playing with fire and water

bat wings

Chicken wings basted with black sesame paste, soy sauce, mirin, and brown sugar.

Pomegranate ketchup.

Butternut squash crisps... because even bloodsuckers need veggies.

This would be pure kitsch if it weren't so good.

ginger pumpkin black sesame yuzu

I often get questions and comments on plating. It's not a process that I over analyze or can easily define. Composing a plate of food is just one of the many creative processes involved in cooking.

When working with a pre-conceived plating design, the challenge is in finding the right flavors and forms to flesh out the concept. Sometimes this approach works, sometimes it evolves into something else. When the flavors and textures aren't right— even when they fit the concept— the entire dish is scrapped. This happens more often than I care to admit.

Mosty, I'm working with components that I want to bring together in a dish. In this case, I had ginger pumpkin cake, sweetened cream cheese with fresh yuzu juice and zest, black sesame paste emulsified with cocoa butter, and sandy brown butter crumbs. The flavors and textures captured the rich and mysterious tones of autumn; a mood that I wanted to express on the plate.

When it came time to plate, I didn't have a clear vision of the finished dish. When this happens, I look to the forms and colors for guidance, using intuition and experience through a filter of personal aesthetics. I'd like to say that I am always mindful of the creative process, but sometimes I just play around and hope for the best. Either way, regardless of what I tried, this dish was not coming together on the plate. I needed to step back and take a break. 

I woke my dog from one of his power naps and headed out for a walk. My neighbor had just taken down a birch tree in his front yard where I found him splitting logs. We chatted about the majestic birch and the splendid fires he would have. Later, I returned home with my head clear but I still had no direction for the dish. Yet, just minutes later, I was snapping the photo that you see above.

I wish that I could tell you how it came together, why decisions were made in the process, but the truth is that although my hands did the work, there was no logic or reason guiding them. Or so I thought...

When I uploaded the photo, it looked alien yet strangely familiar like something I had dreamt. "Did I really create that?" asked my left brain. The right brain replied, heckling, "Throw that log on the fire, will ya!"  I recognized the voice— it was the sound of my preconscious mind cracking open to reveal the path from a crisp autumn day, a pile of pale wood and dark twigs, the promise of a fire— to a composition on a plate. It was the voice of creativity.

What is creativity and where does it come from?

Anyone who has flirted, courted, or slept with it has surely asked this question. We all want to contribute something to the world that did not exist before and carries our unique imprint. It's why we procreate and generate ideas and art. But creativity doesn't fall from the sky and land in our hands— it is the manifestation of our collected experiences, from the banal to the transcendent, that weave through our conscious and subconscious minds, gestating, waiting for the trajectory of expression in order to find new life outside of ourselves. Is it then an attempt to immortalise that which is mortal?... a longing for eternity?

According to Juan Mari Arzak, "Creativity comes from where it can". It was not an answer to a question, but an off-the-cuff remark that substantiated how an ordinary event inspired the creation of a dish. Chef Arzak's observation resonated with me because it hinted at the wonder and mystery of the elusive force, and, also because it is a simple truth— creativity does, indeed, come from where it can. 

ginger pumpkin cake

More play with dehydrated flavor sheets in batter.

This time— dehydrated pumpkin in a fresh ginger root cake. This sheet, because it contains solids, is more of a chewy leather than a brittle crisp and converts to a soft, melting texture in the moist environment of the batter.

On the left are random strips embedded in the batter. On the right, strips were layered horizontally. Notice how the as the cake rose, it broke and disrupted some of the sheets. Interesting pattern, but I was going for a layered cake look. Next time, I'll try laying them in vertically.

Besides adding visual and textural interest, I think the true merit of this technique is in producing a cake with a baked-in filling. Now, to figure out how to get the frosting in there too.

Download recipe:   ginger pumpkin cake

smoked buttermilk ranch dressing

 Butter is a ubiquitous staple in my house. There is always a soft stick on the counter and a pound or two waiting in the refrigerator. On the rare occasion when the supply dwindles, a quiet panic takes over when I unwrap the last stick-- kind of like running out of toilet paper.

It's been fun— to say the least— having infused butters on hand to play with. Instead of inspiring new dishes, they proved their usefulness by elevating the everyday food that I cook for myself and my family. Whenever I questioned whether it was worth the extra work to make my own butter— whether cultured, flavor-infused, caramelized (or should I say Maillardized?), or smoked— I had only to swirl a knob into a pan of steamed or pureed vegetables, pasta, or rice. Sauces were transformed. Ordinary baked goods took on flavors and aromas that seemed to breathe new life into them. Even a morning slice of toast gave cause to linger.

And if there were still any doubt, having fresh buttermilk on hand sweetens the deal. Chicken, marinated in smoked buttermilk prior to frying, convinced me that smoked butter should will be a staple.

Maybe I say that now because the imminent cold equates the flavor of smoke with the warmth of hearth. 

Or maybe it was the chocolate chip cookies made with smoked butter? 

Naw, I'm pretty sure that the salad with the smoked ranch dressing and bbq cornbread croutons cemented the deal. 

bbq cornbread

The step from bbq grits to bbq cornbread, while by no means a leap of imagination, was simply another exploration of the marriage of bbq sauce and cornmeal. I was curious to see what a sweet and acidic medium would do to a product that is typically coarse and dry. The flavor was predictably good, the reward came in the moist and tender crumb that I have not been able to achieve with dairy products alone.

I also wanted to explore the notion of folding chips of dehydrated sauce into a batter. This worked out quite well as they rehydrated in the moisture released in baking and formed soft, melting pockets of flavor that were well defined-- not unlike chocolate chips. In that context, the doors of extrapolation have swung wide open.

Download recipe:   bbq cornbread

pulled beef bbq grits

Grits are not something that I normally go to as a side dish. I have my New England upbringing to blame, but a recent trip through the Carolinas may have changed that. 

I have long wanted to visit the city of Charleston SC for various reasons. The food, the flora, the antebellum architecture, the colorful history-- all compelling draws. Underlying these was a romanticized curiosity about a city that had spawned and/or inspired many of my favorite authors-- and sustained me through the 850 mile drive.

We arrived in Charleston late on a Sunday night. My husband, who had driven the entire way, opted to hang back in the hotel while I went out, hungry and restless, in search of local flavor. I found an old, established restaurant not far from the hotel and ordered a Dark 'n Stormy and Shrimp and Grits. The cocktail was an antidote to my road-weariness. The Shrimp and Grits, though lacking finesse in presentation and execution, was soothing and comforting.

Strolling back to the hotel, I was hyper-aware of my surroundings. Flickering gas lanterns lit the cobbled sidewalk. Soft breezes carried the mingled scents of decay, gardenias and salt marsh and the sound of soulful blues drifting from a distant nightclub.  Was it my overactive imagination or the rum that caused me to believe that I could feel the stirrings of the ghosts, angels and demons that haunt the city? The whole time, I was thinking about the Shrimp and Grits-- not about it's flaws-- but about how eating the dish was like riding a bullet shot straight into the heart of a place.

I ordered cheese grits for breakfast the next day and noted how comfortable they were with eggs. I ordered them again, two days later in Asheville NC, with some excellent BBQ and marveled at how perfectly they foiled the tangy/sweet/smoky sauce and succulent meat.

The trip continued with stops in Virginia and Pennsylvania, where I picked up more memories of places, people, and food. I indulged in extraordinary tasting menus that were masterful, poetic, and delicious. I returned home weary from travel, yet revitalized, and-- strangely-- craving grits with BBQ sauce. 

beer-braised pulled short ribs

bbq grits

purple snow pea salad

rau ram 

To make bbq grits:  Bring 1 cup of beer to a boil. Stir in 1/4 cup corn grits, reduce heat to a simmer. Cook, stirring occasionally, until beer is absorbed and grits are creamy. Stir in 1/4 cup bbq sauce and 2 Tablespoons smoked butter.

bbq sheet

This is a 12" x 20" sheet of dehydrated bbq sauce.

Sweet Baby Ray's-- straight out of the bottle. Spread on silpat, 130F. 8 hours.

Pliable when warm, brittle when cool. Fun stuff.

I'd love to see what an artist/sculptor could do with this.

scallop fennel bearnaise

What would you do if you were served a broken bearnaise?

Would you think that it was a mistake and send it back to the kitchen? 

Or would you recall that Fernand Point wrote in Ma Gastronomie "It takes years of practice for the result to be perfect" and chalk it up to inexperience?

What if you learned that it was broken intentionally? 

Would you be curious to know why? 

Or outraged that someone would mess with 170 years of tradition?

Can something be fixed if it's not broken? 

Or does it need to be broken to be fixed?

scallop mousseline

fennel: bulb, fronds, green seeds, pollen

smoked bearnaise

caviar

 

smoked butter

 When you start at the source, the possibilities are endless.

Heavy cream smoked over hickory chips.

Smoky butter and buttermilk: two products for the price of one.

Full, deep penetration of flavor: priceless. 

A few tips that I've learned about making butter:

    cream must be thoroughly chilled before churning-- overnight is best.  

    after churning, turn cream out into sieve and let drain thoroughly at room         temperature (the fat globules will stick together easier when soft).

    tossing and pressing on the fat globules while they are draining will also           make it easier to cream and eliminates the "washing step". With infused       cream, washing with water seems to dilute flavor and wastes buttermilk.