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.

corn pudding

Ever since Michael Pollen's book The Omnivore's Dilemma and the indie film King Corn have exposed the prevalence of the corn products in our diets, the once-humble grain has been viewed through a lens of suspicion. While there is no denying that this versatile and ancient vegetable/grain has been grossly exploited by industrial agriculture and food producers, let us not throw out the baby with the bathwater. One of the great pleasures of summer is biting into a freshly-picked ear of sweet corn, and indulging in a creamy corn pudding.

A few summers ago, I made corn pudding for a client…
Lois (not her real name) owns several homes across the country, including her sprawling estate in the gentrified countryside of Connecticut, where she would take up residence for the warm months. Her reputation proceeded her, not from the success she has attained as a top player in her industry, but from her notoriety as a difficult and exacting client who allows no margin for error. I knew a number of chefs who never made it past the initial gig; some were dismissed, the rest just refused to return. They warned me that I was on her ever-shrinking list of chefs to audition. In my profession, dealing with difficult clients is part and parcel of the job and I was up for the challenge.
Lois did, indeed, contact me, through her personal assistant, with dates and times for the formal dinner parties that she intended to hold through the remainder of the season. Included, was a list of food preferences as well as those that should be avoided. The latter was blessedly short and reflected no strict dietary restrictions or adherence to quirky fad diets. The list of preferences included organic produce and proteins from local farms, as well as specialty items that could be brought up from weekly trips to NYC. Based solely on what she ate, I already liked Lois.
By request, the first menu was to be comprised of refined, but simple country fare in three courses: a salad, a main course, and a dessert. The salad was a breeze– arugula selvatica from my garden, heirloom tomatoes from Waldingfield Farm, fresh chevre from Beltane Farm, and croutons made from Bantam Bread Company's kalamata and rosemary loaf. For the main course, I had decided on organic chicken breasts stuffed with truffled sweetbreads, to be served with roasted corn and wild mushrooms, all locally sourced. Dessert was peach shortcake, inspired by March Farm's fragrant peaches, and the cinnamon basil in my garden, which I used to infuse the whipped cream.
I shopped, prepped and arrived at the estate, ready for my benchmark test. I was met at the door by the housekeeper, Nora, an Eastern-European immigrant with a thick accent and stern countenance, which I instantly resolved to soften. Nora showed me around the kitchen and though she offered her assistance, she kept her distance, watching my every move. I invited her to help me shuck corn, hoping that sharing a task would break the ice and provide a gateway for conversation. As we worked, Nora asked me what the "hairs" on the corn were called. I told her that they were called corn silk, though the dried-up darker parts did resemble short, curly hair, to which she made an off-color reference and laughed. I laughed with her, delighted to have found her soft, raunchy spot. Lois walked into this scene, brusquely introduced herself, and told Nora that she was needed in another part of the house.
Left alone in the kitchen, I finished shucking the corn. As I picked up tufts of silk off of the counter top to throw in the bin, my "waste" radar went off and I took a second look at the soft, pale strands. Tasting the silk, I was surprised to find that it was pleasingly crunchy with a mild, bright corn flavor, and amazed that I had never seen it utilized before. I separated the young, tender strands and set them aside to use as a bed for the chicken.

When Nora returned, I was cutting the kernels of corn from the cobs and I inquired about Lois's food preferences. She revealed that Lois had a weakness for cheese and dairy products, particularly cream cheese, which she honored with the status of being "the only food that I cannot live without". I made a mental note and wondered where I could incorporate it into the menu. Looking at the corn, I linked the two together into a corn pudding, knowing that the cream cheese could successfully replace most of the heavy cream in the recipe that I had committed to memory. Changing the menu at this point was risky, but I understood then that the true test was not in securing a job, but in feeling secure in my abilities as a chef.
The risk paid off…the puddings turned out flawless…the sweetness of the corn balanced by the tang of the cream cheese. Confirmation came in the form of empty plates returning to the kitchen, save for a few strands of corn silk. The server reported that the corn silk had stopped the conversation at the dinner table when someone asked if it was safe to eat. Lois, in true hostess form, had taken the first bite and pronounced it delicious.
At the end of the evening, after the guests were gone, the kitchen restored, and my car packed, Nora notified me that Lois had requested my presence in her boudoir. Upon entering the room, Lois looked up at me from her notes and very slowly and deliberately removed her glasses, folded them, and set them down.
I braced myself.
In an even voice, void of expression, she said, "Don't think that I didn't notice the corn pudding."
I held my breath.
"I am absolutely married to it and want you to prepare it in the exact same way for the remainder of the season."
I nodded.
"And the corn silk?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.
I opened my mouth to explain.
She stopped me and in the same tone, replied "…brilliant"
I nodded again and exhaled.
She leaned back in her chair, softened her expression into what I interpreted as a smile, and continued, "I see that you have hit it off with Nora. She has been with me for over 20 years and I consider her my family. She can be very possessive of her kitchen and does not take kindly to intruders. But she reports that you are very competent and a hard worker. We both appreciate that."
She put her money where her mouth was by handing me a check for over double of the amount on my invoice, a practice which was gratefully repeated for the remainder of the summer.
The following spring, I received an email from Lois informing me that she would be summering in Europe that year and possibly for subsequent years, but would contact me if her plans changed. She also expressed a deep regret over her separation from my corn pudding. I replied, thanking her for her generosity, and sent the recipe. I like to think that Nora is now making it for her.

I've revisited the main course from that first dinner and applied some new ingredients and techniques. In the original version, the chicken was stuffed by cutting a pocket in the breast and fastening it with a skewer. Using Activa allows me to cut out the chicken altogether and use the skin to wrap the sweetbread in a tidy shape. Methocel allows me to omit the eggs in the corn pudding, leaving it extraordinarily smooth and creamy.
I can't help but wonder what Lois would think of this new version.

corn pudding
400 g. corn juice, extracted with a juicer
160 g. cream cheese
20 g. cheddar powder
8.5 g. Methocel SGA150 (1.5%)
salt, to taste

Place 1/2 of the corn juice and the cream cheese in a saucepan and heat over medium heat until cream cheese is melted. Remove from heat and add the remaining juice, the cheddar powder and Methocel. Blend well with an immersion blender, cover and chill for at least 4 hours to hydrate. When ready to bake, preheat the oven to 250 degrees F. and stir in the salt. Fill molds and bake for 10-20 minutes, depending on the capacity of molds. Unmold and serve immediately or hold in a 200 degree oven for up to 20 minutes.

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.

the ritual of ricotta

There are many rituals that revolve around food. Cooking, in and of itself, can be viewed as a ritual; a purposeful act performed in the same way, at the same time, on a daily basis.
Some recipes become so familiar that they can be executed through the memory of muscles and senses.
That is how I make ricotta.

It never occurred to me that ricotta could be made at home until I tasted a freshly-made batch of newborn curds, still warm and quivering. There was no turning back…I had to learn its’ secret.
As it turned out, it is really very simple.

ricotta

   1 gallon whole milk (preferably raw
      milk)
   1 quart buttermilk

   A thermometer is useful, but not
   necessary, as there are visual
   cues that will let you know when
   to proceed.

Pour the milk and buttermilk into a Dutch oven or stockpot with a heavy bottom. Place over medium-high heat. As the milk heats up, curds will begin to form along the bottom of the pot. It is important that they are not allowed to stick and burn. To prevent this,
gently scrape along the bottom of the pot with a heatproof rubber spatula. Do this slowly and gently, so as not to disturb the formation of curds, every few minutes. When the milk reaches 140-150 degrees F. you will begin to see very small and soft curds form, but the milk will still be white and opaque. When it reaches 160-170 degrees F, the curds will be fully formed and the milk will become whey; a translucent, yellowish liquid. The minute that you see this transformation take place, remove the pot from the heat and add 2 ice cubes. Stir the curds and whey gently and slowly a few more times, then let it sit, undisturbed for 10 minutes. Line a colander with a double layer of cheesecloth and set it over a pot or bowl into which the whey can freely drain. Ladle the curds into the colander. Let it drain for 5 minutes. If you wish to salt the ricotta, you can do so now by sprinkling up to 2 teaspoons of kosher or sea salt over the curds, and gently folding it in. Transfer to a storage container and refrigerate. The ricotta is best when freshly made, but it can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

When you see how easy it is to make ricotta, you may want to take it a step further and make a fresh cheese, similar to farmer’s cheese, queso blanco, and paneer. Here’s how:

Heat the milk with the buttermilk as for ricotta, but continue to cook after the curds separate from the whey for another 3-5 minutes, or until it reaches 185-190 degrees F. Remove from heat and proceed with the draining and salting as directed above. Scoop curds into ring molds or a container that is perforated on the bottom to allow drainage. Fill the molds so that the curds mound up over the top. Cover with a plate and heavy weight. Transfer to refrigerator and allow the cheese to compress overnight before using.

blue cheese demythified

I used to think that blue cheese was an urban legend…

In my youth, a neighborhood kid once told me about a cheese that was blue with mold. It was the kind of conversation that kids have when they want to gross each other out, but he was serious. I refused to believe him … I mean, who would willingly eat moldy cheese? Surely, it belonged in the same category as the bogeyman; a tool used by mothers to threaten their children into compliance.

And I was no stranger to funky cheeses. My parents would load their suitcases with oozing, washed rind stink-bombs on their frequent trips to Portugal. So offensive were they, that every article of clothing had to be aired out and washed, while the suitcase itself was immediately banished to the furthest corner of the attic. Thinking about it now, it’s a wonder that they ever made it past customs.

But, of course, I grew up, developed a palate, and came face to face with the blue veined myth. I can’t say that it was love at first bite, but it grew on me, and I quickly developed a taste for it. In fact, I often crave it.

I am fortunate to have sampled many varieties of blue cheese. I count Fourme d’Ambert, Roquefort and Cabrales among my favorites; each one unique, and possessing it’s own endearing qualities. I like to eat the mellower, milky varieties like Fourme d’Ambert, Maytag, and Gorgonzola with marmelada, the Portuguese equivalent of membrillo, that my mother makes every year from the marmelos (quinces) that she harvests from a tree in her back yard. The stinging Roquefort and fierce Cabrales pairs very nicely with dead- ripe pineapple.

On a recent trip to NYC, I stumbled upon a variety that I was unfamiliar with- Mossend Blue from Bonnieview Farms in Vermont, made from raw milk. It looked so seductive that before I even sampled it, I knew that it would be coming home with me.

Having both marmelada and ripe pineapple on hand, I sampled each separately with the Mossend Blue and was undecided. When I put all 3 flavors together, I was amazed at well they played together; the quince forming a bridge, both linking and supporting the sharpness of the cheese and astringency of the pineapple.

I almost always trust my sense of taste and smell, but when I stumble upon a new combination that surprises me, I seek confirmation. In these instances, I turn to the well designed site FOODPAIRING, but could not find it there. Turning to another source, a database of flavor and scent components, produced 2 hits that confirmed a link to these 3 flavors: 2-heptanone and butyl isobutyrate. I love when that happens.

Mossend Blue
quince paste
pineapple
duck confit
frisee
serrano ham foam
sichuan- pineapple caramel

The Mossend Blue is the star of this dish, but the award for the best supporting role goes to the sichuan- pineapple caramel for its sweet, tangy, spicy taste and fruity, floral aroma.

Sichuan- Pineapple Caramel
1 cup sugar
1 cup fresh pineapple juice
1/4 cup heavy cream
1 tsp freshly ground sichuan pepper

Place the sugar and juice in a large saucepan and cook over medium high heat, skimming off any foam that appears on the surface with a spoon. Continue cooking over medium high heat until the mixture thickens and turns amber. When it reaches the soft ball stage (about 240 F), remove the pan from the stove and quickly stir in the cream using care as the temperature of the cream will cause the hot caramel to sputter and foam. Stir in the sichuan pepper. The cooled caramel can be stored in a jar in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks, if you can resist it for that long.

mascarpone and caramelized milk

Mascarpone is a lovely substance…a thick triple-cream cheese that tastes of sweet cream with a tangy finish. It is far too rich to eat more than a spoonful or two straight up, but it is indispensable as an ingredient. A few spoonfuls stirred into a soup, pasta or risotto will elevate it from good to sublime. It makes an amazingly creamy and rich ice cream, tames the sweetness of caramel, and stabilizes whipped cream.

Mascarpone can easily be made at home from heavy cream (pasteurized produces a better product than ultra pasteurized) and tartaric acid (the primary acid found in wine–can be purchased online or at a wine-making supply store). It takes less than 10 minutes to prepare, but it must thicken and drain for 12 hours before it can be used.

Here’s how:

Mascarpone

2 cups heavy cream
1/8 teaspoon tartaric acid

Heat cream in a heavy saucepan to 180 degrees F. over medium-high heat, being careful that it does not scorch. Remove from heat as soon as it comes up to temperature and stir in the tartaric acid. Continue stirring for 1-2 minutes. Transfer to a glass or plastic container and refrigerate for 2 hours. At this point, it should have thickened significantly. Set a sieve over a bowl and line it with a triple thickness of cheesecloth and pour in mascarpone. Let drain for an additional 10 hours in the refrigerator.

Yesterday, I found myself with a fresh supply of mascarpone and a question that I have been pondering: Could mascarpone be caramelized?
I knew that I could stir in some burnt sugar and cook it down a bit , but I didn’t want to swing it that far into the sweet zone. What I wanted was to maintain the balance of sweet and tart, but deepen the flavor; make it more complex. But if I didn’t add sugar…would it still caramelize? Some would argue that the absence of sugar would instead cause the milk solids to toast (as in browned butter), but heavy cream does contain some sugar (16 grams per cup), so I got busy…

I packed mascarpone into a half pint mason jar, leaving an inch of headroom at the top, then sealed it with a lid and band. I then placed it on a folded towel in a pressure cooker and poured in about 3" of water, sealed the cooker and and brought it up to pressure. Worried about the water level, I decided to check it after 30 minutes. (My paranoia about letting the water bath dry out stems from a dulche de leche incident a few years ago involving a can of sweetened, condensed milk in a saucepan and one distraction too many…I’m still cleaning that mess up.) The water level had gone down about an inch, which I replaced, and it was just starting to take on color. I placed it back in the cooker for another 30 minutes. The color had noticeably deepened and it appeared to have retained its creamy texture, so I decided to stop there. As soon as it had cooled, I popped the lid and there it was…the sweet, nutty, toasty aroma and flavor that I was looking for. I now had a product that was familiar in texture and mouth feel, yet more complex and nuanced in flavor to play with.

Heady with success, I wondered what else could Be caramelized. I put every dairy product that I had on hand into mason jars and processed them in the same way. Here’s the results:

hits deepened color, taste and aroma, unaltered texture

whole milk
processed for 90 minutes

heavy cream
processed for 90 minutes

canned evaporated milk
processed for 90 minutes

misses deepened color, taste and aroma, altered texture

lebne
processed for 60 minutes
(formed soft curds that could be whipped until creamy, but remained slightly grainy)

sour cream
processed for 60 minutes
(formed firm curds; texture could not be restored by whipping)

conclusions It appears that the cultured products curdled under the intense heat/prolonged cooking, while the uncultured ones achieved the desired effect. This is just a rudimentary observation…I wish that I knew more about the science at play here. Regardless, I am happy with the 4 new products that I have here. I am especially excited about the versatility of heavy cream and what it can produce: flans, custards, whipped cream and maybe even butter. Back to ~~work~~ play.

UPDATE: Chemistry professor and author Robert L. Wolke writes in his book What Einstein Told His Cook, "the word caramelization should be reserved for the browning of sugar- any kind of sugar- in the absence of protein. When sugars or starches occur together with proteins as they do in onions, breads, and meats, the browning is mostly due to the Maillard reaction, not caramelization."
So. I guess that I should refer to these products as Maillard milk.