Category: pork
cedar pork belly
bacon egg pineapple
Y'all must be tired of this croquant thing by now. I've had fun exploring the versatility of crispy ground fat melded with isomalt. And I haven't even delved into pork crackling territory, but with the changing season comes a new palette of flavors and inspiration. It's time to move on…
french toast bacon
custard appareil in order to soak it through to the core.(This technique may look familiar if you've ever refilled your own ink cartridge). After being baked in a moderate oven, the sides are brushed with melted butter and coated with powdered bacon croquant. A quick sear on all sides in a dry, non-stick pan produces a crisp, bruleed bacon crust. Ice cream, flavored with maple sugar and syrup, deliciously contrasts creamy with crisp and cold with hot.
pork peanut peach poblano
3 lbs. pork belly
To make crispy thin sheets: Cut very thin slices of raw pork belly (this is easiest when partially frozen). Lay them out on a sheet pan, slightly overlapping, and lightly sprinkle with salt. Cover the slices with a smaller sheet pan and weigh it down with a heavy skillet. Place in a preheated 250F. oven until they have crisped and taken on a light golden color.
melon soup
The temperature hovers around 90 degrees on a hot and hazy afternoon in July. The oppressive humidity makes her skin feel clammy and her hair frizz. She stands over a grill, laying down pieces of halibut, their skin sizzling on contact with the hot grates. The heat from the flames rise and sting her face and hands, making her exposed flesh feel tight and sunburned.
Less than 30 feet away, a group of children splash in a pool. The adults sit around a table in the shade of a pergola. Their conversation is languid, flagging in the heat. Why aren’t they in the pool? If given the choice, that’s where she would be.
In the shallow end of the pool, the children play a raucous game of tag. Marco? Polo! She fixates on the way their hair drapes over their heads like sleek curtains. Wet. Cool. Refreshing drops fall on their shoulders and trail down their backs.
In the deep end, a solitary boy lays floating on his back. His body is slack and motionless, his expression tranquil. He bobs in the wake from the game, an occasional wave laps onto his face. Unresponsive, he appears transcended, no longer earthly in his state of weightlessness. Suspended in Zero Gravity, oblivious to heat.
She thinks of excuses to walk by the pool, closer than she ought to, and pretend to fall in. They would come running, concerned that she is hurt, put out at her clumsiness, worried that she may not be able to finish preparing their lunch. They would offer her a dry towel and a change of clothes. She would refuse, unwilling to part with the relief provided by her cool, wet clothing.
A flare-up at the back of the grill diverts her attention to the fish. She lifts a piece to check the skin for crispness. She brushes the tops with fragrant basil oil and seasons them with garlic-infused sea salt. She flips them over, adjusts the heat, and checks her watch.
In the shade of an oak tree, she reaches into a cooler and pulls out chilled soup bowls, laying them out in rows on the staging table. She lifts the lid off a cambro and is assaulted by the scent of nectar rising from the cantaloupe juice that she had extracted earlier. With a ladle, she parts the foamy raft that floats on the top and dips into the bottom for the clear juice. A full ladle is tipped into each bowl, followed by a spoonful of foam. She uncovers another cambro filled with rectangular planks of cantaloupe macerated in reduced Madeira. She wraps each piece with thin strips of Serrano ham, hiding a tender, young sage leaf within the folds.
Glancing at her watch, she works quickly, moving the soup bowls onto a service tray and applies the final touches. She doesn’t allow herself to be distracted by the swimming pool, but she is powerless to stop the images of a melon pool that is forming in her mind. She would build the walls out of gelled melon juice and fashion a liner from thin slices of the ham. She would fill the pool with melon juice and foam.Yes, it would work, she decides.
The server appears at her side, mopping his brow with a napkin. She notices that his shirt is drenched in sweat and she can see through to the tattoo on his upper back.
She asks wryly: Did you go for a dip?
No, but I’m tempted.
Yea, me too.
She smiles and hands him the tray.
ceviche
bbq pulled pork
Uncle Willie’s is a small restaurant in Waterbury, Connecticut that features "real down home pit bbq". It is an unassuming place, located in a strip mall and the decor is nondescript. The food is the real draw there and has garnered it many accolades; among them, Jane and Michael Stern’s proclamation "one of America’s top ten barbecue restaurants". Those are some big shoes to fill for a bbq joint in the Northeast, but Uncle Willie’s not only fills them, but runs triathlons. In addition to their bbq, which is cooked for 12-18 hours over oak and hickory, they offer award-winning fried chicken and volcanic wings. I go there for the "like velvet" pulled pork–deeply flavored, sensual, complex with the mysteries of smoke–it is the stuff that elevates pork to mythical heights.
pulled pork
ancho pomegranate bbq sheet
fried coleslaw
trumpet mushroom fries
The pulled pork that I make at home does not even try to compete with Uncle Willie’s, but it is satisfying nonetheless. I rub pork shoulder with a blend of dried herbs and spices and cook it long and slow in the oven. While it is still warm, it lends itself to compression, as I’ve done here. When tightly wrapped in plastic, the unctuous juices and fat will bind the shreds into a compact shape, which then releases with the pull of a fork.
The sauce is made from a butterscotch and vinegar base, to which I added pomegranate molasses and ground ancho chilies that were reconstituted in OJ. The balance of flavors hit the right notes: caramelized sweetness up front, fruit and acid roll over the tongue, grand finale of heat and spice kick in at the back. I had intended to turn this into a fluid gel, so I added agar, but then decided to present it as a sheet. The agar allows it to be heated.
The fried coleslaw brought in the elements of my favorite way to enjoy pulled pork at Uncle Willie’s–the Carolina pork on a bun. Can you guess what makes it work?
I’ll be glad to dish if anyone can answer this riddle:
What can you add to something to make it lighter in weight and lesser in mass?
hint: it was added to a component of this dish.
