#cookingetc

[cookingetc]

Hello from Cooking Etc.

I’ve decided to start a food blog and learn video editing as well... 

So there are many things to learn and it keeps me away from overthinking...

[thereserveandthewell]

THE ONE PERCENT

The first thing that needs to be discussed is my {former} practice of salting noodles so that they wouldn’t stick.  This practice is what you call falling into the trappings of tradition.  By all accounts I haven’t found anything to support this theory.  In fact, upon an ever so slight moment of introspection, it seems dubious at best to expect noodles to stick to one another in water, especially given the practice of shocking cooked noodles by placing them in cold water if you aren’t using them right away[1].

So why do we salt water then?  One, it raises the boiling point of water; however, as the magnificent Harold McGee has opined, it is pointless in practicality as it requires heaps of salt to do so even a negligible amount[2].  The main reason/only reason we salt the water for our pasta or rice is to flavor that ingredient.  Salting the water flavors the water, which is in turn absorbed by the pasta or rice.  Seasoning the water enriches the noodles rather than salting the finished product.

So how much salt should you add?  Although it is primarily a matter of taste preferences, a nice rule of thumb is the One Percent Rule.  The water should have a 1% salinity ratio, meaning that the salt to water ratio should be 1%.  Next time you find yourself cooking a pasta or rice, measure the water in ounces that you pour into your boiling pot.  Now multiple that amount by .01.  The product is how many ounces of salt to add to your water.

For example, I typically find myself cooking for two, which usually requires around six cups of water, or 48 ounces.  48 x 0.01 = .48 oz.  If you remember that ½ oz is one tablespoon, then add a tablespoon of salt to your water.  Of course, an easier way to remember is ½ oz/1 tbsp of salt for every 50 oz of water.

Don’t believe me?  Seems like too much salt?  Try it and taste your noodles as you drain them.  I guarantee you’ll consider eating them straight.

  *Thanks to Michael Ruhlman for setting me straight when it comes to salt, as well as most other cooking matters.  I recommend his excellent treatise Rulhman’s Twenty to both the novice and experienced cook.

[1] This is useful when you need more burners than you have or are unable to time everything “just perfect.”  Obviously this works best when you are then placing the noodles in a warmed sauce or broth or are serving them cold.

[2] Our parameters are the kitchen, remember.

[thereserveandthewell]

The Hodgepodge: A Tale of Cookery – A Review

THE HODGEPODGE: A TALE OF COOKERY

By Jack Barnes

434 pp. Hollanders $40

{Jack Barnes elaborately dressed as Edgar Allan Poe on Halloween 2011 for the annual Hodgepodge Halloween service. Photo © Jack Barnes/Hollanders 2011}

I first learned of Jack Barnes’s restaurant, The Hodgepodge, through a friend of mine.  He had taken an internship in California one summer during law school for some tech company.  Upon his return in the fall, he clamored to tell me all about this fantastic restaurant that was pushing the boundaries between the other four senses and taste.  He claimed to have been on the waitlist the entire summer and literally received a call on his last night in town telling him of a cancellation and there was now a vacant table if he could confirm his availability at once.  He spoke of specially manufactured plates, which contained microscopic speakers that emitted sounds conjuring up the spirit of the evening’s menu.  For instance, the evening that he attended dinner service, the night was dedicated to fresh fish, hence the sounds of the ever-rising tide whispered from his plate.  I don’t recall the particular fish he undoubtedly enjoyed that evening, but he enthusiastically told me how the head was baked with the fish and it wasn’t until halfway through the meal that he realized the head was not the head after all, but a more edible reconstruction of one.

So how is the book organized?  Barnes includes four sections in his first foray into the publishing world: History, Recipes, Ingredients, and Future.  The story begins (yes, story) with a detailed account of how Jack Barnes came to be Jack Barnes and eventually open The Hodgepodge.  I don’t want to ruin anything for anyone as this is actually the best part of the book, but I will give a few details of note away.

Jack Barnes started out in insurance before deciding to risk it all in the culinary industry.

He tried to stage at the The Fat Duck, but was not accepted.

This led to depression fueled by a string of doubts until a rather humorous incident in a Los Angeles’s farmer’s market involving pork belly, a cucumber, and a mime.

His first restaurant failed miserably.

His second restaurant failed miserably.

His third restaurant failed, but not miserably.

He only mentions offhand his fourth, so think whatever you want.

It wasn’t until his fifth and current restaurant endeavor that he began to see any success.

Of course the true measure of any cookbook is the recipes.  Well, where do I begin? 

First, this is not an “at home” style cookbook in the vein of Modernist Cuisine at Home or Heston Blumenthal at Home.  “At home” is a type of cookbook that takes restaurant style recipes and simplifies them for home use.  Barnes did not opt for this direction, however, as I guarantee that you won’t be able to make any of these recipes.  Doubt the veracity of this claim?  The simplest recipe calls for 60 POUNDS of garlic. The recipe, “Duck Feet and Garlic,” requires 60 lbs of garlic and feeds 6-8.  This is ultimately my problem with The Hodgepodge as a whole.  Barnes can’t seem to decide on which audience he is trying to achieve – professional chefs or the home cook.  The ingredients and techniques befit the professional, but the servings are more amateur oriented.  This is one of the “controversies” in the cookbook industry – should recipes be readily accessible or not?  I would imagine that most people who purchase a cookbook do so out of a desire to be able to replicate the recipes therein, but there do exist those where that really isn’t an option.  Three easy examples come to mind.  Take Modernist Cuisine, which requires a centrifuge, or how about some of Heston Blumenthal’s work?  Thomas Keller’s Sous Vide is specifically for restaurants even though it's considered the greatest single work on the subject, which brings us to the next consideration in buying a cookbook – what about the learning opportunities it provides?  Even if you are not considering opening a sous vide restaurant kitchen, you could still learn the ins and outs of sous vide cookery as well as the food safety aspect of it from Keller’s restaurant-oriented cookbook.  However, there is a large portion of the populace that would find the notion of purchasing a cookbook that you can’t “use,” i.e. replicate the recipes, as moronic.  However, I believe the best use of a cookbook isn’t to necessarily decide on tonight’s dinner menu, but as an instructional manual on the how-to’s of cooking.  Akin to last week’s article, remember to think through each recipe you encounter.  Study it.  Learn from it.

            I should really step down from my soapbox and finish this review.  Ingredients.  Will you have them on hand?  No – see above.  Do you have twenty duck feet in the freezer?  How about the spines of muskrats for a muskrat stock?  (Honestly, I didn’t even know this was legal.)  His favorite vegetable to use in almost everything is the colloquial “fish-radish.”  This is my harshest criticism of his work.  In his kitchen we want pretension – it's what we pay for; however, the amount of it collected between the pages of his first work is excessive.  The only way it could have been more so is if the title had been in Latin.

            The final section of Barnes’s book is aptly titled “The Future,” in which he dictates a manifesto on the future of cooking.  He postulates that sous vide is on the way to becoming the norm, not only in restaurants, but in home kitchens as well.  Restaurants will soon be forced to use sight, sound, smell, and touch all in the application of taste.  Alternative and scarce ingredients are the future of fine dining and anything less is too mundane for your pocketbook.  The question is this:  does the future belong to the Alice Waters-es of the world, or to the Jack Barnes-es?

[thereserveandthewell]

"Why Do We Fall?"

[thereserveandthewell]

"Why Do We Fall?" {Cont.}

Well, that didn't work.

I had an idea.  Remember my first post in which I promised that we'd be making mustard the following week?  Well, I finally decided to return to that premise.  When you make your own mustard from scratch, you must allow it to rest for several days (typically ten).  I had this great notion to try to quick "rest" it by using the whipping siphon, akin to a quick infusion or quick pickle.  If you noticed the picture that greeted you at the top of the page, then you can probably predict how this played out.  Alas, we are somewhat in media res at the moment - let's take a few steps back.

Roasted Tomato Mustard

Follow the recipe from here, sans the waiting period.  You will need the following:

Emulsion Blender or Blender

Whipping Siphon

1-3 Nitrous Dioxide Chargers

2 Cups of Basic Mustard

10-15 Grape Tomatoes

Cut the tomatoes in half and place cut side up in a small oven safe pan.  Drizzle with olive oil, thyme, and pepper and roast in the oven for 45 minutes or until lightly browned and dried out.  Flip once or twice during their tenure in the oven.

Pour your basic mustard in a bowl, toss in your tomatoes, and use your emulsion blender to quickly  blend.  Tada!

If you stop here, then seal for ten days in the refrigerator before use.  Ten days seemed like a looooooong time, so why wait?  Grab a whipping siphon.  The premise was simple enough - charge the mustard once or twice for a quick infusion.  Taste to see if we eliminated the waiting period.  Well, I poured the mustard into the container, checked for the removable seal(!), sealed, charged, shook, waited five minutes, vented, and BAMMMMMM.[1]

My assumption is that I didn't vent properly.  Well, a very aerated mustard began spewing out the top of the siphon, I'm running to the sink, and my immediate thought is to further vent out the gas.  So in my brilliance I pull the trigger and a burst of mustard flies out to the mirror, ensuring my marital demise.

___________________________________________________________________

  Akin to Alfred above, failures in the kitchen are wonderful teachers - only when we listen, of course.  That is amazingly easier said than done, right?  Today it was easy.  I was making this mustard solely for this blog post.  If it doesn't work, so what.  The problem arises when you are cooking for more than one.  Maybe it's your family on a weeknight.  Maybe it's just you, but you splurged on a $40 cut of steak.  Maybe it's a simple 15 minute meal, but you're tired and stressed from work and this is the last straw.

Every failure is an opportunity.

 Allow me to be redundant - every failure is an opportunity.  If something doesn't work in the kitchen, if your dish doesn't look, taste, feel like it should, then stop and think.  Did you do anything differently than before or from the recipe?  If yes, what was it and could it have an adverse effect that you didn't realize when you were alternating?

If you did nothing differently, then think through your actions.  Start from the beginning and imagine every variable - was the heat too high?  Too low?  Fresh vs. canned ingredients?  New ingredient or technique that you are not familiar with?

 If you are able to isolate the issue, then you are half-way to the land of opportunity.  It's not enough to recognize the issue.  You must now understand it (to the best of your ability).  So you had the heat too low.  Why does that matter?  What can you take away from this opportunity?

 I won't pretend that I always perform this way.  I've messed up a dinner or two, cooked a tough steak, and lost my temper along the way.  However, every time I did so, I lost an opportunity to learn and better hone my craft, and that, my friends, is the true failure.

[1] See photo at top of post

[thereserveandthewell]

I’m a Jus’ Whip Up a Cake – Give Me a Minute

Seriously.  Last night, with the help of Bob Pelligrino (See Life as Bob), we made cake…in 60 seconds.  Some of you are thinking that we are a regular Siegfried and Roy and others of you out there in Internet land are way ahead of us.  To those initiated, why yes, I did receive an ISI Whipping Siphon for Christmas; and yes, we did make way too many mini cakes with it yesterevening.

  Why Would You Want a Whipping Siphon?

  {Photo © 2014 ISI North America Inc.}

First, one doesn’t want a whipping siphon; one needs a whipping siphon.  A whipping siphon is a metal container in which you can seal and pressurize liquids typically with nitrous oxide (N2O) or carbon dioxide (CO2).    You use “chargers,” which are mini capsules of the gas, to pressurize the siphon.  Pressurizing a liquid can be used to make foams, infusions, or carbonations.  By forcing the pressurized gas out of the nozzle, the gas escapes, aerating the liquid as it does so.  The end result is a foam.  If you pressurize the liquid and then release only the gas, then you can perform quick infusions and carbonizations.

  A Mini Word on Nitrous Oxide and Carbon Dioxide

  These are the main gases that one uses in the siphon.  Nitrous oxide is used for foams and infusions; whereas carbon dioxide is used for carbonating.  N2O is readily absorbed by fats and liquids and leaves quickly; consequently, there isn’t much flavor left behind.  Enter CO2.  It becomes trapped in the liquid, resulting in carbonation, and leaves a slightly sour taste.

  Cakes on Cakes on Cakes

  After a mere 4-5 hours in the kitchen, we decided it was dessert time.  What could be a better idea at 10 PM on a Monday than to make cakes.  We chose the easy route and used a box of cake mix…sorry.  As I was mixing the mix, eggs, water, and oil, Bob had the idea to use stabilizers in the mix.  I happened to have an inordinate amount of xanthan gum on hand as my last trip to the store I blanked on the differences between grams and ounces and brought home 6 ounces instead of 6 grams.  This is a classic Bob move.  See, Bob is a doctoral candidate in Food Science.  I would have been happy to just make my little 60 second cake with very little support, but instead we can make a structurally sound cake with Bob’s advice.  We added 0.1% xanthan gum to the mix – and, well, - talk about your thickening agents.  We made concrete instead. 

Actually, it thickened up nicely, but it did turn out to be a little too thick for the siphon nozzle eventually.  However, I’m moving too far ahead.  After mixing it in, we poured it into the siphon, sealed it, and charged it with nitrous oxide.  I gave it two shakes (tried to, is more accurate – it was really thick!) and foamed a little out into a plastic cup that I had cut four tiny slits into the bottom (this allows the cup to steam).  Finally, we moved it to the microwave, punched in 60 seconds, and watched that bad boy turn into cake!  It really is fascinating to realize that you made something in 1/20th of the time. 

We cut it in half to inspect the density and aeration of the cake.  Perfect.  Extremely light, multiple large air pockets, tasty.  Then we moved on to making more; or, then we moved on towards lesser cakes.  The siphon nozzle is now blocked because of the thickness of the liquid, so we release the gas, pour it back into the bowl, and add a few splashes of club soda to lighten and carbonate our mixture.  Now back into the siphon, charge, and Bob gives it quite the shaking down.  Actually too much.  Our second attempt and we over shook the siphon, creating a very dense foam, which in turn creates a dense cake.  So we start again – pour, seal, charge, shake (NOT TOO MANY!); and yet, we were still making denser foams than our original.

Our guess?  The original batch thickened with xanthan gum was the best.  Maybe a little less than our 0.1% to ensure that the siphon can still discharge it. 

Moral of the story?  Don’t pull The Hangover, and stop while you’re ahead.

For more information be sure to check out THE book on modernist cuisine, coincidently titled Modernist Cuisine at Home by Nathan Myhrvold and Maxime Bile, as well as the lesser known The Whipping Siphon by Jason Logsdon.

[thereserveandthewell]

If You Want Hollandaise, You’ll Have to Crack a Few Eggs…and All Your Butter

No, seriously.  We are going to be using so much butter today.  The modern trend is to avoid Hollandaise sauce except for special occasions due to the high volume of butter.  Nevertheless, tis the season to be overfed, so let’s head to the kitchen or wherever you keep your hot plate.

Hollandaise is essentially a warmed mayonnaise, but the mere fact that it is warmed causes its notoriety for being difficult to prepare.  Hollandaise is comprised of butter, butter, butter, and more butter that is emulsified into a small batch of acidulated liquid, which is then mixed with egg yolks.  Your eggs and butter should be as fresh as possible.  Most recipes call for clarified butter, but personally, I find the chore, yes chore!, of clarifying butter not worth the final product.  Therefore, this will be the last you hear of clarified butter; however, obviously feel free to substitute if you so desire.

  For basic hollandaise, bust out your copper nickel-lined hollandaise pan or enameled cast-iron saucepan as these diffuse the heat best.  Oh, you don’t have these French Laundry pans?  Then use whatever saucepan you have available.  Full disclosure – I didn’t use these as I don’t currently own them, but it would be a nice gesture on your part to purchase them to use on this preparation.

  Use your copper, nickled enameled pan to create a reduction, or as the French prefer, an infusion.  This will be the base of the sauce and is our acidified liquid.  What is an acidified liquid?  Merely water and lemon juice or water and vinegar, your choice.  Add a dash of salt and white pepper and you are good to go.  Curious as to why you want to make a reduction instead of just mixing water and eggs?  Our reduction/infusion is a taste carrier as our sauce will derive a large portion of its flavor from it.  Our liquid should be reduced by half, but no more than 2/3’s.  Fight the urge to be impatient.  The longer it takes to reduce, the better the sauce will taste.  Don’t turn it up to a boil to speed up the process.  After you have reduced by half, you should only have about 2 tablespoons remaining, remove from heat and allow to cool.

  While your reduction cools, grab some FRESH eggs and hatch ‘em.  Err, I mean separate the yolks – three to be exact.  Bonus points if you find one egg with three yolks.  Once the reduction has cooled and you have your yolks, place the pan over low to EXTREMELY low heat and whisk the yolks into the infusion[1].  This constant whisking over low heat will produce a foamy, pale-yellow mixture comprised of millions of bubbles of air.  Cooking the eggs over low heat ensures that they won’t curdle, or cook.  You don’t want to see scrambled eggs at this point or at any point in your preparation of hollandaise.  You can potentially save your sauce by straining if this occurs, but you will obviously have less at the end than you intended.  However, note that acid slows the coagulation of the yolks.  The more acid you use, the less likely they will cook and scramble if the heat becomes too high.

  You are ready to add the melted butter (8 ounces!) to the mixture when your whisk begins to reveal the pan for a split second before the eggs slide back.  If you are nervous, err on the side of undercooking the eggs as you can always cook them after the butter has been added.  Add the butter drop by drop at first to ensure that the egg mixture accepts it.  Too much too fast can result in a weak emulsion.  One egg yolk can easily absorb 4 ounces of butter.  (WHAT.)  Continue to whisk as you add the butter, a little more each time.  Whisk the time away.  Once the butter is fully incorporated and you have whisked to exhaustion, the emulsified warm sauce should be a thick semifluid sauce, not so thick that it sits upon whatever you plan on serving.

  If you are not serving immediately, fill a pan with water and create a hot water bath at 155º F.  Place your batch of hollandaise in it to keep a constant warm and safe temperature.  Remember that it’s a good rule of thumb to only enjoy hollandaise sparingly as a 2 cup preparation uses half a pound of butter.  You can cut the butter content by substituting oil instead – try a half-and-half mixture next time.

  That is the traditional method, but there is another…

  BONUS RECIPE!!!!!!!!!

  For a speed batch, take 3 yolks and a tablespoon of lemon juice.  Throw it in a blender.  Run the blender until the yolks are foaming (sound familiar?) and gradually dribble in ½ a cup of melted butter as you continue to blend.  Season with salt and pepper and you are ready to go.  This version completely removes any semblance of cooking or heat.  Ahhh, modern culture…

[1] It is not uncommon to use a double-broiler instead of whisking over direct heat.  If direct heat terrifies you, then place a pan with a bit of water over low heat and place another bowl on top of it, ensuring that the bottom of this second bowl does not come into contact with the water.  My problem with this contraption is that you can’t see the water in the bottom pan.  You are blind to whether or not it is beginning to boil or become too heated.  I have curdled many a batch of hollandaise this way.

[thereserveandthewell]

The Reserve and the Well is an Emulsion!

I mentioned earlier that next week we will prepare a few vinaigrettes, which are unstable emulsions.  As mentioned, an unstable emulsion will separate after a few moments of no agitation.  A typical vinaigrette is an oil and vinegar mixture.  If you add a vinegar and oil together in a 1:2 ratio and shake vigorously, the oil will disperse into the vinegar into millions of bubbles.  These are temporarily suspended as they will eventually separate and the oil will settle on top of the vinegar as its lighter.  This is known an oil-in-water emulsion.  (Water derives from vinegar, which is 95% water.  Alternatively, butter, when mixed in an emulsion, would be the oil phase as it is 80% fat.)  The separation is known as a phase change as and each layer is known as a phase.  One more bit of terminology coming your way.  The “line” at which you can see the oil and water separate is known as the interface between the two.  Interestingly, solid butter is a water-in-oil emulsion and the interface is the area in contact with the air – the exterior.

  Is there a way to slow down the separation of the phases?  Yes!  Enter Semipermanent Emulsions.  The easiest way is to allow the machines to do the work for you.  Earlier we mentioned how shaking a bottle disperses the oil into the vinegar by tiny droplets.  Well, a machine, e.g. a blender, can disperse the oil into the vinegar in infinitely tiny droplets due to the speed of the blade[1].  As the machine disperses the two phases (oil and water, remember) into one another, it is also bringing in large quantities of air bubbles into the mixture.  These bubbles, mixed in with the oil bubbles, interfere with the oil’s ability to coalesce; consequently, the emulsion remains stable longer than a hand-whisked one.  You can also achieve the same effect by boiling your sauce.  The constant, rhythmic agitation creates the same effect.

  Perms

  Let’s pretend that people refer to permanent emulsions as perms.  That’s cool, right?[2]  A permanent emulsion is exactly what it sounds like – a mixture of oil and water that remains mixed together.  The number one example is mayonnaise.  Hollandaise is another.  What is their secret?  How do they remain interspersed?  The secret are egg yolks, which act as emulsifiers.  As a variation of the term emulsion, I’m NOT going to count this as a new term; therefore, my previous statement concerning no more new terms is accurate.[3]  Well, what’s an emulsifier then?

  An emulsifier is a molecule with hydrophilic and hydrophobic ends.  One end is water soluble, which attracts it to water; therefore it loves water (hydrophilic).  The other end, surprise!,  is soluble in oil and is repulsed by water; therefore, it hates water (hydrophobic).  The emulsifier, typically egg yolks[4], bonds with both the water and the oil thereby relieving the tension between the phases causing the emulsion to forgo separating.

  If you were looking for an extremely simplified version of emulsions, there you go.  Hopefully this will help you better understand emulsions when you interact with them in your own kitchen.  Next week we put emulsions and emulsifiers into action by making vinaigrettes and trying different methods of making a classic Hollandaise sauce.  We’ll discuss the science of emulsions a little more as we walk through each recipe and as we discuss techniques to save a curdling Hollandaise.

  Till then…

  ***I would like to thank Madeleine Kamman once again for her excellent discussion of emulsions in her magnum opus The New Making of a Cook.  Jacques Pepin’s Techniques also served as inspiration and I’m sure we’ll return to both in the following week.  Last, but not least, don’t forget to look into James Peterson’s James Beard Award winning first cookbook, Sauces, for limitless inspiration on the subject.

[1] Paul Bunyan – eat your heart out.

[2] Don’t you dare say “no”

[3] JK, there’s totes going to be a few more terms, but they are very straightforward

[4] Other common emulsifiers include sour cream, crème fraíche, mustard, gelatin, starch, pectin, and agar-agar