playing with fire and water

amazake strawberry kinome

It was on a blustery winter afternoon that I first sampled amazake. It came in the form of a traditional Japanese beverage, served warm with a sprinkle of grated ginger. Learning that it was essentially just fermented rice and water, I was amazed at the depth of flavor and sweetness that koji had coaxed out of the rice. And there was a richness about the way that it felt in my mouth that reminded me of dairy. It was, I was told, the vegan eggnog.

Recently, I had a visitor come to my home to see my newly remodeled kitchen. Because he writes about food, I wanted to cook for him and was eager to showcase some of the products that I had fermented. For dessert, I made an amazake ice cream based on the beverage, using coconut water for added flavor. It was really an experiment, as I was curious about the texture of churned and frozen amazake. The result was not as creamy as I had hoped and the inherent sweetness had muted to a mere whisper— which typically occurs with freezing. We both agreed that it showed promise, but needed work. 

We also agreed that the flavor of strawberries and kinome with the amazake was quite special, so that part of the dish would remain intact.

Days later, I made a new ice cream with pureed amazake, cream, and sugar. It was a vast improvement over the original, but I couldn't help but feel that I had missed an important opportunity.

As someone who cooks customized food for a living, the upsurge of food intolerances is a salient concern. Coeliac disease, lactose intolerance, and food allergies are serious conditions that I have learned to make allowances for. Then there's an ever-increasing number of people who choose to refrain from entire food groups such as dairy or meat, or follow 'lifestyle diets' that exclude white powders and saturated fats. Add to that, the political eaters who prohibit foie gras, veal, unsustainable fish, factory farmed proteins, and unorganic produce; or picky eaters who refuse to eat (for example) anything with garlic or onions, and you can begin to see why chefs are so frustrated— some to the point of choosing to make NO allowances.

I don't have that luxury.

When a guest at a dinner party unexpectedly announces that there is something on the carefully planned menu that they can't or won't eat, I have to accommodate them. No excuses. 

The upside is that when you feed someone with special dietary needs a delicious and satisfying meal that doesn't offend their bodies or minds, they are exceedingly grateful. Altruism aside, a happy client is always a boost to the ego.

Over time, I've learned to make adjustments to fit most diets, but vegan desserts continue to challenge me. In a pinch, I can turn to fresh fruit and sorbet or granita, but that often feels like a copout. So I reexamined amazake's potential to add texture, natural sweetness, and moisture to desserts that otherwise rely on dairy products and refined sugars, and I decided that an ice cream was a good place to start. To the pureed amazake, I added coconut milk for richness, rice syrup for added sweetness, and guar gum to improve the mouthfeel. The addition of sichuan pepper was specific to this dish to enhance the flavor of strawberries and kinome. 

While I'm pleased with how the amazake ice cream turned out, if I were given a choice between the sweet cream version and the vegan one, I would invariably choose the former.

I'm grateful that I have that luxury.

amazake ice cream ✢ puffed forbidden rice
strawberry ✢ sake ✢ kinome 

vegan amazake ice cream

400g coconut milk
260g amazake
20g rice syrup
5g vanilla
4g lightly toasted and ground sichuan peppercorns (optional)
3g guar gum

Place all ingredients in a high speed blender and blend 3 minutes, or until very smooth. Scrape mixture into an ice cream freezer and proceed according to manufacture's directions. 

 

kasu egg

Think you're looking at soft boiled eggs?
Look again.

While making kasu zuke egg yolks, I was struck by how natural the pale kasu looked surrounding the yellow yolks— a visual inspiration for a faux egg. The next step was to make an albumen with the flavor of kasu and the texture of a cooked egg white. After experimenting with various hydrocolloids, the synergy of gelatin, agar, and gelated rice starch produced a convincing (and delicious) fascimile. 

 

kasu eggs
makes 6 

You will need 2-part egg molds with a pouring hole at the top. The molding process is a bit fiddly— the first pour should be allowed to set just enough to support the weight of the yolk, but soft enough to meld with the second pour.  

1200g water
180g basmati rice

Bring water to a boil. Add rice and reduce heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for 25 minutes, until rice is very soft and tender. Drain rice, reserving the cooking liquid. Cool.

190g cooked, drained basmati rice
280g reserved cooking liquid
60g compressed kasu
6g rice bran oil
5g mirin
4g salt
1.8g agar
1g gelatin

6 65℃ egg yolks (whole eggs cooked at 65℃/149℉ for 45 minutes, then peeled and separated from whites)

Place rice, liquid, kasu, oil, mirin and salt in blender and blend until smooth. Sprinkle gelatin and agar over top of mixture and blend for 10 seconds. Scrape mixture into a saucepan. (At this point, mixture will be thick, but will become fluid upon heating). Cover and heat mixture over low heat until it comes to a simmer. (It is important to keep pan covered while heating as evaporation will cause it to thicken). Quickly pour mixture into bottom half of 6 molds until about 2/3 full. Cover pan and keep warm. Place molds in freezer until barely set (mixture will yield slightly when pressed with a finger, but is no longer liquid. Center a yolk on top of mixture in each mold. Secure the top half of the mold in place, being careful to not disturb the position of the yolks. Fill the molds with the remaining mixture using a small funnel, if necessary. Carefully transfer the molds to the refrigerator and chill for at least 2 hours before unmolding.
To unmold: Submerge the molds in warm water for a few seconds to loosen. Carefully remove the top half of the molds, then invert the bottom halves over a plate until the eggs slip out.

cured shad roe

With the other shad roe sac, I'm attempting a multi-stage curing process. Here it is so far:

First, it was brined for 2 days in a 3% salt solution. Then it was embedded in a thick layer of sea salt for 3 days. Next, it was allowed to dry on a rack in the refrigerator for another 3 days until the surface was thoroughly dry. After brushing off the excess salt, it was embedded in a thick layer of red miso, covered and set in the refrigerator to ferrment for 2-3 months. That's where it is now.
After that, it will be cold smoked, then dehydrated until it is hard as wood.
The intention is to transform the shad roe into a botarga-like product with the complexity of katsuobushi.
The hope is that it will be delicious. 

egg yolk cheese

These are 65C hen egg yolks that have been cured in miso for two weeks. The longer cure renders them dark and pungent. Although they were firmer than they were at 5 days, they remained moist and sticky. In order to dry them out, they were wrapped in the cheesecloth in which they were cured and hung in the refrigerator.  

These are the cured egg yolks after hanging for twenty days. They've became firm enough to slice or grate neatly, with the smooth, plastic-y texture of an aged gouda. Their flavor, too, is transformed— the aging process rounds out the sharpness of the miso, creating a mellow complexity of flavor with the texture of cheese. Delicious!

olive oil poached daikon ✢ fava ✢ meyer lemon  
egg yolk cheese 

miso-cured oyster

Oysters can be cured in miso in less than a week. I left some to cure longer, but five days seemed to be the magic number for optimum flavor and texture in this particular batch. Of course, this could vary depending on the size of oysters and the type of miso used. 

To make miso-cured oysters: Steam scrubbed oysters just until they open. Remove the oysters from shell and place them on paper towels to dry. If using shells for curing, sterilize them in boiling water for 5 minutes, then allow them to cool and dry. Spread a 1/2" thick layer of miso in the bottom of each shell. Cover miso with a layer of cheesecloth, then an oyster. Cover the oysters with cheesecloth, then another layer of miso, and finally, the top shell. Layer oysters in a sterilized container, cover tightly, and allow to cure in refrigerator for 3-7 days.

miso-cured oyster ✢ kombu aioli ✢ mushroom crisps ✢ ngo om 

The assertive flavor of kombu and garlic is a good compliment to the meaty oyster and earthy mushrooms, brightened by refreshing bursts of cucumber provided by the ngo om (rice paddy herb). 

After the oysters were gone, we happily nibbled on the aioli and mushrooms.

kombu aioli

6g garlic
3g salt
2 egg yolks
60g rice wine vinegar
200g olive oil
10g kombu powder*

Place the garlic, salt, egg yolks, and vinegar in a blender or food processor and processes until well blended. With the motor running, very slowly drizzle in the oil until thick and emulsified. Add the kombu powder and process briefly until blended. Scrape out aioli into a bowl, cover and let refrigerate for 2-3 hours to allow kombu to hydrate and flavors to mellow. Stir before serving.
* kombu powder can be made by grinding pieces of dried kombu sheets in a spice grinder to a fine dust.

mushroom crisps

small king oyster mushrooms lend themselves well to crisping because of their thick meaty stems.

With a vegetable peeler, shave thin slices of mushrooms by imbedding the blade of the peeler into the cap and dragging to the base. Lay the mushroom slices out in a single layer on a sheet pan and allow to air-dry for 1-2 hours, until their edges begin to curl. Lightly brush or mist the slices with a thin layer of olive oil. Bake in a 149C/300F oven for 4-5 minutes, or until they are golden and crisp. Lightly sprinkle with salt and serve immediately. 

 

 

miso-cured kombu

120 days.
That's how long I'll have to wait to see what happens to kombu when it's cured with miso.
I expect the miso itself will also be interesting. 

 

miso adaptations

 

Spontaneous fermentation is the oldest form of 'cooking'. Long before man understood the chemistry of how microorganisms preserved his food and heightened its flavor while making him healthier, he learned to control and manipulate the process. Each culture developed their unique specialties based on indigenous ingredients. Early travelers borrowed techniques from their neighbors and assimilated them to what was available back home.

In this spirit, I've taken the time-honored process of making miso and adapted it to the bounty of ingredients that are available in the modern world to make these trial batches. The choices were not arbitrary— they needed to fit the protein/starch profile that koji requires to feed upon. In some cases, soybeans were added to the base ingredient to boost the protein content. Many borders were crossed, but no bridges were burned.

No doubt, some will fail, and some will succeed, but that's part of the fun of discovery. Ultimately, flavor will dictate which ones will be pursued. 

 

curry cake

Perhaps the best thing about rebuilding a kitchen from scratch is that everything will finally get a home in a place that makes sense— at last, form will follow function. My spices, for instance, were once scattered around in cupboards wherever they would fit. Soon, they will live together in their very own cabinet; on shallow floor-to-ceiling shelves, in shiny new jars, each clearly labeled.
I think they're as excited as I am.
In fact, I know they are.

I'm pretty sure that they planted the idea of spice cake in my head while I was organizing them. I tried to shake it off because, frankly, I've been baking more judiciously lately. But it was of no use. I think I heard them cheer when I pulled out my go-to recipe for spice cake, which made cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger very happy, but caused some others to feel slighted. Five bold spices came forward and asked  "Why can't we play too? You know we play well together...you always put us in your garam masala."
They had a point, but did I really want to make a curry cake?
I did.

Conceding to a new direction, I scrapped the spice cake recipe and decided that a yogurt cake would be a more appropriate platform for the savory spices. I measured them out individually, planning to blend the spices together into the finished batter, but they had other ideas. They didn't want to be muddled together.  They each wanted to star in their own individual layer and be united as a cake.
"Really?" I asked, "you want me to make nine different layers?" 
They did.

It wasn't as complicated as I thought it would be. I simply weighed out the batter in grams and divided by nine. Then I added just enough spice to each batch to allow each flavor to come through, but not overpower the others. This was all going well until I tasted the turmeric batter, which had the distinct flavor of musty cardboard. I didn't want to insult the old chap, but I had to be honest. He took it pretty well— considered it for awhile, then invited the other spices to join him.
"We'll be the curry layer... the reference for the cake."
What a trooper. 

After the layers were baked, cooled, and trimmed, I joined them together with coconut frosting. Because turmeric stepped up and took one for the team, I gave him a distinct layer where his vivid color could be best appreciated.

As I ate the curry cake,  I found myself tasting each layer with a hyper awareness, then searching for that unique flavor in the blended layer. I thought about the process of synthesizing— how we often blend things together to create something new and synergistic.  Taking them apart, not to deconstruct, but to isolate, reminded me of the importance of being mindful of individuality, while celebrating commonality.
For me, it was a lesson about so much more than food. 

curry cake
mango chutney ice cream 

 

 

 

jelly ice cream

"His ideal of dessert is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."  She offered that as an explanation right after she said there would be no birthday cake.

"Maybe ice cream and cookies... something we can stick some candles in."

So I set out to make a special birthday dessert for someone who doesn't like cake, but likes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and, apparently, ice cream and cookies. Easy, I thought, I'll make peanut butter cookies and grape ice cream sandwiches. As luck would have it, I had a concord grape puree in my freezer that would serve as the base for the ice cream. And I had a recipe for killer peanut butter cookies that I had refined over the years and recently tweaked to include miso. But you know what they say about the best laid plans...

Unpacking in the client's kitchen, I had a sudden vision of the grape ice cream... still sitting in my freezer at home! I wanted to panic but there was no time. My schedule was tight even before I was asked to move dinner up a half hour. 

As I began preparing dinner, my attention turned to a replacement for the ice cream. With a kitchen full of professional appliances, but no cooks in the house, I knew there was little chance of finding an ice cream maker tucked away in a cupboard. I had plenty of cream, but nothing for a flavor base or sugar. A search through the kitchen produced neither, but I did find three jars of grape jelly. I assessed the situation: no equipment to churn— but I had cream and a sweetened flavor base. A plan was quickly put in place: melt the jelly, blend in the cream, freeze in a shallow tray, whisk often, hope for the best, and pray that I wasn't turning into Sandra Lee. I got the base in the freezer just as the first guests arrived. They were hungry. And impatient. And I had to focus on dinner.

It wasn't until dinner was on the table and I returned to the kitchen that I remembered the neglected ice cream base. I opened the freezer expecting to find a solid block of grape-flavored ice crystals. To my surprise (and relief) it yielded easily to a spoon and out came a scoop of creamy smooth ice cream!

Since then, I've made this ice cream several times with both commercial and homemade jellies. I've tried churning it in an ice cream machine to test the difference. It was slightly creamier, but not dramatically so. I've even kept it uncovered(!) in the freezer for 4 days with no loss of texture or ice crystal build up. I believe this works because jelly is largely invert sugar and pectin, a combination with a high freezing point that stabilizes texture by preventing it from freezing solid and forming ice crystals.

While it may not be the most refined of ice creams, it comes together with only two ingredients and minimal effort. That alone (and that it saved my ass) is worth adding it to my emergency food kit.

stupid-simple jelly ice cream

measure by weight:
7 parts jelly
10 parts heavy cream 

Melt the jelly until it is completely fluid. Add the heavy cream, a little at a time, while whisking. Pass through sieve into a bowl or container. Freeze thoroughly.

peanut butter miso cookies

 

Some time ago, I mentioned adding miso to peanut butter cookies on twitter. I received a number of requests for the recipe/ratios, which I promised to post. 

You wouldn't know that it's miso that makes these cookies special unless you were privy, but you'll notice the difference in the rounded flavor. Sweets that are nuanced with savory and salty are always a winning combination in my book.

 

peanut butter miso cookies

makes 24 7.5cm/3" cookies 

106g unsalted butter, at room temperature
130g peanut butter
40g shiro miso (light miso)
88g dark brown sugar (preferably muscavado)
80g granulated sugar  
8g glucose
53g egg
5g baking soda
10g boiling water
175g all-purpose flour

Place the butter, peanut butter, miso, brown sugar, granulated sugar, and glucose in a mixer bowl. Beat the ingredients with the paddle attachment at medium speed until light and creamy. Add the egg and beat just until incorporated. In a small bowl, dissolve the baking soda in the boiling water and add to the mixer bowl along with the flour. Mix on low speed for 2 minutes until all of the ingredients are well combined.
Preheat oven to 163C/325F, or 157C/315F if using convection. Using a 3.80cm/1.5" scoop, lay out level scoops of dough on a silpat or parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving about 5cm/2" between cookies to allow for spreading. Chill cookies for 20 minutes to firm dough. Scoops of raw dough can also be frozen for future cookie cravings, then packed into ziplocks. Remove cookies from refrigerator and press with the tines of a fork in a cross-hatch pattern, if desired. Bake for 10 minutes for a softer cookie, or 12 for a crisper cookie.

Miso and peanut butter are so similar in appearance and texture that I'm surprised I haven't made the connection before. In addition to improving a classic cookie, the peanut butter-miso connection captured my imagination for another product: peanut miso.

Most people don't realize that peanuts are in fact legumes. Culinarily, we use them like nuts, but botanically they belong to the plant family Leguminosae, or Fabaceae, and are more closely related to peas and beans. This connection begs the question: if miso is made from soybeans, can it also be made from other beans?

I do know that [I] can't make miso from citrus rinds, though I gave it a good try. During the 10 month fermentation, I had hopes of transforming all sorts of products by fermenting with Aspergillus oryzae(koji mold), the fungus used in the production of miso, soy sauce, and sake. In my haste to make a new product, I failed to follow two fundamental tenets: understanding of product and process, and groundwork. Had I started with a time-honored traditional soybean miso, I would've had a map for when it was on course and where it veered off. Had I done my research, I would have understood that pectin-rich citrus pericarps were not an inviting environment for the enzymatic reaction that koji forms with protein.

Still, I'm hopeful and excited about roasted peanut miso.
And spicy black bean miso.
And fermented hummus.
But first— I'll start with the basics.