky goodness in a bespoke fondue set, and rather begrudgingly concedes that she “suppose[s]” one could use a bowl perched precariously over a saucepan of simmering water. (Magnificently simmering, of course.)
Gentle Reader, I must confess that my fondue set went the way of my ex-husband, so I was left with no option but to take the renegade road less traveled. (I’m so sorry, my darling. I’ll make it up to you next time by using real bourbon in my vanilla wuss pud.)
Once your proper fondue set or ersatz double boiler arrangement has been secured, allow your Embarrassment of Toffee Nougat Riches to get its melt on. In my saucepan/glass bowl universe, this took approximately 15 minutes of alternating between allowing my four-year-old to stir and cautioning her away from the burner (the whole operation will exude steam every so often, so be careful).
You may notice, Gentle Reader, that, about midway through this 15 minutes of simmery fame, your fondue-in-progress will bear an alarming resemblance to the disheartening slop that was Nigella’s uber-fail-y Instant Chocolate “Mousse.” Do not, I repeat, do not panic. Simply practice your distress tolerance skills, and hang onto your oven door handle by your fingernails, and have faith, for, just about the time your young sous-chef begins begging you to watch a DVD of bad 1980s animation she insisted on checking out from the library, your concoction will take on a rich, thick texture, like so:
At this juncture, it will be critical to perform a taste test. Procure a hopefully-not-too-mushy winter strawberry from yonder fridge, and dip that bad boy into your velvety nougat-y notslop.
After you’ve had a sloppy, sensuous bite, you may be tempted to hoard the whole damn bowl with enough tenacity to make you a prime candidate for that show Intervention on A&E. Don’t do it, friends. It is Valentine’s week, after all, and one must share the love.
Nigella suggests placing the fondue in individual bowls, to reduce the mess your chillens make. We did this for our girlie, but she dripped far less than we did (and took better food photos, truth be told). Next time, for the three of us, I would scale this recipe down to a third of its current gluttony (those 6-ish servings are quite generous). However, your leftovers would make an absolutely divine drizzle over cheesecake, or an obscenely thick pudding, or even cake frosting. Plus, if you’re lucky, when you go downstairs to sneak some for breakfast the next morning, you might even find this: