Ode to Mascarpone

Other people can write actual verse about food--I'm no poet laureate. I prefer to let the food speak for itself.

Last week I made this for our 4th of July celebration.

This is not my photo. My pan was a little too large, so the trifle ended up a little more, shall we say, compact, but it was just as delicious as this one, you can be sure of that. Anyway, the recipe called for mascarpone, which I had never used. My question is, WHY? Why has mascarpone not made itself known to me before now? Well, now that we are acquainted, I can assure you it will never be far from my thoughts--or my refrigerator.

I couldn't actually find any real mascarpone (again, WHY???) at any of the grocery stores near me. Seriously, it should be displayed in a large refrigerated case at the entrance to every single grocery store in the world. So I looked up possible substitutes, hoping someone would tell me that it was perfectly fine to go ahead and use cream cheese. No one did that, and now I understand why. I found what people who claim to know say is the recipe for a reasonable substitute, and whipped up the angelic cheese of deliciousness. Also, it cost next to nothing, which is not the case with the real stuff. I like that.

The dessert was lovely (tasting), and I had enough left over to make something else. Win, win!

On Friday I made Mascarpone Stuffed French Toast with Peaches for breakfast. No photo available, but it's not what it looks like that really matters. It looks like French toast. It's the feeling of pure bliss on your tongue. This recipe is easy and pretty quick. If you have any human feeling for food in your heart, you should make it as soon as possible. (I used Texas toast, sliced it almost in half, and stuffed it, since I didn't feel like going on a search for bolillo rolls.)

Still had some left over "mascarpone" after that, so I made Chicken Breasts in a Date, Caper, and Mascarpone Sauce with Couscous for dinner last night.

Um.

Wow.

You may already be aware that daltonboy doesn't believe in high praise when it comes to food. He claims he can never be sure that he's tasting the best thing he'll ever eat, so he can't give the highest praise possible. Daltonboy is not what you would call an exaggerator, by any means. If anything, he goes the other way. Plays down almost everything. So I've learned the signs. If he says it's "okay," it means he likes it well enough to eat it again. If he says it's "good," he likes it more than that. If he says it's "pretty good," he hopes I'll make it again--often. If he says nothing, he either hates it, or loves it so much he can't speak. He's only hated two things I've ever made, so most of the time when this happens I can be certain he really loves it. A handful of times he's said something was "really good" when pressed.

Anyway. I served the above dish-with-an-unreasonably-long-name last night. I think daltonboy was under the impression we were just sitting down to your run-of-the-mill meal. I was too, to be honest, except that my two experiences with the mascarpone so far led me to hope that it would be something more.

He took a bite. He said, "That's . . . that's GOOD." There was a look of extreme surprise on his face. I still don't know if it was because he heard himself giving a wildly extravagant compliment, or because he couldn't believe how good it was. Maybe both. It was flippin' delicious. Also easy and quick. I doubt even Pablo Neruda himself could find the words to describe that stuff--especially if he had the French toast for dessert.

And that's my ode to mascarpone. It's . . . it's GOOD. Buy/make it, eat it, love it. Try not to gain 50 lbs. If you do, it will be worth it.