playing with fire and water

tuna pumpernickel sunchoke yacon

salt cured tuna

pumpernickel pudding

sunchoke nuggets

pickled yacon

honey mustard pearls

white sage

pumpernickel pudding

120g egg yolks

120g sour cream

250g whole milk

150g coarse, dry pumpernickel crumbs

salt to taste

Preheat oven to 350. Butter the insides of individual molds or set them in a large baking dish.

In a large bowl, whisk together the yolks, sour cream, milk, and salt. Fold in the pumpernickel and pour into molds. Fill the baking dish with enough boiling water to come halfway up the sides of the molds. Cover the baking dish with foil. Place in oven and bake until the puddings are no longer wet in the centers.

sunchoke nuggets

250g sunchokes, peeled and cut into brunoise

50g unsalted butter 

salt and pepper to taste

Heat a heavy skillet over medium high heat until hot. Add butter. When butter starts to brown, add sunchokes and toss well. Season with salt and pepper. Continue cooking, constantly tossing in browned butter until sunchokes are crispy on the outside and soft inside.

pickled yacon

150g yacon, peeled and thinly shaved

250g rice wine vinegar

5g salt

5g sugar

Bring the vinegar, sugar and salt to a boil. Allow to cool to room temperature. Pour over the yacon in a nonreactive bowl. Cover and chill for 1 hour.

honey mustard pearls

40g dijon mustard

20g honey

20g water

1g agar

1 quart cold vegetable oil

Whisk together the mustard, honey, water and agar. Bring to a boil. Fill a syringe with the mixture and squeeze out individual drops into cold oil. Let pearls stand in oil for a few minutes to gel. Scoop out pearls with a mesh strainer and rinse with cool water.

salt cured tuna

Driving through picturesque seaside villages along the western coast of Portugal, the ocean's influence on the landscape is everywhere. White-washed houses sport louvered shutters to deflect the glaring sun. Trees and vegetation lean inland as if sculpted by the wind. Sun-bleached seashells pave driveways and footpaths. And fish is found in unexpected places.

My boys, who were quite young then and restless from the ten hour road trip, giggled from the back seat. "Why does everyone wash their fish here?" one of them asked. I wasn't sure what he meant until I caught sight of a clothesline. Hanging between the socks and knickers were splayed sides of salted fish, curing in the heat of the sun and swaying in the salty breeze. The ubiquitous bacalhao (salt cod) were easy to pick out and I guessed that the smaller, dark slabs were tuna.

Arriving at our destination in the Algarve, we were weary and hungry. A restaurant was chosen based on its proximity to our hotel. With stomachs rumbling, we were led onto a terrace, perched high on the side of a cliff overlooking a coved beach, and beyond, an emerald green sea from which ancient limestone formations rose up like pillars.

Distracted by the view, I ordered a tuna dish which I assumed would be cooked. I was surprised to be served what looked like thin slices of raw tuna. The Portuguese are known for preparing fish a hundred ways, but never raw. 

Tasting the tuna was revelatory--salty, silky, pungent and fishy, but clean--like the ocean itself. The accompaniments: slices of boiled, waxy potatoes, hard boiled eggs, minced onion and fruity, green olive oil were the perfect foil for the aggressive tuna. 

Before leaving, I inquired about the tuna and learned that it was salt-cured and sun-dried; a traditional preparation called mochama. When I asked where I could buy it, I was told that it could not be bought, that it had to be made.

Its taken me a long time, but I finally did make it. 

Eleven days ago, I buried slabs of fresh tuna loin in sea salt. Nine days ago, I soaked them in cold water. Seven days ago, I hung them to dry in a spare refrigerator. Today, I cut thin slices of mochama, and ate them, accompanied by potatoes, eggs, onion, and olive oil. 

For a moment, I forgot that its a cold and dreary day. In my head, I was back in a land of emerald sea and warm salty breezes, where people hang their dinner out to dry with their laundry. 

salt cured tuna

Mochama (Portugal), mojama (Spain), and mosciame (Italy) should be made from very fresh tuna (sushi quality). Cut the loin into portions that are up to 5" wide and no more than 2" thick. On a whim, I brushed half of the portions with sweet soy (equal amounts of soy sauce and brown sugar, brought to a boil) during the first three days of drying. I found that this untraditional finish enhanced the final product.

In a deep, nonreactive dish, spread out a 1/2" thick layer of sea salt. Lay tuna portions on top, leaving a space between each. Cover tuna with 1/2" thick layer of salt. Cover and refrigerate for 2 days. 

After 2 days, remove tuna from salt and rinse well. Place tuna in a large bowl and cover with cold water. Set aside in the refrigerator for 2 days, changing the water 6 times during the soaking period.

After the tuna soaks for 2 days, remove from water and pat dry with paper towels. Thread a coated wire through one end of each portion and bend the end into a hook. Hang in the refrigerator to dry, allowing plenty of room between each portion for good air circulation. After 7 days, it is ready to use.

white truffle x4

All told, my little 14 gram tartufo bianco d'Alba gave a lot of bang for the buck. It provided me a day's worth of delicious meals. A truffle-scented omelet for breakfast. For lunch, a bowl of fresh tagliatelle with butter, taleggio, and a scandalous shower of shaved truffle. And this heady quartet for dinner. 

All truffle. All day. 

Life is good.

 

chicken skate corn coconut

Imagine a morsel of tender, sweet, flaky fish. Now imagine it encrusted with a crackly-crisp crust of chicken skin.

chicken-fried skate

silver queen corn

coconut

cocoa nib

sea bean

That was the image that I kept fixed in my mind (and palate) and the inspiration for the chicken skin croquant. 

In the past, I've wrapped and glued raw chicken skin to another protein. The problem with that method is controlling the cooking time and temperature required to produce a crisp skin and a properly cooked filling. Sometimes these are incompatible. 

Then there is the issue of wrapping, which leaves areas of overlapping skin that result in pockets of flabby fat.

The control, I decided, would be to pre-cook the skin. But then how to apply it? Grinding was a logical step, but I wasn't looking for a crumb coating. I was seeking a crispy crust--one that did not require deep frying or prolonged heating. 

I needed something that would cook quickly, fuse the ground skin, and contribute to the texture and flavor. Sugar fit the bill and I liked the ideal of a bruleed coating, but the amount needed would render it too sweet. Mildly sweet isomalt, which behaves like sugar and quickly melts to the hard-crack stage turned out to be the solution. The addition of Tapioca Maltodextrin further improved the texture and helped with the bonding.

 

The last silver queen corn of the season, when put through a juicer and heated, contains natural starch that quickly transforms into a velvety sauce. All that is needed is a burst of lime juice and pinch of salt to balance the sweetness. 

Coconut and corn is a marriage made in heaven. 

Cocoa nibs add complexity and a hint of bitterness.

Salty sea beans + chicken of the sea = delicious. 

octopus squid

   "Nowhere in space will we rest our eyes upon the familiar shapes of trees and plants, or any of the animals that share our world. Whatsoever life we meet will be as strange and alien as the nightmare creatures of the ocean abyss....."

Arthur C. Clarke, 1962

Have you ever wondered about the mysteries of the ocean? About the things that lie hidden in it's depths? In an aqueous wormhole, some 1500 fathoms beneath the sea, will we someday find the things we search for...the meaning of life, the philosopher's stone, a new form of delicious, a cure for what ails us, proof of genius, lost socks?

It is said that in our final moments the archetypes that make up our lives will flash before our eyes. If there is truth in that, I am certain that my life-album would include images of a scuba diving excursion on a coral reef. 

Fifty feet below the surface, all of the senses disconnect except for vision. Devoid of touch, sound, smell or taste to gather information, the optic nerves become tuned to a superhuman frequency. It is the ultimate voyeuristic experience. Light, as refracted through the pellucidity of water, is astonishing and produces a chromatic carnival that does not exist on dry land. Familiar shapes undulate and shift into anomalous forms.

In that alien landscape, I did not find keys that unlock the mysteries of the universe, but I did find treasure: The absolute beauty of hostility with purpose. That deliciousness can be experienced without taste or smell. And that iridescence is proof of genius.

Now if I could only find that cashmere sock.

octopus   squid   sea beans   potatoes   romescu   begonia

sea bean cardamom oyster

Seeing that so many of you are familiar with sea beans, I'll keep the description brief.

The genus Salicornia is a salt-tolerant herb that grows along beaches in the US (where they are known as sea beans), Europe (known as samphire), South Africa and South Asia. Other common names include glasswort and pickleweed.

I was introduced to sea beans while baking at a restaurant, where they made a brief appearance on the savory side. Their succulent salinity (and a dare) challenged me to find a sweet application. Using the flavor of salted caramel as inspiration, I coated them with burnt caramelized sugar. The results were addictive. The sweet crust cracked, giving way to a snappy crunch, followed by a hit of refreshing salinity. 

My introduction to cardamom preceded sea beans by at least a decade and was far more dramatic. Opening a jar and inhaling deeply, I was met by a hot breeze that had traveled across hundreds of miles of ocean and sand. Another whiff confirmed the scent of saltwater drying on hot skin, seaweed and sand baking under an unrelenting sun, ground-up sea shells. Clean, bracing, and unambiguously masculine, I fancied it a cologne created by a deep-sea alchemist for Poseidon himself. I still refer to cardamom as beach-in-a-bottle.

A Virtual Day at the Beach

Contents:

Sea bean: nam pla sugar crust. 
Salt water taffy meets umami-o-the-sea.

Cardamom sable sand: Toasted rice flour, butter, poncillo, cardamom, lime, sea salt. 
A game of beach volleyball; sweet vs. salty.

Pearl: A burst of briny oyster liquor kissed by passion fruit. 
Hot sex on a tropical beach.

Directions:

          Smell. Taste. Chew. Swallow. Savor. Enjoy. Listen to the squalling seagulls and lapping waves.

(seashell and iPod not included)

poached salmon

chilled poached salmon
caviar
persian cucumber
creme fraiche
green dill seeds
leek buds
hyssop flowers

At the restaurant, we make tons of poached salmon.  Well, maybe not tons, but on the weekends we make enough to feed the masses. I'm told that it's been on the catering menu for the past 20 years and that attempts to remove it have been futile. I am not surprised by it's popularity; every time that I taste it I'm reminded of the complexity of flavor that can be achieved through simple, classic techniques.
The secret to it's success at the restaurant is that it is consistency prepared the same way. The fillets are cut off the bone and two whole sides go into a hotel pan, skin side down. Chopped onions, celery, lemons, and parsley are strewn over the top along with a liberal sprinkling of salt. Half of a magnum of white wine is poured over, followed by enough water to cover by an inch. They go into a cold convection oven at 375F. After 20 minutes, the court-bouillon just begins to steam, the vegetables begin to soften, releasing their aroma, and the oven is turned down to 325F. The salmon cooks slowly and gently until it is opaque all the way through. After the pans are removed from the oven, they cool on a rack until they are no longer hot, then they chill overnight in the walk-in. This is where the magic happens: as the salmon cools, the flesh retracts and draws in the aromatic liquid, locking in the flavor. The next day, the flesh, although cold, is soft and unctuous, and the flavor is deep and complex.
When I begin to play the what-if game with this particular preparation, I always come up short. I can think of no other techniques (short of sous-vide, which is unpractical with the quantities that we do) that would yield the same results.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

 hot poached salmon
salsa verde
court-bouillon

whipped buttermilk potatoes

At home, hot poached salmon with salsa verde and softly whipped buttermilk potatoes is my go-to dish when I have salmon, fresh herbs, and a good bottle of Chardonnay on hand. The ripe flavors of the wine marries well with the richness of the fish and the assertive herbs.
Because the salmon is served hot and does not benefit from the flavor-boosting overnight chill, the court-bouillon must be concentrated. Copious amounts of aromatics are simmered in white wine and water until all of their flavor is extracted. This becomes more of a stock than a court-bouillon (court, in French, means short or quick). When the temperature of the stock is at 185F, the salmon are dropped in and poached for about 8 minutes, or until a translucent core remains.
Sometimes, when I can't bear to throw out the flavorful stock, I will surround the salmon and potatoes with it in shallow bowls. Doing this transforms the dish into something else...not a soup, but not quite a sauce, either...it becomes both. The soft potatoes melt into the stock along with flecks of herbs, so that after the salmon is consumed, a delicious potato-herb soup is left in the bowl.

Here, I have taken the dish and played with the textures. The salmon has been left alone, in it's state of perfection. The salsa verde, consisting of parsley, tarragon, golden oregano, common thyme, lemon thyme, anchovies, shallots, capers, extra-virgin olive oil, and white wine vinegar, has been set with agar. The agar has a higher melting point than most gels, allowing it to be served hot, while retaining it's shape. The potato base is cooked potatoes that have been passed through a tamis, blended with olive oil, salt, and buttermilk to a pourable consistency. 1.5% Methocel SGA150 is added and the mixture is whipped to aerate and lighten. The mixture is dropped off of the end of a spoon into the hot stock to form small, leaf-shaped dumplings that are firm while hot, yet melt on the tongue.
The tips of herbs, planted in the sheet of salsa verde, is directly inspired by my new planter. After years of trekking up to the garden to pick a few sprigs of herbs to season a dish in progress, and returning to a find that it has scorched or overcooked (I am easily distracted in the garden), I have planted an assortment of my favorite herbs in a windowbox on the front porch. Such a simple solution, and now I have no excuses to not use fresh herbs when the inspiration strikes.

pea soup

When I tell people that I've been cooking since childhood, they invariable ask how I remain interested and enthusiastic about the preparation of food. I could go on citing reasons for days--don't even get me started--but at the very top of the list is what lures me out of bed each morning:

It is the power of transformation.

Transformation is what hooked me on baking. It taught me the effect of fire and water and the role that science plays in the kitchen. Even now, I am still amazed at what butter, flour, sugar and eggs can become.

Outside of the kitchen, the theme of transformation is the common thread that unites my other interests. When I look at a raw carrot, it is no different than how I view a blank canvas, a length of fabric, or the lens of a camera. My eyes see what it is, my imagination tells me what it can be, my hands make it be.

The journey from abstract idea to concrete product is fueled by constant dialog about possibilities and limitations. The road is not always straight or direct, and I often take detours, get lost, and crash along the way. But the joy is in the journey-- the manipulation of infinite variables, the witnessing of and participation in the transformation.

The transformation that I am concerned with here is not the kind that happens in the kitchen, but at the table.

 A clear, steaming hot consomme of fresh peas made by gelatin filtration is poured into a bowl of carefully arranged elements: a perfect raw oyster, a lacy mantle of roasted peanut oil and cocoa butter,  mango pearls, and the flower, stems and leaves of pea shoots.

The initial effect, and most dramatic, is the melting of the roasted peanut-cocoa butter lace. Peas and peanuts are both legumes and share many aroma compounds. The emulsification reverts back to a fragrant oil that forms droplets on the surface and lends the soup an enticing aroma and flavor. As the consomme level rises, the pea shoots soften and float, the leaves open and unfurl. These add texture to the soup and reinforce the flavor of the consomme. The pearls dislodge and swirl to the bottom of the bowl, waiting to be scooped up and burst their bright mango juice in the mouth. The oyster coddles in the heat of the consomme and is intended to be the last voluptuous bite.

oyster lily

oyster on half shell
thai relish
salted cucumber veil
stella d'oro daylily
avocado lime

ngo om (rice paddy plant) tastes cool as a cucumber
crystal clear cucumber water can be had by salting thinly sliced cucumbers and setting over a colander

ceviche

raw/cooked
scallop cooked in acid
melon cooked by compression

scallop ceviche

woven melon
serrano ham
honey ginger granules
daylily
lovage buds