Photograph at left courtesy of David Briggs. Yum.  Looking forward to the next class in the Portland shop, Friday, October 14!

Below is a re-posting of David’s recipe originally posted here in 2008.

+

Xocolatl de David’s Semi-Secret Recipe for the Best Salted Caramel Sauce

The first step is to make invert sugar to prevent the sugar in the caramel from spontaneously crystallizing.

Salted Caramel Invert Sugar
3 C Sugar
1.5 C Water
1/4 t Citic acid OR juice of 1/2 lemon
Put ingredients in a non reactive pot and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

Caramel Sauce
2 C Sugar
1 oz Invert Sugar
1.25 C Cream, warm
1 oz Butter
Fleur de sel

Put invert sugar and sugar in a wide high sided non reactive pot on high heat. Every minute or so slowly mix in granulated sugar with some that is liquefied. Eventually you will have a paste. Warm Cream separately.
Continue to cook sugar until it begins to caramelize. Using a candy thermometer monitor the temperature of the cooking sugar. The classic caramel stage is around 330-350 degrees F. You can cook it longer for a less sweet more bitter sauce. Do not go above 390 F.

When your desired temperature is reached turn off the heat and slowly and very carefully add the warmed cream in small increments. When the cream is fully incorporated, turn the heat on high and heat the caramel to 230 F. This will go quite quickly. Turn off heat and add the butter. Stir until the butter has completely melted. Add your desired amount of Fleur de sel or other sea salt. Let cool.

It will store in the refrigerator for up to 4 months.

+

For the last month or so we have offered a class on the making of salted caramels at The Meadow.  Our friend and master confectioner David Briggs of at Xocolatl de David led us through the various stages of caramelization and saltiness.

Below is the Ultimate Salted Caramel Recipe as perfected by David Briggs of Xocolatl de David.

The format of the salted caramel class was the usual: Attendees (we had over 32 last night!) were given a glass of wine to help keep their palates lively as we moved through a somewhat rigorous tasting format.

• Mark Bitterman gave the selmelier’s mini-lecture on the four types of sea salt currently used in the assorted salted caramels offered in the shop.
• Halen Mon Gold oak smoked sea salt from Wales – oaky and warm and mellow with hefty filo dough like flakes
• Iburi Jio Cherry cherrywood smoked deep sea salt form Japan – heady and bacony and silky at the same time
• Amabito no Moshio seaweed salt from Japan – a round and mild mineral-rich salt with lots of savory brothy (umami) flavors.
• Pangasinan Star fleur de sel from the Philippines – brambly and warm and delicately sweet with outsized yet delicate white crystals.
• The David Briggs talked about how he formulates the salt-levels of his caramels as people tasted:
• Unsalted burnt caramel cubes
• Lightly salted caramel cubes (the light is Briggs’s term, as the man loves salt)
• Fully salted caramel cubes (whoa Bessy!)
• Then Dave demonstrated how to make a salted caramel sauce (note: Dave declines to go by the title of caramelier either because he thinks a caramelier fellow in France will be offended or because he worries it might constrain future projects involving bacon or ice cream—or maybe both).
• We took a vote and let the guests choose which salts to put in the caramels based on their tasting.  Every class has been different.  This time the choices were Halen Mon Gold and Pangasinan Star.
• Last, Dave served up home-made chocolate ice cream and guests were allowed to ladle out the salted caramel sauce (or sauces) of choice onto the ice cream.

Jittery, maybe a little buzzed, the crowd at the end of the evening was slow to drift off, doubtless uncertain as to whether dinner, bed, sea kayaking, or something else would be the best outlet for their energy.

Recipe for the Best Salted Caramel Sauce
The first step is to make invert sugar to prevent the sugar in the caramel from spontaneously crystallizing.

Salted Caramel Invert Sugar
3 C          Sugar
1.5 C       Water
1/4 t        Citic acid OR juice of 1/2 lemon
Put ingredients in a non reactive pot and bring to a boil.  Lower heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

Caramel Sauce
2 C  Sugar
1 oz  Invert Sugar
1.25 C   Cream, warm
1 oz   Butter
Fleur de sel

Put invert sugar and sugar in a wide high sided non reactive pot on high heat.  Every minute or so slowly mix in granulated sugar with some that is liquefied.  Eventually you will have a paste.  Warm Cream separately.
Continue to cook sugar until it begins to caramelize.  Using a candy thermometer monitor the temperature of the cooking sugar.  The classic caramel stage is around 330-350 degrees F.  You can cook it longer for a less sweet more bitter sauce.  Do not go above 390 F.

When your desired temperature is reached turn off the heat and slowly and very carefully add the warmed cream in small increments.  When the cream is fully incorporated, turn the heat on high and heat the caramel to 230 F.  This will go quite quickly.  Turn off heat and add the butter.  Stir until the butter has completely melted.  Add your desired amount of Fleur de sel or other sea salt.  Let cool.

It will store in the refrigerator for up to 4 months.

Sadly, some people don’t listen to their little voices, so setting up camp at the chocolate fondue area of the party makes for only the most fleeting of intercourse with others.  While that may have its advantages, I can’t shake the feeling that there is something failed in a chocolate fountain that doesn’t break down every semblance of the social façades that propel us through parties on unending undulations of stiflingly pedestrian conversation and gushy niceness.

What makes fruit taste better?  Salt.  What makes chocolate taste better?  Salt.  What makes fruit and chocolate taste better another?  What makes chocolate fondue something you might actually eat on a regular basis?  Stumped?  A Himalayan Salt Block.

First: My favorite salts for chocolate these days, or at least some of the artisan sea salts I’ve found myself returning to again and again when dabbling in salted chocolate are:
Grigio di Cervia Italian sel gris
Iburi Jio cherrywood smoked
Pangasinan Star fleur de sel
Halen Mon Gold oak smoked flake salt

Many, many salts work well with chocolate. Far fewer chocolates work well with salt.  I’ve tasted hundreds, and most leave me with a freaked-out feeling, which in itself isn’t so bad, but could be improved.  The beautiful, super-silky Cru Sauvage wild harvested salt from Bolivia, is just awful with salt.  Most of the more well-known all around crowd pleasers are good, but not perfect, perhaps because they are all about delicacy.  Michel Cluizel, for example… Not good.   The bigger chocolates take the salt much better.  Venchi is superb.  Claudio Corallo, magnificent.

Here’s bewilderingly delicious way to bring salt together with fruit and chocolate with ease, grace, and visual pizzazz.  First, warm a plate or brick of either tableware grade or cookware grade Pink Himalayan salt on the stove at low heat for about 3 minutes (go for 110, which is basically just a touch warm to the touch.  This is warm enough to melt the chocolate and also gentle enough on the salt block to permit use of less expensive Tableware Grade salt blocks).  Set the salt block on a trivet or plate.  Arrange chocolate bars on a slab of Pink Himalayan Salt.  Slice some fruit (any of the ones mentioned above will work) and arrange on the salt block alongside.  (You can also serve a platter of fruit alongside, and then just transfer a few piece at a time to the salt block.)  Serve with a dish of excellent finishing salt. Dip fruit in chocolate, or scoop chocolate onto fruit.  Eat some straight up.  Sprinkle some with salt and then eat.

The thrill of serving fruit and chocolate on a block of salt and then sprinkling with some salt at your discretion is that the salt come into the field of play from two different directions and in two vastly different forms.  On the salt block, the luscious liquid heart of the fruit picks up a touch of salt, bringing out the sweetness, accentuating fugitive fruit notes, but interacting only in briny simplicity with your tongue because all the salt on the fruit is dissolved.  Because the chocolate is mainly fat, and salt is not fat soluble, the salt block bring zero salt to the chocolate.So, take a bite.  The salted fruit liquid is doing the salting for the chocolate.  Then drop a flake of salt on top of the chocolate and munch with a bite of the fruit.  Now you get brilliant sparkle of salt dancing off the chocolate, commingling with its dark richness, penetrating through all the way to the fruit.  The variations of salt and fruit and chocolate are geometric, crystal salt, liquid salt, salted fruit, salted chocolate, chocolated fruit and salt, fruited chocolate and salt, etc.  Summed up as: yum.

To clean up, rinse the pink Himalayan salt block under warm water, pat dry with a paper towel, and you’re done.

I was there to talk salt for a chocolate and salt class for 30 people at Recchiuti’s factory in San Francisco.  While there, I took it upon myself to assume the role of in-house naturalist.  Below are a handful of examples of my attempt to capture, with a cell phone camera, Michael Recchiuti in action.  For my own purposes, I also tried to soak up as much information, technique, and ideas as possible.  I’m still processing the experience, but this is sort of how it went:

Me just off the plane from Portland, he just out from a marathon morning at the chocolate factory, we meet at Piccino, share a bitter salad and a pizza with mildly junipery speck, chat and share a bite of burnt caramel ice cream (made by Recchiuti) with two beautiful women at the table next to us (who introduce themselves the moment the ice cream arrive), then race off to buy glasses for the salt and chocolate class, scheduled for the following day.

Returning to the factory, located in a huge industrial building in the uber hip Dogpatch district of San Francisco, I park my luggage at the door and am introduced to everyone in the “kitchen,” then everyone in the office.  The “kitchen” has mixers, temperers, coaters, conveyor belts, warm rooms, cool rooms, and giant kettles reminiscent of jet engine parts.

We survey the presentation area, chat over ideas about how to seat people, how to present salted caramels (there will be a flight of eight with six salts), where lights should go, where the tent went that was supposed to be here already, where homemade graham crackers can be set out alongside palettes of chocolate melting atop a Himalayan salt block, the general drift of how people will arrive, how they will dredge said graham crackers in said chocolate atop said Himalayan salt block and then find a seat.  How all their knees are going to be touching because the event is fully booked.

Then Michael starts disappearing.  He’s in the humidity controlled walk-in.  He’s rummaging for tubs under a worktable.  He’s grabbing something from a file.  He’s tossing a heavy cast iron pans on a counter top and pouring sugar over butter.  He is up on top of the giant walk in fridge fumbling with octopus plugs.  I intersect with him from time to time, busy either wondering what to do, brainstorming about something that will or will not happen, helping with some random task, photographing something.  We do this for two days together. Michael and his team had been working on it for a least a few days prior to my arrival as well.

I realize that somewhere along the line I’d started eating things.  Michael throws me a cherry bomb, I pluck a caramel-encrusted pecan from a tray, snack on a few real-mint-junior mints, dip my finger in some apricot, gouge a glop of sorbet from the spout of the ice cream machine, gouge a glop of sorbet from the spout of the ice cream machine after some egg white has been added, sprinkle some bamboo salt or sel gris or fleur de sel or smoked salt on each of the above and try them that way. (I’m also not 100% sure that it’s okay for me to be tasting things; this is, after all, a real factory, with spoken and unspoken codes of behavior, defined economies, ongoing production streams, etc.)  But I realize that I’ve already learned something from Michael: eat what you preach, and eat it often.  Which may be simplified as: eat.

(This is not to say that we relied exclusively on chocolate as a fuel source for the long days leading up to the salt and chocolate event.  Recchiuti has just bought a new espresso machine, and he is eager to try it out at every opportunity.)

But by now everything was coming together, which has a soothing effect on me and an intensifying effect on Michael.  Now he is almost impossible to see.  Suddenly spun sugar appears on a tray.  Tarte tatin appears in neat squares.  Marshmallows of flash frozen lime foam glow mysteriously on the counter.  The dish washing station is piling higher and higher with bowls, spatulas, knives, molds, beakers, trays.

I am taking pictures, still, and helping where I can.  I rim glasses for malted milk in powderized cocoa nibs and smoked salt.  I roll chocolate swizzle sticks in flaky salt.  I eat.

The guests arrive, we serve cocktails, and soon, the event is under way.

Menu:

Welcome Cocktail
Champagne Apricot Freeze made with Schramsberg Blanc de Noirs, celery and radish juices, and a salted chocolate swizzle stick.

Dip-It-Yourself Breadsticks
Recchiuti’s housemade graham crackers and single origin chocolate on a Himalayan salt block.

A Classic Opening
Tarte Tatin baked with Sel Gris de L’ile de Noirmoutier and finished with a suspended animation sprinkle of Okinawa Snow salt.

“Palette” Cleanser
Single Origin “Ocumare” by Amano Chocolate. Topped with pistachios, rosemary foraged from Michael’s street and 3x Roasted Korean Bamboo salt.

Frosty Beverage
Chilled Chocolate Malt drink made with El Rey 41% Milk Chocolate and organic roasted barley malt from Oaktown. Finished with a rim of Iburi Jio Cherry salt.

Intermission
Recchiuti factory tour.

Salt Flight
A comparison of six artisan salt caramels: Pangasinan Star, Kona Deep Sea, Shinkai Deep Sea, Halen Mon Gold, Amabito no Moshio, Cyprus Silver.

One Last Dance
House-churned Burnt Caramel Ice Cream (the same one that elicited the attention of the two women at the restaurant the previous day). Garnished with a drizzle of Stonehouse Olive Oil and Haleakala Ruby Salt.

And to take home…
A box of salt caramels to share (or not) with friends.

Two articles I’ve found on (or relating to) the Recchiuti Bitterman Chocolate Salt event so far:

http://www.foodporn.com/pescygourmet/2009/05/recchiuti-salt-and-chocolate-tasting.html
http://www.thedinnerfiles.com/?p=1089

The main thing is that we have been eating (ahem, I mean tasting) a lot of chocolate bars.

Our Meadow Salted Chocolates were back in stock for a short while!  But no, they are gone again, darn it.  If anyone knows a great, secret local chocolatier who can mold and package our salted chocolate, please do tell.

Also made locally, we now carry Sahagun Handmade Chocolates‘ legendary fleur de sel liquid caramels, and an expanded collection of her lovely “barks.”  There is the Palomitapapa, the Pepitapapa, the Oregon Bark.

Michael Recchiuti fleur de sel caramels have also landed on the shelves, along with boxes of his wild and delicious chocolates.  I confess that part of the reason does not have to do with the fact that his caramels are ridiculously, annoyingly good.  Part has to do with the fact that we just love Michael and his wife Jackie so much, we want to be feel their presence in the shop.  (I’ll post something on a Japanese fusion salt-festooned dinner we all shared at the Heathman not long ago on Saltnews.org sometime soon!).   Local chocolatiers include Sahagun, Xocolatl de David, DePaula Confections, and Lulu’s Chocolate!We have two of the best and brightest new boutique true bean-to-bar chocolate manufacturers, Rogue Chocolatier and Patric Chocolate, joining the tide (mmm, tidal chocolate) of new American chocolate makers like Askinosie, Amano, and Taza.  We will share more on them later, but for now… Suffice it to say that both are pursuing things never before achieved in chocolate. Rogue is almost bewilderingly flavorful, with the citrusy licoricey Hispaniola from the Dominican Republic and the Plumy woodsy Sambirano from Madagascar. Patric is sophisticated as can be, playing with varying cocoa butter levels (one of only two artisans who press their own cocoa butter).  Like a wolf and a duck raised in the same crib, the 67% and 70% chocolate bars are more different than they are alike, with interesting qualities.

And we have a bunch of great new chocolates, including about 9 new single origin chocolate bars from Coppeneur.  Not only are they incredibly fun to say aloud (Plantation Hacienda lara, Plantation Menavava, Plantation Uba Budo, Plantation Menavava, etc), they are truly wonderful chocolate bars. And for those of you who look down your nose at milk or flavored chocolate, try the Plantation Tabuna milk chocolate or the Trinidad chocolate with habanero and lavender.

That’s not all.  We have a bunch of new snacky chocolates from Kshocolat, new beautiful chocolate bars from Richard H. Donnelly fine chocolates.  Askinosie Milk chocolates and white chocolates are now available, and they really unusual—definitely worth a try.  We now carry Caoni Chocolate from Ecuador, and to wrap things up.  We have new drinking chocolate from Café Tasse joining the shelves with our existing collection of Marie-Belle drinking chocolate, Weisse, Kshocolat, Guittard, and others.

All will be up on the www.atthemeadow.com soon for online ordering.  All have been eaten and eaten some more, again and again, as we try to educate ourselves on the the positively sensational wave of great new chocolate bars entering the marketplace!  The Golden Age of Chocolate is upon us!

But chocolate as a theme, as a concept, as a pattern, a fashion, a mode — no.  Nay.  I do not like it.  My initial, invertebrate response when my personal friend and professional chocolate supplier David Briggs said he was making a chocolate dinner was to recoil into a dark crevice somewhere, staring through the briny depths of my eyes with octopus horror.  Sucking cold brine through my gills, my brain is reduced to its bivalve origins.  Chocolate, my dear friend, is a food.

But immediately after that my knowledge of Dave, who owns and operates Xocolatl de David and is also Sous Chef at Park Kitchen, returned to assure me.  Mr. Briggs’s unassuming manner cloaks a sophisticated palate, unflinching creativity, and an ever-expanding set of skills .  So why not?  A seven course chocolate-based meal paired with seven beverages, served at Park Kitchen, one of Jennifer and my favorite restaurants in town, and a place we freely recommend to out of town visitors and locals alike who visit The Meadow.

If Jennifer had qualms she didn’t express them; she just grabbed my hand and dragged me to Park Kitchen where 14 people (two cowardly louts failed to honor their reservation) were seated with the preliminary awkwardness that inevitably attends such public-private group encounters.

“Aren’t we all suppose to be friends now?” I probably wondered, aloud, trying to hide my own agoraphobia.  “Can’t we all just sort of snuggle?”

Eventually (at my request) the empty chairs of the two no-shows were removed and I managed to coax two of the several attendees at the far end of the table (Western Culinary Institute students whom I soon came to adore after one of them plunked down $100 bucks cash to go Dutch on a chicken-infused mescal) to move in closer.  We soon had more of a hive of hushed buzzing buzz of expectation going.

My only complaint of the entire evening had nothing to do with Dave, and happened right at the start.  Strangely, the cocktail waitress asked Jen and I if we wanted a drink (which prompted the involuntary response of “YES”) from both of us.  Then, strangely, she brought the cocktails, and then, within 15 seconds (because I do drink fast enough that any later and I wouldn’t have noticed) she served champagne intended as a pairing for the amuse bouche that was about to come out.  There I am, listening to the sommelier’s explanation of a Jose Michele Pinot Meunier Champagne, fist still gripped around a very pickly and aromatic martini, and wondering how I am supposed to taste either.

Out of deference to the flow of the evening, my beautiful martini was left to grow gradually warmer, eventually exiting the table at the end of the evening as an undistinguished swill of grain alcohol and oil and brine and herbs.  Poor thing.  Jennifer was in the same predicament of cocktail-interruptus as I, the experience for which we paid something on the order of 24 dollars!

The Champagne was a distinctly forgettable Jose Michele Pinot Meunier Champagne, but on the heals of it service came Dave’s first creation–ingeniously conceived and masterfully executed: a smoked cocoa butter and olive oil emulsion on toast.  What the hell?

That, topped with a few flecks of Iburi Jio Cherry cherrywood roasted deep sea salt from Japan.  What the hell?

It looked like a slightly scary pat of butter; sort of a redolent beige reminiscent of some of the truly evil cheeses of southern England or the Alpine regions of France.  Upon touching the lips, the thing melted into nothingness, bypassed the mouth’s organs of taste altogether and rocketed straight to the olfactory nether regions where it did unfamiliar and delightful things to the brain.

Next up was a HUB lager chelada, a sophisticated version of what I always knew as a Michelada — effectively a bloody mary with beer substituting in for vodka, and maybe some habenero peppers tossed in for good measure.

Dave then served corn milk ganache fritter with piperade.  The corn was sweet, so he used 100% dark chocolate, for a crunchy beignet-like thing with the rich, corny, sweet pleasantly gooey inside.  Very un-chocolately and yet very chocolately at the same time: an achievement in it’s own right.

Next up came a “chocolate panzanella” that was just that.  But this was possibly the most beautiful panzanella imaginable, chocolate or otherwise.  Crusty chocolate brioche, multicolored cherry tomato halves, string beans (haricot verts?), and certainly among the finest fresh-marinated anchovies I’ve eaten outside of Italy; all of which was drizzled with a harisa-like dressing of tomato reduction and cocoa.  Citrusy (from the anchovies and tomatoes), teetering toward hearty, and at the same time garden fresh-tasting, served with an acceptable La Bota de Manzanilla Sherry.

Then came the pork belly confited in non-deodorized cocoa butter, which retains its characteristic earthy, musty, woodsy smells.   It was served with chanterelles and white beans and was just totally over the top in the way of classical French magic acts, suspending richness, subtlety, and body in midair and gliding hoops over it: see, no strings attached.  (Granted Dave says he was inspired by a recent trip to Spain.)  The dish was served with a 2006 Chateau de Segries Lirac, which had all the friskiness of a late-model Oldsmobile sedan with no gasoline.  The pork belly was so compelling that I hardly noticed.

Next up came what, if I must name a star of the show (and why not), fit the bill.  Chilled chocolate consommé and a dollop of crème fraîche-like goat cheese, sprinkled with crunchy green nutty pepitas.  Again, so delicate, so nice, so jam packed with je ne sais quoi I really don’t think I’ll even bother.  It was bliss.  Everybody freaked out.  And then to top it off, the sommelier hit one out of the park, pairing the dish with a Del Maguey Chichicapa Mezcal that just…  destroyed.

“Chichicapa is 2 hours south of Oaxaca, and 2 hours to the west on a dirt road. The pueblo elevation is about 7,000 feet. Chichicapa is separated from the valley of Oaxaca by a mountain range. The valley is broad, about thirty miles deep and ten miles wide. The climate is desert and tropical, with banana trees, guava, mangoes and other exotic fruits. Faustino Garcia Vasquez is the maker of Chichicapa. He is a humble and talented craftsmen with great respect for the ancient processes.”

Faustino is a god, or perhaps, rather, a fallen angel.  Faustino probably parades around Chichicapa in a kilt, speaks Spanish with a thick brogue, lullabies his bambinos to bed with the bagpipes, and eats haggis, neeps, and tatties for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I am a passionate lover of mezcal and tequila, but my passions are alloyed with an irrepressible manly need for dalliance with single malt scotch whiskey — particularly of the highland variety.  If Faustino bartered his soul to the devil in exchange for the powers to concoct mezcal, he most assuredly came away with the bargain.

The mezcal, for all its fulminations and flourishes, just purred like a kittycat on the lap of the ineffably yummy chocolate consommé, chilly-aromatic goat cheese, and pepita bits.  Women squirmed in their seats, dissolved into the ether.  Men fashioned spears from chair legs and went out spearfishing for barracuda.

Next to last was a trio of mostly single origin chocolate ice creams: a Claudio Corallo 75%, something or another from Madagascar (Valrhona?), and a milk chocolate that I cannot recollect.  Each was served with a few crystals of a different sort of finishing salt.  The ice cream was served with a “chocolate soda” that was crisp and refreshing and “more or less” non-alcoholic.

Last came chocolate milk and a nougaty-nutty cookie, which was starting to be more food than I needed, but which I obligingly wolfed down.

And I forgot to mention that maybe every dish was sparked to its fullest expression with a few grains of strategically selected finishing salt.  Be still my heart — there was the regal Pangasinan Star, there was glowering Halen Mon Gold, there was the trusty Fleur de sel de l’Ile de Noirmoutier.

Dave, enough already.  Open your own restaurant.

Actually, none of this happened.

We did venture to the much anticipated Chocolate Dinner with Michael Recchiuti at Portland’s Heathman Hotel last night, a seven course banquet hall-style meal that started with a cocktail party attended by EVERYONE in Portland with a hand in chocolate. Michael Recchiuti, demigod chocolatier of Recchiuti Confections (maybe without the “demi”), regaled about sixty people with a seven course symphony in chocolate inspired from his chocolate book.

Fortunately, Recchiuti’s chocolate dinner was attended by a gaggle of brilliant food writers, and they will surely offer a more eloquent, measured, and sober review of the event than I can. The Heathman bar manager, Dustin Dickson, offered up a basil-infused Sambirano chocolate martini (or some such Madagascar chocolate, I can’t recollect exactly, but presumably the lime-zesty Valrhona Ampamakia 64% bittersweet chocolate, or the E. Guittard Ambanja 65% bittersweet chocolate), and the tablets of Valrhona, Guittard, and Recchiuti chocolate were nice to snack on before settling into the seven course chocolate dinner ($78) paired with wine ($110). No point in moderation.

Chef Philippe Boulot’s multi-course dinner was inspired by recipes from Michael Recchiuti’s opulent book, Chocolate Obsession. Chocolate Dinner Menu:

• Foie gras and wild mushroom cappuccino
• Tuna au poivre with cocoa nib crust
• Tarragon ruby grapefruit granita
• Duck Mole
• Burnt caramel pot de crème with milk chocolate
• Sampler of Recchiuti Confections and pulled sugar
• Petit fours of chocolate