A lot of marinades use oil in some proportion. There is a scientific reason for that, but it eludes me right now, and it isn't the issue here anyway.
Those marinades, once the meat or fish has been removed, have good flavor and would make a good sauce, but because of the oil in there, it can't be reduced (oil doesn't evaporate, and it will cook-out the other ingredients, leaving you with a greasy smear).
So, what do you do? Well, I learned this trick the other day, and it seemed really obvious to me once it was pointed out, but it needed to be pointed out to me, so maybe other folk haven't thought of it either.
Add flour. Oil is just fat, and fat and flour, cooked together, makes a roux. Your marinade will thicken up (and it will cook out any raw food ickiness that remains behind) and you'll be able to use all that marinade flavor to dress-up whatever meat you had sitting in it.
In my case I was making a wet-jerk for chicken. The chicken had lots of flavor, but it looked a little lonely on the plate, needing something to add some sheen and moisture. The marinade thickened up nice, and added elements of flavor that the meat only had hints of (namely the habanero, it was damn spicy, and I scaled back the peppers. The original recipe called for 10, TEN habanero peppers, I used two).
Give it a try next time you marinade. Sauces are good stuff, and always nice to add to your plate.
7/28/09
You rarely learn what you expect to
I think a lot of people expect that, when you go to cooking school, you learn how to cook. Well, to some extent that is the case, but really cooking is something that you learn through repetition and experience - and mistakes. So I doubt that anyone comes out of cooking school knowing how to make a perfect steak or etouffee every time. Maybe you know it in theory, but you need to practice it more than school can allow.
What you do learn - other than the practical aspect of running a restaurant (managing inventory, controlling costs, etc) are tricks. For instance, today I learned that croutons do not need to be hard, sharp, crusty bits that shatter under your fork when you try to make them. The trick is to toss them in oil and toast them until they are a little brown, but still sort of soft. As the croutons cool, they will get a little harder, but they'll remain slightly chewy, and you can stick them with a fork without reducing them to a powder. Even better, they won't reduce your mouth to a bloody mass of raw flesh when you chew on them.
Here is a more complete recipe for crouton-y goodness:
Stale bread - 1-2 oz per person, cut into "interesting shapes" (in other words, plain old cubes are a bit passe)
Flavorful oil - as needed
Salt and pepper to taste
Any other flavorful spices (avoid piquant stuff, since it will overpower your taste buds and drown out the salad - or soup - you are putting this on)
Preheat your oven to between 325 and 350 degrees F.
Cut up the bread into your "interesting shapes" and place in a large, clean bowl
drizzle a little oil over the bread and toss to coat - it is probably better to do this step in two, smaller steps, putting a little oil on, tossing, and reapplying then re-coating. This gives you better coverage.
Sprinkle about half of what you'll need of your spice mix and salt and pepper, and toss. Sprinkle with the other half and toss again (again, this is all about uniform coverage)
Place in the oven, on a rack that is, in turn, on a sheet-pan. Cook for about 15 minutes before you check it.
The way you tell it is done is if there is some color and texture to the croutons, but they still give a little when squeezed. This is your last chance to adjust seasoning (while still hot).
Let them cool, and then distribute them over a salad or float them in a soup.
Take them out
What you do learn - other than the practical aspect of running a restaurant (managing inventory, controlling costs, etc) are tricks. For instance, today I learned that croutons do not need to be hard, sharp, crusty bits that shatter under your fork when you try to make them. The trick is to toss them in oil and toast them until they are a little brown, but still sort of soft. As the croutons cool, they will get a little harder, but they'll remain slightly chewy, and you can stick them with a fork without reducing them to a powder. Even better, they won't reduce your mouth to a bloody mass of raw flesh when you chew on them.
Here is a more complete recipe for crouton-y goodness:
Stale bread - 1-2 oz per person, cut into "interesting shapes" (in other words, plain old cubes are a bit passe)
Flavorful oil - as needed
Salt and pepper to taste
Any other flavorful spices (avoid piquant stuff, since it will overpower your taste buds and drown out the salad - or soup - you are putting this on)
Preheat your oven to between 325 and 350 degrees F.
Cut up the bread into your "interesting shapes" and place in a large, clean bowl
drizzle a little oil over the bread and toss to coat - it is probably better to do this step in two, smaller steps, putting a little oil on, tossing, and reapplying then re-coating. This gives you better coverage.
Sprinkle about half of what you'll need of your spice mix and salt and pepper, and toss. Sprinkle with the other half and toss again (again, this is all about uniform coverage)
Place in the oven, on a rack that is, in turn, on a sheet-pan. Cook for about 15 minutes before you check it.
The way you tell it is done is if there is some color and texture to the croutons, but they still give a little when squeezed. This is your last chance to adjust seasoning (while still hot).
Let them cool, and then distribute them over a salad or float them in a soup.
Take them out
7/27/09
Kitchens in the summer
We're hitting 100+ degrees out here for the next few days. Nothing worse than working in a hot kitchen when the outside temperature is hot, too. During my last kitchen job, over the summer, the temperature on the hot line would routinely hit 120 degrees. Pretty sure that the teaching kitchens are not that hot, but never the less, after leaving the kitchen for the day, after doing dishes and cleaning, you're hot, damp, and clammy. Then you get to step out into an oven. Almost more than a person can stand.
So I've been thinking. Butcher shops and industrial meat cutting plants tend to be refrigerated throughout the entire work area - kept below 40 degrees, usually. They are pretty nice, actually. When and if I open my own place, I'm going to refrigerate my entire kitchen. It would not only be much more pleasant to work in, but it would also mitigate a lot of the food-borne illness issues you get when meat and fish sit out too long. Two birds with one stone.
I mention this in the hopes that someone sees this idea, uses it, and it spreads to all kitchens, everywhere. I hate being hot.
So I've been thinking. Butcher shops and industrial meat cutting plants tend to be refrigerated throughout the entire work area - kept below 40 degrees, usually. They are pretty nice, actually. When and if I open my own place, I'm going to refrigerate my entire kitchen. It would not only be much more pleasant to work in, but it would also mitigate a lot of the food-borne illness issues you get when meat and fish sit out too long. Two birds with one stone.
I mention this in the hopes that someone sees this idea, uses it, and it spreads to all kitchens, everywhere. I hate being hot.
7/22/09
Cookin' with Starch
I'm of Irish descent, which means that somewhere in my heritage is a fundamental craving - nay, passion - for potatoes. Baked, smashed, boiled, fried (especially fried), sliced into a gratin and slathered with cheese, you name it, I love it.
Which is probably OK. Potatoes are nearly a perfect food. They have plenty of micro-nutrients, a surprising amount of vitamin C, more potassium than a banana - they contain nothing bad for you at all (though when you cover them in sour cream or butter, they maybe start to slide down the health food scale, but I'm not going to let that stop me).
However, I've been a little...bored...with potatoes lately, and have been experimenting with other starches. I did polenta last night. Good, but I need practice. It wasn't as creamy as I would have liked, and I just wasn't able to get the flavor profile quite right. Maybe it was the kale that I used, maybe I didn't put in enough sugar (or too much). A last minute addition of sliced green onions helped, but they sort of over-powered everything else. When was the last time you heard of green onions over powering anything?
The night before, I did one of my new favorites - couscous. I prefer the Israeli stuff to the standard, North African, version. The Israeli stuff is larger, not quite the size of a green pea, but it is large enough to give a little more texture to a dish. The other stuff just seems a little gritty to me. I like to saute' a bunch of veggies in a little bacon fat, add the dried couscous and cook that until it toasts a little, then add some hot stock and simmer it (covered) until the couscous is tender, which takes about 10 minutes. I usually season it with some variation on Harissa, which works nice. I'd eat couscous almost as often as I eat potatoes, if I could.
Apparently it isn't all that hard to make from scratch, either. Just a bunch of semolina with water sprinkled on it, then it gets rolled around into little balls. Seems too simple, which is why I've kept myself from trying it. There must be a trick.
I've also got a pantry full of wild rice. I'm planning on doing a pilaf with it. That can be a little tricky, since wild rice needs more liquid than white rice. I'll need to use two different pots and a lot of stock to get much flavor, but I like the crunchy texture, so it is worth it.
Oddly, I cannot stand the processed pilafs out of the boxes. Not quite sure why that it - I haven't looked at the ingredient lists on one of those boxes in a long time. I'm sure they are processed-to-death, and probably contain some strange things that you wouldn't find in your average pantry, which is why I'd just as soon not eat them. The homemade stuff, though, that is pretty tasty.
But tonight, I think I'm going to have smashed potatoes and gravy. A person can only live outside their comfort zone for so long, and I don't want to use up all of my alternatives too fast. Moderation in all things, right?
Which is probably OK. Potatoes are nearly a perfect food. They have plenty of micro-nutrients, a surprising amount of vitamin C, more potassium than a banana - they contain nothing bad for you at all (though when you cover them in sour cream or butter, they maybe start to slide down the health food scale, but I'm not going to let that stop me).
However, I've been a little...bored...with potatoes lately, and have been experimenting with other starches. I did polenta last night. Good, but I need practice. It wasn't as creamy as I would have liked, and I just wasn't able to get the flavor profile quite right. Maybe it was the kale that I used, maybe I didn't put in enough sugar (or too much). A last minute addition of sliced green onions helped, but they sort of over-powered everything else. When was the last time you heard of green onions over powering anything?
The night before, I did one of my new favorites - couscous. I prefer the Israeli stuff to the standard, North African, version. The Israeli stuff is larger, not quite the size of a green pea, but it is large enough to give a little more texture to a dish. The other stuff just seems a little gritty to me. I like to saute' a bunch of veggies in a little bacon fat, add the dried couscous and cook that until it toasts a little, then add some hot stock and simmer it (covered) until the couscous is tender, which takes about 10 minutes. I usually season it with some variation on Harissa, which works nice. I'd eat couscous almost as often as I eat potatoes, if I could.
Apparently it isn't all that hard to make from scratch, either. Just a bunch of semolina with water sprinkled on it, then it gets rolled around into little balls. Seems too simple, which is why I've kept myself from trying it. There must be a trick.
I've also got a pantry full of wild rice. I'm planning on doing a pilaf with it. That can be a little tricky, since wild rice needs more liquid than white rice. I'll need to use two different pots and a lot of stock to get much flavor, but I like the crunchy texture, so it is worth it.
Oddly, I cannot stand the processed pilafs out of the boxes. Not quite sure why that it - I haven't looked at the ingredient lists on one of those boxes in a long time. I'm sure they are processed-to-death, and probably contain some strange things that you wouldn't find in your average pantry, which is why I'd just as soon not eat them. The homemade stuff, though, that is pretty tasty.
But tonight, I think I'm going to have smashed potatoes and gravy. A person can only live outside their comfort zone for so long, and I don't want to use up all of my alternatives too fast. Moderation in all things, right?
7/21/09
Book Review - In Defense of Food
I've been looking forward to reading Michael Pollan's new book ever since I finished his last one. I was not disappointed.
Anyone who has read Omnivore's Dilemma has probably found themselves wondering how they can eat with a clear conscious. What with all the processed food, factory food lots, genetic modification of produce, it seems like nothing is safe or healthy or even ethical to eat. And the stuff that is clearly ethical - local, organic and sustainable - is damned expensive.
Well, Pollan lays out a nice solution to the problems he highlights in his previous book. I don't want to spoil it - if you care about what you eat, you really need to read this book - but since he gives away his game on the cover of the book, I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say that his solution is simply to "Eat Food, Not Too Much, Mostly Plants." Now, there are some nuances that he fleshes out, important ones (like avoid food with more than five ingredients) but, in essence, its all about avoiding food that comes in boxes (or those that make health claims). He also pokes huge holes in the whole science of nutrition, calling a lot of issues that most folk consider closed out into the light again.
If Omnivore's Dilemma left you feeling a little guilty, this one will leave you feeling inspired. He gives his readers the tools they need to change their diet for the better, without having to resort to anything complicated or terribly expensive.
One caveat - most Americans don't come anywhere close to paying the true cost of their food. Government subsidies disguise total cost, both out of pocket and to the environment. Pollen's solutions are more expensive than what you'd get at the local mega-mart, but by paying the true value of the food - preferably directly to a local producer - you appreciate your food more, and you eat less of it. Eating less food is something that we Americans should do more of.
So, get this book, read it, and follow its advice as best you can. Your health, your conscience, and your environment will thank you.
Anyone who has read Omnivore's Dilemma has probably found themselves wondering how they can eat with a clear conscious. What with all the processed food, factory food lots, genetic modification of produce, it seems like nothing is safe or healthy or even ethical to eat. And the stuff that is clearly ethical - local, organic and sustainable - is damned expensive.
Well, Pollan lays out a nice solution to the problems he highlights in his previous book. I don't want to spoil it - if you care about what you eat, you really need to read this book - but since he gives away his game on the cover of the book, I don't think I'm spoiling anything when I say that his solution is simply to "Eat Food, Not Too Much, Mostly Plants." Now, there are some nuances that he fleshes out, important ones (like avoid food with more than five ingredients) but, in essence, its all about avoiding food that comes in boxes (or those that make health claims). He also pokes huge holes in the whole science of nutrition, calling a lot of issues that most folk consider closed out into the light again.
If Omnivore's Dilemma left you feeling a little guilty, this one will leave you feeling inspired. He gives his readers the tools they need to change their diet for the better, without having to resort to anything complicated or terribly expensive.
One caveat - most Americans don't come anywhere close to paying the true cost of their food. Government subsidies disguise total cost, both out of pocket and to the environment. Pollen's solutions are more expensive than what you'd get at the local mega-mart, but by paying the true value of the food - preferably directly to a local producer - you appreciate your food more, and you eat less of it. Eating less food is something that we Americans should do more of.
So, get this book, read it, and follow its advice as best you can. Your health, your conscience, and your environment will thank you.
7/14/09
The first meal I remember
I grew up eating decent food. Home cooking, prepared fresh, with very little of the so-called "convenience food" that comes out of a box. I was lucky in that respect.
However, I also grew up in southern Florida, long enough ago that the so-called "Floribbean" cuisine hadn't really taken root. So I was living in a region without a distinct food culture. That, and mom's mid-west farm upbringing meant my culinary outlook was somewhat limited. Meat, potatoes, and vegetables, with the occasional Americanized "ethnic" dish - usually spaghetti with a tomato-based meat sauce.
So it was with some surprise that I found myself one night being served a dish prepared by an old-school Italian gentleman. He must have retired down there from somewhere up in the North East - everyone above a certain age in Florida at that time was a retiree from the North East. It was a plate of spaghetti but there was no red sauce to be found. Instead, it had a faint sheen, bits of something green - and even weirder, it was cold (rather, it was "room temperature," but to a kid, that was basically the same thing).
I wasn't sure what to make of this, but I knew it would be rude to not try it, and I was hungry. I was always hungry. So I ate some.
Wow.
The sheen was olive oil - which was no where near as common back in the early '80's as it is now. The green stuff was parsley, which up till that point was just something that sat on the side of my plate when I was eating at Denny's. But more - there was garlic, minced so fine that it wasn't visibly apparent. There was some sort of vinegar, I'm guessing white wine, since there was no color but a strong taste. There was some citrus, lemon, if I recall, probably zest.
That was probably it. I was young, though, and my interest in food hadn't developed enough for me to ask about it. I've tried to duplicate it from memory several times since then, but something is always off about it. I've hunted through cookbooks and checked all over the internet, but as with so many great recipes, this one probably only ever existed in the head of the chef. I've managed some decent tasting pasta, to be sure, but it has never been as good as that first time.
I can think of reasons for that beyond not having the taste right - the "first time" is always memorable, and can never be duplicated - but I'd love to be able figure out just how that flavor was constructed.
I don't think that this was the moment where I fell in love with food. I'm sure that came later, as I started doing more cooking and messing about in the kitchen, but that was the point at which I came to realize that the culinary landscape was far vaster than I had realized. That there was a whole world of food out there that I had yet to experience.
However, I also grew up in southern Florida, long enough ago that the so-called "Floribbean" cuisine hadn't really taken root. So I was living in a region without a distinct food culture. That, and mom's mid-west farm upbringing meant my culinary outlook was somewhat limited. Meat, potatoes, and vegetables, with the occasional Americanized "ethnic" dish - usually spaghetti with a tomato-based meat sauce.
So it was with some surprise that I found myself one night being served a dish prepared by an old-school Italian gentleman. He must have retired down there from somewhere up in the North East - everyone above a certain age in Florida at that time was a retiree from the North East. It was a plate of spaghetti but there was no red sauce to be found. Instead, it had a faint sheen, bits of something green - and even weirder, it was cold (rather, it was "room temperature," but to a kid, that was basically the same thing).
I wasn't sure what to make of this, but I knew it would be rude to not try it, and I was hungry. I was always hungry. So I ate some.
Wow.
The sheen was olive oil - which was no where near as common back in the early '80's as it is now. The green stuff was parsley, which up till that point was just something that sat on the side of my plate when I was eating at Denny's. But more - there was garlic, minced so fine that it wasn't visibly apparent. There was some sort of vinegar, I'm guessing white wine, since there was no color but a strong taste. There was some citrus, lemon, if I recall, probably zest.
That was probably it. I was young, though, and my interest in food hadn't developed enough for me to ask about it. I've tried to duplicate it from memory several times since then, but something is always off about it. I've hunted through cookbooks and checked all over the internet, but as with so many great recipes, this one probably only ever existed in the head of the chef. I've managed some decent tasting pasta, to be sure, but it has never been as good as that first time.
I can think of reasons for that beyond not having the taste right - the "first time" is always memorable, and can never be duplicated - but I'd love to be able figure out just how that flavor was constructed.
I don't think that this was the moment where I fell in love with food. I'm sure that came later, as I started doing more cooking and messing about in the kitchen, but that was the point at which I came to realize that the culinary landscape was far vaster than I had realized. That there was a whole world of food out there that I had yet to experience.
7/9/09
Keeping things fresh
No, not produce, but ideas.
I cook every day, both at school and at home. I probably spend more time every day cooking than I do anything else - including sleeping, it seems like. Every day I come home with some new technique or knowledge about how to prepare food.
But a lot of times, when it comes to dinner, I'm completely out of ideas. If someone were to just dump a pile of ingredients in front of me, I could come up with something, but left to my own devices, the well of ideas is empty.
Unfortunately, the lack of ideas seems to be extending to this blog. Probably wouldn't be the case if I spent less time cooking and a little more time sleeping.
Well, if anyone has any ideas about what to cook - or what to write about - let me know.
I'm going to take a nap.
I cook every day, both at school and at home. I probably spend more time every day cooking than I do anything else - including sleeping, it seems like. Every day I come home with some new technique or knowledge about how to prepare food.
But a lot of times, when it comes to dinner, I'm completely out of ideas. If someone were to just dump a pile of ingredients in front of me, I could come up with something, but left to my own devices, the well of ideas is empty.
Unfortunately, the lack of ideas seems to be extending to this blog. Probably wouldn't be the case if I spent less time cooking and a little more time sleeping.
Well, if anyone has any ideas about what to cook - or what to write about - let me know.
I'm going to take a nap.
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