ras el hanout

Nothing puts me in a holiday mood faster than the warm and sweet aroma of spice. A batch of spice-scented cookies–be they gingerbread, speculas, bizcochos, lebkuchen, pepparkakor, or melomakarona–baking in the oven sets off visions of sugarplums dancing through my head.

Today, spices are so readily available that we forget the blood, sweat, and tears that have made them a common staple in our cupboards. Spices were once more valuable than gold and their procurement the most dangerous and competitive game in the world, impelling unprecedented explorations and discoveries. The scent of spice is a wormhole into history.

Around the world, spice is the common thread that weaves together culinary traditions. Each culture has their own magical blend to offer: garam masala of India, five spice of China, mole of Mexico, baharat of the Middle East, and ras el hanout of North Africa. These blends are a syntheses of flavor and aroma–warm, complex, and elusive.

Ras el hanout, in Arabic, is top (or head) of the shop, referring to the Moroccan souks, where each merchant offers a house blend of his finest spices. These nuanced blends can include at least a dozen–and up to a hundred different spices, both common (nutmeg, mace, ginger, black pepper) and exotic (chufa nuts, ash berries, orisroot, cantharides–the now banned beetle spanish fly). The best blends are those in which the individual spices are not easy to decipher and where the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. 
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clockwise from top left: nutmeg, saffron, anardana (ground pomegranate seeds), mace, grains of paradise, cardamom, cinnamon, black pepper, turmeric, allspice, and ginger (center)
This year, my food-centric friends will be receiving the "top of my shop". This, along with a free range chicken or leg of lamb, makes a welcome gift, one that I would be delighted to receive…especially if it came with this to cook it in. Just sayin'. 
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montenebro

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Montenebro is a cheese that is made from pasteurized goats milk. It is also known as Queso de Tietar, as it is only made in Valle de Tietar in the province of Avila in Castilla y Leon, Spain.
It is distinct from other goat cheese made in the region and is distinguished by its flattened log shape (said to be modeled after a Castilian mule's foot) and its soft, dark rind. Within the rind is a pale, creamy paste that is gloriously dense and creamy.
Montenebro is not a cheese for the meek–it is assertive and pungent with characteristic barnyard flavor, mellowed by notes of hazelnut and pine (enebro, in Spanish, is juniper). It demands to be enjoyed with bold flavors and wines with weight and intensity.

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montenebro
eggplant roasted with ras el hanout
crispy lamb pancetta
date puree
quail egg
escarole
oloroso sherry

preserved parsley

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I don't remember when I first began preserving leaves with glycerin. As a gardener, it was just something that I did to prolong the fleeting life of flowers and foliage. 
I do remember introducing it to my boys when they were young. In the autumn, we would gather branches of oak, beech, and maple leaves just as the colors began to turn and submerge them in vases filled with a solution of equal parts of water and glycerin. Over the next week, we would watch the color metamorphose as the chlorophyll ceased production, triggering the release of pigments. The glycerin, an emollient, would fill the cells, rendering the leaves supple and leathery. They would last for years this way, more so if pressed. Undoubtably, I still have some hidden between the pages of old books.
Last week, as I was preserving some blue holly cuttings this way, it occurred to me that I've only applied this procedure for decorative purposes, when all along, I've ignored its role as a food preservative. It was time to rectify that.
Within three days, a few sprigs of parsley were visibly transformed by the glycerine. The color darkened and the leaves appeared denser and heavier. The taste is sweet up front, which is surprising in a pleasant way, followed by the fresh flavor of parsley. Even after a week of sitting on the counter, loosely wrapped, the leaves are still supple and appear fresh.
Now, the obvious question arises: How can this make food better? Is the answer in its ability to preserve… or transform…or both? 

parsley root

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Parsley root (Petroselinum crispum), also known as Hamburg root parsley, is a cultivar of flat leaf parsley that forms a bulbous taproot, much like a carrot or parsnip. 
It belongs to the family Apiaceae, or Umbelliferae, a large family of more than 3,000 species known for their aromatic leaves and include other edibles: anise, fennel, angelica, dill, caraway, cumin, cilantro, celery, chervil, lovage, carrots, and parsnips. Umbellifers can be recognized by their flowers that form in clusters that resemble mini umbrellas.
In the garden, Umbellifers are useful as companion plants as their essential oils attract beneficial insects. When planted near tomatoes, which are susceptible to tomato hornworms, they attract parasitic wasps that prey upon the destructive hornworms.
Parsley root is native to the Mediterranean and used extensively throughout Central Europe. In the US, it remains uncommon and hard to find.
In appearance, parsley root closely resembles parsnips, though they are lighter in color and denser in texture. Their flavor is less sweet than parsnips and references the clean, refreshing taste of the leaves.

pork apple cedar

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Pork and apple…you knew it was coming– didn't you? 
I've been playing with this classic pairing for awhile now, but none of the permutations have inspired me to post on it. In fact, I recently paired pork belly with apple pie. I was actually quite excited about it because I knew the flavors would work if I kept the sugar in check and it would further break down the wall of what we perceive as a savory and a dessert. And even though I made the crust with lard (which, by the way, makes the flakiest pastry), it didn't come together for me. I think that the problem was the crust itself; the texture distracted from the creamy/crispy pork belly. I haven't completely abandoned it, though…just filed it away for another time.
In the meantime, the apple caramel gel entered the picture with its butterscotchy mouthfeel, caramelized apple flavor, and balance of sweet with tart. It was the perfect element to unite the spiced apple balls–three types of apples sous vide with spiced butter (honeycrisp-nutmeg, gala-cinnamon, roma-clove)–with the cedar-scented pork. The scent of the spiced apples, when warmed on a vanilla bean, alongside the cedar pork, is intoxicating and stirs up all kinds of memories of hearth and home. The crisp element–a cylinder of whipped granny smith apple gel–reminded me of an apple core, which inspired this presentation. Finally, the baby leeks that I started from seeds in October, introduced notes of umami.
I hope this was worth the wait…I know it was for me.
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cedar pork belly

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I wanted to tell you about this pork belly…
…about how, yesterday, I bathed it in apple cider and warm spices
…about how I rolled it up and cooked it sous vide for 12 hours until it was so oozy and melty that my knees felt weak.
I also wanted to tell you… 
…about how amazing my house smelled as it roasted in a cloak of cedar
…about how crispy it became in a cast iron pan
…about how even recalling it fills me with lust.
I wanted to tell you all this, but instead, let me just tell you…
…that pork belly is the reason why I would NEVER make it as a vegetarian.  
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whipped apple caramel gel

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Whipping air into the caramel gel changes its appearance from translucent to opaque and lightens the texture. Although it now resembles a creamy caramel, the impact on the palate is lighter and cleaner, leaving only an impression of creaminess. The real surprise is the tartness that wraps itself around the sweetness,(the acid concentrates along with the sugar) and plays out like an agrodolce.
I can see savory as well as sweet applications for this product, but first, I had to play with some plating variations.
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apple caramel gel

The intention was to make pate de fruit.
The intention was to make it with only fruit juice. No added sugar.
The intention was to make it with agar and gelatin. Not with pectin.
The intention was one thing. The result was another.

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Pate de fruit is typically made with Certo–a high methoxyl pectin that forms gels in a high sugar enviroment. Low methoxyl pectin does not need sugar, but requires the presence of calcium. The apple juice that I intended to use contained only inherent sugar (fructose) and insignificant amounts of calcium.
Agar and gelatin will form a variety of gels–from soft to brittle, depending on the proportions used–and require neither sugar or calcium. This was the territory that I intended to explore.
The initial gels were unremarkable–either too brittle or too soft. Concentrating the sugars through reduction introduced a desirable stickiness and became a critical point. Reducing too far resulted in a syrup, not enough produced a gel that was rigid and brittle.
Through a series of reductions and additions of decreasing amounts of juice, the emerging texture is firm enough to hold its shape, yet the pull of a knife renders it fluid. The mouthfeel is creamy like caramel with the viscosity of gel.
The intention was to make a pate de fruit. The result is a caramel gel.
apple caramel gel
Lacking a refractometer to measure brix, the results may require final adjustments in reduction/addition.   
150g apple juice
1.5g agar
.6g gelatin
Place the apple juice in a saucepan. Sprinkle the agar and gelatin over the top. Let stand 2 minutes for the gelatin to bloom. Set pan over medium high heat, whisking until gelatin and agar are dissolved. Bring to a boil and continue boiling under mixture is reduced to app. 2 Tablespoons. 
Add 80g apple juice. Boil and reduce to app. 2 Tablespoons.
Add 30g apple juice. Bring to a full rolling boil for 30 seconds.
Remove from heat and cool.