Monte Bianco

Monte Bianco belongs to autumn. It arrives with the first frost, when chestnuts fall from the trees in the hills above Turin and the air turns sharp enough to see your breath. To make it any other time is to miss the point entirely.

The Piemontesi have argued with the French for centuries over who invented this dessert. Let them argue. What matters is that the chestnut purée must be passed through a food mill or ricer to create the distinctive vermicelli strands that give the mountain its texture. Shortcuts with a food processor create paste. The strands must remain airy, separate, almost fragile. When you spoon through the whipped cream into the chestnut beneath, each strand should yield, then dissolve.

I have eaten Monte Bianco made with canned chestnut purée, and I will tell you plainly: do not bother. The sweetened paste in tins has none of the depth of fresh chestnuts simmered in vanilla milk. If you cannot find fresh chestnuts, or if you are unwilling to spend an hour peeling them, make a different dessert. There are no shortcuts worth taking here.