The right way, the wrong way & the American way

My husband often tells me I'm stubborn. He also often tells me I'm American.

I often think he uses the two interchangeably.

In the spirit of being an all-American girl, I've been in search of a cocktail with which I can proudly raise my glass today to celebrate independence with my fellow Americans, both at home and abroad.

My libation of choice:

The Americano.

This fizzy refreshment is a variation on the Negroni, the classic Italian cocktail that has appeared more than once in a few of my infamous misadventures.

I think it quite befitting that my favorite cocktail can be made three different ways: the right way, the wrong way and the American way. As anyone who knows me well will tell you, I believe this applies to any commingling of spirits, alcoholic or otherwise.

As an expat in Europe I find myself in a great many discussions about cultural differences and the pros and cons of various approaches to things ranging from healthcare, social services and taxes to less politically-charged matters such as tipping and (what should be) the highly objective take-a-number system.

I certainly don't presume to tell anyone what is right or wrong (with the exception of the take-a-number system, which I firmly believe should entail some form of linear organization), but what I stand by most adamantly, what I defend most vociferously, is my fundamental right to choose.

This, my friends, is the true definition of independence.

It's the freedom to make your own decisions.
To choose your own adventures.
To excel or to fail in your endeavors.
To be all that you can be, whatever that might mean to you.
To take control of your destiny.
To arm yourself with information.
To transcend where you came from or who you were born to.
To follow your dreams, to change your fate, and to create your own happily-ever-after.

Happy Birthday America.
Right or wrong, I salute you.


The Americano

Originally dubbed the Milano-Turino for its two main ingredients, Campari from Milano and Cinzano (sweet vermouth) from Turin, this delicate drink was popularized by American tourists during prohibition and renamed as a compliment to the Americans...

When was the last time something like that happened in Europe?

Made with equal parts Campari and sweet vermouth, it's topped up with an indiscriminate amount of club soda so you can adjust the taste to your liking.

It can be further set apart from its Italian cousins by preparing it in a highball instead of an old-fashioned glass, and garnishing it with a lemon twist instead of an orange.

Personally, I like to get sassy and have both.

1 oz Campari

1 oz Sweet Vermouth

club soda

lemon twist or wedge

Fill your glass with ice and add the Campari and vermouth. My personal preference is Cinzano, but you an also use Martini & Rossi or Boissiere. If you're feeling adventurous and want to pop for the more expensive Carpano Antica, consider using a half ounce of that with a half ounce of one of the others if you find the herbal flavor overpowering.

Top it up with club soda, adding as much or as little as you like. If you happen to live in Europe where even liquor store clerks (and apparently some bartenders) haven't the slightest idea what "club soda" is, try asking for seltzer or carbonated water, NOT tonic.

Garnish with a lemon twist.

Or, if you'd rather have the orange slice, go ahead, knock yourself out. It's up to you. That's the beauty of the Americano.

Risotto, ripasso and the triumph of good over evil

Fun things to do over Memorial Day weekend in Holland:

1. Walk through the neighborhood counting rose-bushes...

2. Have an impromptu dinner party with the FranKats...

3. Make pumpkin-parsley risotto...

4. Sample a flight of Valpolicella (starting with the 2008 Ripasso)...

5. Thoroughly enjoy the aforementioned risotto...

6. Stake out the kitchen to see who sneaks in to lick the pot...

7. Take cool pics of your friends making coffee...

8. Enjoy said coffee in the silliest cup you can find...

9. Watch good triumph over evil...

10. Hug your friends a lot and count your blessings.

Things not to do:

1. Paint your house the wrong color...

With regard to the latter, if you choose to ignore this sage advice and do it anyway, it helps to have an extremely good sense of humor and considerate friends who bring you apple flaps.

As for the rest, these things have my highest recommendation, with honors.

Risotto con Zucca (Pumpkin Risotto)
adapted from Amaretto, Apple Cake and Artichokes by Anna Del Conte
Serves 4

3 tablespoons (50g) butter or 1/2 cup olive oil
1-4 shallots (or 1 onion), chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1/2 teaspoon sugar
1 small bunch Italian (flat) parsley, chopped
1-1/2 cups pumpkin, cubed (500g/1lb)
2 cups risotto rice (300g)
1 cup vino bianco (white wine)
5-6 cups (1.5L) vegetable broth
freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup grated parmesan, to serve

In a medium saucepan, heat the vegetable broth.

In a separate, heavy-bottomed saucepan, start by making your soffritto. This is the base for every good risotto. [Note to the Italian boys, there is an actual translation for soffritto - it means "underfried".]  Heat the butter or olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the shallots (or onion) and the sea salt - this will help onion soften the onion without browning to keep the flavor delicate. Add the sugar and cook for 3-5 mins. Add the garlic and half the parsley and cook another 3-4 mins, stirring frequently.

Next, add the pumpkin and cook until fork-tender. This could take anywhere form 5-20 minutes, depending on the pumpkin. If it starts to stick, add a few spoons of stock to keep everything loose.

When you can cut through the pumpkin with the side of your wooden spoon, add the rice and saute for 1-2 minutes until the rice is well coated and slightly toasted.

When the rice is slightly translucent or spotted turn up the heat to high and stir for about 30 seconds to keep it from burning before adding the white wine - it should make that great sizzling sound and begin to evaporate immediately.

Then turn the heat back to medium and continue cooking (and stirring) until the wine has evaporated. Add enough stock to cover the rice completely and continue to cook, stirring often, until all the liquid is absorbed.

Add one cup at a time of the remaining stock, and keep stirring until it is absorbed again. It is this act of constant stirring that gives risotto its creamy texture. It is also one of the things that makes risotto such a great group activity, as it permits plenty of time to drink and gossip. Master this and you, too, can be a bona-fide Risotto Queen.

Repeat until the rice is al dente, tender but still very chewy. The consistency should be slightly liquid, somewhere between solid and soupy. Then season with a bit of pepper and check the salt.

Mix in half the parmesan and let sit for one minute (not much longer) to blend.

Spoon it into shallow bowls, sprinkle with remaining parsley and grated parmesan and enjoy immediately.

Note: If this isn't decadent enough for you, the original recipe calls for 150ml (about 1/8 pint) of heavy cream and a knob of butter to be mixed in with the parmesan just before serving. It was perfectly lovely (and light) without these, but feel free to indulge if you've done something extra good to deserve it.

All in good time

I've been extremely antsy lately.

Last night I jumped on my bike and just started riding. I didn't know where I was going, but I was going to get there really fast.

I got lost. Well, as lost as one can get in Utrecht.

Actually, I knew where I was at all times: On the corner where the little calf jumps around the yard like a puppy. Past the house where the wild boar forages around the dandelion patch. Near that beautiful pair of horses who are always cast in the most perfect tree-filtered light. In some scary ghetto near the train station, literally on the wrong side of the tracks...

Yes, I always knew exactly where I was - I just had no idea where that was relative to anything else. But I kept riding. And shouting at the sky.

I wanted to exhaust myself. To ride until my legs turned to jelly and simply refused to support me anymore. To force myself into submission. So I would have to stop and just. be. still. Whether I liked it or not.

I'm certainly not complaining - no one loves globetrotting more than I do. But I suppose the downside to making 40 international trips over the past year is that we haven't really settled down long enough to decide where we're going to live. In the meantime, I haven't the slightest idea what I should be doing with myself. Should I be trying to make friends here? Find a job? Get my residency permit? Ship the rest of my shoes? Or is that all pointless if we really are moving soon? And if so, where are we going...?

These are just a few of the hundreds of rhetorical questions that I've been asking my husband with increasing frequency and decreasing patience. Thankfully, he is extremely understanding and has not (yet) chucked me into the canal.

I know that my restlessness is pointless. That there is a natural order to all things, that some take longer than others, and that the best things in life are worth waiting for.

And whenever I need reminding of this, I make a risotto.

There are a few secrets to a good risotto, but none so important as time. Anna del Conte, one of my favorite Italian food writers, insists that "risotto requires a generous amount of butter (and usually cheese] to achieve its lovely, creamy consistency." However, in an attempt to reduce the amount of butter and cheese I've been consuming (particularly since moving to Europe), and I can personally attest to some of the loveliest, creamiest risotto dishes being made without an ounce of either.

If you want to make a proper risotto - I'm talking about a truly transcendent bowl of warm, gooey deliciousness - you need to get comfortable in front of your stovetop. Contrary to popular belief, it is neither butter nor cheese that gives risotto it's creamy texture - it's the gentle action of continuous stirring that loosens the starch from the rice grains and releases them into the cooking liquid.

I've not the slightest idea whether substituting butter and cheese for stirring time would work. To be honest, it never occurred to me to try. Risotto is one of my guilty pleasures. The enjoyment of this dish lies not only in its divine texture or its ingredients, but in its making.

How often do we allow ourselves one uninterrupted hour of time to stop and think, to chat with a friend, to enjoy a glass of wine before dinner and flirt with our spouses the way we used to when we were trying to hard to impress them...

For me, it is the culinary equivalent of meditation - only when you're done, there is a kick-ass dinner waiting for you as a reward.

This one in particular set off a string of spontaneous F-bombs in our kitchen.
And I mean that in the best possible way.

Sun-Dried Tomato-Basil Risotto with Balsamic Vinegar
adapted from my friend Karie's recipe (thanks girl, we owe you one!)
Serves 4

5 cups vegetable broth
2 small tomatoes, peeled and chopped (about 1-1/2 cups)
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 yellow onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped or pressed
1-1/2 cups (250g) arborio rice
1 cup red wine
4-5 sun-dried tomatoes (about 3 oz), cut into bite size pieces
1-1/2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
3 tablespoons flat-leaf parsley, chopped
salt & pepper to taste
20 fresh basil leaves, cut into thin strips (chiffonade)
2 oz goat cheese, crumbled (optional)

Pour the veggie broth into a saucepan and add the chopped tomatoes. Bring to simmer and reduce to warm, but don't take it off the heat. It's important that the cooking liquid is always hot to facilitate the starch release.

While that's happening, warm the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the onion with a teaspoon of salt - this will soften the onion and keep it from browning. Then add the garlic and saute until soft.

Next, add the rice and stir with a wooden spoon until the rice is thoroughly coated and becomes translucent. Nicely toasted rice is another secret to great risotto.

Add in a cup of red wine (and pour one for yourself while you're at it) and stir until the liquid is absorbed. Then add a cup of the broth and tomatoes and stir. And stir. And sip. And stir some more.

When the broth has been absorbed, add another cup and keep stirring until the liquid has again been absorbed. Feel free to pour yourself another glass of wine. Call your mom. Make out with your husband. But whatever you do, keep stirring.

Continue adding the broth a cup at a time. When the rice starts to soften (test a couple of grains after 2-3 cups), stir in the sun-dried tomatoes then continue adding rest of the broth (a cup at a time) and stir-stir-stirring until the rice is al dente (tender but slightly firm in center).

When the rice is nice and creamy, stir in the last cup of broth along with the balsamic vinegar. When these have been mostly absorbed, remove from heat, add the chopped parsley and season with salt and pepper to taste. The traditional texture is all'onda (wavy). It should spread out easily, but not have a watery perimeter so be sure not to cook the liquid out completely.

Risotto should be served and eaten immediately or it will continue to cook itself in its own heat which will dry it out and make the grains too soft.

Spoon onto individual plates or bowls, garnish with the basil chiffonade (and a few crumbles of goat cheese if you like) and serve with the remaining red wine.

It's something you just have to feel

Swoon.
I love this video posted by Michelle at Bleeding Espresso featuring one of my favorite calciatori (footballers) and my grandfather's homeland. It actually gives me goosebumps - even though I can barley understand what he's saying...



I'm inexplicably overwhelmed with pride and nostalgia. Having never been there personally, I can't really explain why. I just am.

Makes me want to cook something rustic...

I've just returned from Italy where I spent 10 days improving my Italian (speaking and cooking) and my first experiment in deliciousness was Caponata, an Italian-ish version of ratatouille (the French Provençal stewed vegetable dish) and a nice twist on what basically amounts to sweet and sour vegetables.

There was something divinely earthy about making this provincial dish. In fact, the entire experience was a little otherworldly, from the walk to the market to select the vegetables to the clipping of fresh basil from the garden and perusing an old Italian cookbook while the most heavenly smells of garlic, onion and vinegar swirled in the crosswinds of the open kitchen door. Is it possible to be high on aromatics?

The sun was shining, the birds were signing, and the only language in the house was Italian. Heavenly, I tell you. Simply heavenly.

In Italy, a cookbook is regarded more as a collection of suggested guidelines rather than the explicit instructions I tend to follow to the letter. I like recipes. They provide a comforting sense of order to an otherwise chaotic world. And few things bum me out more than a botched meal.

But I am slowly learning how to color outside the lines and this particular dish is a perfect example of how imprecise cooking can be.

The original recipe was the traditional Sicilian version with celery and olives. We had neither, but decided that the bell peppers in the fridge would work nicely. It also called for half a glass of vinegar. What size glass? No clue. There were some pretty specific measurements given for some of the other ingredients, all in metric weights of course, but there was neither a scale nor a single measuring utensil anywhere in sight. Gadzooks.

I thought of all the times I have frustrated my husband to no end asking him to quantify the random ingredients he was throwing in a pot to clear out the fridge or the exact amount of time one should cook a pasta or risotto since one or two minutes on either side of perfect usually results in either too hard or too mushy. "I don't know, Amore," he says, trying not to sound completely exasperated, "until it's done. Don't try to measure it, it's something you just have to feel."

That's when it occurred to me that I wasn't here to learn how to follow Italian recipes. I was finally getting some insight into the elusive concept of kitchen intuition - that incredible gift of knowingness that allows some people to stumble into a kitchen and pull incredible gourmet feasts out of thin air. I'm a long way from that, but the leash that tethers me to my measuring cups is getting a little more slack.

I did my best to eyeball the quantities of everything that was going into the pot and to scribble down notes in between frantic bouts of chopping, stirring and quasi-measuring. But just to be sure, I cross-reference the quantities with my Italian cooking bible and I'll be damned - Mamma Eugenia was spot on. As always.

Caponata in Agrodolce
a mash-up from Le Ricette Regionali Italiane and The Silver Spoon
Serves 4-6

1-3/4 pounds (1kg) eggplant, diced or sliced in strips
1/2 cup (100g) olive oil
1 celery stalk chopped (apparently optional)
1 each red and yellow bell pepper, sliced in strips (our substitute for the celery)
1 onion, thinly sliced (we used two)
14oz (500g) ripe tomatoes, peeled and diced
1-1/2 teaspoons sugar
1/2 cup white wine vinegar (we used red, worked fine)
1 cup pitted olives (black or green)
3 tablespoons (50g) capers (we used a whole cup in lieu of the olives)
1 tablespoon each golden raisins and pine nuts (optional, but lovely)
Salt and pepper, to taste
Freshly torn basil leaves and grated parmesan, to garnish

Having never been much of an eggplant fan, I suspect it may be because I never knew how to prepare them properly. My diligent adherence to recipes sometimes fails when it calls for the extra effort of a seemingly extraneous step like "sweating" an eggplant. If you're using smaller eggplants you can probably get away with skipping this step (as confirmed by this major food publisher), however if you do opt for the larger ones or if you have time, I would definitely recommend it. I do it now regardless of the need. Partially because I just don't want to take any chances with my food, but mostly because I like to imagine my great-grandmother having done the same. What can I say, I'm a sucker for tradition.

So start by slicing the eggplant lengthwise and rubbing some salt into both sides of each piece. Place them vertically in a colander and let them stand. I prefer to leave them for an hour but 30 minutes should be enough. Rinse off the salt, pat them dry with paper towels and either dice them or cut them lengthwise in strips.

Heat 5 tablespoon of the oil in a large skillet, add the eggplant and cook over medium heat until they are golden (dorata). Meanwhile, heat the remaining oil in another skillet, add the celery (or bell peppers or both), onion, and tomatoes and cook over low heat for 10-15 minutes until nicely thickened and pulpy. Season with salt and pepper to taste. If you're pressed for time (or just don't want to wash an extra pot), you can also cook the eggplant together with the celery, onion and peppers as we did. Just wait until the veggies are cooked just enough to brighten their color before adding the tomatoes.

Next, stir in the sugar, vinegar, olives, capers (and if you're using them, throw in the pine nuts and raisins) and bring to a boil over low heat. Then add the eggplants and simmer for another 10 minutes.

Garnish with freshly torn basil leaves and a grating of parmesan. This also makes an excellent antipasto, served warm or cold.

Enjoy it with some crusty bread, a glass of wine. Yes, even if it's lunchtime.

Whip it good

There was a time, not so long ago, when I feared I would never be allowed to live in Italy for lack of the innate ability to make a proper cappuccino.

First of all, I use soy milk. That is cause enough for my residency permit to be revoked.

Italians use real, whole milk. Period.

People always come back telling everyone at home how great the coffee is in Italy. But it’s not just the coffee, it’s the milk too. Seriously.

If you order low-fat or soy-milk in the few commercialized coffee shops that even stock the stuff, they look at you like you’re some sort of bleeding heart, left-of-center liberal freak, obviously a tourist with no understanding of proper café culture.

Cappuccino literally means "small cap" and refers to the cap of frothed milk that is supposed to float airily atop a cup of espresso and steamed milk. Historically, my soy caps have been neither frothy nor airy and they sure as hell didn't float, choosing to dive and disperse themselves immediately into the coffee rather than standing proudly with a presence of their own.

Alas, I was certain that a soy-milk cappuccino (much like my visions of living in Italy) was nothing more than a wishful figment of my imagination, a dream that would forever elude me.

Was I the only person in the universe who couldn't make soy milk foam without a $10,000 espresso machine? Despite hundreds of attempts at homemade cappuccinos, I could never, EVER, get the foam going. Luckily I'm actually more of a cafe au lait kind of girl anyway, but cappuccino's are just so darn pretty...

I've mistakenly attributed some kind of self-righteous attitude to this inanimate beverage, deciding that it simply refuses to foam as part of a silent protest. It's all like, "Yeah that's right, you can whip me all you want but I'm not gonna dance for you. If you want pretty milk, go back to your cow, Sissy Girl!"

But take heart friends. I have just discovered that it is not the failings of the soy-milk so much as my own. The secret - as with any frothed milk - ain't nuthin' but time. And a little technique.

So if ever I have to plead my case before a jury of smarmy Italian baristas at the immigration office, I am now confident that I will triumph.

Here are a couple of tips for anyone else who mistakenly believes that they must suffer through a lifetime of unfestive looking coffee solely because they cannot (or will not) do dairy.

1) Get a battery-operated whip (and get your head of the gutter!) - if you are a habitual cappuccino addict, it will pay for itself in less than two trips to Starbucks. I like this one because it has a nice little storage case, and this one is just too cute not to have.

2) Don't be lazy - I had a bad habit of leaving the milk to heat unattended and trying to whip it at the last minute before the milk boiled over (and sometimes not even in time for that), expecting the foam to magically appear like so much fairy dust. But foam needs time to perk itself up - no different than the rest of us in the morning I suppose. So start whipping immediately.

3) Use medium heat, whip in circles and start at the the bottom. I used to skim the whipper on the top of the milk thinking that's where the foam should be (always looking for shortcuts I am), but apparently the magic is in the act of aerating the milk throughout.

4) Enjoy the process - unlike shots of espresso, cappuccino is meant to be savored. That includes the process of making it as well. If you're anything like me, your days are probably super busy so here is a perfect excuse to slow yourself down and stand still for at least 10 minutes in the morning. Take your time and zen yourself out, or (if you simply MUST multi-task) use this opportunity to collect your thoughts and organize your mental to-do list.

Either way, it's a lovely way to start the day...

Cappuccino Variations

Although ratios may vary to taste, a common recipe for a traditional 6 oz. cappuccino is: 1/3 espresso, 1/3 steamed milk, and 1/3 frothed milk. Purists consider this recipe complete as-is. Powdered cocoa or cinnamon may be sprinkled on top. As you can see, I'm as heavy-handed with the cinnamon sugar as I am with my prosecco.

If you allow the freshly frothed milk a moment to rest (and thus separate) you can layer the milk and espresso more easily. Pour your warm milk into the bottom third of the cup, then pour the espresso slowly into the steamed milk and spoon your fabulously frothed milk on top to fill cup. Done in this order, the espresso should settle between the milk and the foam.

Two variations are the Cappuccino Scuro (prepared with less milk and darker in color) and Cappuccino Chiaro (prepared with more milk - but less than a caffe latte - and lighter in color).

It is also growing more common in Italy to see a cappuccino made with only espresso and frothed milk. This is a Classic Cappuccino (1-1/2 oz. espresso topped with 1-1/2- 2 oz. foam) vs the Basic Cappuccino described above.

Gourmet Cappuccino Recipes
[read: excuses to imbibe first thing in the am]

WARNING: If you tend to make monstrous American-sized cappuccino's like mine, please take into consideration your morning activities (like driving, hang-gliding, or cutting your own bangs) before taking the liberty of pro-rating the liqueur quantities.

Caffe Conquistador
Basic Cappuccino with 1oz. of Kahlua topped with whipped cream and shaved chocolate.

Cappuccino Royale
Basic Cappuccino with 1 oz. of liqueur of your choice (classic Italian favorites include Grand Marnier, Frangelico, Amaretto, or any chocolate based liqueur) and top with whipped cream.

Caffe Napoleon
Basic Cappuccino with 1 oz. of cognac topped with whipped cream and shaved chocolate.

Bon Bon
Basic Cappuccino with 1 oz. chocolate mint liqueur topped with whipped cream, shaved white chocolate and a maraschino cherry. (Personally, I would use a brandied cherry - you can find a great recipe at the bottom of this post.)

Cappucino Cioccolocino
Basic Cappuccino topped with vanilla, chocolate or coffee ice cream.

Bottoms Up!

For those who keep sweaters in their ovens

In a mad fit of domestic bliss, I felt like making brownies today. Yay!

But we don't have an oven.

Boo.

Unless you think this counts...

Technically this makes me no more handicapped than people like my friend Stacey who keeps sweaters in her oven.

I find it ironic that the one and only commonality she shares with Carrie Bradshaw is the quintessentially definitive trait of a character who, if she existed on any level of reality, would in all certainty be her nemesis. Well, that and I'm pretty sure that if ever either of them were ever afflicted with a rabid craving for brownies, they would satisfy theirs at the nearest overpriced coffee shop.

Sadly, this is not an option for me.

I've recently discovered (at at most inopportune moment of Stage One Chai Withdrawl) that the only two, TWO, Starbucks that exist in all of Holland are at the airport and Nike headquarters. And God only knows what's in a brownie at a Dutch "coffee shop".

Actually, I'm pretty sure Stace knows as well.

In my despair, I turned to Jennfier at Sweet on Veg.  Her adorable website always puts me in a good mood and I desperately needed a good shot of bliss. As if by divine intervention, I spotted a yummalicious recipe for Katrine Volynsky's raw vegan brownies which, Hallelujah and Aaaay-men, don't need baking.

Behold! Salvation is close at hand.

No-Bake Vegan Brownies (a.k.a. bRAWnies)
Makes 4-6 servings*
Time: 30 minutes

1 cup walnuts
3/4 cup plump raisins (make sure they're fresh - if they're dry they won't stick)
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1/8 teaspoon alcohol free vanilla extract
1/3 cup raw chocolate powder or finally ground cacao beans
1/2 teaspoon coconut butter*
1 teaspoon grated raw cacao butter*
* if you don't have these handy, Nutella or any nut butter (peanut, almond, etc) will work fabulously

Guilt-Free Lemon Date Frosting
1/2 cup lemon juice (I use 2-3 fresh lemons but the bottled stuff works in a pinch)
1/2 cup soaked dates

*FYI - these quantities will not yield Starbucks-super-sized squares so if that's what you're looking for, you might want to double the batch. In a glass baking pan of 18x26cm (7x10in) they end up being about 2cm (1in) thick, which is actually fine because they're really dense.

Anyway, moving on...

Soak the dates for at least 30 minutes. For those of us who aren't accustomed to raw food preps, that means stick 'em in a bowl of water.

Next, process walnuts, raisins, chocolate powder, and raw cacao butter (or Nutella) in a food processor. This will yield a gravel-like crumble of nutty chocolate bliss. Resist the urge to start taste-testing.

Now, add the add vanilla, maple syrup, and coconut butter and blend until batter forms into a ball. The first time I made these I ended up with a big bunch of nutty chocolate gravel that bore no resemblance whatsoever to a ball. Turns out the raisins were too dry. If this happens to you as well, you can try adding a little more maple syrup to bind it all together. Or add more Nutella. Nutella fixes everything.

Either way, spread the batter into a glass pan about 1 inch high. If you end up with a pan full of gravel like I did, just spread it evenly and start at one end to mash it down into an even layer until it looks solid and somewhat cuttable.

Place in freezer for at least 15 minutes.

Once the dates are gorgeously mushy, blend them with the lemon juice until it's all smooth and creamy.

I swear this is the yummiest icing I've ever tasted and it's only got two ingredients - both of which are fruit. Crazy good and good for you. Super score.

Supposedly these guys will keep in refrigerator for up to 3 days. This I cannot attest to. They barely lasted 5 minutes in our house.

Update 6.16.11
If you'd like to see what these are supposed to look like, you can take a peek here.