038: A Summer Strawberry Trifle
On accepting failure and fixing a recipe
I’ll begin by telling you a dumb story about being disappointed by strawberry shortcake. I’ve never complained about a thing more trivial, but here we go. The other weekend we took the jump across the river for the Beacon Strawberry Festival, and I pictured bushels and bushels of freshly picked strawberries to take home, my toddler overjoyed to be surrounded by his favorite thing on this earth, and not much else. It turned out to be…not like that at all. No bounty of strawberries, just a long line for tickets, so that you could stand in another long line for strawberry shortcake, and/or another for strawberry smoothies (that tasted mostly like banana). Then there were a bunch of non-strawberry-related food stands and crafts and live music. It was packed. It was hot. People were having a great time. I hasten to add: none of this was bad. But I was picturing something a bit more bucolic. More like a glorified, strawberry-laden farmer’s market.
We stood in line for strawberry shortcake and when it was our turn were asked: “sweetened or unsweetened strawberries?” Me being me I immediately said sweetened, and then the kid topping everything with whipped cream asked the same question, and I again answered sweetened! As I was departing the line I noticed a small bowl of granulated sugar with a compostable spoon sticking out of it, and as I eyed it, an older lady standing there practically scolded me in a sort of school-marmy tone: “oh ho you’ll find there’s PLENTY of sugar in there.” Fully chastened, I regretfully walked away, somehow predicting that it wouldn’t be sweet enough for me. I guess I have a radar for these things (perhaps I still have some postpartum hormones knocking around)—it was sort of bland. I began to wonder if they accidentally switched out the two bowls and gave me unsweetened by accident. Perplexingly, I found out later from a friend that they used low sugar recipes, so the lack of sugar was not just in my head. Why offer a sweetened option at all, thereby drawing attention to it? Very curious. Why would she discourage me from taking more sugar if I was being served low-sugar shortcake?? A minor injustice. I should have made a beeline for the funnel cakes and deep fried oreos instead, but I had come for strawberries, goddamnit.
After reading my tirade you’ll be shocked to hear that ever since that fateful day I’ve had strawberry shortcake on the brain. Perhaps I still had time this strawberry season to make my own, and Father’s Day presented a nice opportunity for something special. The only problem was that the dad in question couldn’t care less about Strawberry Shortcake, so I thought about how to make it Reed-friendly. Owing to the influence of too much Great British Bake Off, Reed often suggests we make British desserts. Eton Mess, Victoria Sponge, Christmas Pudding, biscuits, etc. But we never do. A pavlova seems complicated (even a smashed one), but one day... So I decided to make a Strawberry Trifle in the spirit of Strawberry Shortcake (no shortage of sugar allowed).
Research had to be done. First the shortcake (as we don’t have Trifle Sponge in America, as far as I know). There’s a recipe in Sweet Enough, so I quickly decided upon that one (predictable). Next up: what is a trifle? I consulted Nigella. I found a video on YouTube for her Anglo-Italian Trifle, so I loosely based my assembly off of this preparation (outright copying her almond-amaretto topping for the finish). Partly what sealed the deal for me here was her use of mascarpone, which I already had in the fridge. AND at the risk of making this trifle a bit fussier than it need be, I decided to use the rhubarb I had to make a casual rhubarb jam to accompany the shortcake and the strawberry. Yes, I’ll admit, there’s a lot going on here. I should have known I would hate it.
It was way too sweet (ironic) and rich. I made the fatal mistake of making it a couple hours ahead (Nigella refridgerated hers overnight and I didn’t really get why until researching Trifle Sponges later [see below]), so by letting it sit I allowed the shortcake to absorb all of the sugars and liquid from the strawberries, on top of already being slathered in jam. The texture of the cake was by the time of eating, dense, and not as crumbly and light as I meant it to be. Furthermore, the strawberries were cloying from sitting in their sugars for so long, and all of the freshness of those beautiful, just-picked berries had been macerated out of them. Furthermore, the almond and amaretto topping put it over the edge. I love to add texture, but this was too much. Amaretto cookies are only good with the simplest of things—maybe affogato or rice pudding or panna cotta (IMHO). By the time I finished eating my portion of trifle, I considered it a failure, at least by my palette, and I felt immense guilt for “ruining” fresh berries. The good strawberries, no less! Reed concurred that yes, the trifle was a bit rich, but it was by no means a failure by trifle-standards. This is what a trifle is supposed to be, it’s ok if it’s just not to our taste.
So what to do about this newsletter I had been writing and planning for days? I couldn’t very well share a recipe for a thing I hated, regardless of having made it lovingly and with pride. And there’s nothing I wanted less than to make a second trifle when we had the remains of the one we couldn’t finish sitting in the fridge. As I sat typing about my failure, and as my baby napped (we’re talking 10:45AM Monday—today!), I thought, screw it, I’m going to fix this problem right now.
As fate would have it, I had a first batch of shortcake leftover that didn’t make it into the trifle. It didn’t rise nicely, so I made a second batch that was more successful, keeping the first to nibble on this week. And mercifully I thought to save some of my mascarpone cream. I decided to make myself an early lunch of mini Summer Strawberry Trifle, which turned out to be delicious, and fittingly enough, pretty close to what Strawberry Shortcake is. So we’ve come full circle, and this experience tells me to never complain about Strawberry Shortcake, even if it’s lacking in sugar and a bit bland. There are few things better than fresh strawberries in strawberry season, and in my hubris I had ruined a bunch of them in an attempt to outdo that old lady in Beacon who told me not to eat too much sugar.
Et voilà, I present my recipe for Summer Strawberry Trifle—the good version. As much as I love rhubarb, my jam had to go (I’ll save it for a future letter). This is probably not quite correct by trifle standards, but it’s closer to what I want to be eating for dessert on a summer eve at golden hour.
xo AV
Summer Strawberry-Rhubarb Trifle
Serves a crowd (6-8)
For the trifle
Shortcake,* broken apart into large pieces
1.5lb strawberries (in season if you can find them)
1/2 c sugar
For the mascarpone-lemon cream
16 oz mascarpone
2 large eggs, yolks and whites separated
1/4 c sugar, plus one tbsp for the whites
Juice of one lemon
METHOD
Make the shortcake using whatever recipe you prefer (I haven’t come up with a store-bought option that’s similar to homemade shortcake but please chime in if you know of one! Further thoughts on alternatives at the bottom)
Make the mascarpone-lemon cream:
In a medium bowl, beat the egg whites with an electric hand mixer, and once frothy, add about 1 tbsp sugar and continue beating until fluffy.
In a large bowl beat the egg yolks and 1/4 c sugar until pale, add the lemon juice, then fold in the mascarpone until combined. Fold the fluffy egg whites into the mascarpone mixture.
Assemble the trifle:
Quarter the strawberries (halved if small) and add 1/2 c sugar to the bowl. Toss and let sit for a couple minutes or so to allow it to macerate.
Break apart the shortcake and put half of the pieces in the bottom of a large glass bowl (the bowl you plan to serve the trifle in), then layer on top half of the macerated strawberries, then about a 1/4 of the mascarpone cream on top of them.
Repeat by putting the rest of the shortcake on top of the cream, the rest of the strawberries, and finally top the entire mess with the remaining cream and smooth the top.
Serve immediately, lest the strawberries have a chance to become cloying, spooning it from the bottom to catch both layers, into shallow bowls.
*Shortcake options: I used Alison Roman’s “Anytime Shortcake” from Sweet Enough, but there are lots of options up on NYT Cooking and Bon Appetit. I don’t recommend using American store-bought shortcake, which is actually sponge cake (very different than actual shortcake). Note: a traditional English trifle employs Trifle Sponges. They are a bit like ladyfingers in that they’re dried and need to be rehydrated by soaking in the trifle juices (which is why Nigella has her trifle sit overnight!). I’ve gathered from minimal sleuthing that British grocery stores sell them—like these packaged Trifle sponges from Tesco, alas not available here—maybe they can be found here at British specialty stores). Certain sites use trifle sponge and ladyfingers interchangeably, but they don’t seem all that similar to me. Regardless, this recipe wouldn’t work with trifle sponges or ladyfingers. ;)
I loved every word!
I feel like the strawberries haven’t been great this year, but your trifle is gorgeous.