In Watermelon Sugar

Everyone knew about her thing for babies. How living things in miniature form made her stomach dance and her pupils dilate and her voice rise an octave. He, more than anyone, knew how to recognize the symptoms.
The first thing he noticed when she came bounding toward him was the glint in her eyes. Then came the voice.
"Look", she cooed with her hand outstretched, "a baby watermelon".

"Cool…how does it taste?"

"I don't know. Let's find out."

"Here", she said, offering him the small hemisphere "…you first."

"What about the skin?"

"It's OK…it's edible."

"…and the seeds?"

"Those too."

She watched the unraveling through his eyes. The synaptic storm that waged behind them. She put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile as his face contorted.

"Well?"

"Uhm…it's not watermelon."

"What then…?"
"Not sure…something familiar…not watermelon."

"Does it taste of summer? and sunshine? and fruit ripened on the vine?"
"Yes…all of those things…but not watermelon."

anticipay-ay-tion

If you live on this planet (even if only in a physical sense) and read food blogs, then you are surely familiar with the wildly popular and hilarious French Laundry at Home . If you are not, then you're in for a treat.

FLH is written by Carol Blymire, who described herself as "a pretty good cook" when she decided to cook and blog her way through The French Laundry Cookbook nearly two years ago. Her razor wit and quirky obsessions with 80s music and Mike Bloomberg have garnered her many fans and readers, myself included.

I found the blog, late one night, through an email link to her April 1, 2007 post. The maniacal mess that she created in that post made me laugh out loud. And I don't mean LOL, but the kind of uncontrollable, gut-busting, tear-streaming, soul-cleansing howls that wake your dog and make him charge at you, barking in concern. I've bookmarked that post and refer to it often when food gets too intense and I need to lighten up.

I am not posting about French Laundry at Home merely as a recommendation, although I am glad to do so. Instead, some recent news has piqued my interest, and maybe yours too. As Carol runs out of recipes to cook from the book, she has announced in a recent post her plans to launch a new site this fall. Although she is keeping mum about the specifics while ironing out the details, she promises that it will involve two books that I am eagerly awaiting: Thomas Keller's Under Pressure and Grant Achatz's Alinea, and will go so far as to say: "So, while I may not cook my way through an entire El Bulli volume, I am going to continue to push past my comfort zone to see what I am capable of in some new arenas."

Carol Blymire…taking on Ferran Adria?

Oh baby, this is gonna be good.

strawberry soup

I've been on a fruit soup kick lately. My juicer has been working OT. I promised him a break after this one.

The other night, I made a cold cherry soup infused with star anise and swirled with yogurt. I've never been to Morocco, but that soup took me there. Landed me in a souk in Marrakesh. With each spoonful, the saturated colors of silk and pottery intensified, the sounds of vendors haggling with buyers grew louder, the scent of leather and sweet spices grew stronger. By the time that I had finished, I half-expected to find my feet covered in dust and my house redecorated with exotic carpets and textiles, all purchased at the lowest possible price.

This strawberry soup, perfumed with Riesling and sweet woodruff sorbet, transports me to the Bavarian Alps, on the first day of May.

Sweet Woodruff (Galium odoratum) is a woodland herb
that grows prolifically in Northern Europe. In Germany, it is known as Waldmeister (master of the woods) and is steeped in white wine with strawberries to produce May Wine, traditionally served for May Day celebrations. It's primary aroma compound is coumarin, which lends it's characteristic sweet hay and vanilla flavor. Coumarin is also found in high concentrations in tonka beans; it's moderate toxicity is the reason why they are banned in the US. Fresh leaves of sweet woodruff have only a faint odor–they need to be wilted or dried to release the essential oils. In haste, a quick blast in the microwave does the trick.

Sour cream pearls couldn't be any easier when applying reverse spherification. Dairy products already contain sufficient amounts of calcium to react with a sodium alginate solution (1 liter water + 5 g. sodium alginate). This technique produces stable spheres that remain liquid in the center and can be served hot or cold.

Download recipe: Strawberry soup

parrano avocado pineapple

parrano
avocado
pineapple
rue
lime

Freeze-dried pineapple is like crack. Once you bite into it’s shattering crispness and allow it to fill your mouth with it’s sweet, fruity esters and tickle your tongue with it’s metallic sting– you’ll be hooked. And when it’s just a memory, you will scheme and plot ways to get more. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

Besides eating out of hand, it can be ground into a powder and folded into ice cream, meringue, cake batter, and bread dough for an intense pineapple punch without added moisture. A sprinkling over a finished dish reads like seasoning on the palate.

Every time that I score buy more, I intend to set some aside to play with. I wonder about reconstituting it…what would the texture be like?…would the liquid be flavored? Alas, it never makes it that far. I am weak.

summer

sweet: lobster. corn. mango.

salty: bacon.

sour: lime- watermelon.

floral: kaffir lime.

herbaceous: parsley pollen.

benzaldehyde

                          peach leaf blancmange
                            peach whipped gelatin
                            coffee fluid gel
                            sour cherry
                            toasted mahlab
                            coffee oil

Benzaldehyde is the essence of bitter almonds (Prunus Amygdalus var. Amara), which unlike sweet almonds (Prunus Amygdalus var. Dulcis) contain hydrogen cyanide, a potentially lethal toxin. It is a fragrant volatile molecule and a by-product of cyanide production. Pure almond extract is pure Benzaldehyde, without the cyanide. It is used in the making of marzipan, maraschino cherries, amaretto liqueur, and amaretti biscuits and occurs naturally in the fruits, leaves, flowers and bark of stone fruits. It is the eminent aroma compound in the complex flavor of peaches, apricots, and cherries. The highest concentrations can be found in the kernels of these fruits, which must be heated in order to destroy the toxin. Benzaldehyde is also present in beer (216 ppm), apple juice (294 ppm), roasted coffee (2008 ppm), tomato (8501 ppm), and white bread (40903 ppm). [ppm=parts per million]

The leaves of the peach tree, when very young, taste of Benzaldehyde. As they mature, they take on an unpleasant acrid pungency. It took me several growing seasons to figure this out. This year, I got it right.
The only reason that I know this is because I have a habit of tasting plants as they grow–not just the familiar parts– all parts: flowers, leaves, roots, bark. I do this out of curiosity, not hunger, though it feeds my sense of discovery.
All plants are fair game–be they weeds, shrubs, flowers, or trees–if they are not harmful and taste good, then they have culinary potential. I rely on my knowledge of plants to steer me away from the toxic ones but I sometimes think that if I should die an untimely death, it could be attributed to having put something in my mouth that had no business being there in the first place. I could think of worse ways to go.

I also wanted to tell you about the fun I'm having making molds from silicone, but let me just say… get some. Trust me.

flavor

taste + smell = flavor

Taste is often confused with flavor, but it is only a part of the
equation. In fact, it is only a small part. Taste is what we can
identify with the nerve cells
in our tongues and mouths and is limited to sweet, sour, salty, bitter,
umami, and (arguably) fat. Add to that the sensations of temperature
and texture and you will still only have up to 30% of what we can
perceive as flavor.

The rest of the equation lies in our olfactory receptors, which are
located at the top of our nasal cavity, just below the brain. When odor
molecules pass through this area, they find their correlating receptor.
Once this union is complete, information is sent to the olfactory bulb that is located in the central nervous system.

Of all the senses, smell is the most primal. Animals rely on it to survive; it is how they mate and find food. In humans, it is the most evocative of the senses, acting as a memory-trigger (one whiff of Chanel no.5 and I am 8 years old again, transported to a classroom where my teacher liberally doused herself with the perfume). Through memory and association, smell communicates pleasure (freshly baked bread, clean laundry, roses and lilacs, coffee in the morning) and signals danger (spoiled food, burning, natural gas–which has no scent, but is added by the utility companies to alert us).

Our sense of smell is unique and complex. Scent is detected through volatile odor molecules (also known as odorants and aroma compounds). These need to be volatile, or
have the ability to evaporate, in order to be transported into the
nasal cavity and be sorted by the receptors. This is why non-volatile
substances like metal or glass have no scent. Professor Linda Buck, who won the Nobel Prize for Medicine along with Professor Richard Axel for their work in uncovering the secrets of the sense of smell, stated that "The discriminatory power of the olfactory system is immense. Even closely related molecules have different smells." and believes that humans can differentiate between up to 10,000 different odors.

Aroma compounds significantly contribute to how we detect and identify flavor. They are present in all foods in varying combinations and concentrations. These compounds are chemical in nature and are classified by functional groups. For instance, the principle aroma compound in cinnamon is an Aldehyde identified as Cinnamaldehyde. The aroma of coffee is very complex and is made up of over 800 of these compounds, as illustrated in the flavor wheel. To view a comprehensive list of classified aroma compounds click here or go to the link on the right sidebar.

Even before food enters our mouth, we begin to perceive flavor. It starts with our eyes, which transmit visual cues to our brain. The statement "we eat with our eyes" emphasizes the importance of eye-appeal and presentation. We are programmed to believe that if food looks good, then it must taste good. Of course, if it doesn't, we are confused and let down. But when it does, our instincts are confirmed and the pleasure is amplified. Next, our sense of smell is engaged as aromas wafting from the food enter our nasal passages and are sorted and identified by olfactory receptors, sending a preview to the brain. Our sense of touch is stimulated as food enters our mouth and we experience temperature and texture. If the food is crisp, then our sense of hearing comes into play. The act of chewing and breaking down food
activates our sense of taste and releases more compounds, which are communicated
to our brains and completes the multi-sensory experience known as flavor.

scallop almondine

scallop seared in brown butter
green almonds, four ways
oxalis leaves and blossoms
browned butter rocks and powder
lemon cells

May is perhaps the most exciting month in terms of fleeting seasonal treats. Among these are ramps, morels, peas and rhubarb, but it the relationship between soft-shelled crabs and green almonds that I have been waiting to explore.

When soft-shelled crabs begin to appear, I always buy a few extra for experimentation. My intentions are good, but even then, I know it's futile, that they are all destined for two standard preparations: Spider Rolls and Almondine. When time allows, Spider Rolls–one of my favorite sushi–are satisfying with their contrast of flavors and textures. For a quick fix, I make Soft-Shelled Crab Almondine. I must have a flavor receptor that is particularly fond of sweet seafood bathed in brown butter and balanced with citrus and herbs because I can't get enough of that nutty, buttery, toasty, bright and lemony goodness.

In attempting to translate this dish with green almonds, I realized that their crunchiness would compete with that of the soft-shelled crabs and throw the textural balance off. Sea scallops provide the same sweet, succulent flesh in a softer texture. The hulls of the green almonds were split, to liberate the undeveloped nuts that were sauteed in brown butter along with some of the slivered hulls and slivered, mature almonds. More of the hulls were slivered and half of these were quickly pickled in lemon juice and the other half went into salted ice water. These varying flavors and textures were combined and seasoned with fresh lemon juice and sea salt. The flavor of brown butter was extended with soft, melting powder made with Tapioca Maltodextrin and rocks made from the larger clumps of the powder that were microwaved at full power for 30 seconds. The dry crunch of the rocks provided the missing texture of the fried crab shell. Final touches were the lemon cells, which are easier to extract when the lemon segments are dehydrated, and the leaves and blossoms of Oxalis, or wood sorrel, that provide a sour, herbal note that reinforces the lemon.

This dish satisfies me on a level beyond flavor receptors. It's ephemeralness reminds me to explore and enjoy what is good and available at any given moment…the elusive here and now. Carpe amygdalum viridis!

flower power

On more than one occasion, I have been accused of being a hippie.The finger is usually pointed by my children after one of my long-winded dissertations on the importance of recycling, composting, and energy conservation. I do not take offense at being called a hippie, but I remind them that I missed that boat and had I been born earlier, I would have fit right into a culture that protested war with the power of flowers.

Flowers do indeed have power; they evoke emotions, trigger memories, convey language, and stimulate the senses. The latter is usually associated with sight and smell, but flowers also have flavor.

Roses belong to the family Rosaceae which includes raspberries, strawberries, cherries and almonds, and are all aroma with tender, mildly sweet petals. Violets contain ionone, a flavor compound that is also shared by carrots. Jasmine contains indole, which is also present in liver. Carnations have a distinct spicy clove flavor. Pansies taste grassy, with hints of wintergreen. Hibiscus have an acidic flavor that is reminiscent of cranberries. Daylilies are mildly sweet with melon and pear tones. Chamomile tastes like green apples. In contrast, Nasturtiums are pungent and peppery. Herb flowers usually mimic the flavors found in their leaves, in a milder and sweeter version. Most fruit and vegetable flowers are edible and, in fact, broccoli, cauliflower, and artichokes are actually flowers.

The history of cooking with flowers can be traced back thousands of years. Dandelions were one of the bitter herbs in the Old testament. The oldest surviving cookbook by the Roman Apicius featured a recipe for brains with rose petals. And the Victorians were fond of decorating confections with violets and pansies.

Modern chefs are rediscovering the power of flowers.
In Spain, Ferran Adria uses the flavor of flowers prominently in his evolving collections of thought-provoking dishes. In his Papel de Flores, (Flower Paper), he traps begonias, marigolds and herb flowers in cotton candy, or spun sugar, and compresses it to form an edible paper. In another dish, he covers a pistachio salad with caramelized rosemary honey air and up to 14 varieties of flower petals. Quique Dacosta of el Poblet infuses prawn stock with rose petals and texturized rose water in his celebrated Red Denia Prawn dish. Jordi Roca, the pastry chef at El Celler de Can Roca draws inspiration for his desserts from popular perfumes such as Calvin Klein’s Eternity and Lancome’s Tresor by isolating the notes and recreating them with flavors on a plate. His Eternity dish is made up of vanilla cream, basil sauce, fresh and frozen mandarin, orange blossoms, maple syrup, and bergamot ice cream. When these components are eaten together, they evoke the scent of the perfume.

With a veritable garden of flowers at our disposal, waiting to be tasted and put to culinary use, is it just a matter of time before the consumption of flowers becomes as common as that of vegetables and herbs? That was a question that I recently posed to a chef/friend, who also happens to be a male. His reply and the ensuing conversation went like this:

“that’ll never happen.”

“why?”

“real men don’t eat flowers”

“that’s absurd…try telling that to Adria, Aduriz, Dacosta, and others. Aren’t they real men?”

“no…they are culinary gods.”

So…according to my chef/friend, only girls and gods eat flowers…that’s good enough for me.

spring flower salad
elderflower dressing
almond milk cream

playing with ricotta

Some days, I go to the playground, looking for fun, but find that it is deserted. I can see my good friends, Ideas and Inspiration, lurking in the shadows; just out of reach. As much as I coax and cajole them, they refuse to come out to play.
Then there are days, like today, when they are already there waiting.

This morning, while enjoying my breakfast of ricotta, fruit, and coffee, I was struck by the how the flavor of ricotta mingled with the coffee. I began to wonder if it was possible to unite these flavors before they hit the palate.
Ideas told me that this might be achieved by marinating the ricotta in coffee. Obediently, I brewed a fresh cup and stirred in some ricotta. A few hours later, I was dismayed to find that there was only a faint flavor of the coffee in the ricotta.
I was about to give up hope, when Inspiration suggested that because the ricotta was now a few days old, it had already ‘set’ and was not open to absorbing any more liquid, but that a fresh batch would still be porous. It seemed plausible, and because it is quick and easy, I made more ricotta.
While the fresh batch drained for the requisite 5 minutes, I brewed a fresh cup of coffee and stirred in the still- warm ricotta. This time, after only 20 minutes, the ricotta had taken on a rich brown color and tasted distinctly of coffee.
Before the ricotta cooled, I tried other flavors:

coffee caramel raspberry

Moving to the savory side, I had on hand some gelatin-filtered tomato sauce that I had infused with basil and garlic.
This tasted just like pizza!

I was having a great time playing with my friends (they get so wound up), but I had other things to do (like work). They did, however, convince me to try one more thing with ricotta before abandoning it for the day: ricotta caramel.
I cooked some sugar with a bit of water until it turned dark amber, then stirred in some well-drained ricotta. I had expected it to turn out hard and brittle, but instead it was soft and chewy, interspersed with flecks of curd. Interesting texture…more play for another day.