The Ubiquitous Mr. Jello Mould

There seems to be one particular dish that has made its way to just about every funeral buffet I've ever attended, and that is the jello mould. 

From the mountains of fruit- and marshmallow-filled offerings brought by Mormon neighbours to the creamy coconut jelly I saw quivering at a Buddhist Chinese ceremony, the ubiquitous jelly seems to have infiltrated mourning services worldwide.

Occasionally referred to as a jello salad (for reasons I have yet to sort out, as I tend to see salads as vegetable dishes notably lacking in jiggle), these voluptuous variations had their heyday in the 1950s, and have yet to disappear from mainstream culinary culture. 
Whether it's someone's great aunt who makes the dish that has been her signature fare for the past 60 years, or a hipster who has discovered their parents' novelty cookbooks and has made something for nostalgia's sake, someone will inevitably show up with one of these babies to either the absolute delight or chagrin of everyone in attendance.

I did a recent poll on Facebook to gauge people's reactions to these dishes, and they were pretty much split down the middle as to whether they considered them treats or travesties. 

The ones who were nauseated at the mere thought of eating them shared horror stories about horseradish and cranberry concoctions, or shredded cabbage suspended in orange wibble. In contrast, the fans ululated praise for canned pear slices in lime gelatine, or citrus celebrations of layered yellow and orange packed with pineapple chunks and mandarin slices, respectively.

Personally, I've always associated Jello with being sick, as it was a mainstay in my family's fridge whenever one of us was ill... which was often. 

I suppose that memories such as those can be very comforting to many people, and loath as I am to admit it, it's a food that's fairly easy to knock back when one has a knotted belly or a sore throat.

Since I really can't put together a collection of funerary dishes without including a Jello something-or-other somewhere, I shall share a recipe for a wobbly sangria ring.
Why?
Because quite frankly, both funerals and gelatine desserts are far more tolerable when there's a copious amount of alcohol involved.

Sangria Jello Mould

Ingredients:

• 2 packages (3 oz each) of strawberry, raspberry, or cherry gelatine powder
• 3 1/2 cups sparkling white wine OR 1 1/2 cups white wine and 2 cups club soda*
• 1 cup fresh strawberries, hulled and quartered
• 1 cup fresh blueberries, checked for stems
• 1 cup fresh mixed blackberries and raspberries
• 1/2 cup black, red, or white grapes, halved 

*If you absolutely have to make this alcohol-free, you can swap in a high-quality grape juice instead of the wine. 
I suppose. 

Preparation:

Grease a 6-cup ring mould or bundt pan with cooking spray, and set aside.

Heat wine to boiling in a saucepan, remove from heat, and stir in the gelatine powder. Use a whisk to ensure that all of it dissolves, and then set it aside to cool for about 10 minutes. Refrigerate until it just starts to firm up a little bit: maybe 30-40 minutes at most.

Remove from the fridge and gently fold in all the fruit. Use a spatula to transfer this into your prepared ring mould, taking care to distribute the fruit as evenly as possible. Pop it back into the fridge and cool for at least 6 hours (although overnight is best).

Invert over your serving plate and shake gently to dislodge it. Be sure to cheer heartily when it plops out looking like an exotic, if rather wobbly jewel.

Note: nostalgic food can be great, but only if significant effort is made to make it appeal to modern palates. 

If whatever gelatine thinger you choose to prepare contains meat, celery, cottage cheese, olives, pimentos, tuna, or eggs, you will be shunned by your family members as well as your friends, and you will deserve every moment of it.

Hazelnut Cake with Apricot Preserves

I was a huge True Blood fan (for the first few seasons, at least...) and despite the cheesiness and the werepigs and fairymermaids and whatnot, I did appreciate the very real issues that some of the characters experienced. For me, one of the most poignant moments in the entire series was the scene that took place after Sookie's grandmother had been killed.
The power in this scene came from the fact that Sookie's grandmother had baked a pecan pie before she met her end, and it would be the last one she ever made. Sure, others could prepare a similar recipe, but theirs would never be quite the same, because it wasn't Gran who had made it. As Sookie ate, it was obvious that each bite was taken mindfully, with immense appreciation and gratitude, knowing that it would be the last time... and that each bite was filled with the love and care that her Gran had poured into that glorious, sweet pie.

I'm a big fan of mindfulness, and of eating with intent and care: savouring every bite instead of just hoovering in food whilst watching TV or otherwise being distracted. If we knew that this was going to be the last bite of food we'd ever eat, would we take the time to enjoy it? Are we really conscious about the source of each ingredient, and the care that goes into creating each dish? Even items that are mass produced have origins that are usually very human, from the people who pick cacao beans or vanilla pods to the farmers who wake at dawn, day after day, to sow fields of grain.

This is one of my family's recipes, and I'm delighted to share it here in the hope that others can enjoy it as much as we have. Much like our potato salad, this cake is prepared for any and all family gatherings, and you can rest assured that any funeral we attend has at least 2 of these cakes on the buffet table. As I continue to research funeral foods, I find that many cultures indulge in some kind of dessert after the dead have been buried so that sweetness counteracts the bitterness of sorrow and grief. I hope that this cake can do just that.

Please don't feel that you need to use apricot jam for this if you have a preference for another kind, as it's really lovely no matter which preserves you use.
For summer get-togethers, it's rather exquisite when made with lemon curd, peach jam, strawberry preserves, or even ice wine jelly. In the autumn and winter months, I've also made it with fig or plum jam, and added a bit of cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg to the batter to spice it up a bit.

For the Dough:

• 1/4 pound (1/2 cup) butter or Earth Balance
• 1 1/2 cups flour (for a GF version, I use Robin Hood gluten-free flour)
• 2 egg yolks 
• 2 tablespoons sugar (I use demerara brown)
• 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
• The grated zest of 1 lemon

For the Filling:

• 6 egg yolks
• 8 egg whites
• 1 cup powdered sugar
• 8 oz finely ground hazelnuts (or walnuts, or almonds, or any nut mixture you like)
• 1/2 small flask of lemon essence, or 1/4 tsp lemon extract
• 1 pack vanilla sugar
• A pinch of salt

Additional ingredient needed: apricot jam or preserves (or any other jam that you like better).

Preparation:

Preheat oven to 325F-350F, depending on your oven.

To make the dough:
Blend the dough ingredients in a food processor or mixer until a soft dough forms, then roll that out and press into a greased 9" x 12" baking pan, pressing the dough halfway up the sides. Spoon some preserves or jam onto this dough and use a spatula to spread it around the dough's base until it's covered with a thin layer. Feel free to add as much or as little of the jam as you'd like.

To make the cake filling:
With your mixer on high, beat the egg whites with a tiny pinch of salt until they form stiff peaks, then set that bowl aside.
In another, large bowl, blend the egg yolks together with sugar, then add the lemon essence, nuts, and vanilla sugar. Gently fold the egg whites into this mixture until blended, making sure not to agitate too much: it has to maintain its fluffiness. Pour the mixture onto the dough, and even out the top with a spatula.

Bake for 1 hour: the cake is ready when a toothpick inserted into the centre comes out clean when removed. If desired, dust with icing sugar once it's cooled.
To serve, cut into squares or wedges and lift them out of the pan one by one.

Note: I've also made a lower carb/lower sugar version in a bundt pan, skipping both the jam and the shortbread base in the process. If you go this route, be sure to really grease the pan well beforehand, and let it cool completely before attempting to get the cake out afterwards. 

Considering the number of eggs this uses, this cake is obviously not vegan. I haven't yet tried to make a version using aquafaba (aka chick pea liquid), but if you do and it works out okay, let me know! Be creative, make this your own.

Blessings to you. x