Florentines

Florentines were one of the first biscuits I ever made, very early on in my baking career. The recipe was from one of the first volumes in my cookbook collection, Essential Baking, presented to me by my sister-in-law and brother-in-law. I have been making Florentines from this recipe for over 12 years, but thought I should probably do some research before baking and writing about them for this post. And I’m glad I did, because I’ve learned a few things… first, despite its name, this lovely biscuit is more of a French confection than an Italian one.

Second, as it turns out, there are a number of different roads that will lead one to this light, lacy, nutty biscuit, but there seem to be some diverging opinions as to what makes the perfect Florentine. The ingredients of most Florentine recipes are generally simple - some combination of butter, sugar and just a smidgen of flour creating a cosy binding for a mix of nuts (usually almonds) and dried fruit. The finished biscuit is traditionally dipped in chocolate on one side.

Felicity Cloake writes in her column for the Guardian, that the perfect Florentine should shatter when bitten into, much like a brittle… but I’m not sure I agree with that. This recipe results in crispy-on-the-edges-but-still-chewy-in-the-middle (by far the best biscuit texture, in my humble opinion) biscuits. The magic ingredient in this recipe is cream, and a lot of it - it makes the binding wonderfully rich and adds a depth of flavour that butter alone wouldn't achieve (I hear you gasp, but butter can, it seems, be improved on... just add cream). The cream does make for a wetter base, with the result that this Florentine is not even remotely brittl-esque. However, the baked biscuit hits, for me at least, that perfect combination of crispy-sticky-chewy, spot on.

On to the fruit and nut filling. Again, ingredient options range from the plebian (flaked almonds, glacé cherries and candied peel) to the exotic (pistachios, cobnuts, dried figs and dried sour cherries). My recipe unashamedly uses the former combination. Cloake, looks down her nose at glacé cherries, preferring dried sour cherries. I'm sure those are wonderful too and probably much more sophisticated, but there is a place for everything and the Florentine is IT, as far as I am concerned, for the garish, tarty, toothache-inducing sweetness of the glacé cherry.  Somehow, it tastes different when combined with the other ingredients, and the jewel-bright pieces look beautiful nestled among the flaked almonds and candied peel. I'll admit I have, as a young and inexperienced baker, also used store-bought candied peel... and while you take a moment to compose yourselves after the shock of that sacrilege, let me hasten to reassure you that I used handmade candied peel for this post... and the result was sublime.

Florentines require an eagle eye when baking. The batter needs to be spread as thinly as possible to ensure the biscuit dries out sufficiently. They are ready when the edges turn goldenly brown, and need to be removed from the oven pronto. Like most biscuits, they firm up considerably upon cooling.

Finally, the chocolate - to coat, as per tradition, or to leave au naturel, that is the question. I am always so impatient to get my teeth into the things, that I have been known to leave some batches of Florentines undressed. But when I do have the patience to wait it out until the chocolate coating dries, I am always so glad that I persevered. It seems like overkill to half-smother a biscuit that is already pretty sweet in chocolate - but it does take the cookie to another level. I always use dark chocolate, which is not too sweet. It is the perfect counterpoint for the sweetness and fruit and nut flavours of the biscuit.

Florentines are easily one of my favourite biscuits, and I stand staunchly by my recipe. I will, at some point, experiment with other ingredients and techniques. But for now, this Florentine recipe is far from broke... and so, I ain't fixing.