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.

chicken skin croquant

Chicken skin croquant

Salting the chicken skin draws out the moisture that inhibits crispness. Isomalt is a sugar alcohol made from beets and is less sweet than granulated sugar. Tapioca Maltodextrin acts as a starch, binding the sugar with the fat and improves the texture of the croquant.

chicken skin

kosher salt

isomalt

tapioca maltodextrin

Spread a layer of salt in a shallow non-reactive dish. Lay the chicken skin over the salt in a single layer and cover with another layer of salt. Set aside in the refrigerator for 8 hours. Rinse the salt from the skin and dry well with paper towels. Lay skin out on a metal sheet pan and bake in a 350F oven until golden and crisp. Drain on paper towels, pressing to remove excess fat and allow to cool. When cooled, grind in a spice grinder.

Weigh the ground chicken skin and weigh out an equal amount of Isomalt. Place the Isomalt in a saucepan and melt over medium high heat until fluid. Pour out onto a silpat and allow to harden. Break Isomalt into small pieces and grind in a spice grinder.

Combine the ground chicken skin with the Isomalt and weigh it. Add 30% by weight of Tapioca Maltodextrin. Combine well. Sprinkle a thin layer on a silpat for a freeform shape that can be broken into shards. For more defined shapes, sprinkle evenly over a stencil. Bake at 300F just until melted and fused. Allow to cool, then peel from silpat.

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

timely

It's here!

Just in time for tonight.

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)

what is it?

steak mushroom corn tahoon

tahoon cress

I returned from ICC laden with gifts. The best one– a brainload of ideas and information– I continue to unwrap and savor a little each day.

There were also tangible gifts:

A big glossy book containing bios, interviews and recipes of all of the presenters.

A gift package from Heston Blumenthal. In true theatrical form, they were hidden under the seats. The velum envelope contained two packets that were to tie in with his presentation of The Perfect Christmas Dinner, inspired by the gifts of the Magi. The first was a Listerine strip flavored with frankincense and was immediately savored. The second was a newborn baby-scented communion wafer. Despite my fascination with babies, this just felt wrong to put in my mouth.

A flat of micro sprouts from Koppert Cress containing Affilla (peashoots), Mustard, purple and green Shiso, and the unfamiliar Tahoon.

The flavor of Tahoon took me aback. I was not expecting the deep, complexity of wood, humus, and nuts (it's said to taste like beech nuts), trailed by a sting of onion. There are defined elements of earth and fire with aromas that evoke freshly-tilled earth, baked by the sun, along with roasted tree bark. I don't know if this even sounds good, but it is. My taste buds say umami, but I could find no documentation on this.

What I did find is that Tahoon (Toona sinensis) is a tree, native to eastern and southestern Asia, where the young leaves and shoots are enjoyed as an aromatic vegetable. It is more commonly known as Chinese Toon or Chinese Mahoghany.

As I munch on Tahoon, I am visited by a flight of dishes: caramelized onion flan with foie, pomegranate, and Tahoon; roasted potato ice cream, bacon dust, hamachi,and Tahoon oil; Tahoon-infused beets with curried chicken terrine; a dessert of pear, chestnuts, and chocolate–haunted by Tahoon.

My quickly dwindling supply led me to find a source for seeds. I can now grow a steady supply of sprouts through the winter. Maybe I'll even let some grow into plants that I can transplant into the garden come spring. Maybe, in a few years, I'll have a Tahoon tree of my own. But even as I sit here, typing and munching, thinking about steak, mushrooms, corn and Tahoon, I doubt that they'll ever make it past sprouts.

vegetable tartine

tiles of roasted zucchini, summer squash and sweet bell peppers, mortar of eggplant skin puree

Why do we peel eggplants and discard the skin?

Some say that the skin is bitter and tough. This can be true with the large, dark globe varieties. But I enjoy the taste of bitter, either as the focus of a dish, or as a contrast to other flavors. And it can indeed be tough, especially when cooked with dry heat. But when slowly stewed with roasted garlic and Aleppo pepper, it makes a flavorful and silky puree.

Taste and texture aside, a compelling reason to rescue eggplant skin from the

bin is nutrition. A phytonutrient, nasunin, is found in eggplant skin. Nasunin is a

potent antioxidant and free radical scavenger that protects the cell membranes

in the brain.

Eggplant skin = brain food = greater capacity to think about food. I love closing circles.

Thinking about food is not always an intellectual exercise. Sometimes, it is finding the sublime in the banal.

puff pastry

Flour. Butter. Water. Salt. No leavening. Or is there?

When these four ingredients are combined into a homogeneous dough, then rolled out and baked, you end up with a cracker or flatbread. Not much rise there.

Blend the same ingredients together but stop while the butter is still discernible– about the size of peas. Now roll out and bake. You have a pate brisee or a short, flaky pie crust with unevenly puffed layers that may have doubled in height.

Now, take the same four ingredients, blend the flour, water and salt to make a dough. Evenly layer the butter throughout the dough through a series of rolling out and folding. Stop when you have made 6 "turns", resulting in 1459 alternating layers of fat and starch. After a final rolling and baking, you are left with pate feuilletee or puff pastry. This time, the finished pastry leaving the oven has risen up to 6 times in volume from the raw dough that went in.

Three products…sharing identical ingredients in similar proportions…with significantly different results. Do you know why?

Lacking chemical leavening, the release of gases is not responsible for the differences between the three pastry products. And with the absence of yeast, it cannot be attributed to fermentation.

What caused the puff pastry to rise to glorious heights and the pie crust to puff to a lesser degree is the steam created by the melted butter. As the butter melts and boils, the gluten matrix in the dough hardens, trapping the pockets of steam. The degree of rise in the three products varies with the distribution of fat and starch.

Understanding this was an epiphany. So was grasping the unfolding of egg proteins. And the destruction of sugar to make caramel. And so on.

These were my AH-HAA moments. They allowed me to analyse mistakes and to not only correct them, but to control the outcome. They liberated me from bondage to recipes, and with this freedom came a broader one: the freedom to create.

Modern cooking places an emphasis on science, when, in fact, chemistry has been at play throughout the history of food and cooking. Does a strong knowledge of food science make us good cooks? If that were true then scientists, by right, would all be chefs.

What about technique? Consider the baker who gets up at 3 AM every morning to bake bread. After some time, he can turn out hundreds of perfect loaves even while half-asleep. He may even have a grasp on the chemistry of his craft through extended observation of cause and effect. His talent and dedication may move him onto the saute line, where through repetition he learns to turn out a perfectly cooked piece of fish every time.

But would he know what to do with a salsify? Would he even know what to serve it with?

At ICC, Jordi Butron of Espai Sucre gave a presentation about the process of creating desserts. A lot of what he said resonated with me. In it, he stated (from my notes) "Pastry is techniques…but technique has to service flavor. Technique is easy–it only requires repetition, but a library of flavors takes many years to acquire."

As a baker, I have made puff pastry countless times. Through muscle memory, I could even make it while half-asleep. Because of my understanding of steam pockets and gluten matrixes, I was able to effectively teach it to my students, passing on the AH-HAA moments. My familiarity with this product allows me to play and ask questions:

Why butter? (because it is fat and for it's flavor)

What else is flavored fat? (oils..but they won't work, they're liquid and here, the fat needs to start as a solid)

What else is solid, flavored fat? (pork fat, bacon fat, foie, cheese…)

Cheese? Which cheese? (needs to be spreadable and have a high fat content…a triple cream)

Saint Andre? Boursault? Brillat-Savarin? (no…too subtle for the flavor to come through)

l'Explorateur? (a triple cream, assertive flavor…yes, it will work)

That is how I have come to make l'Explorateur puff pastry; a product that pleases me.

Will it please everyone? Is it ground-breaking? Life-altering? No. No. And no.

It is simply a token of where I'm at as a cook/baker at this moment in time and a synthesization of what I know about technique, food science and my own palate.

Do these things make me a better cook? I'd like to think so. What I do know for certain is that by relying on their guidance, I am free to contemplate and to think about food; what it is…what it can be.

And that, I believe, is the starting point for innovation.