epoisses

Epoisses is a washed rind cheese from the village of Epoisses in Burgundy, France. The characteristically slimy orange rind develops in the maturing stage as the ripening wheels of cheese are washed in a progressively concentrated solution of Marc de Bourgogne. When ripe and served at an ambient temperature, the pale paste, or pate, is almost liquid with an elastic resilience.

Epoisses has the distinction of being ranked among the world's most odiferous cheeses; 'rank' being an apropos term. It's fragrance, which can be described as "a loaded diaper that has smoldered in the sun for a few days", has caused it to be banned on public transportation in France. The flavor of epoisses is surprisingly mild in comparison to it's odor; a sublime contrast of delicate, milky sweetness, winey complexity, a salty, metallic sting, and funky fermentation. You will either embrace it or run screaming.

In France, epoisses is traditionally made from unpasteurized cow's milk. The US doesn't allow imported cheese from unpasteurized milk unless it has been aged over 60 days, resulting in a mature cheese that lacks the fruitiness of a youthful one. The most commonly available epoisses in the US is the Berthaut brand (pictured above), made from pasteurized milk. It is reputed to lack the nuances of a true epoisses. I'll have to wait until a trip to France before I can attest to that, but for now, I'm quite content in stinky-cheese heaven.

porcini onion apple

Judging by the comments in the previous post, the general consensus was to take the onion syrup aboard the foie gras train. A very tasty ride, no doubt, but as y'all were thinking liver and onions, I was thinking waffles with syrup.

chamomile-poached granny smith apple balls ✢ caramelized pickled allium triquetrum ✢ fried shallot oil ✢ young spruce tips

porcini-mesquite waffle ✢ delice de bourgogne triple cream cheese

onion syrup

porcini-mesquite waffles

Porcini flour is made by grinding dried porcini mushrooms in a spice grinder. Mesquite flour can be purchased at health food stores. It is made from the dried pulp of mesquite (Prosopis alba) pods and has a sweet flavor and aroma, reminiscent of toasted coconut, roasted coffee, chocolate, and cinnamon.

85g all-purpose flour
20g mesquite flour
10g porcini flour
5g sea salt
3g baking soda
2g baking powder
150g buttermilk
57g melted butter
1 egg

In a large bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients until uniform in color. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg while adding the buttermilk, then whisk in the melted butter. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and pour in the wet. Stir with a wooden spoon to combine the ingredients and form a smooth batter. Allow batter to rest for 5 minutes to hydrate flours.
While the batter hydrates, preheat waffle iron according to manufacturer's instructions.
When iron is hot, place 2 Tablespoons of batter in center of iron to make small waffles, or up to 1/4 cup to make full-sized waffles. Lower lid and cook until steam subsides and waffle pulls away easily from iron.
Makes 8-10 small waffles or 4 large.

asparagus goat gouda

I think I forgot to say… that asparagus sauce?
It goes great with asparagus too.

asparagus
asparagus sauce
midnight moon goat gouda custard

gingerbread goat cheese ham

The birth of this dish started around the holidays, when I picked up the mingled scent of gingerbread and baked ham and thought that they made sense together. After all, we stud ham with cloves and glaze them with brown sugar— not such a big leap to gingerbread.

My first inclination was to go basic: bake a loaf of ginger bread and make a ham and cheese sandwich. Maybe grilled or toasted a la Croque-monsieur. But then citrus season got in the way and it was forgotten.

The idea popped up again when my son, who has a penchant for spice cookies, requested gingersnaps. I happened to have on hand some petit billy, a soft, tangy goat cheese from the town of Billy in the Loire Valley*. I also had reserved a nub of Pop's magic ham, not enough to slice, but just enough to microplane into a soft heap of ham filings. Together, these flavors were a fantastic combination— sweet spice, milky tang, savory smoke— and inspired a different kind of sandwich that befit the season; an ice cream sandwich.

For the ice cream, I took my base recipe and swapped out the petit billy for some of the heavy cream and cut the sugar by half. I tweaked my gingerbread cookies to render them softer and toned down the spices. The whipped rhubarb (rhubarb syrup whipped with 2% versawhip) was added for color, texture, and fruity acidity.

soft gingerbread cookies
makes about 4 dozen 3" cookies

1/2 cup (113g) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup (200g) sugar
1 egg
1/4 cup (72g) molasses
1/4 cup (72g) honey
1/2 cup (115g) heavy cream, whipped
3 cups (375g) flour
1 1/2 tsp (7g) baking soda
1 tsp (2g) cinnamon
1 tsp (2g) ground ginger
1 tsp (2g) ground cloves
1 Tblsp (7g) grated fresh gingerroot

In a mixer bowl, cream the butter with the sugar until pale and creamy. Add the egg and beat until incorporated. On low speed, beat in the molasses and the honey, followed by the whipped cream. In another bowl, combine the remaining ingredients until well blended. Add half to the butter mixture, beating well until incorporated. Repeat with remainder of dry ingredients.
Chill cookie dough until it stiffens, about 1 hour.
Preheat oven to 375F/190C. Roll out dough 1/4" thick on floured surface. Cut into desired shapes. Transfer to parchment-lined baking sheets.
Bake cookies for 6-10 minutes, depending on size, or until edges darken and crisp, but centers remain soft.

*I love the word-play of a goat cheese made in a town named Billy, and sandy cookies in Sablé-sur-Sarthe, both in the Loire Valley. Oh, those ironic French.

artichoke fresh cheese cherry

A plant is a chemical universe unto itself.

Even an innocuous blade of grass produces more natural compounds than we can properly appreciate. Some compounds contribute to the plant's growth and development. Some combine to attract pollinators and seed dispersers. And yet others exist to deter predators and pathogens. These complex systems of chemicals all work together to help the plant achieve one thing: survival.

The artichoke doesn't need to rely on its chemical arsenal for protection from predators; nature has bestowed it with cellulosic armor and barbs for that purpose. But even those haven't deterred the indomitable human curiosity and our insatiable appetite once we discovered that beyond its armament, there is something good to eat inside. Our attraction to the artichoke's buried heart is a chemical one; phenolic, to be precise.

Plant chemistry, simplified
All living organisms produce compounds that are essential to life. In plants, these can be divided into two metabolic groups:

Primary metabolites support growth, development and reproduction. Included in this group are carbohydrates, amino acids, polymers, lipids, etc.

Secondary metabolites are organic compounds of low molecular weight (often produced at less than 1% dry weight) that are not vital to growth but allow plants to attract pollinators and defend itself from herbivores and pathogens, but not from humans. Often, these compounds are what attract us to certain plants in the first place— they define its flavor and aroma. Secondary metabolites can be classified into three groups: Alkaloids, Terpenoids, and Phenolics.

Phenolic activity in artichokes
Anyone who has cut into an artichoke has witnessed oxidation; a reaction that takes place when phenolic compounds are combined with enzymes (through cutting or bruising) and exposed to oxygen, turning the exposed surface brown. Applying acid by rubbing with a lemon wedge only slows down the reaction. The only way to prevent it is to cut off its exposure to oxygen by submerging in water or vacuum sealing. Heating to temperatures above 212F/100C destroys the enzyme.

phenolic oxidation/ reaction to acid— both cups contain artichoke tea; the one on the right changes color after adding a few drops of lemon juice

Phenolic compounds are a rich source of phytochemicals (nonessential nutrients that are beneficial to health) such as antioxidants, flavonoids, and tannins. Artichokes are a primary source of cynarin, a compound that is believed to promote good health, including liver detoxification. Cynarin's ability to lower cholesterol was first documented In the 1970's, and many promising studies have taken place since.

Artichokes are notoriously difficult to pair with wine, thanks to cynarin and chlorogenic acid. These two phenolic compounds inhibit sweet receptors on our tongues, causing subsequent ingestion of foods or liquids to taste sweet. This taste perversion is similar to the one produced by miraculin, a protein found in miracle fruit, though it is significantly more short-lived and occurs only in a portion of the population, suggesting that it may be a genetic predisposition.

Cynarase, another enzyme found in artichokes, is believed to aid in digestion because of its ability to curdle milk. In parts of Europe and North Africa, coagulating milk for cheese with cardoon (a close relative of artichoke) is a long-standing tradition that is still carried out today.

Over a decade ago, while in Portugal, I learned that a popular cheese, Azeitao, is made from unpasteurized sheep's milk curdled with cardoon. It wasn't until earlier this year that I discovered that cynarase was responsible. As artichokes came into season, I began experimenting with their various parts, cooked in milk, with no success— lots of artichoke-flavored milk, but no curds. It wasn't until further research revealed that it is the mature thistle flower that is used to form milk curds that I tried again with the isolated choke (the undeveloped flower). Finally, I was able to produce enough curds to press into a small fresh cheese. These curds were very small, scarce, and soft, producing an impossibly fragile, but wonderfully herbaceous-flavored cheese. I haven't had much luck growing artichokes in Zone 5, but I'm willing to try again, if only to harvest the flowers. Barring that, there are other alternatives to explore— other flowers in the Cynareae tribe that do grow in my zone.

I wanted to build a dish around this very small, fragile, and delicious cheese that would represent all of the interesting things that I've learned about the artichoke. I started by pairing the milky cheese and the tender inner scales and ribbons of vegetal artichoke heart with the flavor of cherries. The ephemeral cherry blossoms hearken the nature of the artichoke-as-flower and whisper softly of benzaldehyde, while a soft gel of Villa Manodori Dark Cherry Balsamico gives the dish alacrity and vibrance. The artichoke tea, made by steeping the outer scales in boiling water, exhibits phenolic oxidation by changing from bright green to yellow when poured over the acidic cheese and gel. The herbaceous tea has a bitter edge that not only disappears, but is made sweet after taking a bite of the taste-altering heart.

artichoke
cynarase-curdled raw milk cheese
Villa Manodori Dark Cherry Balsamico
artichoke tea
cherry blossom

artichoke pizette

After working through piles of tough scales, we arrive at the tender heart of the matter.

Continuing with the artichoke-as-flower theme, rosettes of thinly sliced artichoke hearts were arranged on top of crisp olive oil-enriched dough. I've used a mayonnaise based sauce, knowing full well that it wouldn't be heat stable— unless, of course, it was held together with copious amounts of cheese.
The sauce— which is really a garlic, parmesan, and thyme flavored mayo— also makes a fantastic garlic bread when slathered on thick slices of baguette and glazed under the broiler.

Download recipe: artichoke pizette

autumn leaves

I sometimes find myself out of synch with the seasons.

Like last week when I had to talk myself out of making spaghetti with jalapeno tomato sauce— a simple, summery sauce of barely cooked ripe tomatoes— because it was November.

Or, like yesterday, when I booked a holiday cocktail party and my head filled up with visions of sugarplums and other wintry fare.

Today, the rake calls. It's all about the leaves.

Raking leaves is definitely not my ideal of fun. But like all chores, once I find a rhythm, it becomes meditative. Not today though— I'm too preoccupied with cocktail parties… and hors d'oeuvres.

Cocktail parties prevail in the weeks between Thanksgiving and New Years. To my clients, a few hours of drinks and passed hors d'oeuvres means that they can entertain without the stress of formal dinner parties. There are no expansive (or expensive) menus, multiple place settings, or seating arrangements to deal with— just a well-stocked bar, a tasty selection of finger foods, and a capable staff to serve and execute.

I've seen a lot of hors d'oeuvre trends come and go in 20 years of catering. The once popular notion that anything wrapped in pastry or made in miniature was de rigueur is long gone. Modern tastes favor lighter fare with clean, bright flavors. (That said, I welcome the occasional request for pigs-in-a-blanket and sliders)

Presentation, too, has come a long way. I remember etched silver trays with elaborate floral arrangements complete with trailing ivy that the servers carried around like bouquets. The food became lost in these. Nowadays, I aim for vibrant food, simply arranged on white porcelain platters. When the food lacks visual interest, I don't hesitate to add something to the plate— but only if it makes sense and adheres to the philosophy that nothing belongs on a plate of food that is not edible, functional, or relevant.

As I tackle the leaves, I think about canapes and how they're a fitting model for the perfect hors d'oeuvre.

Canapes cover a broad range of foods that we eat with our fingers. They run the gamut from basic cheese and crackers to the old-school French vol-au-vents and barquettes. In between are smörgås (open-faced sandwiches), crostini, and savory tarts. Their common denominator is a dry, crisp base that makes them neat and easy to pick up and eat, and a moist, often creamy, topping. The textural contrast between the two— dry and wet, crisp and creamy— are a basic gustatory pleasure and primed for an update.

Cheese & Crackers

goat cheese on carrot-beet-parsnip crisps

And as the leaves pile up, I think, again, about crisp.

How to reinterpret cheese and crackers?
Start with the cracker and add flavor.

Crackers are basically flour, water, and fat. Certainly, doughs can be flavored with concentrated liquids or with dried flavor in modest amounts, but these introduced flavors are often muted by the large ratio of flour that is required to produce a crisp product. If the ratios are thrown too far off, we lose crisp.

Pure flavor can be extracted from produce with a juicer into liquid flavor and can be further concentrated or distilled, or the solids can be dehydrated and ground into powder. Potentially, these flavor-packed products can replace water and flour. But, of course, it's not that simple.

Juice is not just flavored water, it contains fine solid particles and compounds. Fruit juices may also contain acids, pectin and reactive enzymes that effect texture. Ground dehydrated solids may resemble flour but do not possess the gluten that will allow it to behave like milled wheat. Luckily, we are not limited to wheat flour— or even starches from grains— to produce crisp.

There are other starches that gel liquids. They are so effective that only small amounts are needed. They don't interfere with base flavors because they are odorless and colorless. The gels, when dehydrated, form flexible films that turn crisp when heated. Technically, these are called glasses.

Unlike raking leaves, glasses are fun to play with.

Ultratex is a tapioca-derived modified food starch that thickens liquids much like cornstarch, but does not require heat to activate. Adding 2-3% of Ultratex to a cold, thin liquid will instantly tighten it into a sauce. Thicker gels (5%) are quick to dehydrate and form crisp brittle films that are slightly papery.

Tapioca Maltodextrin is also derived from the cassava root. It is a mildly sweet polysaccharide. TM is best known for its ability to stabilize fats and transform them into powders. It forms slightly stickier films than Ultratex. When the two are combined, (at a rate of 18% TM to a 5% Ultratex gel) they form sturdy glasses that when baked at a high temperature during the final stage of dehydration (while they are still flexible) they make the most stable glasses, even in the presence of humidity.

Methylcellulose (A types) and Hydroxypropylmethylcellulose (E, F, and K types) also form films that dehydrate to glasses. Methocel glasses differ from Ultratex and TM in that when they are finished at a higher temp (100C), they turn from shiny and transparent, to matte and opaque.

Texturally, all of these additives produce thin, brittle crisps.
Visually, the methocel crisp looked most like a cracker, albeit,a fragile one.
It needed more bulk.
Aeration gives the illusion of bulk without actually adding any.
Methocel F types are used to create and stabilize whipped things.
Problem solved.

making a mold of autumn leaves out of silicone plastique

Juice crackers:

Bring 230g juice and 80g sugar or isomalt (isomalt is less sweet) to a full rolling boil. If the juice is not acidic, up to 10g of lemon juice can be added for flavor and balance. Remove from heat and allow to cool completely. In a small bowl, blend together 6g Methocel F50 and 8g Ultratex 8. Drop the powder blend into the center of the juice mixture. Cover the clump of powder with the blades of an immersion blender and blend until dispersed. Hydrate in the refrigerator for 4-6 hours, or overnight. With a mixer, blend until light, foamy, and opaque. Spread on silicone sheet or molds and dehydrate until film can be peeled off in one piece. Return to silicone and bake at 225F (100C) for 10-15 minutes. Immediately remove and bend or form into desired shape, supporting until it cools and hardens. Crackers can be made ahead and rebaked briefly to crisp.

To be clear, I use the term 'cracker' loosely. These are not crackers in a conventional sense— they lack flakiness. More accurately, they closely mimic the texture of a tuile or gaufrette wafer, but with the pure flavors of carrots, beets, and parsnips, un-muted by starch.

I'm dreading the acre of leaves that still need to be gathered and disposed of.
In joyful procrastination, I've created another pile of leaves in the kitchen.
The irony is not lost on me.

As always, nature inspires.

green beans fried shallots

Emerite beans

fried shallot cheese

potato broth

fried shallot emulsion

pickled shallot

marjoram blossoms

Green beans are one of the most satisfying plants to grow. They're not fussy about soil, sun, or location and they only require regular picking so that they can continue to do what they do best– produce.

For many years I've exclusively grown a french filet bean variety called "Emerite", a pole bean that must be grown vertically with support. This is a trait that I prefer over bush beans because they are easier to harvest (no stooping), they stay clean and don't rot from contact with wet soil (a big concern this year), they produce continuously until frost (bush beans have a short, concentrated harvest), and they require less real estate (a 10" wide x 10' long row produces an ample supply of beans for my family of four).

One of the advantages of growing green beans (or any plant) is access to their various stages of growth. When Emerite is in full production, I pick handfuls of the immature pods when they are only 1 to 2 inches long and briefly saute them in butter and a sprinkle of sea salt. These are a rare treat, resembling a mound of green angulas. Late in the season, I let the beans mature and dry on the vine. Within the shriveled, papery pods lies next years crop.

Mostly, I harvest Emerites when they are 4 to 6 inches long, At this stage, they are still slim, straight and tender, their delicate flavor fully developed. One favorite preparation is to saute thinly sliced shallot rings in olive oil until browned and crisp, then toss blanched beans in with the shallots and flavored oil.

Here, I've made fresh cheese infused with the flavor of fried shallots by heating a quart of milk to 135F and adding a half cup of well-drained and crumbled fried shallots, then covering and allowing the mixture to infuse for about 30 minutes. The shallots are then strained from the milk and the milk is reheated to 100F. A tablet of rennet is dissolved in a teaspoon of water and added to the milk. Once the rennet is added, it should be stirred in gently and briefly as any agitation at this point will disrupt coagulation. Cover the pan and allow to sit undisturbed for 30 minutes. Once the curds form, they are scooped into a ring mold lined with blanched Emerites, which act as a case for the cheese. As the curds compress and the whey drains away, the level of the cheese will sink and more curds can be added until they reach the desired level. The cheese will be firm enough to unmold and hold its shape after about 4 hours.

tomato peppermint

While working with zapotec tomatoes, it occurred to me that the hollow-lobed bottoms would make an interesting case for a filling. I didn't have to look far, as there was fresh milk curd forming in a pot on the stove.

fresh cheese-filled tomato

peppermint pain de mie

black garlic aioli

Nearly every country in the world makes a form of fresh cheese. They vary by origin/type of milk and the process used for curdling. Curds can be formed by acidulation with vinegar, lemon juice, buttermilk, or yogurt. Cottage cheese and ricotta are made from the cooked and drained curds, while a variety of acid-formed fresh cheeses such as farmers cheese, cream cheese, quark, feta, chevre, queso fresco, and paneer are formed from the pressed curds.

Curds can also be formed by the enzyme chymosin, found in the stomach of calves and available as rennet. Chymosin coagulates the milk solids (casein) into a solid mass that can be eaten in the soft-set stage (when sweetened, this is a popular dessert known as junket), or drained and pressed for a sliceable cheese. These were the curds that were forming on the stove and used to fill the tomato. Cutting off the bottom of the tomato allowed the whey to drain while the curds compacted.

Pairing peppermint with tomato was a 'happy accident'. Actually, it was borne of laziness– I didn't want to run to the garden for basil in the pouring rain, so I grabbed some peppermint that was sitting on the windowsill for the salad that I was assembling.

True peppermint (Menthus x piperita) is a hybrid of watermint (M. aquatica) and spearmint (M. spicata) and can only be propagated from cuttings and not from seeds. Peppermint brightens and compliments the flavor of the tomato much the same way that basil does, but with menthol overtones. A quick search confirms that they are indeed chemically linked in aroma.

—————————————–

Immediately after publishing this post and pulling it up for review, I was struck by how the tomato/cheese component resembles a peppermint candy. I promise this was not intentional and I am just now aware of it!

Was it subliminal? serendipitous? a cosmic alignment? complete coincidence or a mischievous peppermint pixie guiding my hand?

I've no idea–I'll just chalk it up to another of those WTF moments that leave me smiling and shaking my head in wonder.

patchouli beets

baby beets roasted in patchouli sugar crust

bocconcino di pura capra

Villa Manodori dark cherry balsamic

I've posted about roasting in a sugar crust before. The technique, introduced by Pierre Gagnaire and Herve This, replaces the salt in a traditional salt crust with sugar. The process caramelizes the sugar during roasting and infuses the contents with the aroma of caramel.

The technique worked beautifully on bananas and though I never took it any further, I always thought that I would like to try it on root vegetables– particularly beets.

Beets were the first thing that came to mind when tasting fresh patchouli leaves and a subsequent sampling of roasted beets with chopped patchouli proved to be a good pairing. The next progression of thought was to bring the two together in a sugar crust.

Taking advantage of the enclosed environment of roasting in a porous crust as a vehicle for aroma-infusing, I incorporated patchouli leaves into part of the sugar. To optimize the meager harvest from my few plants, I limited it to the layer of sugar that is in direct contact with the beets, then covered that with the remaining sugar/egg white mixture.

The beets, when cooked this way, seemed to condense in texture and flavor, like inspissated versions of themselves. The patchouli did not ambush their flavor, but gave them a mysterious edge; haunting them with an earthy aura.

Sugar crust: Mix 3 pounds (7 cups) sugar with 3 egg whites until well blended. Lay down a 1/2" thick base layer of mixture on a silpat. Press to compact. Lay food on top of base, leaving at least 1" in between. Cover with a thick layer of remaining mixture, pressing well on all sides. Bake at 275 F. Test for doneness by inserting a skewer through the crust and into the food. Allow to rest for a few minutes after removing from oven and breaking open the crust.