Squeezing Hanukkah Potatoes

After Hanukkah for each of the last 15 to 20 years I’ve make a mental note to send my brilliant potato squeezing tip to Cooks Illustrated Magazine in time for the following year’s Latke Issue. And every year I let it slide until it is (again) too late.

So at last, here’s the scoop:

Your potato ricer—that former darling of cooking magazines that now languishes in the back of your cupboard—is actually a Potato Squeezer. It will forever change your life with latkes.

Here’s what to do:

Grate your potatoes as usual, with or without the onions or other veggies you are including. Scrub the dust from your ricer and fill it with as much of the grated mixture as it will hold. Squeeze hard: actually rest the ricer against the edge of the sink and lean on it. A little leverage goes a long way: you won’t believe how much water even a small or weak person can get from a few potatoes! Dump the squeezed stuff into a bowl and repeat until done. This is so easy (and kind of fun) that an obsessive person might be tempted to repeat the whole process a second time. Talk about dry potatoes!

Happy Hanukkah.

Rules and Ratios

I had tea yesterday with a very young friend who wants to bake. He asked if I would teach him one of my best basic ratios! This got me thinking.

I love the idea that cooking and baking has rules and ratios that define the perfect this or that (butter cake, crème anglaise, sponge cake, whatever). But many of the best and most interesting desserts defy the rules. The indescribably decadent flourless and nearly flourless chocolate cakes (upon which I built an entire career) are notoriously lawless (so flexible and forgiving and fun) and aren't they are some of the best desserts you will ever eat? And, wasn’t the recipe for brownies a mistake? You might argue that these recipes are not real cakes.

But the Bundt cakes and rich coffee cakes that we bake in tube pans are real cakes. These sweet rich moist crowd pleasers flaunt basic cake ratios too…they usually have too much fat or sugar to perform properly in any pan but a tube pan. It’s the tube that saves them from falling by giving them enough support to rise and stay risen. Just try baking some of these cakes in a regular round spring form pan, without a tube, and watch them sink in the center and become just another “cake failure”. The tube enables us to break the ratio rules. Small pans and cupcake pans do the same. And there are more tricks too.

My next book, Totally Easy Sinfully Delicious Melt-In-Your Mouth Desserts (Artisan 2012) is about to go to press and I just discovered that my gingerbread has a tendency to sink in the center. It seemed perfect when I tested half batches in half-size pans several months ago. But even so I made a note reminding me to retest the full recipe before publishing. From experience I know that even if a sample in a small pan works perfectly there is no guarantee that the full recipe in a full size pan will be equally successful. People think baking is all about the chemistry, but what about the physics? So here I am, at the eleventh hour, with delicious but sinking gingerbread. Clearly the recipe is unbalanced: too much sugar or liquid or not enough flour. But when I balance the ratios to prevent that sinking, the cake doesn’t taste as delicious. So I start thinking of ways to fix the problem without “fixing” the ratios. It occurs to me that extra beating (normally to be avoided because it causes extra gluten to develop) might be exactly what’s needed here. Maybe physics can trump chemistry. Maybe two wrongs can make a right.

I put all of the ingredients into the food processer and let it rip for a long 15 seconds. I’m rewarded with a cake that rises perfectly and does not sink. It is deliciously sweet and spicy and has a tender velvety texture. AND IT’S SIMPLER THAN EVER TO MAKE!

I’m just saying…. Ratios and rules don’t always get you where you want to go.

It would seem appropriate to publish the recipe here, but I can’t do that yet. Wait for it in Totally Easy Sinfully Delicious Melt-In-Your Mouth Desserts coming next spring. And forgive me.

The Best Old Things

I have mixers and processors, ice cream machines, an infrared thermometer, digital scale and my share of electric or electronic gadgets in my kitchen. But some of my best, most often used tools are old and simple. Good looking too. And filled with memories. A few date from l972, acquired at La Samaritaine in, or a street market or corner quincaillerie (hardware store). If I need a cup or two of grated carrots or beets, I'd rather reach for one of my tin (not even stainless steel) Mouli graters than bother with the food processor. One has a rotary barrel, the other slightly larger, Mouli Julienne, has three disks with different size holes. They remind me of finely shredded veggies dressed in vinaigrette, the ubiquitous salades de crudites we ate in modest French restaurants and cafes long ago.

Rolling pins? I have my great grandmother's tapered maple pin, with which my mother made her Thanksgiving apple pie, before she decided it was more convenient to make apple crisps instead of apple pies. I have a small slender pin made of dark wood, that's only 12 inches long and just an inch in diameter. More like a fat dowel than what we consider a rolling pin, this pin is used to roll out crackers or flat bread in I-forget-which country, and was given to me by a friend from Indiana. It is surprisingly versatile. Actually it's the sports car of rolling pins: I find it remarkably easy to manoeuvre and it turns on a dime. I also have a beautiful, and hefty, hand-turned ash and walnut pin crafted recently by another friend. I use whichever suits the task and my mood.

The slotted spoon is employed several times each week to lift perfect poached eggs from their hot (not-even-simmering) bath. I love my micro plane and vastly prefer the original design, without a handle to distract from the essential beauty of a perfect functional tool. I use the grooved mortar and pestle often to make, among other things, a ground coriander, fennel, and pepper corn crust for seared tuna (From Paul Johnson's book, Fish Forever).

The mystery tool that resembles a miniature jaws of life is one of my very best old things. In lieu of an oven mitt, it's used to grab a hot cake pan or dish from the oven, or at least slide it into view, without gouging the contents with the gigantic thumb of my oven mitt. Tell me that never happens to you... I bought this grabby thing at at the Bazaar de l'Hotel De Ville, (known as BHV, pronounced "bay ahsh vay" of course) for less than 5 francs when France had francs and francs were only 5 to the dollar! I'm afraid it will break some day and I have no idea what it is called or whether one can even still buy them in France (are you listening David Lebovitz and Dorie Greenspan?) I loved photographing these beloved and useful old tools and remembering when and where I got them. Not that I would object (at all!) to having a Pacojet...

Cocoa Curiosity

About 10 years ago, the late Robert Steinberg (who, with John Scharffenberger, founded Scharffen Berger Chocolate Maker) called to ask if I wanted to come over that evening and taste the first samples of what would later become Scharffen Berger natural cocoa powder. I did. I suggested that Alfred Peet join us. Neither John nor Robert knew Alfred and I relished the idea of introducing the man who changed coffee in America to a couple of new guys that I knew (even then) would change chocolate. Alfred, the late founder of Peet’s Coffee, was well over 80 at the time. When I phoned him, he said,“I’m just back from Holland, too jet lagged to drive to San Francisco”. I took a chance and said, “what if I drive?”. He never hesitated, “what time should I be ready?”

In Robert’s kitchen that night, I introduced the elder game changer to the two up-and-coming. I was the only female watching these boys figure each other out, joke with each other, and eventually find common ground, and even show a little respect. I had a wonderful time and left with the guy what brought me, that is, the guy that I brought… Memorable evening.

Ultimately Scharffen Berger cocoa was memorable too: aromatic, chocolaty, fruity, filled with a range of complex flavors. Because it was such a pleasure to work with, I began to pay careful attention…

I started to notice that simmering or boiling seemed to destroy some of its bright fruity flavors and sometimes produced unpleasant flavor notes. For that reason, my recipes for cocoa frosting and cocoa sauce call for heating but no simmering. Lately I’ve wondered if some of my older recipes, like Sicilian Gelato or chocolate pudding, would be improved by not boiling the cocoa.

So I tried the gelato without letting the cocoa simmer: I simmered the base mixture (Straus organic milk, sugar, and cornstarch) just enough to eliminate the raw starch flavor. Then I whisked the base into the cocoa at the very end. I was rewarded with better, brighter, and more complex cocoa flavor. That recipe was good before, and now it’s better. If you try it, remember that home made ice creams have no gums or additives to keep then from freezing rock solid. Once frozen, you will need to soften the gelato slightly in the microwave or fridge before scooping and serving. Then again, if your gang is available at the critical moment, this stuff makes irresistible soft-serve, right out of the machine. You’ll end up eating plenty that way, so be happy it’s relatively guilt free.

CHOCOLATE SICILIAN GELATO REDUX

Sicilian gelato contains no eggs or cream; it’s made with milk and thickened ever so slightly with starch to give it creaminess and body. When it’s done properly and with good ingredients, it is satisfying and flavorful and refreshingly not-too-rich. It’s simple and delicious, and I often like it better than richer and fancier ice creams.

Ingredients:

2.4 ounces (3/4 cup) unsweetened natural (my preference) cocoa powder

3 cups milk (whole, low fat or nonfat!)

4.6 ounces (2/3 cup) sugar

1 1/2 tablespoons cornstarch.

1/8 teaspoons salt

Equipment:

Ice cream maker

In a medium large bowl, whisk the cocoa with just enough of the milk to form a smooth loose paste. Set aside, near the stove. In a medium saucepan, mix the sugar with the cornstarch and salt. Whisk in enough of the remaining milk to form a smooth paste. Whisk in the rest of the milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly with a silicon spatula or wooden spoon, scraping the sides, bottom and corners of the pan to avoid scorching, until the mixture thickens and bubbles a little at the edges. Continue to cook, stirring constantly, for two minutes longer. Scrape the mixture over the cocoa paste. Whisk until thoroughly blended. Let cool. Cover and chill several hours or overnight. Freeze according to the instructions with your ice cream maker. Note: the mixture is thick to begin with and may take less time than average time in the ice cream maker. Makes about 1 quart.

POSTSCRIPT: Just to muddy the water a little, just to prove that “consistency (really) is the hobgoblin of small minds” (apologies to Ralph Waldo Emerson) and that logical conclusions are not always logical, when I tried my best chocolate pudding recipe without boiling the cocoa, it wasn’t as good as the original. What’s good for the gelato is not good for the pudding? Go figure!

Duck Duck Duck Eggs

My friend Josh brought a dozen fresh eggs from his ducks. How could I be this old and never have tasted duck eggs? Never mind. I scrambled one immediately so he could share my first taste. I thought, “rich, not as egg-y (by which I guess I meant chicken egg-y) tasting as chicken eggs, hmmm”. Some people think they taste cheesy according to Josh. I didn’t and still don’t taste cheese, but the rich texture is somewhat reminiscent of scrambled eggs with cheese. And that extra richness does have its own flavor, which mutes what I would ordinarily consider to be an “egg-y” flavor. But I was hooked by the time I had finished my half of that first egg, which I had cooked hot and fast (but very soft) in brown butter and eaten with whole grain toast. Over the next few days I ate a scrambled duck egg (often cooked in peppery extra virgin olive oil) everyday for breakfast. These have been so delicious I haven’t been able to make myself branch out and poach, fry sunny-side-up, or make custard with even one of them. Last night, my cousins came to dinner. Duck egg virgins! What to do? I made a little appetizer: scrambled duck eggs with crunchy toasted baguette slices and chopped parsley on the side (a good call as it turned out), so we could each assemble our own little tastes. We had flakey Maldon salt and a pepper grinder at hand. Interestingly, the pepper overwhelmed the good duck egg-y flavor and the parsley was completely distracting. All that was wanted was a little salt after all.

This morning I was at it again. I scrambled my solitary egg in extra virgin olive oil, on low heat instead of high, and stirring constantly so the eggs came out very moist and creamy, very oeufs brouilles (someone please tell me how to get an accent egu over that last “e” please). I ate them with toast and salt. They were the best yet.

There are only a couple duck eggs left now. Tomorrow I might finally be able to poach one. Or maybe not.

Dulce Dulce

A couple of readers reported an unpleasantly graininess when they tried my dulce de leche from Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-In-Your-Mouth Cookies. I had good results when I tested for the book, so I was curious about the feedback. I made the recipe several times in the last few days, paying close attention to what might be going on.

Before I get into the details, let me admit that the recipe takes more like 60-90 minutes than the optimistic 45 minutes that I said it would take. And, you might as well use a bigger pot than I called for so that the mixture won’t flow over the moment you turn your back.

About the texture, it turns out that tending the pot and stirring frequently is critically important for a smooth sauce. You must stir any foam into the sauce regularly, as well as scraping the bottom and corners of the pot and around the sides, continually incorporating any thickened sauce from the sides and corners of the pot into the rest of the sauce before those thickened parts congeal and toughen. As the sauce thickens towards the end of the cooking, you must stir more often, and then constantly. I use a silicon spatula mostly, but have also used a whisk, though the whisk tends to cause more foam and if you whisk briskly the finished dulce will be lighter in color and texture, which may or may not be what you want. I’ve revised the recipe below with greater emphasis on stirring and with the additional step of straining the finished sauce for a little extra smoothness insurance. And I’ve added a pat of butter…

In one of my samples I ran out of whole milk and had to top off the measure with less than ¼ cup of non-fat milk. So, I added maybe a tablespoon of heavy cream to compensate. It seemed like a negligible amount so I promptly forgot about it. Comparing samples later, I liked the texture of that one best. I concluded that I had just been more careful about stirring. But later, I remembered that tiny bit of cream and wondered if such a small amount of extra fat could have softened the proteins (or something?). So I tested again with whole milk and but added a tablespoon of butter. I got the smoothest sauce of all... Of course I also tended the pot as though it were a baby. Clearly this is a recipe to make when you have time or other things going on in the kitchen meanwhile.

DULCE DULCE DE LECHE

(Revised from Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-In-Your-Mouth Cookies)

Makes 1 generous cup

Ingredients:

½ vanilla bean

1 quart whole milk

1 tablespoon butter

½ cup (3.5 ounces) sugar

½ teaspoon baking soda

Pinch of salt (optional but really good...)

Set a fine or medium fine strainer over a heatproof bowl.

With a sharp paring knife, cut the vanilla bean in half lengthwise. In a large heavy bottomed pot (that holds at least 6-quarts) combine the vanilla bean pieces with the milk, butter, sugar, baking soda, and salt. Bring the mixture to a simmer, stirring frequently, especially around the sides of the pot. At first the milk will foam dramatically, and it may curdle, but will eventually smooth out. Continue to cook, frequently stirring in any foam on top and sweeping the sides, corners, and all over the bottom of the pot with a silicone spatula. Keep the mixture boiling briskly but not furiously without letting it overflow. The mixture will gradually turn a deep caramel color as it thickens. This may take from 60-90 minutes, depending on your stove and the size of your pot. The mixture becomes especially bubbly and foamy in the last stages of cooking: adjust the heat so that it bubbles actively but not violently and stir it very frequently, and then constantly (especially around the sides and corners of the pot) until done. It is done when the mixture is reduced to a generous cup and a little spooned over an ice cube thickens to a soft gel. Scrape the sauce into the strainer and stir and press it through. Be sure to scrape the sauce from underneath the strainer into the bowl. Cool the sauce slightly, then taste and adjust the salt. You can put the spent pieces of vanilla bean back into the mixture if you like. They will either keep on giving flavor or at least look as though they are. May be kept in a covered container in the refrigerator for at least 1 month

Sending Back the Fish

I have a reputation in my family for sending back fish. I am not a hard to please diner. (Is that my daughter rolling her eyes?) It’s not my fault if I am served bad fish, or that someone at my table gets bad fish. I don’t think I am supposed to just sit there and let a loved one get sick. It happens disproportionately often when I am with my daughter. Once (with her) I sent back a platter of crudo at the Restaurant George atop the Centre Pompidou, even as we marveled at one of Paris’ most spectacular views. The waiter assured me that the fish had just come in. I assured him that (none-the-less) it did not smell fresh. Paris is yet another reason live: no one should die from eating bad fish.

My pre-teen had to learn to pretend she was not mortified to have a mother send back the fish, or wine from a bottle that was open too long or served in a glass that smelled of bleach, or baba ganoush that was beginning to ferment, or you name it. In my defense, I try always to behave graciously when sending food back. I do not berate waiters or behave obnoxiously. I have learned to be firm and reasonably charming (after a rocky start, I admit). In my further defense, my daughter, now in her early 20’s and no longer so easily mortified, has herself learned to handle restaurant situations with a modest aplomb that I did not acquire until I was much older. I am sure that she is grateful for her early training with me. I am sure…

Once, lunching alone, in San Francisco, two young women three tables behind me ordered the fish, though I did not. When the waiter walked past with their fish, I could smell that it was not fresh. I was beside myself. Should I mind my own fish (so to speak) or step up and appear to be a psycho: “Excuse me waiter, that fish over there across the room is not fresh…” I held my tongue. I wondered what the New York Times Ethicist would have said about allowing strangers to eat iffy fish, but I never wrote him and now he’s been replaced with a new guy that I am not yet comfortable with. I kept quiet but saved the story for my long-suffering offspring. She of the rolling eyes instantly understood both the hilarious irony of the situation and my acute discomfort in keeping silent. That’s my girl.

A few days ago I returned an expensive bottle of champagne to a neighborhood store…

I think we should speak up. How else will they know when something is not right?

Berkeley Breakfast For Two In 15 Minutes

Every now and then I love to be reminded that the best meals I’ve ever cooked are the simple fast ones I’ve prepared for people I love: a daughter, a lover, or a cherished friend. They often involve a little serendipity.

Last week my dear friend E set out for Berkeley from the North Coast to continue the celebration of her 75^th. As usual, she stopped at the Booneville hotel to break the drive. But the Booneville was booked, so they tucked her in at the Toll House Inn 10 minutes up the hill on the road to Ukiah. She headed south again the following morning, after de-icing car door handles and scooping up the bottle of Alexander Valley chardonnay (Handley 2007) gifted by the hotel. Neither of us would have chosen the chardonnay, but even the persnickety can be tempted by free wine. Good thing.

POACHED EGGS FOR TWO W/ ASPARAGUS, BROWN BUTTER, FRESH TARRAGON, AND CALIFORNIA CHARDONNAY

Be sure the kitchen table is de-cluttered and the Magnolia blossoms plucked from the neighbor’s tree are in a lovely dish in the center. Tulips should already be arranged in the big vase behind the sink with lilies in the opposite corner of the room. (It wouldn’t hurt if the rest of house was de-cluttered as well-but that doesn’t count in my fifteen-minute prep time, nor does the fact that E usually gets up first and makes coffee for both of us well before we contemplate breakfast)

Put a wide skillet of water on the stove to heat. Meanwhile cut four slices from a loaf of Acme levain and put them in a turned off toaster oven. Rinse and peel asparagus stalks and set the kitchen table with flaky sea salt and a pepper grinder. When the skillet water is boiling, add salt and asparagus. Plop a chunk of unsalted butter into a tiny saucepan with a sprig of fresh tarragon over medium heat. Keep an eye on the butter and swirl it in the pot from time to time until it is fragrant and golden brown. When the asparagus is al dente (and still bright green), transfer the spears to a double layer of paper towels. (Check the butter and pour it into a ramekin when it is done).

Bring the asparagus water back to a simmer. Break four very fresh farm eggs into the water, in a clockwise pattern. Turn the burner OFF, cover the pan, and set the toaster oven for 3 minutes. Meanwhile uncork an expensive bottle of champagne and discover that it is not very good. When the toaster oven beeps, divide the toast between two plates and drizzle them with a little of the brown butter. Use a slotted spoon to remove the first egg, draining the excess water by resting the spoon on a folded paper towel before sliding the egg onto a slice of toast. Repeat, scooping each egg from the water in the order it was added. Garnish plates with asparagus and drizzle more brown butter over the eggs and asparagus. Top with tarragon leaves, pinches of flaky salt, and grinds of pepper.

Serve a slightly oaky, buttery, bottle of Alexander Valley Chardonnay (which turns out to be an even better choice than the champagne would have been…) Linger over breakfast as long as possible.

PS Enjoy left over brown butter on toast with salt and tarragon leaves for several mornings thereafter and don't forget to return the champagne to the store.

Good News and Bad News: Carrot Re-Torte Part Two

I was so smitten with my Carrot Almond Torte (Carrot Re-Torte) that I decided to try yet another variation. In testing it, I found a typo: the baking temperature for Carrot Almond Torte should be 325 degrees instead of 350. Mea culpa. Good news is that the bad news is not all that bad. I've already corrected the original post, but wanted to call out to the first group of enthusiastic readers who said they were going to try the recipe asap and may have printed it out before I corrected it. I hope not...

More good news is that there is a less messy ways to squeeze those carrots. If you have a hinged citrus squeezer for oranges or lemons, or potato ricer, you can use it to squeeze your grated carrots. I was able to get at more than 3 tablespoons of delicious juice from 8 ounces of carrots. You'll see from the photo that I have the yellow lemon squeezer instead of the larger orange orange squeezer. Still, it took only three batches to squeeze all of the carrots and I didn't need to use paper towels at all.  And, a potato ricer holds even more carrots...Just remember to squeeze hard and turn the squeezer sideways before you finish, to get those last drops of juice.

Carrot Re-Torte

Nora Ephron remembers nothing. I remember nothing in my refrigerator. Why do I have so many carrots?

At the market, in the carrot aisle, I say (to myself), “you should eat more carrots” or “it's cold outside, why not braise something (with carrots)” or “how about making those Spicy Carrot Macaroons…” (Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-In-Your-Mouth Cookies, page 164). Then, having NOT eaten carrots, braised anything, or made macaroons, I'm flush with carrots, bags and bags of them.

While I can’t remember if I have carrots, I can remember the carrot torte that I made from the 1948 Settlement Cookbook when I was 15. It was certainly not the cake you are thinking of, with the oil and walnuts and crushed pineapple and spices all slathered with cream cheese frosting. It was a torte. Sophisticated. European. It was all ground almonds, grated carrots, eggs. It had no baking powder or soda and not a speck of flour! You had to separate those eggs and proceed as though making a real sponge cake, folding stiffly beaten eggs whites into the whole business at the end. I had never eaten or even heard of such a torte, but I made one that day in the large aluminum angel food pan that lived (though rarely used) in our kitchen. The batter rose beautifully (see, I do remember the 60’s) and then collapsed tragically. The golden brown edges, slightly crusty yet chewy, were still clinging to the sides of the pan but the moist center was caved in. I leaned against our grey Formica counter contemplating, meanwhile exploring (as anyone would have) the chewy and gooey parts of the cake with a fork. I must have been wondering what went wrong and what to do next. Did I scoop it out and serve the yummy stuff to the family with great dollops of whipped cream and confidence? Or did I nibble a bit too much of it myself and then chalk it up to failure? That I don’t remember. But the torte has been in the back of my mind ever since.

Today, reading the recipe I could surmise that I under-baked the original and perhaps overbeat the egg whites too. Who knows what my skills were at 15? Presuming an experienced baker, the recipe offers no more than a paragraph of instruction. I could fix that!

To begin, the recipe calls for grated cooked carrots. Surely I could get better color and brighter flavor if I skipped the cooking step and just let the carrots cook in the torte. However, I smartly decided to squeeze the daylights out of the raw grated carrots to remove excess juice, as there would be no flour to absorb extra moisture. It's a shame to remove such delicious liquid, but no one likes a soggy carrot torte! And the baker rewards herself with that bonus shot of fresh carrot juice anyway. My first try was clearly on the right track. But it wasn’t quite the torte of memory. To my taste today, it needed more salt, more orange zest, a little cinnamon, a nuance of almond extract to compensate for (heat processed, salmonella-safe) less flavorful almonds, plus a slightly more detailed mixing method, just in case a less-experienced-but-ambitious young baker might want to try it.

Voila! It’s now as delicious as I want to remember it: still a little crusty chewy on the outside with a moist, nubbly, flavorful, slightly macaroon-like interior.

CARROT ALMOND TORTE

For such an old school recipe, it’s amusing to know how many pieces of electric equipment I managed to use here: two mixers and a food processor! But I used my trusty old French 1970’s hand crank Mouli to grate the carrots!

Ingredients:

8 ounces (1 1/2 cups) whole almonds, skins and all

7 ounces (1 cup) sugar, divided

8 ounces (2 cups) lightly packed finely grated peeled carrots

1 medium organic or unsprayed orange

4 large eggs, separated and at room temperature

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon (slightly rounded) ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon almond extract

1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar

Unsweetened whipped cream (with a little vanilla if you like)

Equipment:

8=inch spring form pan with sides buttered or greased

Food processor

A hand-held mixer and a stand mixer, if possible

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees with a rack in the lower third.

In the food processor, pulse the almonds with 2 tablespoons of sugar until the nuts are very finely ground. Set aside.

Stack three or four paper towels on the counter. A handful at a time, squeeze the grated carrots hard, over a bowl (if you plan to sip the juice) to extract as much juice as possible. Put each handful of squeezed carrots in the center of the paper towels until all are squeezed. Gather the edges of the towels up around the carrots and squeeze some more. (Or, see my next post about using a citrus squeezer or potato ricer to do this job).  Set aside.

Use a micro plane zester to grate the zest of the orange directly into a large mixing bowl. Add the egg yolks, salt, cinnamon, and almond extract. Set aside 2 more tablespoons of sugar before adding the remaining 3/4 cup to the bowl. Beat the mixture with a hand held electric mixer or with a wire whisk for 1 or 2 minutes until it is thick and lightened in color. Sprinkle the grated carrots into the bowl, but don’t mix them in.

In the (clean dry) bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, combine the egg whites and cream of tartar. Beat on medium/medium high speed until the whites are white (rather than translucent yellow) and hold a soft shape. Gradually sprinkle in the reserved two tablespoons of sugar, beating at high speed until the egg whites are stiff but not dry. Scrape one quarter of the egg whites on top of the carrots and batter. Use a large rubber spatula to fold the whites and carrots into the batter. Scrape the remaining egg whites into the bowl and pour the ground almonds over and around them. Fold the egg whites and almonds into the batter. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and spread the surface level. 

Bake for 45-50 minutes until the surface of the torte is golden brown and just beginning to separate from the sides of the pan and the torte springs back when you press it gently with a finger. Cool the torte in the pan, on a rack. Slide a slim knife or spatula around the sides of the torte to detach it from the pan and remove the sides of the pan. Slide a knife between the cake and the bottom of the pan to detach it. Use a metal pancake turner to transfer the cake to a serving plate. Slice and serve with dollops of whipped cream.