playing with fire and water

salmon pumpernickel leek

A variation of the previous dish with salmon sausage, chocolate rye pumpernickel (in pudding form), micro leeks, and oca.

pumpernickel pudding

50g charred leeks, cooked through
30g pumpernickel bread, trimmed of crusts and crumbled 
50g kefir
35g water 
20g beer
2g salt
15g neutral oil

Place all of the ingredients except the oil in a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Slowly drizzle in the oil with the motor running. If necessary, add more oil to thicken, or water to thin. Adjust seasoning. 

Oca (Oxalis tuberosa) is a species of oxalis that has long been cultivated in the Andes, where it is the second most popular tuber next to the potato, and more recently in New Zealand. Unlike common oxalis (wood sorrel), oca forms prolific fleshy tubers that can be eaten raw or cooked. In its raw form, they are crisp and moderatly acidic, like an apple without the sugar.

Oca contains fairly high concentrations of oxalates, an organic acid that can lead to kidney stones. Because the oxalates are found mostly in the skin, they can be diminished by peeling, cooking, or by exposing the tubers to direct sunlight for several hours.

Cultivating oca requires a long growing season. To get a headstart, they were sprouted in a bright, moist environment. And now that they're off to a good start they'll go directly into pots, where they'll live until the ground warms up. By late autumn, I hope to have a new crop of these delicious nuggets.

salmon hot dog

There's a virtually untapped world of specialty malted grains made for the beer brewing industry that can be used to add unique flavor to baked goods. Two stand-outs are: smoked barley (gives Rauchmalz its smoky aroma) and chocolate rye (contributes nutty, caramel notes to dark stouts and Porters). Over the past year, I've tested them in everything from laminated pastries* to cookie doughs** with great effect, but it is the realm of yeasted doughs where they seem most at home. The robust complexity that chocolate rye adds to pumpernickel makes the original pale in comparison.

The virtue of making condiments lies in customization and enhanced flavor. Commercially made Dijon mustards taste flat and boring in comparison to the ones you can make yourself. The process starts with shallots and garlic simmered in Chardonnay. The reduced infusion is strained and blended with brown mustard powder, olive oil, and a few drops of honey. Sometimes, I customize it with various herbs and aromatics, but I always let it sit at room temperature for at least 2 weeks to ripen the flavor before storing in the refrigerator, where it will keep for three months or longer. It's a small effort for a big flavor; too big, it turns out, for my delicately flavored salmon hot dog.

Coincidentally, I was working on an orange horseradish*** puree for a pork dish that needed a nudge in the flavor department. A whole orange and peeled horseradish root had been steamed in a pressure cooker with white wine, then the whole lot pureed. Pressure cooking removes the acridity from the horseradish and softens the bitterness in the orange's pith, producing a puree with a mellower flavor than you would think possible from the raw ingredients. 

For the salmon hot dog, I punched up the puree by blending it with an equal amount of homemade Dijon, and— because I love citrus with salmon— I added microplaned orange zest. Mixing horseradish with mustard made sense because they both belong to the Brassica family, a simple observation that opened a new pathway to a great condiment.   

salmon sausage in leek casing
chocolate rye roll
horseradish orange mustard
kefir fermented daikon
fennel sprouts 

* croissants made with smoked barley flour and smoked butter are revelatory.

** see pepper cookies

*** please, no comments about the horseradish root. I only photographed and cooked the thing, Nature did the rest.

salmon sausage

Sausages need a casing.

That conclusion was reached while considering a naked and unappealing cylinder of poached salmon paste. It might've been acceptable had it not been about to be presented as a sausage.

Clearly, it needed a casing. The casing needed to be vegetarian. And with service quickly approaching, it needed to be fast.

Looking at vegetables to encase the sausage, there were two ways to go about it: wrapping or stuffing. Stuffing into a seamless casing was aesthetically preferable, but short of whitling a long, thin tube from a vegetable, there were no quick or easy alternatives that I could think of.

Wrapping, by far, offered the most doable options. Blanched leaves were considered, but rejected for their unwanted color and opacity. Translucent paper-thin sheets (which would have required breaking out the mad knife skillz) of potato, cucumber, zucchini, or daikon seemed the way to go, until a simpler technique involving leeks sprung to mind. The technique, as learned from a chef long ago was as follows: 

Trim the top and roots off of a long, fat leek. Cut halfway through the leeks lengthwise and dislodge the outer layers. Blanch, shock, and lay the leek sheets flat. Pipe the filling on the leek sheet, roll tightly around filling to encase, tie ends with string, wrap tightly in plastic wrap, and poach in barely simmering water.

With the leeks trimmed, I made the first cut. It wasn't until I began seperating the layers that I realized my folly: I was making a sheet to avoid making a tube, yet I had cut through a tube to make a sheet.

And that's how the most perfect vegetable casing that Nature could provide had almost eluded me.

salmon sausage

These sausages are a great way to use up trimmings. The flecks of smoked salmon give it a more dimensional flavor, as would the addition of fresh herbs, dried spice, grated aromatics, etc. They can be served hot, cold, or finished in a pan with butter. 

2 leeks
500g salmon, cut into chunks and well chilled
130g cold cream cheese, cut into chunks
4g salt
70g smoked salmon, minced and chilled

casings: Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Trim the root end off of the leeks and cut the tops where they begin to seperate and turn green. Drop the leeks into the boiling water and remove after 3 minutes. Using a dishtowel, pull the outer layer of the hot leeks up and over the tops until they're free. If they don't slide off easily, return to the boiling water for another minute or two. Repeat until you have enough casings to hold the filling, about 6- 8, depending on their width and length. 
filling: Place the salmon in the bowl of a food processor. Process in short bursts, scraping bowl 2-3 times, until reduced to a smooth paste. Distribute the cream cheese and salt over the top of paste and process again in short bursts, until the cream cheese is no longer distinguishable. Scrape paste into a bowl and fold in the smoked salmon mince.
stuffing: Slide a leek casing over the extension tube of a sausage stuffer, taking care to not tear the leek. Feed the paste through until it fills about 1" of the end of the casing (enough to release air pocket), then tie filled end with string. Continue feeding paste until casing is filled. Remove from tube and tie open end with string. If sausage stuffer is not available, fill casings by piping filling through a pastry bag fitted with a long, wide tip. Or, do it old school (like my mother still does), by forcing the filling with thumbs through a funnel fitted into one end of the casing.
cooking: Drop tied sausages into a 50C water bath and cook for 20 minutes (no bag needed).

 

 

 

blowfish tails

Blowfish. Just reading the word set off a panic alarm.

"Aren't blowfish potentially lethal?" I asked the fishmonger with genuine concern and a frisson of excitement.

"No" he said, "You're thinking of the kind they serve in Japan. These are from Long Island. They're harmless."

He picked one up and offered to eat it— raw and all— as proof. His comical heroics only slightly allayed my fear. I wanted to ask more questions but there was a long line behind me, so I bought a pound out of curiosity.

Back home, I examined the blowfish tails. They looked innocuous enough. In fact, they looked like they would be pretty tasty. The only thing preventing me from cooking and eating them was a piece of information: were they safe?  Certainly, I trusted the fishmonger, but I needed to know what made his blowfish different from the deadly delicacy that I had only read about. I thought the answer would be easy to find. 

Blowfish belong to the Tetraodontidae family, of which there are 19 genera and at least 189 species. Fugu is the notorious genus whose preparation is rigorously controlled in Japan and only allowed by licensed chefs who train for 11 years. The culprit toxin: tetrodotoxin, is concentrated in the liver and ovaries (the sale of fugu liver  has been banned in Japan since 1983). Tetrodotoxin is a powerful neurotoxin— 1200 times deadlier than cyanide(!)— and when ingested, it paralyzes the diaphragm muscles and produces a pseudo-coma for which there is no antidote. (Interestingly, the toxin is used in Voodoo to induce these symptoms in creating zombies— sounds like fodder for a CSI plot).

Blowfish, or puffers, as they are commonly known, are accused of being the second-most poisonous vertabrate in existence, but by many accounts, their levels of toxicity vary wildly according to species, sex, part of body, season, and location. Puffers are not thought to produce tetrodotoxin themselves— it is believed that they manufacture it from specific precursor bacteria in their prey. Thus, puffers that are raised in farms are free of the toxin.

That was all well and good until I remembered that my fish was labeled "wild-caught".

The internet is both a blessing and a curse . On the one hand, it instantly provides us with a mind-numbing wealth of information. On the other, the uncensored glut often turns up contradictions, and I hit those in spades. For instance, one article in Wiki (whose content I take with a grain of salt) singled out Takifugu oblongus as being non-poisonous, yet another stated that all species of Takifugu were suspect. Other sources unequivocally stated that ALL species were toxic, while others claimed that some were not, but didn't bother to list them. Which to believe? I knew that I had to identify the species of my puffers and the fish monger had given me a valuable clue— they were caught on Long Island. Puffers are warm water fish, there is only one species that venture into the waters north of Florida: Sphoeroides maculatus

Most of what I found about S. maculatus were idyllic accounts by fishermen and childhood reminiscences of summers on the mid-Atlantic coast. Apparently, in the 1960's, northern puffers "were so plentiful that you could practically kick them up on the shore". Amateur fishermen loved them because they could "catch more in an afternoon than they could eat in a week"  but professionals who were after the bigger catch found them a nuisance and would "beat them off the side of the boat as we reeled them in". Children were endlessly entertained by their cartoonish spherical bodies. It seems that for most of the decade, the eastern seaboard— from Long Island to the Chesapeake Bay— was teeming with northern puffers. And then they suddenly disappeared. To this day, no one can explain why.

The more I learned about blowfish, the more enigmatic they became, but I was at least encouraged by the memories of those that were familiar with the northern puffer and the casualness with which they caught and prepared the fish. They were eaten with abandon and never with concern of safety— and they all lived to tell about it.

But that was a long time ago and I needed solid facts about the safety of the fish that I was determined to consume. It was then that I realized that if there was any questionable food being sold in the US that the FDA would have a report. On their website I found the answer that I was searching for:

   "The only safe sources for imported puffer fish are fish that have been processed and prepared by specially trained and certified fish cutters in the city of Shimonoseki, Japan. Additionally, puffer fish caught in the mid-Atlantic coastal waters of the United States, typically between Virginia and New York, are safe to consume. Puffer fish from all other sources can either naturally contain deadly toxins or become toxic because of environmental factors and therefore are not considered safe."

Finally, I no longer felt like I'd be playing Russian roulette by serving them to my family. When my husband and son asked what they were, I simply said "blowfish tails" and was only mildly surprised by their lack of alarm. I wanted to tell them more, but I just let them enjoy it, uninhibited, as did I.

And we all lived to tell.

I couldn't resist the alliteration of making puffed puffers, and I'm glad I didn't. The crunchy shell was a perfect foil for the sweet fish and a visual reference to its spines. The texture of the meat reminded me of the fried eels that my mother used to make. To get the broken, dehydrated spaghetti to cling to the tails, they were first dipped in a light tempura batter. The sauce is a wood sorrel (Oxalis acetosella) aioli, plated to look like red ribbon sorrel (Rumex sanguineus) leaves. A quenelle of beet and fennel salad completes the dish.

 

 

 

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. 

pickled shad roe

The turning of the seasons brings a new palette of flavors that are never more ephemeral than in spring. For a few short weeks I gorge on newborn onions, particularly those of the sweet Vidalia variety. Grilled, roasted, braised— I can't seem to get enough of them before they're gone.

The season for shad roe is equally fleeting and depends on where you live. Like salmon, shad are anadramous fish that live in salt water, but ascend rivers and streams to breed when the waters warm. Along the east coast, they begin running in January in Florida, and continue through to June in Canada. In Connecticut, where the American shad (Alosa sapidissima) is the state fish*, the month-long season is nearly over.

And shad roe's perishability is more evanescent than its season. I only buy it when I know that I can cook and serve it the same day. Yet, I couldn't walk away from the remaining pair of sacs in the fish case and when I asked the fish monger to wrap those as well, I knew I would be enjoying them days later.

*Want to know your state's fish? Here you go.

 

pickled shad roe

1-2 shad roe sacs
1Liter/1.05 qt cold water
85g/3 oz kosher salt
56g/2 oz brown sugar
3.5g/½ tsp. pink curing salt (optional, but will give the roe a rosy color)
1 bay leaf
10 black peppercorns
3.5g/1 tsp mustard seeds
3.5g/1 tsp whole coriander seeds
1g/½ tsp dried thyme
rendered bacon fat 

Place roe sac(s) in a non-reactive container and chill. Bring water, salt, sugar and sodium nitrate to boil in a stainless steel saucepan. Remove from heat and allow to cool completely. Pour cooled brine over roe. Add remaining ingredients, cover and pickle in the refrigerator for 3 days. Remove roe from brine, discard brine and rinse container. Return roe to container and cover with fresh cold water. Chill for 12 hours. 
Remove roe from water and pat dry with paper towels. Place roe sac(s) in sous vide bag. Add 28g/1 oz rendered bacon fat per sac. Vacuum and seal bag. Cook at 64C/147.2F for 40 minutes. Remove roe from bag and pat dry with paper towels. Chill before serving.

pickled shad roe ✢ braised/grilled spring onion
coriander mustard sauce

potatoes halibut garlic

earthy potatoes the color of an Aegean sky
silken paint spread on a porcelain canvas

piquant bulbils strewn across a Skordalia triptych
like stray pearls from a necklace that has come undone

Poseidon offers fish from the depths of a torrid ocean of oil
they emerge blistered and weightless as ghosts

caught up in the fantasy I imagine
[only for a moment] that I've made something new
something original

foolish me it's only fish and chips

 

skordalia

200g red bliss potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
200g purple potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
100g extra virgin olive oil
7g garlic, thickly sliced
salt
50g french bread, trimmed of crust and soaked in milk
25g white wine vinegar
25g red wine vinegar
garlic bulbils

Place the red bliss potatoes in a bowl and drizzle with 10g of olive oil. Add half of the garlic and a sprinkle of salt. Toss well, then pack into a bag and vacuum seal. Repeat with purple potatoes. Sous-vide at 85C/185F for 45-60 minutes or until very tender when pressed.
Empty the contents of the red bliss potatoes into food processor and add half of the remaining olive oil. Process until smooth. Squeeze excess milk from bread and add to processor along with white vinegar. Process until smooth and fluid, adding some of the milk if too thick. Season with salt. Repeat with purple potatoes, using the remaining ingredients and the red vinegar. 
To serve, screen the skordalia through a stencil onto plates or serve in separate bowls. Sprinkle garlic bulbils over top.

halibut crisps

115g halibut, cut against the grain into 1/4" thick slices
rice flour
salt
peanut oil for deep frying

Season halibut with salt on both sides. Lay out a sheet of plastic wrap on a flat surface. Cover with a thick dusting of rice flour. Place a slice of halibut over top of rice flour and generously dust top with additional flour. Cover with another sheet of plastic wrap and pound until paper-thin, adding more rice flour if necessary. Repeat with remaining fish slices. Cut pounded slices into 2" discs with round cutter.
Heat a pot of oil for deep frying to 190C/375F. Fry discs for 1-2 minutes, or until crisp but still pale.
Serve with skordalia. If desired, sprinkle with dehydrated, pulverized kalamata olives and cinnamon basil stems. 

 

hamachi soy allium

I'm thinking of changing my job description from 'Freelance Chef' to 'Cook-on-Call'. These days, at least, that's how it seems to play out— people call and I go cook.

I received one such call recently to cook dinner for two on that same day. It was 3pm when the call came in.

The requests were clear and succinct:
dinner at 6
light fare
asian flavors
no meat— fish ok
3-5 small courses
no dessert
keep it simple

Secretly, I love these impromptu jobs. When I have days or weeks to plan the details of a meal, I feel as if I've already cooked it in my head and the actual preparation is anti-climatic. Of course, familiarity with the kitchen and the client's palate helps alleviate some of the stress.

Knowing that there was only time for one stop, I gathered supplies from my pantry, vegetable bin, garden, and china closet, deliberately overpacking to cover the unknown variables. I also packed my camera; which I often do, but rarely end up using.

At the fish market I asked for the freshest catch and was shown a pristine hamachi with the head removed. I bought the upper half (about 2 lbs.) with the collar attached, and nothing else.

With the protein decided, I was free to plan the meal. I wanted to start with a raw preparation and end with the grilled collar, but while considering the other courses, I kept returning to the hamachi. It's a beautifully versatile fish that lends itself to many preparations, both raw and cooked. As I went back and forth about including sashimi, tartar, poached belly, or tempura, I realized that what I really wanted to do was an all-hamachi dinner. Furthermore, I wanted to weave the same flavors: fish, soy, allium, throughout the courses. The client had asked for simplicity, but would they be happy with an entire meal based on variations of the same flavor profile? By the time that I pulled into the driveway, I decided that they would.

As I unpacked, the client appeared in the kitchen to greet me and ask "What's for dinner?"
I might have laughed nervously, but my response was confident and emphatic, 
"I hope you like hamachi!"

 hamachi belly  lime-pickled jicama  sushi rice   soy  allium 
 

hamachi sashimi    tartar   allium triquetrum granita
 

hamachi poached in dashi  powdered soy and wasabi  
 spruce tip fluid gel   lime zest
 

hamachi tempura   dashi with miso and ponzu  
 pickled allium triquetrum bulbs  peppercress

grilled hamachi collar    tamari   allium

To a cook, a clean plate speaks louder than compliments. 

green goddess

I heard from a reader who made the asparagus sauce. He wanted to tell me that it brought fond memories of something his mother used to make. That's about the nicest thing that anyone can say to me.

He said it reminded him of his mother's green goddess dressing. He said that she, too, made it in a blender and sometimes added avocado. I don't know about you, but that sounded really good to me. 

 

Green goddess is a mayonnaise, herb, scallion and anchovy dressing, created in the 1920's at The Palace Hotel in San Francisco as a tribute to actor George Arliss, who starred in the stage play "The Green Goddess". Most often, it is found as a white mayonnaise flecked with herbs that (I think) doesn't live up to the promise of its name. This one certainly does.

This dressing was made using the asparagus sauce base, the lemon juice increased to 1 Tblsp and (taking a cue from James' mom) added 1/2 of a ripe avocado. I left the anchovies out of the dressing, instead I sauteed minced boquerones along with crumbled rye bread in brown butter. Now I want to put these savory toasted crumbs on everything.

 

The egg drops are simply lightly whisked egg yolks dropped into hot (185F/85C) clarified butter. At first, they drop to the bottom, then float to the surface when done like tiny dumplings.

 

Deep-fried asparagus florets are not nearly as entertaining as those of broccolini, but they are crisp, nutty and delicious nonetheless.

These components, along with a tender heart of butterhead lettuce and a long curl of nutty Parmesan, make an altogether agreeable salad.
Thanks to James and his mom for the inspiration.

  

asparagus sauce

There are times when I buy asparagus only for the tips and am left with several inches of tender stalk. That is never a problem for me, they quickly become a base for my favorite springtime sauce.

 

I don't remember when I first started making asparagus sauce; it's one of those seasonal staples that I pull out of my culinary closet like a favorite pair of sandals. Like the sandals, the sauce goes with everything and puts a 'spring in the step' of anything it's paired with.

The sauce varies every time I make it, adapting to what I have on hand. Basically, it consists of asparagus, leafy greens, and herbs; quickly pureed in a blender and emulsified with extra virgin olive oil. The asparagus can be whole stalks or trimmings, cooked until tender. The leafy greens can be arugula, spinach, sorrel, or even lettuce leaves. Herbs can be anything you like, although I avoid basil because of oxidation. Invariably, I include a form of raw allium to lift the flavors: scallions, ramps, spring onions, shallots are all good. 

 

I urge you to try it for its versatility. It's fantastic with eggs, grilled or poached fish, and even makes chicken breast taste exciting. Its a delicious dip for raw vegetables, dressing for potato or pasta salad and makes the best risotto when stirred in at the final stage of cooking. It's so good that even these tiny fried spearings are falling all over themselves to get a taste.

 

asparagus sauce

3 cups cold water
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 cups of roughly chopped asparagus
1 1/2 cups of leafy greens (spinach, arugula, sorrel, lettuce), loosely packed
1/2 cup of fresh herbs (parsley, chervil, tarragon, cilantro), loosely packed
1 medium shallot, scallion, small spring onion, or small bunch of chives, roughly chopped
1 tsp salt
20 grinds black pepper
1/4 cup water from cooked asparagus
1 tsp lemon juice or vinegar
1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil

Bring water and salt to a boil. Add asparagus and cook until tender. Place leafy greens, herbs, shallot, salt and pepper in a blender. Drain hot asparagus, reserving 1/4 cup of cooking water, add both to blender along with lemon juice. Blend on high speed, slowly drizzling in the olive oil until it is all incorporated and the sauce is smooth. Adjust seasoning to taste. 
If it is to be served hot, serve immediately, or chill to serve cold. Sauce will keep in refrigerator for up to 5 days.