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Merry Christmas and a Happy New Sphere (Part 3)

3 Jan

Okay, this post actually has nothing to do with spheres, I just like the pun and I want to use it as much as possible. This post is about what I cooked for New Year’s Eve, one of my most delicious yet simple dinners to date.

The first course was inspired by a dish I had in Paris, of langoustines baked inside little ceramic pots with red wine and butter, topped with little rounds of toasty brioche. Owing to slim pickings at Sainsbury’s, I had to swap out the langoustines for lemon sole (they had NO shellfish except pre-cooked prawns!) and the pots for ramekins, but never mind all that, because the dish turned out nearly perfectly. It was always my intention to use soy sauce and sake in place of the red wine, and I topped it with a bit of challah and a poached duck egg. It was a gorgeous, buttery, umami mess. And it couldn’t be simpler to make: Get your oven on to 200ºC/400ºF and skin four fillets of lemon sole or other flatfish. Chop ‘em up. Rub a couple ramekins liberally with butter, then press the sole into them, but not too firmly. Top with a nice chunk of butter, then a little splash of sake, and a littler splash of soy sauce. Slice challah to form a cap on the ramekin. Bake for about 15-20 minutes. The butter, sake, and soy sauce all melt together and flood into the fish, and it is so so so good. While the fish is baking, poach a duck egg. Keep the yolk runny! Fish comes out of the oven, egg goes on top of the toast, a little grind of pepper and course one is done. For a dish with only six ingredients, the flavor is huge, and I’ll bet if you use cornbread instead of challah it would be even better.

For the main course I decided to try my hand at one of Heston Blumenthal’s signature dishes: Salmon Poached in a Liquorice Gel. Now, I knew I would never be able to perfectly recreate this dish, even though it is one of his less complicated recipes, because it involved ingredients that were simply impossible to get at such short notice (and would have been a bit extravagant at any time): black truffles, 15 year old Balsamic vinegar, transglutaminase, two kinds of gellan, etc. Not to mention the equipment – I would have needed a vacuum sealer and a thermal immersion bath to really do this recipe right. Luckily, that was never my intention: I just wanted to test out what seemed like unlikely but potentially mind-blowing flavor combinations, namely salmon + licorice + vanilla + grapefruit.

What I wound up doing was simply making a seared salmon dish with a semi-set licorice sauce instead of the gel, but other than that, and the missing truffle, the dish was more or less the same as it appeared in the Fat Duck cookbook, and none too difficult. First, get your sauce going. Pour a bottle of stout into a pot with a little bit of water, a little bit of soy sauce, and some powdered dashi. For the licorice, I’d recommend pure licorice if you can get it; I used soft licorice candy, and it wasn’t quite strong enough and didn’t dissolve properly. Anyway, chop up a good handful of licorice and toss it in the pot and simmer everything. When the licorice is nicely incorporated (use a hand blender if you have to) and everything is simmering, add a leaf of gelatin and cook a while longer.

Next, prep your garnishes. Peel some asparagus (or don’t – I didn’t) taking off just the outermost green layer, leaving the tops intact. Scrape out a vanilla pod and mix the seeds with about two heaped tablespoons of good mayonnaise, or better yet, make your own mayonnaise. Put 250ml or so of Balsamic vinegar in a pan and reduce into a thick, black syrup. Now comes the tricky part, but it actually is worth the effort, and it doesn’t have to be perfect – your home is not a Michelin-starred restaurant, so chill out! Get a nice, ripe pink grapefruit. Peel it carefully. Strip away the outer membrane from a segment, and gently tease out the individual cells without breaking them. Using a toothpick or a paring knife or tweezers, separate each individual cell from the segment. Discard any broken cells. You’ll need about one segment worth of cells per plate.

Finally, let’s cook. Get yourself a nice big hunk of salmon and get the skin off and the bones out. Heat some good olive oil or avocado oil in a pan until it’s nice and hot, but not smoking. Sear the salmon on both sides for about 4-5 minutes, cooking for 8-9 minutes in total. Meanwhile, sauté the asparagus in olive oil in a lidded frying pan, so they steam as they sauté. It will take about the same amount of time as the salmon, but less time if you did peel them. To plate, streak a little vanilla mayo on one side of the plate, and place a little patch of grapefruit cells along the other. In the middle, spatter a bit of the Balsamic reduction. Rest the asparagus across the plate, then rest the salmon across the asparagus. Spoon on some licorice sauce, season to taste, and you’re done.

And it was good – the combination worked, and in fact it was the vanilla mayonnaise that really tied everything together. I loved how the different elements offset and underscored each other without becoming lost or muddled. It was surprisingly subtle, too, and I can only imagine how good it would be if prepared by the man himself.

Lastly, dessert. The dessert didn’t turn out quite right, if I’m honest, but it still tasted nice, so here it is. Coconut milk, milk, sugar, cream, and vanilla in a pan. Bring it to a boil. Add a leaf or two of gelatin and stir to dissolve. Break up some white chocolate into smallish chunks in a bowl, then pour on the hot coconut mixture and allow to melt. Whisk gently to dissolve any remaining chunks. Cool in the fridge for a good two hours. Meanwhile, chop up a couple ribs of rhubarb. Simmer them with lime juice, rose water, water, and sugar until very soft and syrupy, then allow to cool. Whip some cream to soft peaks, then fold into the coconut white chocolate to form a light mousse. Allow to set in the fridge for another two hours. To assemble, break up some ginger cookies and place them at the bottom of bowls or glasses. Sprinkle in some dessicated coconut, then add a spoonful of the rhubarb compote. Fill with the coconut white chocolate mousse, and top with more compote and more coconut.

Simple, yes, but I still managed to screw it up! What went wrong: I didn’t give the gelatin enough time to set, so the mousse turned out more like a kind of thick eggnog. But hey, ain’t nothin’ wrong with eggnog! We cleaned our teacups just the same, and rang in the New Year with satisfied stomachs, expensive sake, moderately priced beer, and cheap champagne.

MMXI will be MMXIting.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Sphere (Part 2)

2 Jan

Centuries before Adrià started producing liquid olives and apple caviar, pastry chefs were already engaging in a different kind of spherification – the magical creation of profiteroles out of pâte à choux. As a special Boxing Day dessert, I made profiteroles using two of my favorite Christmas gifts, a Kenwood Triblade and Pastry by Michel Roux.

To the standard crème pâtissière I added a splash of Cointreau and a big pinch of allspice to make the filling more Christmasy. In my midwestern mind, the flavor instantly evoked a memory of pumpkin pie, an unexpected but delightful association brought on by the unique aroma of the spice combined with a thick, creamy texture.

Profiteroles are simple, but there’s definitely something uncommonly exciting about them. I like the way they mushroom up out of little blobs to become beautiful and delicate puffballs. I like the way they conceal their filling like a naughty secret. And I love the way their fragile crunch gives way to a flood of cool, sweet, intoxicating cream. Of course I will always love and look forward to the British Christmas staples of mince pies, trifle, Christmas cake and Christmas pudding. But even after all the old standbys have been sampled, who doesn’t have room left for just one little profiterole?

Tomorrow: we have nothing to sphere but sphere itself.

Rib Fest

16 Sep

Everybody loves a fest – especially Wisconsinites. The muggy, mosquito-ridden Milwaukee summer is filled with fests. Summerfest is the big one, but then there’s also Irish Fest, Pride Fest, Greek Fest, Polish Fest, German Fest and Oktoberfest, African World Fest, Arab World Fest, Asian Moon Fest, Armenian Fest, Serbian Fest, Labor Fest (?), Festa Italiana, Fiesta Mexicana – and those are just the ones with “fest” (or a cognate thereof) in their names! Not to mention the more minor fests in bordering towns and suburbs, like Harbor Fest in Racine. One of Milwaukee’s nicknames is the “City of Festivals,” and although that’s probably just a marketing slogan deployed in recent decades, that doesn’t mean it’s not perfectly fitting.

Not content to passively partake in the rest of the fests, my Uncle Erik and Aunt Sarah have created their own: Rib Fest.

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Rib Fest is exactly what it sounds like: a festival of ribs. Each year, friends and family are invited to enter their barbecue pork ribs in a competition, to be evaluated and ranked by a panel of judges. This year, probably because of my reputation as the family snob, I was chosen as a judge in this epic “Battle of the Bones.”

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Ribs were to be scored in four categories: appearance, bone release, flavor, and overall impression, all weighted equally. Each of the seven ribs I sampled were categorically delicious – to paraphrase a fellow judge, any of the ribs, if eaten in almost any other context, would have been the best meal I’d had that day. It was a tough job, trying to find flaws in really excellent hunks of meat.

But somebody had to do it, and I did my best. Ultimately, my top score went to a saucy, spicy, brawny entry cooked by someone named Juanita; her ribs were intense and satisfying, with well-articulated layers of smoke, cumin, turmeric, and chili powder. But in the end Juanita took second place – the other judges preferred the ribs made by a man named John. Flaky and tender and visibly falling from the bone, John’s ribs were also outstanding, pink and black with fire and smoke and mysteriously fruity from a can’t-put-your-finger-on-it secret ingredient (I later learned it was pineapple juice and sweet tea-infused vodka).

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After the winners were announced, the inevitable debates arose. Most people seemed fairly content with our picks, but the “bone release” category was hotly contested. I was of the opinion (as were the other judges) that rib meat is best when it pulls cleanly from the bone without much effort. However, I also feel that meat can reach a point where it is too loose, or where the tissue connecting meat to bone has become more tender and loose than the meat itself, so that when you bite into it, you tend to pull the entire strip of meat from the bone rather than just the bite you wanted. I marked ribs down for this sort of overly eager bone release.

However, some cooks and diners argued that ribs are best when the meat doesn’t fall from the bone, and requires a little chewing or gnawing to get the meat off. I could not understand this; their explanations were filled with words like “technically” or “officially” – except for my Aunt Lisa’s, who simply said: “I like it when you have to gnaw at ‘em.”

Still, I’m not satisfied to chalk it up to “personal preference.” That’s a cop out. “There’s no accounting for taste” is a terrifically stupid axiom – there are all kinds of ways to account for taste! So this is very vexing to me. I just think there’s something wonderfully satisfying about ribs that lift off the bone with a gentle tug. It is one of life’s greatest small pleasures. Having to gnaw or tear at ribs isn’t the worst thing in the world, but I can’t understand why anyone would prefer it. And yet… people do.

Show of hands: who likes ribs that fall off the bone? And who likes ribs that don’t fall off the bone? And if you’re the latter: for goodness sake, why?

P.S.: Sorry there are no photos of the actual ribs; I didn’t want to clog my camera with sauce.

Attn: Friends and Family: Laura + Tim

4 Aug

lauraplustim

I’ve set up a blog for wedding updates. We’ll be using it in the coming months to update everybody on our wedding plans in both the UK and Wisconsin. Subscribe to the RSS feed!

Here it is:
http://lauraplustim.com

Super-Duper Chocolate Cake with Irish Cream-Hazelnut Ganache

28 Jul

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Am I alone in the belief that the word “ultimate” has no place in the title of a recipe? One of the many joys of cooking is the experimental aspect of it. Even if your aim is to make a dish perfectly, exactly as it was meant to be made, chances are you’ll still have to tweak the recipe a bit to get the finished product just right. “Ultimate” means final. The end. The zenith, the conclusion, the last word. So when a recipe is presented as the “ultimate” of something, I take that as a challenge to do it one better.

For Laura’s birthday a few weeks ago, I made a cake. The recipe I used was called “Ultimate Chocolate Cake,” which I chose because it seemed to be the densest, fudgiest chocolate cake recipe out there. As far as I’m concerned, chocolate cakes ought to be rich, dense, and dark – essentially, my ideal chocolate cake is actually a brownie. So this “ultimate” recipe, which calls for sordid, indecent quantities of dark chocolate, butter, and sugar with flour kept to a bare minimum, looked just about perfect.

And it was. The resultant cake was weighty, moist, and as dark as earth; it was chocolate first and cake second. It was, in fact, so rich that I decided to make tart currant-nectarine sauce to offset it. But as exquisite as it was, the recipe as written ought to have been named “Penultimate” chocolate cake, for I swapped out the original, basic ganache for an experimental frosting formed by alloying Nutella with Bailey’s – making this even more debauched and delicious.

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Of course, I could never presume to call my cover version of this cake the “ultimate,” either, and so I’m giving it a new, more accurate name. Please do tailor it to your own taste!

Super-Duper Chocolate Cake

For the cake:

200 grams high-quality dark chocolate, chopped
200 grams butter, cut in pieces
1 tablespoon instant coffee granules, dissolved into 1/2 cup cold water
85 grams self-raising flour
85 grams plain flour
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
200 grams light brown sugar
200 grams golden caster sugar
25 grams cocoa powder
3 medium eggs
5 tablespoons buttermilk

  1. Butter a 20- by 8-centimeter cake tin and line the bottom. Preheat oven to 160ºC/325ºF.
  2. Melt chocolate and butter together with coffee over low heat in a medium saucepan.
  3. Sift together flour, sugar, baking soda, and cocoa powder into a large bowl. Beat eggs in a separate bowl and stir in buttermilk.
  4. Pour the chocolate mixture and the egg mixture into the dry ingredients and mix well. Batter should be runny and smooth.
  5. Pour batter into the cake tin and bake for 1 hour 30 minutes-1 hour 45 minutes. Cake is finished when a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. Allow to cool completely for 3-4 hours.

For the ganache:

150 grams high-quality dark chocolate
1 tablespoons golden caster sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
2 tablespoons butter, melted
3/4 cup Irish cream liqueur
3/4 cup Nutella
6 Ferrero Rocher, crushed

  1. Pour Irish cream into a saucepan and allow alcohol to cook off over medium-low heat for 15 minutes. Do not boil.
  2. Add chocolate, sugar, cocoa, butter, and Nutella stir until smooth.
  3. Allow ganache to cool to room temperature, then pour 1/3 ganache into a separate bowl and stir in Ferrero Rocher.
  4. Slice the cake into two layers. Spread the ganache with Ferrero Rocher pieces onto the bottom layer, then replace the top layer. Spread remaining ganache evenly over the entire cake, smoothing with a pallette knife.
  5. Serve with fruit sauce and fresh mint.

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