My little brown balls of goodness have come a long way.
I first blogged the recipe back in 2004. Then one Belle de Jour made them and was so enamoured that she mentioned them in one book, and printed the recipe in another (along with a very nice dedication to the cook).
Since then the recipe has been spotted all over the shop - most recently in a copy of The Big Issue.
So now I'm 'slutting them up' and including them here - because they're perfect for Easter, in a devised-by-an-atheist-for-Christmas-then-adopted-by-a-Jewish-call-girl-and-media-sensation sort of way. Like I said, perfect for Easter!
These truffles are very, very, very easy to make (after all, I can manage it), and very, erm, tactile. If you don't dig the whole slow-melt vibe, just zap the chocolate in the microwave for a few minutes.
150g (5 oz) dark chocolate
2 tablespoons of dark rum
150ml (¼ pint) double cream
24g (1 oz) butter
The peel from 1 orange
2 teaspoons of ground cinnamon
1 tablespoon of plain flour
1 tablespoon of cocoa powder
toasted nuts (optional)
1. Break up the chocolate and melt in a saucepan on a low heat, along with the cream and butter, and the cloves.
2. Grate the orange peel directly into the saucepan using a cheese grater; add a squeeze of juice if you like. After a few minutes, stir in the rum and add 1 teaspoon of cinnamon.
3. Keep stirring for about 3 minutes, then pick out the cloves and transfer the mixture to a bowl, and place this in the fridge overnight.
4. The next day, dust a wooden board with the flour, and sprinkle some cocoa powder and the remaining cinnamon over it too. If you're using toasted nuts, keep them on a plate nearby.
5. Take heaped teaspoons of the chilled truffle mixture and roll into small balls with your hands. Roll these in the flour/cocoa/cinnamon mixture (and then in the nuts if you like) and plop into petit-four cases.
Chill until ready to serve.
You may also want to try these with, or just add a bit of, melted white chocolate. DO NOT take them to the ballet to snack on. When the house lights come up, you WILL look like an interrupted coprophagiac. You'll smell like a gingerbread house, however. Mange!
Image by Paul Carvill, Flickr.