playing with fire and water

fruit tart

Once, my friend Judy gave me a rudimentary lesson on throwing pottery. I can still remember how the clay felt between my fingers as it turned on the wheel. Supple. Lithe. Obsequious. A gentle pull would make the clay rise like a tower; a push would flatten it into a slab. Up... down... out... in... I delighted in the responsive dance of force and symmetry. 

I went into the pottery studio that day with a project in mind: a shallow bowl with thin walls that tapered gently outward. Tried as I did, my inexperienced hands couldn't make the clay dance that way. Later, it was decided that the best way to build the bowl was from a molded slab. The process involved rolling, cutting and molding. THESE were motions that my hands understood; it was the dance of pastry.

There are two types of molds used for clay slabs: slump and hump. In slump molding, the clay is laid inside the mold, much like pastry dough is fitted inside a pie or tart pan. In hump molding, the clay is draped over the outside of the mold. This was how I formed my bowl because: 1) it was the only type of mold available at the studio, and 2) it allowed the inside of the bowl to remain smooth and free of blemishes while modeling the slab to the mold. The process made me question why we build pastry crusts inside the confinement of pans and overlook the outside. 

Wet clay is made up of fine mineral particles that float in thin layers of water. When clay is rolled, the particles line up in the direction of the force. If a clay slab is rolled in only one direction, the particles line up to form a grain that will cause the object to shrink against the grain when dried and fired.

I've often wondered why recipes for pie crusts insist that the dough should be rolled from the center out, and why they sometimes shrink unevenly when baked. I've wondered, too, about the turns in laminated doughs. I never expected to find the answers in working with clay, but I'm glad I did.

freeform pate brisee bowl ✢ yuzu curd ✢ meringue 
rambutan ✢ lychee ✢ myoga ✢ ume
ground cherry ✢ black sesame 

pork jowl creamed smoked cabbage

The other pork jowl steak was covered with thin slices of Benton's country ham, tightly rolled and cooked sous vide at 60C/140F for 3 hours, then chilled in the bag overnight.

The pork roll had remarkable flavor and texture, like a fine charcuterie— as if the ham had cured the pork from within. It held its shape, even when thinly sliced, until the heat of a pan caused them to unfurl their tails, whimsically creating pork commas.

Whoever said that cabbage is the lowliest of vegetables had surely never seen the Savoy, whose extravagantly blistered leaves look like the velvet trapunto quilts of European finery. The flavor, too, is more refined than the common smooth-leaved variety. And those nooks and crannies? They make great traps for sauces.

With the weather propelling toward winter, I've been working on hearty vegetable dishes that are free of dairy and gluten. In my world, where I'm often feeding people with restricted diets, dishes like these are my Ace in the hole. Cabbage was first on my list with the intention of transforming it into something comforting, yet luxurious.  I thought I could accomplish that by saucing the tender leaves of Savoy with a creamy puree of itself, but that wasn't producing the full mouth feel that I was after.
Simultaneously, I've been exploring the process of using cooked grains and nut purees as thickeners in place of refined starches. Refined starches work wonders at altering texture without affecting flavor, but there are times when the whole personality of a food (instead of just one of its properties) is welcome. And cabbage had rolled out the mat.
I pondered the options over breakfast: wheat was out, so should I use buckwheat, quinoa, rice, pumpkin seeds, chestnuts?  All were viable, but ultimately, the answer laid before me in my bowl of oatmeal.

creamed smoked cabbage

Adding steel cut oats to cabbage puree gives it a creamy richness, but don't substitute instant or rolled oats or you may end up with a gluey, too-much-Xanthan-like consistency.
If meat products are not an issue, I recommend using chicken stock, augmented with ham scraps for the liquid. Otherwise, vegetable broth, or water, is fine.
Smoking the cabbage is optional, but especially in the absence of meat, it makes a marked difference in the enjoyment of the dish. 

oatmeal:  20g steel cut oats, lightly toasted in a dry pan
                60g apple cider
                1g salt
Place all of ingredients in a vacuum bag and seal. Cook in an 82C/180F water bath for 55 minutes.

cabbage:  350g de-ribbed Savoy cabbage leaves that have been cut into 1/4" squares
                bouquet garni of: 1 bay leaf, 5 peppercorns, 4 juniper berries, 2g fresh caraway seeds or 1g dried
                200g vegetable, chicken, or ham stock
                6g salt
                2g baking soda
Pack cabbage  and bouquet garni into a vacuum bag. In a small bowl, stir the stock, salt, and baking soda until dissolved, them pour over the cabbage in bag. Seal bag and place in water bath with the oatmeal (82C/180F) for 45 minutes. When done, open the bag and drain contents, discarding the bouquet garni.
Lightly smoke the cabbage with smoked apple wood chips in a smoker for 5 minutes, following manufacturer's directions. (alternately, use a smoke gun). 
Separate 125g of the cooked cabbage and place the remaining cabbage in a saucepan.

cream:      6g sliced garlic
                50g extra virgin olive oil
                125g of smoked cabbage from above
                contents of cooked oatmeal bag from above
                50g vegetable, chicken, or ham stock
                2g fresh caraway leaves, or a blend of 1.5g fresh dill weed and 1g dried caraway seeds
Heat the olive oil over low heat and add the garlic. Sweat the garlic until fragrant, translucent, and just beginning to color. Scrape into a blender along with the remaining ingredients. Blend on high to form a smooth puree.
to finish: scrape puree into saucepan with remaining cabbage and toss over low heat until warmed through and the cabbage leaves are evenly coated. Season with salt and pepper to taste. 

I toasted some Savoy leaves (after misting them with olive oil) in a 176C/350F oven for a few minutes until they were crisp. They reminded me of the Caldas da Rainha ceramics that I collected in the 90's when they were popular. I was drawn to their realistic depictions of natural forms, mostly cabbage leaves. My favorite piece remains a soup tureen, a trompe l'oeil of a head of Savoy, which I swear that any soup that is served from it tastes better.

The crispy cabbage leaves make tasty edible bowls for serving the creamed smoked cabbage. They can be picked up, folded, and eaten out of hand— no utensils required. Here, they're filled with creamed smoked kale (which works just as well as cabbage), slices of rolled pork jowl, 64℃ quail egg yolk, fresh garbanzo beans cooked with horseradish, and pickled rutabagas.

consuming passion

heart fortune cookies

There is some room to play with the flavor of these cookies— the oil, juice, and extract can be varied according to your desired flavor profile and the sugar can be infused with strongly-scented products such as herbs, vanilla beans, citrus peel, or rose petals.

❤cookie batter:
2 egg whites
46g sweet almond oil 
13g beet juice
4g raspberry extract 
100g sugar
67g AP flour
6g cornstarch
red food coloring

Place the egg whites, oil, juice, and extract in a medium bowl and whisk lightly to incorporate. Sift the sugar, flour, and cornstarch together and add to wet ingredients.  Stir with a wooden spoon until batter is smooth. Add food coloring to desired shade and blend well.

❤stencil:
cookie template
thick sheet of acetate or plastic
X-acto knife or sharp blade
slips of paper printed with fortunes, folded in half

trace cookie template onto acetate or plastic. Cut out center with an X-acto knife or sharp blade.

❤to make cookies:
Preheat oven to 163C/325F.  Place stencil on silpat or parcment-lined baking sheet. Spoon about a Tablespoon of batter onto center of stencil cutout. With a small offset spatula, spread the batter thinly and evenly to completely fill cutout in stencil. Carefully lift stencil and rinse and pat dry for next use. If you have experience with shaping hot tuiles, you can bake up to 4 cookies at a time— beginners should start with one. Place baking sheet in the oven and check after 4 minutes. The surface should be glossy but not wet to the touch and the edges should be just starting to brown. Remove baking sheet from oven and carefully (they're hot!) but quickly (they must be worked hot) peel cookie off of silpat and flip it top side down. Place a folded fortune in the center of the cookie. Lift pointed edge that is nearest to you and fold up and over to meet and align with other pointed edge, enclosing the fortune. Lift the cookie with the points facing up, pinching them together and lightly drape the folded bottom edge over the rim of a cup or bowl to create the crease that will form the top of the heart. Hold the cookie in place over the rim until it hardens while working the sides together so that they meet and close. The cookie must be shaped while it is hot and flexible— if it hardens too quickly, it can be returned to the oven for 1-2 minutes to soften. Place cookies in a muffin tin to hold their shape until they cool.

flowering teas

I woke up to snow again today; anathema to the three feet that's already on the ground. I spent the morning looking through seed catalogues; at technicolor pictures of lush vegetables and cheerful flowers, dreaming of the exuberance of summer. "If you plant us", they seem to say, "it will come."

Despite their promise, I know summer will eventually come. And though it's far too soon to look for signs; in winter, hope springs eternal.

 

 

I first discovered flowering teas at Pike Place Market in Seattle nearly 4 years ago and have been collecting them since. Sometimes called blooming tea, or art tea, the bundled balls are made of select white tea leaves (unfermented Camellia senesis) bound together with silk thread. Inside, they hide flowers— lily, jasmine, chrysanthemum, carnation, calendula— delicately stitched to the leaves. When dropped into hot water, they slowly unfurl to reveal their hidden beauty; burlesque in a tea cup.

The tea is not the finest or most complex that I've tasted, but on a day like today, watching something bloom before my eyes is visual therapy.

 

 

sticky toffee foie pudding

I remember the moment I fell in love with textiles. I was studying fashion design at Parsons when the draping instructor suggested I attend an exhibit of 18th century textiles at the Met. I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to see a bunch of dusty old fabrics. "Go", she said. "they will inspire you." 

Coming out of a lifetime of denim, polyester, and cotton jersey, I was hopelessly unprepared for the opulence of that exhibit. Printed chintzes, sumptuous velvet brocades, luxe silk damasks, allegorical Toile de Jouy, gossamer laces—each one a masterpiece of fiber and thread. Collectively, they told a story of a pre-industrial era of impeccable craftsmanship and a soignee world of extravagance and luxury. I had no desire to possess them, I wanted only to bask in their splendor.
I was, indeed, inspired.

If ever there was to be an exhibit of Pure Luxury, foie gras would make a salient display. The luxury of foie is not in its price, though considerable, but in the sensual experience of consuming it. I've always found it's velvety mouthfeel and resonant flavor to be more hedonistically aligned with a rich dessert.

Among other things, studying fashion instilled in me an awareness of trends and the cycles of design; most are just revivals of old elements made new for modern taste. Looking through a book of medieval cookery, I was struck by how many savory dishes were made sweet with honey and fruits. Now, it seems, the dessert cycle has leaned towards the savory— adding salt, savory herbs, vegetables and animal. The latter— lest we forget— includes eggs, butter and cream. How to take it to the next step? Are we ready for fish, flesh, or offal even, in our dessert?  Maybe we'll never be ready for candied kidneys, but in regards to foie gras, I can only wonder "what took so long?".

Brandy-soaked cubes of foie, embedded in moist cakes redolent of dates and muscavado, an arabesque of sticky sweet brandy-spiked sauce— it is the stuff of baroque fairy tales; a decadence fit for kings and queens— the gustatory equivalent of brocade pillows and damask sheets.

sticky toffee foie pudding
red currant jelly ice cream
sugared red currants 

sticky toffee foie pudding
serves 6 

40g foie gras, cleaned of veins 
130g Tuaca or brandy 
60g dates, roughly chopped
86g reserved Tuaca or brandy from soaking foie
56g unsalted butter at room temperature
55g muscovado sugar
97g eggs
84g flour
4g baking soda
6g baking powder

sauce:
78g muscovado sugar
1.5g salt
175g heavy cream
25g butter
30g reserved Tuaca or brandy from soaking foie

Cut foie with a heated knife into 6 cubes, each measuring 1.25cm x 1.25 cm x 2cm and place in small bowl. Pour Tuaca or brandy over foie to submerge (use more if needed). Set aside to marinate for 2 hours. Strain through a fine sieve, reserving brandy for cake and sauce.
Heat 86g of reserved brandy in a small saucepan to 43C/110F. Add dates and cook over very low heat for 5 minutes. Remove pan from heat, cover, and set aside for 10-15 minutes to soften dates. Stir the dates and brandy vigorously with a wooden spoon until they break up and the mixture looks like a chunky puree. Set aside to cool.
Preheat oven to 176C/350F. Grease 6 small dariole molds. Cream the butter and sugar with an electric mixer fitted with paddle attachment on medium speed until light and fluffy. Add the eggs and beat for 2 minutes, then add the date/brandy puree and beat for 1 minute. Sift together the dry ingredients and add to mixer. Beat for 1-2 minutes, or just until incorporated.
Spoon batter into each of greased molds until half full. Place a cube of marinated foie in each of the molds, then cover with remaining batter until molds are nearly full. Place filled molds in a baking dish, spacing them 5cm apart. Pour boiling water into baking dish until it comes halfway up the sides of the molds. Immediately cover tightly with foil and place in oven. Bake for 12 minutes or until the top of the cake springs back when pressed. Remove cakes from water bath, cover loosely with foil to keep warm while making sauce.
To make sauce: Place all ingredients except brandy in a medium saucepan. Set over medium heat and whisk while cooking until thick and smooth, about 4- 5 minutes. Remove from heat and whisk in 30g of reserved brandy until smooth and silky. 
To serve: Unmold the warm cakes and dip each one in the sauce, rolling around until well coated. Transfer each to serving plate and carefully spoon  a small amount of sauce over the top, letting it drip down the sides. Serve warm.

 

 

 

summer pasta

 In these, the last days of summer, autumn encroaches clever and lithe.  

I try to ignore the signs, but it's worse than that. 

I see the chlorophyll drain from the leaves and tell myself it's just the sun. I notice the flowers looking dry and wan and say it's because I didn't give them enough water. And... isn't the goldenrod blooming extra early this year? 

I'm in denial.

It's not because I dislike autumn. I don't. But because I will miss summer.

It's not even that it's been a good summer. It hasn't! Losing my father cements it as one that I will poignantly remember forever.

Still... I hate to see it go.

I think what I'll miss most is the bounty at my fingertips.
The joyful sight of fruits on the vine. 
The perfume of herbs baking in the sun. 
The many colors of ripe. 
Nature, in all of her white-hot intensity.

But it's not over yet. 

As the sun arcs lower in the sky and night grows longer and cooler, summer vegetables rush to put out their last flush. It's a well known fact that leafy greens, crucifers, and root vegetables taste sweeter when nipped by cold, but I would swear that late-season tomatoes and corn are the best of all. They are only sweeter in memory.

Colors and flavors, the icons of summer, are arranged atop a swath of emulsified tomato milk like notes on a scale. A seasonal keyboard.

Tucked in between are tubes of parmesan pasta. I'll tell you about those next time.

These are covered by a strip of reduced corn juice, thickened by its inherent starch and bursting with flavor. Its form is controlled by freezing, then tempered to a fluid sauce.

Just for this dish, I ignore my tendency towards minimalism, my carefully managed urge to over garnish. I lay it all out. Let nature play all of her notes at once. A crescendo of flowers and herbs.

This is my tribute. An homage. A celebration.
The swan song of summer.

 
  

popsicles

I'm always looking for uses for plant materials that are often overlooked or discarded because they're too fibrous to eat. 
Wild carrot stems may appear thin and fragile, but are rigid and strong enough to support these popsicles.

 

Layering is one way to control progression of flavors.
Usually, in the context of a meal, flavors progress from savory to sweet.
Here, they move from sweet to savory, starting with wild carrot syrup, then on to naturally sweet casaba melon, and ending with fig leaf tea.

   

The popsicles were molded in silicone plastique molds made from test tubes.
Don't try freezing liquids in thin glass molds. Trust me.
 

 

three little figs

Once upon a time, not so long ago or far away, there was a very special fig.

Figgy [as she liked to be called] was no ordinary fig. She was a fig with aspirations.

Indeed, all figs have aspirations; they all want to be immortal. In the glory of their ripeness, they put on their dusky makeup and most alluring perfume in hopes of attracting hungry birds and beasts to spread their seed. 
But our Figgy wanted something different for herself. She wanted to go out in a blaze of glory and to live on as a fond memory.

To this end, Figgy placed ads in dozens of newspapers. She received many replies, but thought none earnest. [She was convinced that they were all just greedy bluejays.] Then she received a call from a chef who seemed genuinely interested. Figgy followed her instincts and agreed to a formal meeting.

The meeting was held at the chef's restaurant. Chef greeted her warmly and seated her at a table in the kitchen, then proceeded to present her with dish after dish of the finest food she had ever tasted. After dinner, Chef joined Figgy for a glass of Port and asked her about herself.
 
Figgy told Chef that her ancestors had come from a faraway land that was once called Persia, but is now known as Iran. They had lived there for centuries in the most splendid gardens that the world had ever seen.
"Did you know that the word paradise is from an ancient Persian word for walled garden?" asked Figgy.
From there, they migrated west to Egypt, then north to Greece, where figs were held in high esteem by both slaves and royalty.
"My forebears were among the figs that concealed the asp in Cleopatra's basket and flourished in King Alcinous' orchard during Odysseus' visit." 
"Fascinating", said Chef and begged her to continue.
"Successive generations continued westward along the Mediterranean: Rome, Provence, Andalucia, and finally the Algarve, where my grandmother settled. When my mother was just a sapling, she was packed in a box and shipped across the Atlantic to New England. That's where she lives now; in a pot on a terrace during the bearing season and winters in a heated greenhouse. She is happy and well cared for."
 
"And you?" asked Chef, "Tell me why you're here."
"I was born in the greenhouse and moved onto the terrace when I was still very young. The family that cared for us would gather there every night for dinner. From high up on one of my mother's boughs, I would watch them feast on the most sumptuous foods. With every bite, they all agreed that it was the best they had ever tasted and that they would remember it forever. It was then that I realized that I didn't want to be gobbled up by a hungry bird. I want to be savored, to be lingered over, to be remembered! I'm hoping that you can help me with that."
 
"I will do my best, but tell me... what would you like me to do with you?"
Figgy had thought long and hard about this. It's true; she was a dreamer, but she was also a sensible fig. She understood that in order to make a lasting impression, she needed some enhancement. In her haste to fulfill her destiny, perhaps she had left her mother too soon and was not as sweet and ripe as she could have been.
"I can fix that with a bit of honey." said Chef.
 
Figgy's mother had taught her many things about her history and her anatomy. She often lamented that figs are mistaken for fruit when they are actually flowers. She had explained that inside herself were hundreds of flowers that looked like long, thin filaments, and that each one held a seed. These seeds, she had said, were what perpetuated their species and held them in regard as an ancient symbol of fertility. But they were often cursed by humans for getting caught in their teeth and interrupting the sensual experience of eating figs.
Chef listened to her concern and suggested that a blender would break down her seeds, if she would allow it.
 
Figgy was not afraid of the blender or what it would do to her, she was ready to sacrifice herself fully. But she was adamant about retaining her form, of which she was fiercely proud, despite it's phallic shape that has been a source of embarrassment to both men and women throughout the ages. So much so, that the original Arabic word for figs is now considered an obscenity.
"No problem" said Chef "I can mold you so that you will look exactly like yourself, but better."
 
This pleased Figgy and she was anxious to get started, but Chef was hesitant.
"I think that to make you truly memorable, you will need to share the spotlight with other flavors. If we do it right, they will not rob you of your glory, but make you more delicious. Will you trust me?"
When Figgy seemed amenable, Chef continued, "Great! I'd like to introduce you to some of my friends that I think you will get along with very nicely."
 
Chef rushed into the kitchen, swept things up off the counter, and laid them out in front of Figgy.
 
"First, I'd like you to meet Onion Caramel. She may look cloyingly sweet, but she's surprisingly sassy."
"Yes, I like her." said Figgy taking a taste "She's got lots of personality!" 

"Next, there's Dark Chocolate. He's smooth, suave, mysterious and seductive, but with a bitter edge to balance your sweetness."
"Oh my, I'd better stand my ground with him or he will sweep me off my feet."

"And, finally" said Chef, lifting the lid off a round, wooden box "there's Epoisses."
Figgy shrieked and stepped back, holding her breath.
"Now don't be afraid. I know Epoisses seems offensive, but I assure you, it's only skin-deep. If you take some time to get to know her, you'll find that she's full of character and actually sweet and mild on the inside."
Figgy watched Chef cut through the rind and expose a pale, creamy heart. She tasted carefully and found Epoisses agreeable and lovely.

"So, when do we get started?" asked Figgy.
 

The next morning Chef entered the kitchen to find Figgy and her friends engaged in a lively conversation.
When Chef asked Figgy if she was ready, she pulled Chef aside and said in a hushed tone, "I really love my new friends. We couldn't get along any better, but I'm worried. They are all such wonderfully memorable characters, how can I stand out among them?"

Chef understood and said reassuringly, "Figgy, I promise you that when I present your dish tonight that it will only be you that they see. And from then on, when they remember your dish, it will be you that they reference."

Chef and staff worked steadily throughout the day in preparation for the special meal. Every seat for both sittings were full and expectations were high. Course after course of Chef's carefully planned and executed meal was dispatched from the kitchen with only a few minor glitches. Figgy's dish was the final course.
When the last plate left the kitchen, Chef congratulated the staff, cleared the pass, hung her apron, and entered the dining room. 

Late that evening, Chef was alone in the kitchen writing menus, taking inventory, and listing orders for the next day's deliveries. Intermittently, she paused to reflect on the evening's accolades. There had been so many kind words from her guests: enthusiastic bloggers snapped photos and offered praise, critics hinted at rave reviews. There was even conjecture of a Michelin star. But the words that pleased her most were: "...the fig dish...", followed by various adjectives, " fantastic!... delicious!... brilliant!... memorable!"

As Chef turned the lock on the restaurant for the night, she felt overwhelming gratification.
For giving her best.
For pleasing her guests.
For making her staff proud.
But most of all, for keeping her promise to Figgy.

 

left to right:
dark chocolate-covered epoisses
onion caramel 
Figgy

Indian Summer :: the woods :: oak maple hickory

 

     The day had started as any other.
     Onatah was the first to wake. She gathered wood to revive the dying fire, choosing the hot-burning oak logs for the cooking fire. In the dim morning light, she watched her tribe as they slept, covered with bear and buckskins, on the ground. Since their retreat into the woods, they had taken to sleeping under the stars for as long as the weather held. It had been warm and dry since leaving their village, but with autumn coming to a close, winter was not far behind. They hoped to reach their brethren tribe at the edge of the Great Plains before the first snow.    
    Her sisters and aunts would wake soon to tend the fire and prepare the morning meal. There was enough corn to get them through to the new moon, but only enough acorn meal for this day. There was a sack of dried acorns that needed to be peeled, pounded, and leached of their bitter tannins. In another sack were hickory nuts, gathered just before their departure from a stand of shagbark hickory trees that grew behind their longhouse. She loved the sinuous texture of the bark almost as much as the sweet oily nuts. She would miss those trees and savor their last offering. 
    There were more sacks and baskets of roots and tubers, both fresh and dried, maple sugar, sumac, mushrooms, dried venison and pumpkins, smoked fish, chokecherries, beans, and tallow. All of their food, save the fresh sunchokes and mushrooms that they had foraged along their journey, had been gathered from their storage pits and packed in haste.

     On the last full moon, the elders from coastal tribes had come with stories about them.
     The salty people.
     They came from the Great Sea in large vessels, pushed by the wind caught in white sheets. There were many of them and more came with each moon.
     The elders took turns telling stories of how their tribes had shared their food and taught them how to forage and grow The Three Sisters. They made houses from logs, stacked one upon the other on their sides. They had brought with them hoofed animals that they kept in pens. They drank the milk and used it to make butter as their people did with nuts. They made a fine bread from a grain they call wheat. 
     They also brought with them illnesses that spread through their people and that medicine men could not cure. Many had died in their tribes. 

     The elders came to warn Onatah's tribe. They said that the salty people wanted to possess the rich fertile land along the rivers and lakes; the land where their ancestors had lived and where their children were living now. 
      Onatah's husband had laughed then, saying "Don't they know that land can not be owned any more than the stars or the sky?"
      An elder shook his head and said "No, they live by different ways than ours."
     "Then we will fight them!"
     "Their diseases will kill many of you and others will die by their weapons, which are more powerful and deadly than ours. My ancestors have come to me in dreams. They revealed that a Great War is coming and that we should warn others and seek protection in numbers so that our people and our ways will persevere. "

autumn pudding

 

from behind cascading leaves
the sun emerges like a sleepy child

heavy eyelids
blink
fractals of gilded light
a gentle yawn
exhale 
a universe of scent
both familiar and exotic

leaves drift
fall
rustle a lullaby

I bid it sweet dreams
and eat my way across the autumn sky  

 

 

parsnip vanilla pudding
butternut squash, autumnberry, kaffir lime gelee
candied pumpkin

Download recipe:  Autumn pudding