4/1/91

Dutch Treat

Dutch chocolate? Oh, yes. But this batch is especially delicious. And it's low-cal. And it's kosher.

By: Sam Orbaum

"THE ZOUAVE," the "Potato Eaters" and "Starry Night" were compelling enough reasons to visit Holland. As a pilgrim to the Vincent van Gogh centenary exhibition, the last thing on my mind was chocolate.
    "Before you go to the exhibits, I would like to take you to see something very special," said an acquaintance. I made it clear that I did not wish to be sidetracked. "Never mind," she smiled. "You'll thank me."
    I did. Because thanks to my friend, I discovered Jeannette Cosman, master of the cloisonne art of chocolaterie.
    Cosman has achieved the impossible in chocolate - a product that is low in calories, with only minute traces of sugar, and milk-free. And she uses only natural ingredients.
Perfect for the health-conscious, diabetic, lactose-intolerant chocolate freak on a diet, the little brown nuggets are individually crafted by hand, and what's more, they're certified kosher by the Dutch rabbinate.
    With so many strictures, they should taste like the earth-colored paint of Vincent's peasant portraits. But that is Cosman's most astonishing achievement. Hers are the most delicious chocolates I have ever sampled.
    Somehow, the rich chocolate flavor is retained, the tooth-numbing sweetness is eliminated, and most impressively, there is no oily aftertaste.

JEANNETTE COSMAN became a chocolate maven after one of her children was stricken with diabetes. She had to adapt her family cooking to new dietary restrictions, and later, when she sought to make a living from her culinary talents, she "wanted to make something new and different, something I would enjoy producing - and something my son could enjoy eating."
    However, she did not want to make something that diabetics could eat but that nobody else would want. Cosman attributes her discovery to "lots of studying, experimenting, careful purchasing and the guidance of a dietician."
    Presumably, lots of tasting, too.
    She buys chocolate with minimal sugar from a renowned manufacturer in Belgium, and reduces the sugar content a further 3 percent. It is difficult, she says, to come up with fillings and decoration that are "not stuffed with sugar," so she buys fresh fruit and other natural ingredients and processes them herself, using traditional methods.
    "I use sugar only for nougat and caramel," she says, almost apologetically, "and for a chocolate-and sugar-covered hazelnut."
    Cosman claims that demand is greater than her little factory's capacity to produce these little gems. Less than two years in the business, Cosman already has the Dutch paying a fair guilder for gourmet bonbons, many of them neither knowing nor caring that the chocolates are enthusiastically endorsed by nutritionists, dieticians and rabbis.
    She adds that KLM Airlines expressed keen interest in adding her chocolates to its menu, but insisted they be of uniform shape and size - in other words, machine-made.    Cosman firmly declined.
    Her staff does in fact fill personalized requests, such as a chocolate Tora scroll for a bar mitzva celebration or chocolate Hebrew letters.
    The shop at 87 Europaplein in the southern part of Amsterdam is a curious mix of Jewish Funk and Art Deco. A modest Magen David adorns the window, while inside is a huge brown menora fashioned from pure chocolate. Other confectionery Judaica abounds in the glass display cases, but overall the premises are designed to look like a candy shop from 1934.
    Cosman recognizes the Willy Wonka in all of us, and lures visitors to the pristine back room, where the chocolates are made. The factory and the shop are separated by glass doors, so one can watch the creative process in the back without getting up from the table by the front door.
    But still, I wanted a close-up look at the thick, gurgling liquid chocolate gently undulating in the steel vat, and the airy orange cream being whipped. My eyes were in my nostrils, and, like Willy Wonka, I wanted to fall into the vat.
    Harvey Greenhill would have fished me out, grinning widely and with a hearty chortle. Greenhill, a 53-year-old retired U.S. Army veteran with an infectious happy-go-lucky nature, is one of Cosman's handful of employees. We became instant buddies with nothing in common but an addiction to chocolate.
    Greenhill showed me the ropes. However, he wouldn't let me in on any secrets, so I waited until he turned his back to pull chocolate molds out of the refrigerator. I quickly analyzed the ingredients on the shelf above his work counter. Aha! Coffee. Nuts. Ginger. Sesame seeds. Marzipan. Puffed rice. Just as I thought.
    Harvey brought the tray of molds to Jacques, a silver-haired, 73-year-old Dutch pastry chef who had come out of retirement to work for Cosman. Jacques sat facing the storefront window, beneath the Magen David, and with meticulous care decorated each little cream-filled chocolate. From the street, he gave the appearance of a mannequin placed there to evoke nostalgia for when craftsmen did what computerized conveyor belts do now.
    Cosman meanwhile greeted me with an encompassing warmth she reserves exclusively for members of the human race. I didn't have to ask - two plates piled high with the specialties of the house were quickly placed in front of me, and I didn't have to apologize for the exceedingly bad manners I showed in khlopping down far more than my share. I had the feeling that restraint would have been an insult.