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.
7/8/09
Craft Ham
Hazelnut fed ham
The northwest is a fantastic place for food. Other parts of the US may produce more food, but there can't be many places that produce such a variety. Things are particularly good right now, with almost everything we grow in season. The farmer's markets are loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables, we've got fantastic access to seafood, some of the best organic beef, and now we've got hazelnut fed pigs. Taking a page from the producers of Spain's Iberico, local farmers are using the scrap from Oregon's massive hazelnut crop to supplement their pig's diets. This apparently leads to a slight nutty taste to the flesh (or, rather, the fat) of the pig.
I say apparently because it is retailing for something like $8 a pound, and right now only at a few specialty vendors, which makes it a little hard for me to get my hands on it. I suppose I could afford about 2 ounces of it if I cleaned out my checking account, but it is on my list for Christmas. And my birthday.
The Northwest is one helluva great place to eat. It may rain a lot, but it is a very small price to pay for one of the most diverse and plentiful foodsheds in America. Eating local isn't an ethical thing for us, it just tastes so much better.
The northwest is a fantastic place for food. Other parts of the US may produce more food, but there can't be many places that produce such a variety. Things are particularly good right now, with almost everything we grow in season. The farmer's markets are loaded with fresh fruits and vegetables, we've got fantastic access to seafood, some of the best organic beef, and now we've got hazelnut fed pigs. Taking a page from the producers of Spain's Iberico, local farmers are using the scrap from Oregon's massive hazelnut crop to supplement their pig's diets. This apparently leads to a slight nutty taste to the flesh (or, rather, the fat) of the pig.
I say apparently because it is retailing for something like $8 a pound, and right now only at a few specialty vendors, which makes it a little hard for me to get my hands on it. I suppose I could afford about 2 ounces of it if I cleaned out my checking account, but it is on my list for Christmas. And my birthday.
The Northwest is one helluva great place to eat. It may rain a lot, but it is a very small price to pay for one of the most diverse and plentiful foodsheds in America. Eating local isn't an ethical thing for us, it just tastes so much better.
7/7/09
Learning Outcome
I had something go quite wrong for me today in the kitchen. I managed to fry all the water out of a braising liquid. At least, I think that is what is happened. I was braising short ribs, and the stock I was using had too much fat in it. As the sauce sat on the stove, the fat essentially cooked the water out of the broth, leaving a burnt roux floating in the oil, and a very greasy taste to the ribs.
I've had this happen with butter sauces, but that is really just a broken emulsion, and can be fixed, sort of. In this case, though, there was just nothing left to work with. My partner and I tried to patch it up a little, but it was hopeless.
There are two morals to this little incident. The first, and obvious one, is temperature control, temperature control, temperature control. Had we not let the heat get so high, the fat wouldn't have evaporated out of the broth. That this happened at all is simply stupidity on my part. I know better.
The second moral, though, is more important. A few months back one of my chef instructors related an anecdote about a time when he was catering a large event. About halfway through the plating he came to suspect that he didn't have enough of a certain side dish. He rode it out, ran out of the side before he ran out of guests, and got chewed out by his Executive Chef. The lesson being that the time to act is when you first start to worry, and not to wait until your worry is proven out.
How does this relate to me? Well, about a half hour before we needed to plate, I tasted the sauce. It was...greasy. No real flavor, weird unctuousness, colorless, no knappe. All the signs of a broken sauce were there, I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t think I had the time to sort it out. I should have taken the time. There was enough time left before service where I could have thrown together another roux and added some demi glace. I wouldn’t have had time to caramelize anymore mirepoix, but that would have been better than serving dry short ribs – or worse, short ribs with a drizzle of oil over them – which ended up being my only two options.
So, while today’s dish was a failure, I’ve decided to look at this as a learning outcome. Next time I get even the slightest suspicion that something is amiss, I’m going to stop what I’m doing and fix the problem right then. I should have known to do that, but sometimes I’m a little dense, and need to get swatted across the back of the head before I internalize a lesson.
I've had this happen with butter sauces, but that is really just a broken emulsion, and can be fixed, sort of. In this case, though, there was just nothing left to work with. My partner and I tried to patch it up a little, but it was hopeless.
There are two morals to this little incident. The first, and obvious one, is temperature control, temperature control, temperature control. Had we not let the heat get so high, the fat wouldn't have evaporated out of the broth. That this happened at all is simply stupidity on my part. I know better.
The second moral, though, is more important. A few months back one of my chef instructors related an anecdote about a time when he was catering a large event. About halfway through the plating he came to suspect that he didn't have enough of a certain side dish. He rode it out, ran out of the side before he ran out of guests, and got chewed out by his Executive Chef. The lesson being that the time to act is when you first start to worry, and not to wait until your worry is proven out.
How does this relate to me? Well, about a half hour before we needed to plate, I tasted the sauce. It was...greasy. No real flavor, weird unctuousness, colorless, no knappe. All the signs of a broken sauce were there, I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t think I had the time to sort it out. I should have taken the time. There was enough time left before service where I could have thrown together another roux and added some demi glace. I wouldn’t have had time to caramelize anymore mirepoix, but that would have been better than serving dry short ribs – or worse, short ribs with a drizzle of oil over them – which ended up being my only two options.
So, while today’s dish was a failure, I’ve decided to look at this as a learning outcome. Next time I get even the slightest suspicion that something is amiss, I’m going to stop what I’m doing and fix the problem right then. I should have known to do that, but sometimes I’m a little dense, and need to get swatted across the back of the head before I internalize a lesson.
7/6/09
Vacation dreams
I've been on vacation the last ten days, which means that the cooking I've been doing has been the routine, feed-the-family sort of cooking. No time pressures, no worries about meeting the expectations of the chef-instructors, no stress about dealing with strange and unfamiliar ingredients. On the surface, the absence of pressure would seem to be a good thing, but as it turns out, I'm - apparently - not cut out for that lack of pressure.
The first couple of days the sleeping-in was nice, but by day three, I started having dreams. I would be in a kitchen, working furiously to complete a dish I had never done before, using instructions that were not as clear as I would have liked. I would keep waking up every time I needed to mise en place a new ingredient or move to a new task; I'd roll over and drift back to sleep, but immediately begin working on the same dish in my dream. I would do this for three or four hours, with the "dish" finally going into the oven sometime about 2 or three AM, at which point I would finally get to sleep.
Really wonder what Freud would say about that.
I'm back in the kitchen now, so I'm hoping that means I can get some sleep again. You'll start getting "regular" posts again, too, which I'm sure you'll find to be a great relief.
The first couple of days the sleeping-in was nice, but by day three, I started having dreams. I would be in a kitchen, working furiously to complete a dish I had never done before, using instructions that were not as clear as I would have liked. I would keep waking up every time I needed to mise en place a new ingredient or move to a new task; I'd roll over and drift back to sleep, but immediately begin working on the same dish in my dream. I would do this for three or four hours, with the "dish" finally going into the oven sometime about 2 or three AM, at which point I would finally get to sleep.
Really wonder what Freud would say about that.
I'm back in the kitchen now, so I'm hoping that means I can get some sleep again. You'll start getting "regular" posts again, too, which I'm sure you'll find to be a great relief.
6/26/09
Home made bacon
OK, maybe not home made, since I made them in a professional butcher kitchen, but I made it, and I'm surprised at how simple it is, and how much better it is than the stuff you get at the store, pre-sliced.
I started with an equal mix of brown sugar and sugar, rubbed it into the pork belly, bagged it, and let it sit in the walk-in for 48 hours. It would normally have needed to be turned after the first 24 but it was buried so deep in the cure that it wasn't necessary in this instance.
After 48 hours, I pulled it out of the cure, washed it off, and cold smoked it for about two and a half hours over alder wood chips.
It needed to sit in the reach in for another 24 hours just so that it would firm up enough to slice. I sliced it up this morning and baked it off in the oven (bacon is better when baked, rather than fried - it keeps its shape better, and doesn't sit in its own grease) - man, it was good. A little salty, so I'd probably adjust the cure next time, using a little more brown sugar than salt, but if I put the bacon into something, say, a BLT, it would be fantastic.
The real advantage of doing this yourself is that you get a much better piece of meat. Leaner, more toothsome, and you can pick how thick you cut it. Granted, most people don't have a cold smoker at home, but you can work around that. Alton Brown, on his show Good Eats (the best thing on the Food Network) makes a cold smoker for Salmon out of a hot plate, a cardboard box, a few wooden dowels, and spare parts from a grill.
This seems easy enough to adapt to smoking anything. Or you could just go get a smoker, which would let you do all sorts of good things. I'm putting one on my Christmas list.
I started with an equal mix of brown sugar and sugar, rubbed it into the pork belly, bagged it, and let it sit in the walk-in for 48 hours. It would normally have needed to be turned after the first 24 but it was buried so deep in the cure that it wasn't necessary in this instance.
After 48 hours, I pulled it out of the cure, washed it off, and cold smoked it for about two and a half hours over alder wood chips.
It needed to sit in the reach in for another 24 hours just so that it would firm up enough to slice. I sliced it up this morning and baked it off in the oven (bacon is better when baked, rather than fried - it keeps its shape better, and doesn't sit in its own grease) - man, it was good. A little salty, so I'd probably adjust the cure next time, using a little more brown sugar than salt, but if I put the bacon into something, say, a BLT, it would be fantastic.
The real advantage of doing this yourself is that you get a much better piece of meat. Leaner, more toothsome, and you can pick how thick you cut it. Granted, most people don't have a cold smoker at home, but you can work around that. Alton Brown, on his show Good Eats (the best thing on the Food Network) makes a cold smoker for Salmon out of a hot plate, a cardboard box, a few wooden dowels, and spare parts from a grill.
This seems easy enough to adapt to smoking anything. Or you could just go get a smoker, which would let you do all sorts of good things. I'm putting one on my Christmas list.
6/25/09
Drink - A Cultural History
Clever readers will note a change in my "Top 5" food books - and if you are reading my blog, you must be clever - replacing the fantastic "Sauce Bible" with Iain Gately's wonderful "biography" of alcohol.
Where to start with this one? Gately goes a long way back in history - essentially to the start of recorded time - and catalogs the human love affair with liquor. He takes the reader through time right up until about 2005 (the book was published in '08, but his data stops in '05). After reading this I have a better understanding of not only history, but of human nature. I have so many good things to say about this, that I find myself at a loss for words.
Suffice it to say this is an immensely entertaining read, remarkably informative, and engrossing. It really was hard to put down. I wholeheartedly recommend this book to anyone who has ever had a drink, will have a drink, or just wants to have a drink. You can buy it here.
Speaking of which, my vacation starts today, so I think I'll have a drink myself.
Where to start with this one? Gately goes a long way back in history - essentially to the start of recorded time - and catalogs the human love affair with liquor. He takes the reader through time right up until about 2005 (the book was published in '08, but his data stops in '05). After reading this I have a better understanding of not only history, but of human nature. I have so many good things to say about this, that I find myself at a loss for words.
Suffice it to say this is an immensely entertaining read, remarkably informative, and engrossing. It really was hard to put down. I wholeheartedly recommend this book to anyone who has ever had a drink, will have a drink, or just wants to have a drink. You can buy it here.
Speaking of which, my vacation starts today, so I think I'll have a drink myself.
6/24/09
Bunnies are good eats
I've had rabbit before, but this is the first time I've been able to break down a whole carcass.
Yes, those are what you think they are spilling out of the body cavity.
The whole process isn't all that involved. The rear legs (when spread out like the picture to the left) have built-in lines that you can cut along. There is an easy to find joint that a good boning knife slips right into, and the legs just come right off.
I'd have liked to have gotten more pictures, but my hands were covered in rabbit bits, and a digital camera is hard to sanitize.Anyway, once the rear legs are off, the front legs come away with no problem. Weird thing is, the bones of the forelegs don't seem to be connected to any other bones. Once the muscles are cut, there is no joint to get through. After weeks of butchering all sorts of animals, eating a variety of organ meats, and being elbow deep in viscera, this was the most disturbing thing I've come across.
The forelegs remind me of frog's legs. Not a lot of meat on them, and a similar shape. You'd need a lot of them to make a meal. Probably better to use them to fortify a stock or broth.
There is a thin layer of meat over the ribs and saddle. A little tricky to get off the body, but worth it. Spread some sort of filling over it, roll it up, sear it, finish it in the oven and you'd have something quite tasty.
The "saddle," the part right behind the ribs and in front of the tail bone, is supposed to be the best part of the rabbit, but I don't get it. Not all that much meat. I'd rather have the hindquarters, but I've always been a fan of drum sticks.
Unfortunately, the only part we were able to eat (the rest of the rabbit was destined for use serving customers - the nerve) were the "tenders," - located along the back, above the ribs. Dredged in a little flour, salted, and sauteed. True, they do taste a little like chicken (I hate that cliche) but they were like flavorful white meat, which makes it much better than regular white meat.
So when all was said and done, the picture on the left is the total yield from one rabbit. Done right, you could probably get two meals out of it (serving two people each). Honestly not sure what the price per pound is, or where you'd get it, but it's worth trying it at home.Assuming you're not too squeamish.
6/23/09
Spice: The History of a Temptation
Recently finished Jack Turner's book on the history of spices, and I thought my reader would appreciate a review.
Turner reaches far into the past to lay the groundwork for humanity's fascination with spices - from pre-Hellenic Greece to the breaking of the Dutch monopoly on the spice trade. He does this with solid prose, and an approachable scholarly bent. Sometimes things get a little dry, and unless you are a dedicated reader of food history, it may drag a little (I didn't have that problem, but I'm a bit of a geek).
Turner's book is full of good information, well researched and documented, and has already become a staple reference for me. It is a "must read" for any student of colonial history, though. It adds a great deal of depth to a time period that is commonly oversimplified as being about "god, gold and glory," which aids in understanding the motives of those who colonized (and ultimately oppressed) most of the rest of the world.
I would have liked to have seen a little more information on the biological reasons why humans crave spices (some research is being done by Kansas State University and Cornell as to the anti-microbial properties of spices that is really remarkable) but a lot of that research is fairly new, so I'll forgive him for leaving it out.
All-in-all, I'd recommend the book. I don't think I'd put it on my top five list, but it would probably find a spot on my top ten.
And what the hell, I'm a capitalist, so I'll link to a place where you can even buy it.
Turner reaches far into the past to lay the groundwork for humanity's fascination with spices - from pre-Hellenic Greece to the breaking of the Dutch monopoly on the spice trade. He does this with solid prose, and an approachable scholarly bent. Sometimes things get a little dry, and unless you are a dedicated reader of food history, it may drag a little (I didn't have that problem, but I'm a bit of a geek).
Turner's book is full of good information, well researched and documented, and has already become a staple reference for me. It is a "must read" for any student of colonial history, though. It adds a great deal of depth to a time period that is commonly oversimplified as being about "god, gold and glory," which aids in understanding the motives of those who colonized (and ultimately oppressed) most of the rest of the world.
I would have liked to have seen a little more information on the biological reasons why humans crave spices (some research is being done by Kansas State University and Cornell as to the anti-microbial properties of spices that is really remarkable) but a lot of that research is fairly new, so I'll forgive him for leaving it out.
All-in-all, I'd recommend the book. I don't think I'd put it on my top five list, but it would probably find a spot on my top ten.
And what the hell, I'm a capitalist, so I'll link to a place where you can even buy it.
6/22/09
Overthinking a Cheeseburger
The other day in cooking school we had a competition for best hamburger. We only had an hour to prepare it, but we had about 24 hours to think it over. We were working in groups of three, which is maybe a few too many people for making one dish, but resources are limited.I was adamant that I wanted a non-screwed with burger. None of the foie gras sandwiched between ground sirloin and sautéed truffles for me - simple ground chuck, cheese, and basic condiments. I wanted to highlight the meat, which should be the star of any burger.
But I knew full well that others in class had the same idea. What was needed was a way to set this burger apart, show creativity without compromising the platonic ideal of meat, cheese and bread.
Fortunately, I was working with a certified food scientist. So we decided to play with our food.
The plan was to take all the basic condiments of a burger - lettuce, cheese, tomato, pickles, onions, ketchup (catsup?) - and make them fill a different roll. In other words, we were going to make one ingredient appear to be another, without changing the taste.
After kicking it around, we decided to make mayonnaise appear to be cheese, pickles would become ketchup (catsup?), cheese would become lettuce, tomatoes would be made out of red wine (a bit of a departure there, but as it turned out, very tasty), and onions would become pickles. All of this was to be accomplished through the use of gums and gelatin, with a dose of food coloring.
A couple of problems immediately surfaced. The first, and hardest to overcome, was nomenclature. When someone said they were working on the pickles, did that mean that they were working with pickles, or working on making pickles? We got around that, finally, but it ate up more time than it should have in working out the details.
The second problem (and ultimately the one that hurt us the most) was a question of color palette. We didn't have time to experiment, we needed to get it right the first time, and that was...unrealistically ambitious.
The first things we needed to do was turn onions and pickles into the most liquid form we could manage. That was solved by running them through a robot coupe, then finishing them with an immersion blender. We then added color and gelatin. The pickles worked out as a pretty good ketchup - the gelatin thickened up enough to give it a viscous, ketchup-like consistancy. The onions (which were going to become pickles) were gelatinized, placed into molds, and placed in a blast chiller.
As you can see, they were a bit too green. They also did not set up the way we anticipated.The cheese was going to be made into lettuce. This actually turned out pretty well. We took a white cheddar and shredded it with a microplane. A few drops of green coloring tossed together gave us a pale green iceberg lettuce color (we needed to do the mixing in the walk-in cooler, though, since the fine shredded cheese clumped really badly in the warmth of the kitchen). The cheese was then placed on crumpled foil that we sprayed with non-stick cooking spray, placed in a very hot oven for five minutes, then moved into the walk-in to set up. Right before service we peeled the "lettuce" leaves off the foil. It worked like a charm. We didn't get the full "crunch" that iceberg gives, but we were close.
The ersatz cheese was going to be made of mayo. We broke the emultion under heat, and incorporated the zantham gum (apparently gelatin doesn't work well with non-acidic substances). We added color, and placed it into a blast chiller.
Color, again, became a bit of a problem. This is not a trick of photography, it really was this orange.It also didn't quite set up the way we wanted. More gum would have maybe been a good idea, but without further experimenting, there is no telling if this would have ever worked the way we wanted.
The "tomatoes" were a last minute addition. I wasn't crazy about the idea, but there wasn't time to argue. I'm glad we did it, though, because it tasted fantastic. I encourage all of you to, at the very least, do a red wine reduction for your burger at least once.
We set the wine into makeshift molds (along with more gelatin) inside our now very crowded blast chiller. When they came out we added sesame seeds to them to mimic the appearance of
a beefsteak tomato slice. The color was wrong, but it was a nice touch.We got everything de-molded and plated in time for judging, though the overall color scheme ended up being a bit off-putting. Several of the judges would not taste it until we explained what was going on. I can't blame them. The whole thing had a sort of "Loony Toons" appearance; food is rarely in that shade of technicolor, and we eat with our eyes as much as with our mouths.
Strangely enough, the only judge who unequivocally liked the burger was the hard-core European traditionalist. The person who I would have expected th
e most outrage from. I suspect it is because, as a European, he had less of a preconceived notion of what a burger should look like, therefore he wasn't as disturbed by the cartoony color.The burger tasted great, though, and I am sure that, had the tasting been done in a dark room, we would have done better in the judging. I'm also certain that, given another opportunity (or two) we would have the color problem fixed. I'm not sure if this is something that would be practical in a restaurant setting - too many specialized bits of equipment and too much prep time - but it sure was fun, and I think I learned more from this single experiment than I have in years of just cooking regular burgers. By taking everything out of its normal context, I have a better appreciation of the role those condiments normally play.
But seriously, try the red wine reduction.
5/5/09
Heat control and boiling
Have you ever heard it said about someone with no culinary skills that they "can't boil water"? Hyperbole aside, boiling water isn't all that great. In fact, there are only two things that you are ever supposed to boil - pasta and shell fish - and you only boil shell fish in order to kill them as quickly and humanely as possible.
The reason why you don't boil more things is because it is violent. Whatever is floating in the liquid is tossed around, flung into the sides of the pot and into the other things in the boiling liquid. Hard "boiled" eggs crack, vegetables overcook, potatoes begin to disintegrate. Don't believe me? Try it. Take a potato, cut it up into even pieces, and put half into a pot that you bring to (and keep at) a boil; take the other half and put it into a pot that you bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Sure the boiling potatoes will be done faster, but when you strain them, you'll have bits and pieces gumming up the colander. The simmered potatoes will retain their shape (as well as better flavor and mouth feel due to the starch's reaction to the lower cooking temp, but more on that another time).
The lesson here is that faster isn't always better, especially when it comes to food.
The reason why you don't boil more things is because it is violent. Whatever is floating in the liquid is tossed around, flung into the sides of the pot and into the other things in the boiling liquid. Hard "boiled" eggs crack, vegetables overcook, potatoes begin to disintegrate. Don't believe me? Try it. Take a potato, cut it up into even pieces, and put half into a pot that you bring to (and keep at) a boil; take the other half and put it into a pot that you bring to a boil and then reduce to a simmer. Sure the boiling potatoes will be done faster, but when you strain them, you'll have bits and pieces gumming up the colander. The simmered potatoes will retain their shape (as well as better flavor and mouth feel due to the starch's reaction to the lower cooking temp, but more on that another time).
The lesson here is that faster isn't always better, especially when it comes to food.
4/7/09
More on the subject of stocks…
I suspect that almost no one makes stocks at home any more, which is a real shame, since it can bring a lot of flavor to a meal. Even better, it brings that flavor with few calories and virtually no fat. In virtually any savory dish, you can substitute stock for water, and whatever you are making will taste better. You can also replace the dairy in your mashed potatoes with a nice chicken or vegetable stock, and the results will not disappoint.
The complaint I hear about stock making is that it takes too long. Well, if you don’t happen to have eight to ten hours to slowly simmer whole beef bones that you painstakingly browned in the oven, painting with tomato puree (that you made earlier from your own garden-grown heirloom tomatoes), then you clearly don’t have your priorities straight.
Yeah, I don’t have the time or money to do that, either, so my solution is to make a vegetable stock. It only takes about an hour, contains no animal products whatsoever (impress that cute vegan in your life), and brings a lot of flavor to the party. Granted, you cannot extract gelatin from a carrot, so the veggie stock lacks a certain…unctuousness…but that can always be fixed in a number of ways.
The key to a good veggie stock? Use seasonal vegetables. Asparagus in season? Toss some in. Mushrooms? Great, use’em. The only things to avoid, generally, are the green leafy vegetables (sulfide creation, aka the stinky sock smell) and tomatoes (that would be a tomato sauce).
Here’s my basic recipe for a veggie stock, as you can see, it is pretty simple, there are only a few critical parts that I don’t deviate from:
2 parts onion (or leek or shallot or any combination)
1 part carrots
1 part celery
1-2 cloves garlic (I like garlic, use your own taste)
~1/2 part of whatever vegetables I feel are appropriate (parsnip, rutabaga, asparagus, sweet potato, etc).
1 gallon of water
sachet (bay leaf, sprig of thyme, 10 or so parsley stems, maybe a clove; usually they are wrapped in cheesecloth and submerged, but in an effort to save money, I found a reusable one – they make a variety of them).
I chop the veggies in to small, uniform pieces, and sweat them in a little olive oil under low heat until the onions are translucent. Add the water, bring the whole thing to a boil then dial back the heat. I let it simmer for about 40 minutes, then I strain it. The stock can hold for months if frozen, and I’m you could probably hold it for three or four days in the refrigerator (animal-based stocks seem to be able to keep longer, as the high gelatin found in those stocks keep microbes from penetrating. The veggie stock doesn’t have that gelatin, so may not keep as long – sources available on request).
The complaint I hear about stock making is that it takes too long. Well, if you don’t happen to have eight to ten hours to slowly simmer whole beef bones that you painstakingly browned in the oven, painting with tomato puree (that you made earlier from your own garden-grown heirloom tomatoes), then you clearly don’t have your priorities straight.
Yeah, I don’t have the time or money to do that, either, so my solution is to make a vegetable stock. It only takes about an hour, contains no animal products whatsoever (impress that cute vegan in your life), and brings a lot of flavor to the party. Granted, you cannot extract gelatin from a carrot, so the veggie stock lacks a certain…unctuousness…but that can always be fixed in a number of ways.
The key to a good veggie stock? Use seasonal vegetables. Asparagus in season? Toss some in. Mushrooms? Great, use’em. The only things to avoid, generally, are the green leafy vegetables (sulfide creation, aka the stinky sock smell) and tomatoes (that would be a tomato sauce).
Here’s my basic recipe for a veggie stock, as you can see, it is pretty simple, there are only a few critical parts that I don’t deviate from:
2 parts onion (or leek or shallot or any combination)
1 part carrots
1 part celery
1-2 cloves garlic (I like garlic, use your own taste)
~1/2 part of whatever vegetables I feel are appropriate (parsnip, rutabaga, asparagus, sweet potato, etc).
1 gallon of water
sachet (bay leaf, sprig of thyme, 10 or so parsley stems, maybe a clove; usually they are wrapped in cheesecloth and submerged, but in an effort to save money, I found a reusable one – they make a variety of them).
I chop the veggies in to small, uniform pieces, and sweat them in a little olive oil under low heat until the onions are translucent. Add the water, bring the whole thing to a boil then dial back the heat. I let it simmer for about 40 minutes, then I strain it. The stock can hold for months if frozen, and I’m you could probably hold it for three or four days in the refrigerator (animal-based stocks seem to be able to keep longer, as the high gelatin found in those stocks keep microbes from penetrating. The veggie stock doesn’t have that gelatin, so may not keep as long – sources available on request).
4/6/09
GIGO
Apologies to my loyal reader, deadlines loomed, apathy reigned.
But I’m back, I’m sure your heart is all atwitter.
Garbage In Garbage Out – GIGO – was one of those acronyms that I remember being tossed about in the early days of personal computing. I think it first heard it when I was taking a PASCAL class, if that dates it at all, but I don’t hear it as much anymore with regards to software.
What the hell does that have to do with food? Well, the making of stocks, for one, something that has been on my mind a lot lately.
The French word for stock is fond which shares its roots with the English word Foundation. The stock is the basis for a whole range of “small sauces,” and it is safe to say that western cuisine would be a radically different thing were it not for the creation and use of stocks. Sauces may not be all the rage today, but they underpin the French Culinary Tradition, and, like it or not, that underpins most of the Western Culinary Tradition (and yes, I am aware of the role of the Medici’s, thank you very much).
Anyway, in the French Tradition, if you make a bad stock, virtually everything that follows will be bad, since it is tainted by that stock. Your braising liquid, the liquid your vegetables were blanched in, the foundation for the sauce that ties it all together, all use that crappy stock, and thus, they too are crappy.
The key to a good stock? Use good ingredients. Don’t throw in scraps that you wouldn’t eat yourself (some mushroom stems being an exception), don’t use old veggies, rancid bones or bad water. The quality of what you start the process with will totally define the quality of the end product. If you can produce a good stock, then all of those dishes that use that stock are lifted by it, rather than oppressed by it. But if you put garbage into it, you get garbage out of it.
I suppose that to some extent, GIGO applies to all cooking, but stocks are different somehow. I suppose it is because they are the foundation of so much more.
More on stocks tomorrow.
But I’m back, I’m sure your heart is all atwitter.
Garbage In Garbage Out – GIGO – was one of those acronyms that I remember being tossed about in the early days of personal computing. I think it first heard it when I was taking a PASCAL class, if that dates it at all, but I don’t hear it as much anymore with regards to software.
What the hell does that have to do with food? Well, the making of stocks, for one, something that has been on my mind a lot lately.
The French word for stock is fond which shares its roots with the English word Foundation. The stock is the basis for a whole range of “small sauces,” and it is safe to say that western cuisine would be a radically different thing were it not for the creation and use of stocks. Sauces may not be all the rage today, but they underpin the French Culinary Tradition, and, like it or not, that underpins most of the Western Culinary Tradition (and yes, I am aware of the role of the Medici’s, thank you very much).
Anyway, in the French Tradition, if you make a bad stock, virtually everything that follows will be bad, since it is tainted by that stock. Your braising liquid, the liquid your vegetables were blanched in, the foundation for the sauce that ties it all together, all use that crappy stock, and thus, they too are crappy.
The key to a good stock? Use good ingredients. Don’t throw in scraps that you wouldn’t eat yourself (some mushroom stems being an exception), don’t use old veggies, rancid bones or bad water. The quality of what you start the process with will totally define the quality of the end product. If you can produce a good stock, then all of those dishes that use that stock are lifted by it, rather than oppressed by it. But if you put garbage into it, you get garbage out of it.
I suppose that to some extent, GIGO applies to all cooking, but stocks are different somehow. I suppose it is because they are the foundation of so much more.
More on stocks tomorrow.
3/17/09
Food Log
I've been tracking what I eat for the last few days, specifically the carbs, protein, fat, fiber and fluids. I've done this before, and I'm usually surprised at how well I actually eat. I'm not within the guidelines (50-60% of diet in carbs, 10-15% in protein, and <30% in fat) but I'm darn close, this time more so than the last, so I'm eating better. No one is more surprised than I. In fact, were it not for a certain "donut incident" the other day, my averages would even be better.
Mmmmmm.....donuts.
They really are sort of disgusting, if you think about it. These light, sweet, airy breads fried and covered in a solid glaze of sugar or injected with a highly sweetened fruit gelatin. Yuck. But put a box in front of me, and look out. The smell is compelling, sure; but for me, there is something about biting through that sugar crust, breaking that shell. It reminds me of a walk on fresh snow, fresh footprints on virgin territory.
Of course, that begs for some sort of Freudian analysis of donuts...or me...but I'm not going to do either. I don't want to spoil my childlike joy in donuts, for one; and I barely know you.
Mmmmmm.....donuts.
They really are sort of disgusting, if you think about it. These light, sweet, airy breads fried and covered in a solid glaze of sugar or injected with a highly sweetened fruit gelatin. Yuck. But put a box in front of me, and look out. The smell is compelling, sure; but for me, there is something about biting through that sugar crust, breaking that shell. It reminds me of a walk on fresh snow, fresh footprints on virgin territory.
Of course, that begs for some sort of Freudian analysis of donuts...or me...but I'm not going to do either. I don't want to spoil my childlike joy in donuts, for one; and I barely know you.
3/11/09
Dessert quandry
My task today is to plan three course meals for both a vegan and a lacto/ovo vegetarian. As a confirmed carnivore, the rare meatless dishes I eat tend to have cheese on them, at least.
Finding entrees and appetizers is easy enough, there seems to be no shortage of those around, but the dessert course is proving to be rather difficult. Many of the dessert recipes online substitute margarine for butter, which I refuse to do; and a few of the “vegan” recipes use eggs. Yeah, eggs. I’m no biologist, but I’m pretty sure eggs are an animal product.
So my options seem to be serving fruit. I can’t even swing a tart, since the crust needs some sort of fat (can I use Crisco? I’m not a baker; I’ll need to do more research). That seems like a cop-out, though. If I’m going to serve vegans, I want them to be able to have a dessert that is just as decadent as those that use cream and egg yolks.
Speaking of decadent desserts, there is one local restaurant that serves a maple ice cream atop of an apricot-corn bread, and garnished with rendered bits of bacon. It is the most masculine dessert I’ve ever had. Amazing stuff. Proving conclusively that all food is made better by the addition of bacon.
Finding entrees and appetizers is easy enough, there seems to be no shortage of those around, but the dessert course is proving to be rather difficult. Many of the dessert recipes online substitute margarine for butter, which I refuse to do; and a few of the “vegan” recipes use eggs. Yeah, eggs. I’m no biologist, but I’m pretty sure eggs are an animal product.
So my options seem to be serving fruit. I can’t even swing a tart, since the crust needs some sort of fat (can I use Crisco? I’m not a baker; I’ll need to do more research). That seems like a cop-out, though. If I’m going to serve vegans, I want them to be able to have a dessert that is just as decadent as those that use cream and egg yolks.
Speaking of decadent desserts, there is one local restaurant that serves a maple ice cream atop of an apricot-corn bread, and garnished with rendered bits of bacon. It is the most masculine dessert I’ve ever had. Amazing stuff. Proving conclusively that all food is made better by the addition of bacon.
3/10/09
Big Brains, Big Appetites
The human brain accounts for about 2% of the body’s weight, but it requires about 25% of our energy supplies. So a quarter of everything we eat is used to keep our brains working. Evolutionarily, that is sort of interesting. Our ancestors were able to develop their brains because they found a way to make their food gathering more efficient.
One of the ways they managed that was through the discovery of fire and the invention of cooked food. Cooking rendered many foods more easily digestible, so the supplies that primitive humans had were made more efficient without having to increase the actual food supply. This was probably the instigator. After that, it seems as though the escalation was inevitable. People get smarter, come up with a better way to raise food, more food allows their brains to develop more, and they invent another way raise food better.
So, in a very real way, the more food available, the smarter humans were able to become.
Fast forward to today. Food is more available now as it has ever been – everything is always in season somewhere. Markets carry goods now that were unimaginably exotic even ten years ago. Food is so available that obesity is becoming a “national health crisis” even.
So why don’t we seem to be getting any smarter?
One of the ways they managed that was through the discovery of fire and the invention of cooked food. Cooking rendered many foods more easily digestible, so the supplies that primitive humans had were made more efficient without having to increase the actual food supply. This was probably the instigator. After that, it seems as though the escalation was inevitable. People get smarter, come up with a better way to raise food, more food allows their brains to develop more, and they invent another way raise food better.
So, in a very real way, the more food available, the smarter humans were able to become.
Fast forward to today. Food is more available now as it has ever been – everything is always in season somewhere. Markets carry goods now that were unimaginably exotic even ten years ago. Food is so available that obesity is becoming a “national health crisis” even.
So why don’t we seem to be getting any smarter?
3/9/09
Surprised by food
I like to be surprised by what I eat...not in a bad way, of course, but I don't necessarily need to like the taste of it to enjoy it. One of my most memorable meals was at a Japanese place last New Year’s eve. It was a six-course meal of traditional “good luck” foods, so there was quite a bit of food on the table, and every bit of it was a surprise. I only liked two or three things, but everything I put in my mouth was surprising.
Especially that cake made out of fish roe and seaweed.
I mean, you expect roe to be a little crunchy at first, but every single bite, no matter how long you chewed it (and it took some chewing) there were pops and squeaks and little bursts of sea-flavor every time my teeth came together. It took a good bit of sake to mitigate all that, and it isn’t a flavor I am looking to experience again…ever…but I’ll always remember it.
On the other end of that spectrum I remember some Thai shrimp wraps that I had a few years back. I don’t remember all the ingredients, but there were those little dried shrimps that the Thai make, some roasted peanuts, small-dice hot peppers, something sweet and something sour, all wrapped up in a leaf of butter lettuce. The whole thing went into the mouth at one time. Virtually everything that your mouth could experience was experienced – crunch, heat, sour, sweet, umami – and it was all going on at once. The first couple of bites were almost overwhelming in the sensations it provided. They had a nice flavor, but the physical experience of chewing and tasting was mind-blowing.
Both of these foods had such unique and interesting textual elements that the taste itself was eclipsed. Most cooks, and all chefs, know that eating is a visual and olfactory experience as much as it is a taste experience, but a lot of people, even professionals, seem to forget that eating involves the sense of touch, too.
EDIT:
The roe dish is called kazunoko, a herring roe on konbu. There is a recipe for it here.
You've been warned though.
Especially that cake made out of fish roe and seaweed.
I mean, you expect roe to be a little crunchy at first, but every single bite, no matter how long you chewed it (and it took some chewing) there were pops and squeaks and little bursts of sea-flavor every time my teeth came together. It took a good bit of sake to mitigate all that, and it isn’t a flavor I am looking to experience again…ever…but I’ll always remember it.
On the other end of that spectrum I remember some Thai shrimp wraps that I had a few years back. I don’t remember all the ingredients, but there were those little dried shrimps that the Thai make, some roasted peanuts, small-dice hot peppers, something sweet and something sour, all wrapped up in a leaf of butter lettuce. The whole thing went into the mouth at one time. Virtually everything that your mouth could experience was experienced – crunch, heat, sour, sweet, umami – and it was all going on at once. The first couple of bites were almost overwhelming in the sensations it provided. They had a nice flavor, but the physical experience of chewing and tasting was mind-blowing.
Both of these foods had such unique and interesting textual elements that the taste itself was eclipsed. Most cooks, and all chefs, know that eating is a visual and olfactory experience as much as it is a taste experience, but a lot of people, even professionals, seem to forget that eating involves the sense of touch, too.
EDIT:
The roe dish is called kazunoko, a herring roe on konbu. There is a recipe for it here.
You've been warned though.
3/7/09
First Post
Howdy.
This is yet another food blog. The plan is to write about whatever happens to grab my fancy on any given day. If you are looking for recipes, this is probably not going to be the place for you, but if you have any interest in the history or science of food, then I hope you'll enjoy yourself here.
I'll also be commenting on and reviewing whatever food writing I happen to be reading at the time. I'm always looking for suggestions on new stuff to read, too, so go to it, with a will...
Ahh...the title of the blog comes from a quote by Epictetus (55 AD - 135 AD), the full text of which reads "Preach not to others what they should eat, but eat as becomes you, and be silent."
This is yet another food blog. The plan is to write about whatever happens to grab my fancy on any given day. If you are looking for recipes, this is probably not going to be the place for you, but if you have any interest in the history or science of food, then I hope you'll enjoy yourself here.
I'll also be commenting on and reviewing whatever food writing I happen to be reading at the time. I'm always looking for suggestions on new stuff to read, too, so go to it, with a will...
Ahh...the title of the blog comes from a quote by Epictetus (55 AD - 135 AD), the full text of which reads "Preach not to others what they should eat, but eat as becomes you, and be silent."
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