Vanilla Rum Panna Cotta with Rum-Roasted Cherries

A touch of the spectacular.

“When we no longer have good cooking in the world, we will have no literature, nor high and sharp intelligence, nor friendly gatherings, no social harmony.” — Marie-Antoine Carême

Golden elevators, floor-to-ceiling rococo-style gilt (plastic) appliqués, marble ballrooms the size and charm of a Marriott convention center; an “American” Arc de Triomphe, meant no doubt to evoke Napoleonic grandeur, somehow only achieving the bombastic authoritarian monuments of a past century. His White House possesses none of the elegance of the Versailles he aspires to, only the vulgarity of a strip mall casino pretending to be a royal palace. Overcooked steaks drowned in ketchup and fast food junk served under the gaudiest of chandeliers, the light reflecting endlessly across tainted gold-plate and faux-marble columns, every sightline from every white-clothed table arranged, no doubt, so that guests might eventually lift their eyes and gaze, with biblical inevitability, upon another golden likeness of himself. Unless he invites his guests to eat al fresco on a slab of cement that was once Jackie’s garden.

And the endless spectacle of his own morose image on gargantuan banners unfurled across public buildings, colossal fabric monuments to vanity and power, those greedy eyes seeming to follow the public wherever it moves, like the painted gaze in some decaying ancestral portrait above the mantlepiece in a horror movie.

I can almost hear the scathing sarcasm, the withering remarks, the delighted mockery of Oscar Wilde and Salvador Dalí, both accomplished flamboyants, both devoted to extravagance, two men who understood that spectacle without cleverness and taste is merely vulgar and obscene.

Oh, how I miss the discreet grace and refined elegance of past first couples.

I thought we needed a touch of the spectacular this week. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been feeling droopy lately, exhausted by the dismantling of the beauty and soul of our historical symbols, the Rose Garden, the East Wing, the Kennedy Center, the Reflecting Pool, and the slow whittling away of our National Parks. I feel deep in my bones that the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, Mount Rushmore — all of it — are already in his sights. Nothing is safe from his sordid impulses and his aesthetic assaults.

(As I write this, I see the news that he is planning on replacing the grass of the South Lawn with a huge concrete helipad; lord save us all.)

I like to think that, occasionally, we would do best to channel the extravagance and spectacular glamour of Wilde or Dali, the flamboyance of Elsa Schiaparelli or Mae West. Shake ourselves out of our doldrums. Wash ourselves clean of this new MAGA culture of tasteless spectacle and lowbrow excess. I love finding moments of joy in a bit of pizazz, indulging in a little outrageous glamour. It takes me out of myself and away from the blighted gaudiness masquerading as grandeur.

I pull out my mom’s old costume jewelry, clip on chunky earrings and drape an excess of glittery beads around my neck. I wear ruffles and bright colors and mix loud prints. But embracing flamboyance isn’t only how one dresses — although it absolutely does help one’s mood enormously. Live your life a little bit more lavishly through every daily gesture and ritual: set your table with that fancy china you usually pull out only for Christmas or Seder. Drink wine with lunch and fill a vase or two with flowers. Put on music instead of the news. Read novels that are only meant to charm, The Importance of Being Earnest or Martin Chuzzlewit, and borrow their wit. Take a bike ride and go for a picnic in some long-forgotten, overgrown, wild place, or go bowling (dressed to the nines), stroll through a flea market, or just do something you’ve not done in years.

The self-indulgence of a little extravagance isn’t a necessary luxury as much as it is a rejection of vulgarity born of pompous excess and a refusal to be pulled down into the gaudy theatrics of a man driven by delusions of grandeur who confuses ostentation with beauty. A bit of opulence — and we all know that doesn’t have to mean expensive — brings the momentary bouts of delight that we need so very much now, heaven knows, more than ever. A little absurdity goes a long way to lifting one’s spirits.

Of course, food, in my book, is a natural expression of sensuous delight. The most rustic family-style dish can be exceptional; the simplest dessert proves sumptuous. And I just knew that this week I had to share one of my very special recipes with you: my vanilla rum canna cotta with rum-roasted cherries. Because, simply stated, it’s spectacular.

“Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.” — Mae West

Panna cotta is one of our favorite treats. It’s a snap to make and elegantly satisfying to eat. Vanilla and rum go so perfectly together, creating a complex layering of flavors against the creamy backdrop, adding warmth to the coolness of the dessert. The roasted cherries with their own touch of rum are a splendid topping.

Vanilla Rum Panna Cotta with Rum-Roasted Cherries

Panna cotta is made the day before serving, allowing it time to set in the refrigerator.

I like panna cotta to be smooth and creamy, not stiff; if you prefer stiffer panna cotta, just increase the gelatin slightly.

Makes about 6

For the Vanilla Rum Panna Cotta:

3 cups (750 ml) cream or a combination of heavy cream, light cream/half-and-half and milk

2 teaspoons (¼ ounces, 8 grams) powdered unflavored gelatin

½ cup (100 grams) granulated white sugar

½ teaspoon vanilla extract or the seeds scraped from one vanilla pod

3 tablespoons dark rum or to taste

In a medium, heavy-bottomed saucepan, pour 1 cup (250 ml) of the cold cream/milk mixture and sprinkle the gelatin on top. Allow to sit for 5 minutes to soften the gelatin; I gently tap the gelatin to push it under the liquid. After 5 minutes, turn the flame under the pot to low and allow the cream to heat very gently for 5 minutes until the gelatin dissolves completely, whisking carefully. Do not allow the cream to come to a boil: you can add a bit more of the cream/milk to the pot if desired while heating; if the milk starts to steam too much, simply pull the pot off the heat and whisk until the 5 minutes are up.

Whisk in the sugar and the rest of the cream or cream mixture and continue to heat over low until the sugar is dissolved and the liquid is thoroughly warmed through. Whisk in the vanilla and the rum, taste and add more rum if desired. Remove from the heat and allow to cool slightly before dividing evenly between 6 glasses, verrines, or ramekins.

Cover each with plastic wrap and slide into the refrigerator to chill and firm overnight.

For the Rum Roasted Cherries:

30 plump, ripe unpitted cherries

2 tablespoons demerara or granulated brown sugar (cassonade)

Pinch salt or fleur de sel

2 tablespoons dark rum

Preheat the oven to 450°F (230°C).

Place the whole cherries in a small roasting pan and toss with the sugar and a tiny pinch of salt. Place in the oven and roast until the cherries start to release their juices and the sugar melts and begins to caramelize. This will take about 10 minutes, but watch the cherries very carefully, making sure the sugar doesn’t begin to burn.

At the end of 10 minutes, remove the roasting pan from the oven and add the 2 tablespoons dark rum and toss until all the sugar is moistened and the cherries are coated. Return the roasting pan to the oven for 5 more minutes.

Remove the roasting pan from the oven to a cooling rack. Allow the cherries to rest until cool enough to handle. Remove the stems from the cherries except a few for decoration, if desired. Pit the cherries (except the few still with their stems) over the roasting pan to catch any juices and discard the pits.

Place the roasting pan on the stove over a very, very low flame and stir and toss, gently pressing the cherries with the back of a spoon or spatula just to release a bit more juice. Toss and cook gently but very quickly – only a minute or two – until the last of the sugar has melted and a thick, cherry red juice forms. Remove from the heat and allow to cool to either warm or room temperature.

Spoon a few of the rum-roasted cherries onto each chilled and set vanilla rum panna cotta with a bit of the cherry rum juice and serve immediately.

Jamie Schler is an American food and culture writer — immersed in French culinary history — living in France where she owns a hotel, makes jam, and writes the Substack Life’s a Feast.

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