Pineapple memories

The calendar flip from January to February triggers a food memory involving neither chocolate nor conversation hearts, but one of pineapple. A former stint turning out desserts in an Italian restaurant coincided with February 14th. Hours spent in tiramisu purgatory were paused to accommodate several cases of baby pineapples. The executive chef rhapsodized over a dessert for two; a baby pineapple, halved, scooped out, filled with oven-roasted pineapple, topped with gelato, garnished with cookies. Good news- mini pineapples lack a tough inner core. Bad news- they still require plenty of painstaking knife skills. Turns out that dunking Savoiardi in espresso is far less fuss.

Biscotti played nicely

With the fruit resting comfortably in a large Cambro container, my attention turned to cookies. Biscotti played nicely, but Pizzelle, less so. Requiring a brief spin through an antiquated iron, the anise spiked waffle cookies were needy. The waffle iron was cranky, with a history of shorting out mid-bake. Pizzelle were finicky and fragile and popular amongst the line cooks. During service, the same person responsible for salads was the person plating desserts. (That always troubled me; pesto and pineapple sharing tight quarters.) Pleading with the kitchen crew not to snack on the cookies, I pitched my hours old cappuccino in defiance. Due to its popularity (with both patrons and back of house), the dessert special became a regular menu item, pausing only briefly when the Pizzelle iron drew its final anise scented breath.

A recipe suggestion tagged along with each case of baby fruit. One was no different than a recipe from a 1920s cookbook for “stewed pineapple compote.” I incorportaed the compote into a classic Italian crostata, sandwiched between a short-crust pastry, aka pasta frolla. What makes this filling particularly appealing now is that it doesn’t call for eggs, and if you opt for a cookie crumb crust, there’s not much butter involved. I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that pineapples trigger some less-than-stellar memories for me. I’m still a little skittish around anise extract, Pizzelle irons and baby pineapples, but that’s strictly a personal problem.
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