playing with fire and water

honeysuckle

This is my third attempt at writing this post.

In the first, I told you about my childhood friend's flower garden and how she introduced me to the concept of flowers-as-food when she showed me how to suck the honey out of honeysuckle.

In the second, I told you about my struggles to find flavor pairings that would do the honeysuckle justice, and how I found inspiration from a bottle of yuzu juice.

Then, I wondered if the backstory was necessary when all I really wanted to say is that these flavors made me happy. Very Very happy.

Third time's a charm.

earl grey junket

yuzu curd

whipped honey

malted meringue

honeysuckle

tomato peppermint

While working with zapotec tomatoes, it occurred to me that the hollow-lobed bottoms would make an interesting case for a filling. I didn't have to look far, as there was fresh milk curd forming in a pot on the stove.

fresh cheese-filled tomato 

peppermint pain de mie

black garlic aioli

Nearly every country in the world makes a form of fresh cheese. They vary by origin/type of milk and the process used for curdling. Curds can be formed by acidulation with vinegar, lemon juice, buttermilk, or yogurt. Cottage cheese and ricotta are made from the cooked and drained curds, while a variety of acid-formed fresh cheeses such as farmers cheese, cream cheese, quark, feta, chevre, queso fresco, and paneer are formed from the pressed curds. 

Curds can also be formed by the enzyme chymosin, found in the stomach of calves and available as rennet. Chymosin coagulates the milk solids (casein) into a solid mass that can be eaten in the soft-set stage (when sweetened, this is a popular dessert known as junket), or drained and pressed for a sliceable cheese. These were the curds that were forming on the stove and used to fill the tomato. Cutting off the bottom of the tomato allowed the whey to drain while the curds compacted. 

Pairing peppermint with tomato was a 'happy accident'. Actually, it was borne of laziness-- I didn't want to run to the garden for basil in the pouring rain, so I grabbed some peppermint that was sitting on the windowsill for the salad that I was assembling. 

True peppermint (Menthus x piperita) is a hybrid of watermint (M. aquatica) and spearmint (M. spicata) and can only be propagated from cuttings and not from seeds. Peppermint brightens and compliments the flavor of the tomato much the same way that basil does, but with menthol overtones. A quick search confirms that they are indeed chemically linked in aroma.

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Immediately after publishing this post and pulling it up for review, I was struck by how the tomato/cheese component resembles a peppermint candy. I promise this was not intentional and I am just now aware of it! 

Was it subliminal? serendipitous? a cosmic alignment? complete coincidence or a mischievous peppermint pixie guiding my hand?

I've no idea--I'll just chalk it up to another of those WTF moments that leave me smiling and shaking my head in wonder.

patchouli beets

baby beets roasted in patchouli sugar crust

bocconcino di pura capra

Villa Manodori dark cherry balsamic

I've posted about roasting in a sugar crust before. The technique, introduced by Pierre Gagnaire and Herve This, replaces the salt in a traditional salt crust with sugar. The process caramelizes the sugar during roasting and infuses the contents with the aroma of caramel. 

The technique worked beautifully on bananas and though I never took it any further, I always thought that I would like to try it on root vegetables-- particularly beets.

Beets were the first thing that came to mind when tasting fresh patchouli leaves and a subsequent sampling of roasted beets with chopped patchouli proved to be a good pairing. The next progression of thought was to bring the two together in a sugar crust.

Taking advantage of the enclosed environment of roasting in a porous crust as a vehicle for aroma-infusing, I incorporated patchouli leaves into part of the sugar. To optimize the meager harvest from my few plants, I limited it to the layer of sugar that is in direct contact with the beets, then covered that with the remaining sugar/egg white mixture.

The beets, when cooked this way, seemed to condense in texture and flavor, like inspissated versions of themselves. The patchouli did not ambush their flavor, but gave them a mysterious edge; haunting them with an earthy aura.

 

 

Sugar crust: Mix 3 pounds (7 cups) sugar with 3 egg whites until well blended. Lay down a 1/2" thick base layer of mixture on a silpat. Press to compact. Lay food on top of base, leaving at least 1" in between. Cover with a thick layer of remaining mixture, pressing well on all sides. Bake at 275 F. Test for doneness by inserting a skewer through the crust and into the food. Allow to rest for a few minutes after removing from oven and breaking open the crust.

patchouli

If the scent of patchouli makes you think of head shops and Dead concerts, you may be surprised to know that the taste has none of the sweet incense overtones and is of dark,warm earth (i.e. dirt).

You may also be surprised to learn, as I was, that the scent of patchouli is extracted from fleshy green leaves and not tree-derived resin like its intensely aromatic cousins: frankincense and myrrh.  

The real surprise was experiencing the scent from its unadulterated source; allowing me to break from its emotional and nostalgic connections and imagine what is possible.

daylily

As with most dishes, It started as a concept...

The idea was to showcase a flower-- not just as a taste/aroma, or as a representation-- but to present the flower intact, in full bloom, even as it grows on the stem. 

Then, I thought, wouldn't it be better if there were two flowers on that stem that could be presented in different preparations: one hot, one cold; one cooked, one raw? Sure it would.

And-- what if there were buds that could be...oh, say, pickled...to serve as a counterpoint to the other preparations? Awesome right? 

The problem was finding the right flower. No matter how lovely, would anyone want to approach a rose with a knife and fork? 

It was a tall order and I all but gave up on the concept because, frankly, I wasn't sure that such a flower existed. But Nature knew that it did...and set the day lilies a-bloomin".

king crab/creme fraiche/preserved lemon/tarragon

king crab tempura

pickled lily buds

mango/yellow bell pepper

cantaloupe

tomato

fava/orange mint

 

A single daylily stem can produce up to 50 blossoms, each one programmed to last only a day. They have a tender, lettuce-like texture and mildly sweet vegetal flavor, reminiscent of melon or squash. Do not mistake toxic lilies (Lilium) for daylilies (Hemerocallis). While the flowers are easily confused, the plants are distinct-- daylily leaves are long blades that grow directly from the base of the plant, while Lilium species have short leaves that grow along the length of the stem.

roses milk red berries

The weather has not been kind to my roses this year. Constant rain has left them battered and mouldered. In between downpours, I've tried to salvage what I could by taking cuttings to bring indoors. These heirloom Reine des Violettes are a feast for the eyes and nose; a small bouquet fills the house with their rich, spicy perfume.

Tasting the petals, I was struck-- not only by their intense aroma--but by the way their tender, velvety texture reminded me of young spinach leaves; a prompt to wilt them in sweet almond oil.

wilted roses

raw milk curd

strawberry curd

 raspberry drupelets

salted almond crunch

The white heels of rose petals are typically trimmed away as they tend to be bitter. I've left them intact because I like bitter when it plays with sweet, tart, and salty.

The milk curd is the curtailed first stage of cheese, where a tablet of rennet is dissolved in a teaspoon of water and quickly stirred into a quart of 100F raw milk. After about 30 minutes, the milk proteins coagulate into a tender wiggly mass.

Strawberry curd is a variation on a lemon curd that came as a special request-- the challenge was to make it without eggs or butter. After many trials involving various combinations of gels and starches, I concluded that the best texture and flavor release came from gelatin and cornstarch. 

crispy asparagus

If food is a form of art [and by definition, I believe it is]— it's an exceptional one. Food has the distinction of engaging ALL of the senses. In food there is beauty, taste, aroma, texture, and sound. 

The most beautiful sound that food makes is 'crispy'. Crispy and crunchy are often used interchangeably, but there is a difference. Crispy is when a dry food meets the teeth, it offers little resistance and shatters into a brittle cadenza, while crunchy implies a thicker, denser product with a deeper resonance. 

Crispy is a lilting violin; crunchy is a rotund cello. 

crispy asparagus   rose yogurt

I've been chasing the elusive crispy, trying to coax it from vegetables. Oh, I know there are ways...

The makers of snack foods know its addictive powers. They have the technical and practical knowledge to achieve it, but their processes and equipment are not available to the average cook.

Of course, there is always deep frying, which is 'dry boiling' in fat at an accelerated temperature that dehydrates, browns, and ultimately crisps. While I love the texture, flavor, and aromas that hot fat lends to food, it wasn't what I was after.

I was chasing the type of crispy that comes from lyophilization, or freeze drying, a process that draws moisture from materials by converting the water in its cells to a solid frozen state, bypassing the liquid phase, to produce a product that is visibly unaltered and intact. Without access to this sexy beast of technology, I had to achieve the fragile crispness with only the tools available in my kitchen.

I knew the key was dehydration. In its pursuit, I moved thin shavings of asparagus from the low temperatures of a dehydrator to the higher temperatures of an oven, to no avail. In both cases, the drawing of moisture collapsed and compacted the cells, resulting in a product that I can only obliquely refer to as crisp. They had the right 'snap', but that was followed by an unpleasant papery chew.

Going back to square one, I restarted the process with shaved asparagus, but this time I attempted to soften the cell walls in heavily salted (1 1/2 Tblsps per quart) boiling water. Next, I spread them out on parchment and (oven) dehydrated at 150F for 30 minutes. Analyzing the shriveled, dry asparagus at this point, I wished for a fast, hot,and dry heat source to expand and puff the collapsed cells. A veil lifted, and 30 seconds later, the most underutilized and misunderstood appliance in my kitchen showed me some of its hidden potential.

Thank you microwave oven.  

p.s. Crispy asparagus taste suspiciously like pistachios.

p.p.s. Beware— they are just as addictive. 

let freedom ring

Branford, Ct.                 June 27,2009