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.

planning a garden while hungry

Gardening is, to me, more than a labor of love…it is a form of hedonism.

I live in the country, largely, so that I can garden. My eyes have an affinity for the color of chlorophyll.

A well designed garden stimulates the same pleasure receptacle as a well crafted meal. When planning my own gardens, my orderly side, which is drawn to the symmetry of French parterres is constantly battling my wild side that roots for the riotous chaos of an English cottage garden. Makes me want to send them both to time-out in a calm, contemplative Japanese garden.

NIwa-Mitate

Niwa- ("pure place", Japanese garden)
Mitate- ("new point of view", visual metaphor or allusion)

edemame karikome (clipped shrubs)
red onion mostarda kyokusui (meandering stream)
coconut ishi (stones)
tamari-malt droplets
purple shiso leaves
chive blossoms

TGRWT #8 white chocolate and caviar

Chadzilla is a food blog written by chef Chad Galiano that I always find inspiring. When he announced that he would be hosting round #8 of TGRWT(They Go Really Well Together) and put white chocolate and caviar on the table, I knew that I wanted to play along.

To my knowledge, Heston Blumenthal was the first to pair caviar with white chocolate. I recall reading an article which appeared in the Guardian back in 2002 and being shocked by the combination, but intuitively, I knew that it would work; salty and briny with a sweet, milky finish. Since then, many chefs have adapted this pairing and put their own spin on it. Recently, I sampled Will Goldfarbs version–Indonesian vanilla ice cream with American Sturgeon caviar and chocolate bits at Dessert Studio at Michel Cluizel–and they did indeed go really well together.

Blumenthals version calls for a dollop of caviar atop a thin white chocolate disc and suggests that the whole thing be placed on the tongue and allowed to melt. I don’t know about anyone else, but once food enters my mouth, it must be chewed. And chew I did, and spoiled the experience.

For my version, I wanted to soften the bite of the white chocolate without losing the mouthfeel. I combined creme fraiche (to tame the sweetness) with white chocolate in a 1:2 ratio to create a firm ganache that could be molded into a caviar-filled truffle. Molding the ganache without crushing the caviar was a challenge. Using demi-sphere silicone molds that were filled with the fluid ganache, frozen, hollowed, filled with the caviar, than gently pressed and blended together was a bit tedious, but produced the product that I was looking for. Now I could enjoy the sensation of biting through the soft, creamy shell, the release of delicate pearls spilling out onto the tongue, the play of crunch and melt, sweet and salty–the familiar taste of childhood Easter bunnies with x-rated caviar.

The only thing that could heighten the experience, I decided, would be the addition of a dry, crisp element. Potato chips came to mind, and I taste-tripped back to a dessert that I had at WD-50, in which Alex Stupak studded a flexible white chocolate ganache ribbon with sweetened, dehydrated potato shards. He served this with a white beer ice cream, in which the element of bitterness was mind blowing; a revelation. The whole combination bordered on culinary genius except for the indiscernible flavor of potato in the shards. I really wanted to taste their earthiness with the white chocolate, so I fried up some thin slices of potato, then dehydrated them until they were crisp and sprinkled them with sea salt. Nibbling on these between bites of the truffle added another dimension to the experience. But I have never been one to leave well enough alone…

When considering the combination of caviar, creme fraiche, and potatoes, it was not a leap to add vodka to the equation. I could have just poured it into a shot glass, but the fingerling potatoes were too perfect in size and shape to not utilize them as a vessel. A little dusting of chopped dill and I knew thaat it was done.

Recently, I had a conversation with a chef friend about chocolate pairings. When I mentioned this combination, I saw a look of panic flicker over her face. I assured her that it is good and cited some examples. She wasn’t convinced and asked,"What’s next…chocolate and blue cheese?" I thought about that for a minute and could only smile while I silently thanked her.

fig x3

January is not normally thought of as fig season, but I had about a dozen perfect specimens left over from a catering job. While I was packing up the car, I realised that I had not eaten and my stomach was beginning to protest. I put the leftover figs and some cheese within arms reach for the long drive home. I munched happily, marveling at how perfectly ripe the figs were, and began composing this dish in my head. The thing about serving different preparations of the same item on one plate is that they should each be unique in flavor, texture, and presentation in order to create excitement, yet there should exist some thread of continuity between them–they should relate to one another–otherwise, you will only create confusion and disparity. With this "rule" in mind, I decided on flavors and presentation and made mental lists, but when I went to reach for another fig, there were no more…I had eaten every one. I knew that I could not wait until next fall to execute this dish, so I decided to side track my route home to the store where I had purchased them with hopes that there would be more. I was lucky, there was one box left for me.

Tangy, herbal

fresh fig, trimmed to expose soft interior, marinated in A L’Olivier Figue (great product), set on a bed of selvatica arugula, dressed with figue and marjoram oil vinaigrette.

Salty, sweet, herbal

fresh fig, lightly poached with hibiscus and elderflower, split and filled with compressed ball of minced serrano ham, toasted hickory nuts and fresh marjoram, dressed with marjoram oil and sprigs.

Sweet, tangy

sliced fig dome filled with dolce gorgonzola and caramelized mascarpone set on base of hibiscus soaked olive oil genoise, served with dehydrated rambutan

I think my mailman hates me.

He left a note in my mailbox.
He asked me to pick up my mail in a timely fashion.
I don’t think that I like his tone.

Welcome

Learning to cook was not an option for me.

My mother is of a generation and culture that believed that young ladies should be skilled in the domestic arts in order to be marriageable. I was a reluctant student and I resented being called in from playtime to help prepare meals. Cooking seemed boring and repetitious, but baking, well, baking was what hooked me…measuring, stirring; the alchemy of watching liquid batter turn to soft, solid yumminess…better than a day at the park.

Looking back at that time, I never dreamed that cooking would become not only an occupation and profession, but a preoccupation and an obsession.

Over the years, I have cooked in many capacities: caterer, wedding cake baker, cooking instructor, private chef, pastry chef, and various positions in professional kitchens. It has occurred to me lately that of the hundreds (perhaps thousands) of dishes that I have prepared, only a sad few can I recall having cooked for me. I have always tailored food for the diners, clients, students, chefs, family, friends, and have had to take into account limitations of space, time, equipment, and product.

What if I could cook whatever I wanted with no limitations?
Why not?

There has never been a better time to be a chef. No, I am not referring to the star chef phenomena, but to the heightened awareness of food that has gone mainstream. Even in my little rural corner of Northwest Connecticut, I have access to amazing products: artisanal cheeses and bread, raw milk, grass-fed beef, heirloom fruits and vegetables, and ethnic products from around the world. There are also new techniques and movements to explore, the most exciting of these being the application of science to cooking, aka avant garde cuisine or molecular gastronomy.

A new year calls for a new approach.
I feel like a kid at the playground.