kimchi brown butter

Winter is kimchi-making time. In the past, I've made batches with cabbage, bok choy, and thinly sliced cauliflower. This year, I'm back to the traditional Chinese cabbage variety.

Although kimchi is not in my culinary heritage, it holds an inextricable position in my family of deliciousness. Another esteemed member, brown butter–though seemingly disparate, has an affinity for kimchi. Linked by dimethyl sulfide, their symbiotic relationship feels like a toasty warm blanket on a cold winters night.

romanesco steak. buckwheat. lamb bacon. kimchi. brown butter.

serves 4

kimchi stock

If your kimchi has plenty of liquid, you can decrease the amount of vegetable stock. Adjust the finished stock with salt and additional spice and acid to make it vibrant.

500g (18 oz) kimchi

125g (4.5 oz) vegetable stock

Puree the kimchi with the stock in a blender. Strain through a chinoise. Reduce the stock by half.

romanesco steak

Cooking a thick cut of romanesco cauliflower in brown butter and kimchi infuses it with a nutty, meaty flavor with a kick of fiery spice.

2 1" thick crosscut slices of romanesco cauliflower, each cut in half

40g brown butter

100g kimchi stock

salt

Season the cauliflower with salt and place in sous vide bag with the brown butter and stock. Vacuum and seal bag. Sous vide at 85C for 20 minutes. keep warm.

lamb bacon

At the restaurant, we get saddles of lamb from Colorado. After they're broken down, we're left with sheets of creamy fat, striated with meat, from the backs. Because the sheets are thin, I glue 2-3 layers together and cure them to make bacon.

4 1/4" thick slices lamb bacon

Bake in a 300F oven until golden and crisp. Chop finely.

buckwheat groats

Buckwheat groats, also known as kasha, are a psuedocereal as they do not grow from a grass. The cooked seeds have a nutty, mild mushroom flavor.

1 1/2 cups buckwheat groats

3 cups vegetable stock

1 tsp salt

In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a boil. Add buckwheat and salt. Stir well, cover, and turn heat down to low. Cook for 15-20 minutes or until tender. Reserve half of the cooked groats to make puffed buckwheat.

puffed buckwheat

reserved cooked buckwheat

2 cups canola oil

Drain buckwheat well and spread out in a single layer on dehydrator tray or on a baking sheet. Dehydrate or bake in a 150F oven until groats are hard, dry, and shriveled. Place the oil in a deep pan and heat to 375F. Drop dehydrated groats into hot oil in small batches. They will puff immediately. Scoop out with a fine mesh spoon and transfer to paper towels to dry. Repeat with remaining groats.

kimchi and brown butter emulsion

Glycerine flakes are a fatty acid ester that is soluble in fat. It has the ability to thicken oils and form

emulsions from fat and water-based mediums.

70g (2.5 oz) brown butter

11g (.40 oz) glycerine flakes

60g (2.10 oz) kimchi stock

salt

Place brown butter and glycerine flakes in a saucepan and heat over medium heat just until flakes melt. Place the stock in a bowl and gently heat over simmering water until lukewarm. Very slowly drizzle the oil into the stock while whisking vigorously. When all of the oil is incorporated, the mixture may look as if it is separating. Set the bowl into a larger bowl of cold water and whisk vigorously until mixture is smooth and stable. Season with salt. The emulsion can now be gently warmed by whisking over warm water.

to finish

Blackened garlic is made by roasting whole, unpeeled garlic cloves in a 325F oven until they are hard, dry

and black. Grated over a finished dish, they act as an earthy and mildly bitter seasoning. Store fragrant tubers such as ginger root, galangal, and tumeric in the freezer and microplane over a dish just before serving to brighten its aroma and flavor.

blackened garlic

frozen galangal

finely chopped kimchi

Arrange a half-slice of cauliflower on a plate. Next to the cauliflower, place a small mound of chopped kimchi. Cover the kimchi with the cooked buckwheat. Sprinkle with the puffed buckwheat. Make another mound of chopped lamb bacon next to the buckwheat. Place a dollop of warmed emulsion on the plate. Microplane the frozen galangal over the buckwheat. Microplane the blackened garlic over the cauliflower and emulsion.

foie brioche macaron

foie and brioche macaron with raspberry, passion fruit and fig dip

French macarons are the stuff that fetishes are made of and empires are built on…just ask Prince Pierre of Paris. Once, you had to travel to the City of Light to worship at its altar. Now, the Cult of Macaron has spread to all corners of the globe.

It is said that the macaron was introduced to the french via Catherine de Medici, though any frenchman worth his almond flour would argue that point. What is known for certain is that the original macaron was a humble cookie, a combination of egg whites, sugar and ground almonds. No additional flavorings or filling.

In Sofia Coppola's 2006 rendition of Marie Antoinette, there is a scene with the young queen and Ambassador Mercy that features the modern, brightly colored macarons. Its interesting that this modern version–a flavored and filled cookie sandwich–was created by a grandson of Laduree, over 100 years after Marie Antoinette's death. Even more interesting is that Laduree provided the pastries for the film.

Initially, the modern version of the macaron consisted of the original almond cookies sandwiched together with chocolate ganache. For the next 80-90 years, the flavorings remained simple: vanilla, chocolate, coffee, raspberry. It wasn't until the late 1990's that Pierre Herme began to seduce parisiennes with his annual haute-couture collections of sexy flavor combinations: olive oil and vanilla, passion fruit, rhubarb, and strawberry, white truffle and hazelnut, cream cheese, orange, and passionfruit, and my personal favorite–litchi, rose, and raspberry.

Nearly all of the flavor in these macarons is found in the filling. The cookies are largely left alone with the exception of food coloring, cocoa powder or chocolate, and in some cases, flavor essences. It is neccessary to maintain the delicate balance of ingredients in order to produce the crisp/fragile shell, the chewy/soft interior, and the characteristic "feet". With this in mind, I had to ask myself if there is any room for play.

The role of egg whites and sugar is fundamental. I've made macarons with methocel–they're not the same. That left me examining the almond flour. I understand its function; it provides structure and texture, but it also makes the flavor of macarons invariable and can be detected no matter what accompanying flavors are used. This, I realized, was a starting point.

As luck, or providence, would have it, I had a loaf of brioche on hand. I saw no reason why finely ground and toasted bread crumbs could not stand in for almond flour.

Macarons are notoriously capricious to make and my early attempts were hit-or-miss. It was only when I realized though the ingredients are simple, the technique is critical, that I began to get consistent results. Precisely following the procedure: leaving the egg whites at room temperature for 24 hours, sifting all dry ingredients, whipping the egg whites just until they hold their peaks, gentle folding, careful piping, leaving them to dry for 30 minutes before baking, ensured the control that was neccessary to determine if failure was caused by product, and not technique.

I am happy to report that both were a success. They came out of the oven looking perfect. The texture is right and the flavor captures the nuances and complexity of toasted brioche. The only question that remained was what to fill them with. As if I even had to ask.

Making macarons with bread crumbs is like getting a new playset at the playground. The potential for fun seems endless:

pumpernickle, pastrami, mustard

rye, smoked salmon, cream cheese

foccaccia, tomato, mozzarella

saltines, peanut butter, jelly

graham crackers, marshmallow, chocolate

oreos!

tollhouse

doughnuts, coffee

piecrust, apple, cheddar

…OK, I'll stop now.

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 lengthwise with the grain 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.

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.

longan

Longan (Dimocarpus Longan) is a close relative of the lychee and rambutan. Longan, literally, is dragon's eye, referring to the dark seed that shows through the translucent flesh. The hard seed, when cooked, has a nutty flavor.

The flesh of the longan has a juicy texture reminiscent of a grape, with a mildy sweet, floral flavor. It is not as sweet as the lychee, making it a popular fruit for savory preparations in the East, where it is widely grown.

The delicate flavor of longan pairs nicely with sake

sweet and salty longan

1 quart peeled and pitted longans

2 cups water

1 cup sugar

1 cup sake

1/4 cup kosher salt

Pack longans into a clean, sterilized jars. Bring the remaining ingredients to a boil and pour over longans, leaving a 1/2" headspace at top of jars. Seal, and refrigerate. Use after 2 weeks.

shiro shiso

sake-poached shiro plum

red shiso fluid gel

sake cream

matcha

A tasting menu is a cogitative journey through a progression of flavors that begins with the prolegomenous amuse bouche and ends with the sating mignardise. Modern menus play with the line between savory and sweet by including elements of each throughout the courses, but there still remains a distinction between the savory courses and the desserts, both in flavor profiles and placement within the menu. The pre-dessert acts as a bridge between the two. This is the tightrope course; it must perfectly balance the fine line between the sweet and the savory. When executed successfully, it makes the transition feel seamless.

I made this dish as an example of a pre-dessert. The delicate whisper of sake, grassy notes of matcha, and the smoky after-tones of the shiso echo the preliminary courses, while the inherent sweetness of the shiro plum, along with the up-front mint and apple notes of the shiso prelude the increasingly sweeter courses that will follow. It could have gone either way: replacing the plum with a protein such as a pristine scallop, would have worked beautifully if the dish was placed at the very beginning of the menu. Alternately, sweetening the herbal elements would have transformed it into a bright, focused dessert.

Side note: For a graphic illustration of flavor progression within a tasting menu, check out the menus at Alinea. The circles are not design elements, they act as a flavor map of the meal:

The size of the circles relates to the size of the course.

The intensity of color corresponds the intensity of flavor.

The left/right position indicates the savoriness/sweetness of the dish.

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

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

green almonds

These are almonds, interrupted. They are harvested while the almond is still in it's embryonic stage, translucent and gelatinous, with a thin, ivory shell. At this stage, the hull is crisp and dense like an under-ripe peach (also belonging to the Prunus family). Later, the hull will turn hard and leathery to protect the developing nut. The flavor is subtle, but distinctly green–grassy, herbaceous–that of chlorophyll, with a refreshing tang.

The first time that I came across green almonds was last spring at an ethnic market that I frequent. I bought a small bag to sample. I ate them all as they do in the Middle East; simply washed and dipped in salt. Their taste reminded me of green olives, and I thought that I would try curing them in a brine. When I went back for more, they were gone–their short season over.

I returned to the market a few weeks ago and was told that they were expecting a shipment "any day now". I had almost given up hope, when I spotted one lone bag, lying in wait on an otherwise empty shelf. I became aware that others had spotted it, too, but I got there first. They were coming home with me…I had plans for them.

smoked salmon sushi rolls

cut into a side of smoked salmon… slice off a perfect thin sheet…observe it's intrinsic beauty; striations of fat and flesh…inhale it's aroma, redolent of smoke and sea…taste it's silky complexity…listen as it tells you what it wants to be….

smoked salmon roll:
4" x 5" sheets of thinly sliced smoked salmon
cucumber brunoise
miso saikyo (white miso)

Smear a thin layer of miso in a 1" wide strip along one long edge of salmon sheet. Sprinkle cucumber over miso. Roll salmon along covered edge to enclose miso and cucumber, stopping halfway. Plate.

avocado roll:
peeled and pitted avocado halves

Place avocado halves on flat surface, rounded side up. Repeatedly poke a 1/2" diameter straw or pipe through avocado, stacking disks of avocado into straw. When nearly full, stand straw upright on flat surface and insert a 1/2" dowel into top of straw, pressing firmly to compress avocado. Line up edge of straw next to the top edge of salmon roll on plate. Push with dowel to extrude avocado roll while pulling away straw. Trim ends to align with salmon roll.

sushi and tabiko roll:
2 cups whole milk
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1/4 cup raw sushi rice
rice wine vinegar
mirin
tabiko

Place milk, salt and sugar in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Stir in rice, cover, and lower heat to a simmer. Cook until rice is very tender, about 25-30 minutes. Puree mixture while hot, then press through a tamis. Allow mixture to come to room temperature, then season with vinegar and mirin, balancing the flavor, but leaving it assertive, as it will mute when chilled. Line a 3/4" diameter cylindrical mold with acetate. Fill with rice mixture, taking care to not leave air pockets. Wrap cylinder in plastic wrap to seal ends, then freeze just until firm enough to unmold. Unmold cylinder and roll in tabiko to completely cover. Set on plate next to avocado roll and trim ends. Place plate in refrigerator to allow sushi roll to thaw and soften.

furikake:
2 sheets toasted nori, crumbled
1 Tblsp toasted sesame seeds

Combine nori and sesame seeds. When ready to serve, lay a strip on plate next to unrolled edge of salmon.