sweet potato pie

glazed baby sweet potatoes ✢ kieffer lime marshmallow
sweet potato crumble

glazed sweet potatoes

150g peeled baby sweet potatoes, or mature sweet potatoes cut into .5" x 3.5" batons
30g unsalted butter, melted
30g maple syrup
10g dark rum
10 gratings of tonka bean on microplane
pinch of salt

Pack sweet potatoes in a single layer in a vacuum bag. Combine the remaining ingredients in a small bowl and pour over sweet potatoes. Pull a vacuum on the filled bag and seal. Cook in an 82C/180F water bath for 25 minutes. Empty contents of bag into a saute pan and set over med-high heat. Cook, tossing frequently, until liquid has reduced to a glaze and coats the sweet potatoes. Keep warm until ready to assemble.

sweet potato crumble

100g grated sweet potato
8g butter
35g orange juice
35g water

Melt the butter in a saute pan set over medium high heat. Add the shredded sweet potato and toss to coat evenly with butter. Add the orange juice and water and bring to a simmer. Cover and cook for about 5 minutes or until the potato shreds are just tender. Uncover and raise the heat to high. Cook until all liquid is evaporated and the shreds begin to sizzle. Immediately remove pan from heat and transfer contents to a parchment-lined baking sheet. Carefully separate and spread the shreds out in a single layer, ensuring that there are no clumps. Bake the shreds in a 76C/170F oven for about 90 minutes, or until they are dry and crisp, tossing, separating, and re-spreading the shreds several times. Cool completely.

30g pecans
60g flour
15g muscavado sugar
15g malted milk powder
2g microplaned gingerroot
1g salt
a pinch each of ground cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and allspice
45g unsalted butter, cut in small dice

Place the cooled, crisp sweet potato shreds and the pecans in food processor and process in short bursts until reduced to sandy consistency. Add the remaining ingredients except for the butter, and process just until blended. Sprinkle the diced butter over top and process in short bursts, stopping when mixture forms small clumps. Transfer the crumbled dough onto a baking sheet and shake the sheet to evenly distribute the crumbs. Bake at 325F for 15-20 minutes to set the crumbs. Keep warm in a low oven until ready to assemble.

kieffer lime marshmallow

170g sugar
5g kieffer lime leaves, chopped
1g kieffer lime or persian lime zest
28g water
185g liquid glucose (or substitute corn syrup)

Place sugar, lime leaves, and zest in food processor and process until lime leaves and zest are reduced to fine pieces. Transfer contents to a small saucepan and add water. Cover and place over low heat until sugar is melted and liquid. Remove from heat and allow syrup to infuse for 15 minutes. Strain mixture through fine sieve and return syrup to saucepan. Add glucose and heat mixture to 120C/248F (firm ball stage).

67g water
7g powdered gelatin
2g vanilla extract

While syrup is heating, place the water in the bowl of a stand mixer and sprinkle the gelatin over the top. Position the bowl to the mixer and fit with the whisk attachment. When the syrup reaches 115C/240F, turn the mixer on low. When syrup reaches the firm ball stage, immediately remove from heat and begin to pour the syrup slowly down the inside surface of the mixer bowl, with the mixer still on low. When approximately 1/4 of the syrup is in the bowl, turn the mixer up to high speed and continue slowly pouring the syrup down the side of the bowl, being careful to not pour it onto the whisk. Scrape the remaining syrup that is clinging to the saucepan (heat briefly if it has begun to harden) and add to the bowl. Continue beating the syrup on high speed until it is white and fluffy and has tripled in volume, about 10 minutes. Beat in the vanilla.

60g confectioner's sugar
40g cornstarch

While the syrup is being whipped, combine the confectioner's sugar and cornstarch and place half of it in a sieve. Line a baking sheet with parchment and dust thickly with the mixture. Place the remaining mixture in the sieve so that it is ready to dust over the top of marshmallow.
If the marshmallow is to be piped, have a bowl of hot water ready, large enough to insert the mixer bowl, to keep the marshmallow fluid. As soon as the marshmallow is ready, Place the mixer bowl in the bowl of hot water to keep the gelatin from setting, and immediately transfer about 1 cup of mixture to a piping bag fitted with a 3/8" tip. Pipe elongated shapes that mimic the baby sweet potatoes onto the dusted baking sheet. Forming the tapers takes a little practice: start by piping a small amount onto the surface of the marshmallow in the bowl and pulling the piping bag away quickly to form the leading taper. Then begin forming the marshmallows by piping about 2.5" onto the dusted baking sheet and anchoring it with the tip of a small knife while slowly pulling the remaining length into a fine taper from the piping bag until it breaks off. Dust the tops with the additional confectioners sugar/cornstarch mixture and allow the mixture to cool and firm before rolling in mixture to coat all sides.
Alternately, the marshmallows can be formed by scraping the entire mass (while still warm) onto the dusted baking sheet and quickly spreading with a heated spatula to .5" thickness. Dust the top with the additional confectioners sugar/cornstarch mixture and allow the mixture to cool and firm before cutting into .5" x 3.5" batons with a heated knife.

To assemble: Spread a thin layer of the warm sweet potato crumble on a serving dish. Top with an alternating row of warm glazed sweet potatoes and marshmallow. Brulee the top of the marsnhmallows with a torch. Serve immediately.

pork jowl creamed smoked cabbage

The other pork jowl steak was covered with thin slices of Benton's country ham, tightly rolled and cooked sous vide at 60C/140F for 3 hours, then chilled in the bag overnight.

The pork roll had remarkable flavor and texture, like a fine charcuterie— as if the ham had cured the pork from within. It held its shape, even when thinly sliced, until the heat of a pan caused them to unfurl their tails, whimsically creating pork commas.

Whoever said that cabbage is the lowliest of vegetables had surely never seen the Savoy, whose extravagantly blistered leaves look like the velvet trapunto quilts of European finery. The flavor, too, is more refined than the common smooth-leaved variety. And those nooks and crannies? They make great traps for sauces.

With the weather propelling toward winter, I've been working on hearty vegetable dishes that are free of dairy and gluten. In my world, where I'm often feeding people with restricted diets, dishes like these are my Ace in the hole. Cabbage was first on my list with the intention of transforming it into something comforting, yet luxurious. I thought I could accomplish that by saucing the tender leaves of Savoy with a creamy puree of itself, but that wasn't producing the full mouth feel that I was after.
Simultaneously, I've been exploring the process of using cooked grains and nut purees as thickeners in place of refined starches. Refined starches work wonders at altering texture without affecting flavor, but there are times when the whole personality of a food (instead of just one of its properties) is welcome. And cabbage had rolled out the mat.
I pondered the options over breakfast: wheat was out, so should I use buckwheat, quinoa, rice, pumpkin seeds, chestnuts? All were viable, but ultimately, the answer laid before me in my bowl of oatmeal.

creamed smoked cabbage

Adding steel cut oats to cabbage puree gives it a creamy richness, but don't substitute instant or rolled oats or you may end up with a gluey, too-much-Xanthan-like consistency.
If meat products are not an issue, I recommend using chicken stock, augmented with ham scraps for the liquid. Otherwise, vegetable broth, or water, is fine.
Smoking the cabbage is optional, but especially in the absence of meat, it makes a marked difference in the enjoyment of the dish.

oatmeal: 20g steel cut oats, lightly toasted in a dry pan
60g apple cider
1g salt
Place all of ingredients in a vacuum bag and seal. Cook in an 82C/180F water bath for 55 minutes.

cabbage: 350g de-ribbed Savoy cabbage leaves that have been cut into 1/4" squares
              bouquet garni of: 1 bay leaf, 5 peppercorns, 4 juniper berries, 2g fresh caraway seeds or 1g dried
              200g vegetable, chicken, or ham stock
              6g salt
              2g baking soda
Pack cabbage and bouquet garni into a vacuum bag. In a small bowl, stir the stock, salt, and baking soda until dissolved, them pour over the cabbage in bag. Seal bag and place in water bath with the oatmeal (82C/180F) for 45 minutes. When done, open the bag and drain contents, discarding the bouquet garni.
Lightly smoke the cabbage with smoked apple wood chips in a smoker for 5 minutes, following manufacturer's directions. (alternately, use a smoke gun).
Separate 125g of the cooked cabbage and place the remaining cabbage in a saucepan.

cream: 6g sliced garlic
              50g extra virgin olive oil
              125g of smoked cabbage from above
              contents of cooked oatmeal bag from above
              50g vegetable, chicken, or ham stock
2g fresh caraway leaves, or a blend of 1.5g fresh dill weed and 1g dried caraway seeds
Heat the olive oil over low heat and add the garlic. Sweat the garlic until fragrant, translucent, and just beginning to color. Scrape into a blender along with the remaining ingredients. Blend on high to form a smooth puree.
to finish: scrape puree into saucepan with remaining cabbage and toss over low heat until warmed through and the cabbage leaves are evenly coated. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

I toasted some Savoy leaves (after misting them with olive oil) in a 176C/350F oven for a few minutes until they were crisp. They reminded me of the Caldas da Rainha ceramics that I collected in the 90's when they were popular. I was drawn to their realistic depictions of natural forms, mostly cabbage leaves. My favorite piece remains a soup tureen, a trompe l'oeil of a head of Savoy, which I swear that any soup that is served from it tastes better.

The crispy cabbage leaves make tasty edible bowls for serving the creamed smoked cabbage. They can be picked up, folded, and eaten out of hand— no utensils required. Here, they're filled with creamed smoked kale (which works just as well as cabbage), slices of rolled pork jowl, 64℃ quail egg yolk, fresh garbanzo beans cooked with horseradish, and pickled rutabagas.

a living soup

Milkweed is a useful plant, entirely edible in its early stages. The young shoots are a delight when they emerge in the spring. Later, the tender young leaves are worth seeking out, but it's the reproductive parts that start out as buds, then open into sweet-scented flowers, and develop into tender-crisp pods that interest me most.

By mid-summer the plant toughens as it directs its energy into producing seeds. Though the mature pods are too cellulosic to consume, they're beautiful to look at. Pulling one apart, I am reminded of the recurring motifs found in nature: the seeds, perfectly shingled like feathers and fish scales, the 'cobs' composed of lustrous filaments— finer than silk— that unfurl into ghostly flowers to carry the seeds into perpetuity. Genius!

Although I had managed to harvest and pickle some flower buds while they were in season, I thought I had missed the window for the young pods until I found a stand of stunted plants growing in deep shade. The pods must be blanched to draw out their milky sap. I served them as crudites with a kefir-based dip and made some new milkweed (and kefir) converts. I saved a few to garnish a cold soup that I'm excited to tell you about.

All summer long my blender had been busy making raw, green gazpacho-style soups. Packed with good flavor and nutrients, they were a savory on-the-go alternative to smoothies, yet with some prudent garnishes they easily transitioned to more formal meals. Mostly, I made them with whatever was fresh and on hand, with variations of the basic components. Here's my framework recipe with percentages based on weight:

45% english cucumber, unpeeled
20% liquid– water, white wine, veg broth
15% fruit– green grapes, melon, avocado, white peach
8% fat– evo, almond oil, avocado oil
3.5% greens– lettuce, herbs, arugula, spinach, sorrel
3% nuts– almonds, macadamia, pistachio, sunflower seeds
2.75% acid– citrus juice, vinegar
2% aromatics– garlic, shallot, scallion
.75% salt

A few weeks ago, I made what would likely be the last cold soup of the year. I packed the blender with cucumber, nasturtium leaves, Crenshaw melon, almonds, garlic, scallions, and olive oil. I didn't have any open white wine or vegetable broth, but I did have a lot of fresh kefir whey left over from making kefir cheese. Since it was more than moderately acidic, I used it to replace both the liquid and the acid in the soup. In doing so, I realized that I was adding an ingredient that was alive with lactic acid and yeast, and that if given the right conditions (time and temperature), they would be capable of fermenting the soup. After consuming part of the soup, I put the rest on my front porch on an 85℉ day. Four hours later, the soup was notably transformed. The texture had lightened, almost to the point of being 'fluffy'. The sharp edges that I remembered from the soup that I had consumed earlier had rounded out (except for the acidity), yet the flavor had amplified. The difference was like listening to a CD versus a attending a concert; the raw soup was good, but the fermented soup tasted alive.

shrimp cocktail

Shrimp cocktail made its debut on American menus in the 1920's. The combination of ketchup and seafood existed long before that, but the addition of horseradish and lemon was a unique creation for Prohibition; a mock cocktail to open the palate and a reason to dust off fancy stemware.

Gratefully, the ban on alcohol was lifted 80 years ago. Since then, we are not only free to celebrate with a proper cocktail, but cocktails themselves have become a cause for celebration. With the evolution of bartenders into mixologists, the world of potable flavor seems limitless.

Seafood broth in cocktails is nothing new. Forty five years ago, Mott's introduced a blend of tomato juice and clam broth inspired by the flavors of Manhattan clam chowder and marketed it as Clamato. Mixed with vodka, it remains a popular savory alternative to a Bloody Mary.

When looking at the opening courses of a progressive dinner where the focus is on clean balanced flavors, for which sea creatures are so well suited, it surprises me that there are not more seafood based cocktails. In addition to Clamato cocktails, there is Sangre de Tigre— a fierce potion made from ceviche marinade. Though delicious, it nearly blew out my palate. This shrimp-based libation is more delicate; a sweet-sour-savory blend of flavors, piqued by horseradish.

shrimp cocktail
makes about 4 cocktails

Most of the fun— and a lot of flavor— come from the garnishes: sucking the shrimp head, then peeling and eating the body (serve with a small bowl for the shells and moist towellette to clean fingers). The hollow stem of lovage also contributes vegetal celery flavor— it's a straw that you'll want to chew.

10 head-on shrimp
150g watermelon juice
60g coconut water
25g freshly grated horseradish
2 strips of lime zest
pinch of salt

Arrange the shrimp in a single layer in a sous vide bag and pour in the remaining ingredients. Vaccuum seal the bag and cook at 49C/120F for 25 minutes. Transfer bag to an ice bath and chill for 15 minutes. Open bag and strain broth through a fine mesh sieve. Chill broth and shrimp seperately.

for each cocktail:
70g chilled shrimp broth
4g lime juice
24g white rum

Place broth, lime juice, and rum in a cocktail shaker half-filled with ice. Shake vigorously and strain into chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with lovage straw and chilled shrimp.

puffed pasta

When I was first learning to cook, I found a recipe for fried pasta that intrigued me. As I recall, the instructions were: cook the pasta in boiling water, drain, deep fry. Being a novice, I didn't fully understand the hostile incompatibility of hot oil and water. But when I dropped the still-wet pasta into the pot of hot oil and watched it violently sputter and overflow, I at least had the sense to step back and turn off the flame.

I think every cook has a hot oil story, some punctuated with scars. I have those too, but from a later incident. That first traumatic encounter taught me that hot oil is no joke. With new respect, I cleaned up the mess and attempted another batch after thoroughly draining the remaining pasta and patting it dry. It still protested— but it didn't overflow.

I served the fried pasta with a marinara dip at a gathering of friends. Everyone seemed to enjoy it, which pleased me, although I didn't think that I would ever make it again.

But, you see, I was wrong. I have made it again… many times. But only because I learned of a better way.

Learning is about making connections. We gather bits of information and experiences and link them together into something cohesive that we can hold on to. Life's epiphanies— whether large or small— come from finding the missing links.

And so it was, while attending a workshop at The French Culinary Institute with Dave Arnold and Nils Noren that I was given the missing link for fried pasta: dehydrate the cooked pasta before frying. Yes, it's an extra step that adds 4-6 hours to the process, but it makes a world of difference. Not only does the dry pasta fry neatly and efficiently, it also blisters and puffs out extravagantly.

Lots of drama, none of the trauma.

puffed pasta

Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Add pasta and cook until very tender (double the time on the package). Drain well. Spread out on dehydrator trays and dehydrate at 50C/120F for 4-6 hours until completely dry. Alternately, cooked pasta can be spread on a rack or silpat-lined baking sheets and dried in a low oven, or in the sun on a warm, dry day. (Note: tubular pasta may need to be supported with straws or dowels to prevent it from collapsing and loosing it's shape.) Pasta can be dehydrated in bulk and stored in airtight containers for months.
To puff: drop small batches of dehydrated pasta into a pot of oil that has been heated to 190C/375F and fry until puffed and golden. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with desired seasoning or serve with a dip.

amazake strawberry kinome

It was on a blustery winter afternoon that I first sampled amazake. It came in the form of a traditional Japanese beverage, served warm with a sprinkle of grated ginger. Learning that it was essentially just fermented rice and water, I was amazed at the depth of flavor and sweetness that koji had coaxed out of the rice. And there was a richness about the way that it felt in my mouth that reminded me of dairy. It was, I was told, the vegan eggnog.

Recently, I had a visitor come to my home to see my newly remodeled kitchen. Because he writes about food, I wanted to cook for him and was eager to showcase some of the products that I had fermented. For dessert, I made an amazake ice cream based on the beverage, using coconut water for added flavor. It was really an experiment, as I was curious about the texture of churned and frozen amazake. The result was not as creamy as I had hoped and the inherent sweetness had muted to a mere whisper— which typically occurs with freezing. We both agreed that it showed promise, but needed work.

We also agreed that the flavor of strawberries and kinome with the amazake was quite special, so that part of the dish would remain intact.

Days later, I made a new ice cream with pureed amazake, cream, and sugar. It was a vast improvement over the original, but I couldn't help but feel that I had missed an important opportunity.

As someone who cooks customized food for a living, the upsurge of food intolerances is a salient concern. Coeliac disease, lactose intolerance, and food allergies are serious conditions that I have learned to make allowances for. Then there's an ever-increasing number of people who choose to refrain from entire food groups such as dairy or meat, or follow 'lifestyle diets' that exclude white powders and saturated fats. Add to that, the political eaters who prohibit foie gras, veal, unsustainable fish, factory farmed proteins, and unorganic produce; or picky eaters who refuse to eat (for example) anything with garlic or onions, and you can begin to see why chefs are so frustrated— some to the point of choosing to make NO allowances.

I don't have that luxury.

When a guest at a dinner party unexpectedly announces that there is something on the carefully planned menu that they can't or won't eat, I have to accommodate them. No excuses.

The upside is that when you feed someone with special dietary needs a delicious and satisfying meal that doesn't offend their bodies or minds, they are exceedingly grateful. Altruism aside, a happy client is always a boost to the ego.

Over time, I've learned to make adjustments to fit most diets, but vegan desserts continue to challenge me. In a pinch, I can turn to fresh fruit and sorbet or granita, but that often feels like a copout. So I reexamined amazake's potential to add texture, natural sweetness, and moisture to desserts that otherwise rely on dairy products and refined sugars, and I decided that an ice cream was a good place to start. To the pureed amazake, I added coconut milk for richness, rice syrup for added sweetness, and guar gum to improve the mouthfeel. The addition of sichuan pepper was specific to this dish to enhance the flavor of strawberries and kinome.

While I'm pleased with how the amazake ice cream turned out, if I were given a choice between the sweet cream version and the vegan one, I would invariably choose the former.

I'm grateful that I have that luxury.

amazake ice cream ✢ puffed forbidden rice
strawberry ✢ sake ✢ kinome

vegan amazake ice cream

400g coconut milk
260g amazake
20g rice syrup
5g vanilla
4g lightly toasted and ground sichuan peppercorns (optional)
3g guar gum

Place all ingredients in a high speed blender and blend 3 minutes, or until very smooth. Scrape mixture into an ice cream freezer and proceed according to manufacture's directions.

kasu egg

Think you're looking at soft boiled eggs?
Look again.

While making kasu zuke egg yolks, I was struck by how natural the pale kasu looked surrounding the yellow yolks— a visual inspiration for a faux egg. The next step was to make an albumen with the flavor of kasu and the texture of a cooked egg white. After experimenting with various hydrocolloids, the synergy of gelatin, agar, and gelated rice starch produced a convincing (and delicious) fascimile.

kasu eggs
makes 6

You will need 2-part egg molds with a pouring hole at the top. The molding process is a bit fiddly— the first pour should be allowed to set just enough to support the weight of the yolk, but soft enough to meld with the second pour.

1200g water
180g basmati rice

Bring water to a boil. Add rice and reduce heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for 25 minutes, until rice is very soft and tender. Drain rice, reserving the cooking liquid. Cool.

190g cooked, drained basmati rice
280g reserved cooking liquid
60g compressed kasu
6g rice bran oil
5g mirin
4g salt
1.8g agar
1g gelatin

6 65℃ egg yolks (whole eggs cooked at 65℃/149℉ for 45 minutes, then peeled and separated from whites)

Place rice, liquid, kasu, oil, mirin and salt in blender and blend until smooth. Sprinkle gelatin and agar over top of mixture and blend for 10 seconds. Scrape mixture into a saucepan. (At this point, mixture will be thick, but will become fluid upon heating). Cover and heat mixture over low heat until it comes to a simmer. (It is important to keep pan covered while heating as evaporation will cause it to thicken). Quickly pour mixture into bottom half of 6 molds until about 2/3 full. Cover pan and keep warm. Place molds in freezer until barely set (mixture will yield slightly when pressed with a finger, but is no longer liquid. Center a yolk on top of mixture in each mold. Secure the top half of the mold in place, being careful to not disturb the position of the yolks. Fill the molds with the remaining mixture using a small funnel, if necessary. Carefully transfer the molds to the refrigerator and chill for at least 2 hours before unmolding.
To unmold: Submerge the molds in warm water for a few seconds to loosen. Carefully remove the top half of the molds, then invert the bottom halves over a plate until the eggs slip out.

kasu bread

Leavened bread is probably the last thing anyone would associate with washoku tradition. Indeed, when we take a protracted view of Japanese cuisine, bread is a johny-come-lately.

It was late in the 16th century when the first Europeans—the Portuguese—settled in Japan, bringing with them Western religion, science, technology, and food. Although the Japanese quickly assimilated cake (bōlo) and fried food (tempura) into their cuisine, the Portuguese bread was too sour and chewy for their taste and not widely adopted. Nonetheless, it captured their imagination and the word pan (from the Portuguese pão) stuck.

Fast forward 300 years to 1871: the samarai Yasubei Kimura opens a bakery, Kimuraya, in Tokyo, with the aspiration of producing baked goods for the Japanese palate. Kimura realized that making European-style bread in Japan would be challenging. Leavened doughs were a new concept and wheat flour and yeast were scarce. After many failed attempts using alternate sources of yeast, Kimura hired Kodo Katsuzo, who developed a dough leavened with kasu (sake lees), giving birth to anpan, a hybrid of manjū (a Japanese derivative of Chinese mochi) and light, cottony, Dutch-inspired bread dough, encasing a filling of anko (sweet red bean paste). After the emperor gave it his seal of approval, anpan became the first widely accepted Japanese bread.

It was kasu's potential to leaven bread that first drew me to it. I found many references to sakadane, the liquid kasu starter used in the original anpan, but couldn't find a recipe or process, so I developed my own. Using wild cultivated yeast as a model, I made a starter from rice flour, water, and kasu. It took 8 days of feeding and stirring for it to become fully active— a considerable effort for what turned out to be a less than remarkable loaf of bread.

I suppose I could have started over and tweaked the recipe, but with all of the lengthy fermentation processes that I have currently working, I wanted something more immediate. I wanted bread— conspicuous with kasu, and mellow with rice—that I could make start-to-finish in a day. To that end, I made a new dough, adding yeast to hasten the process, and folded bits of kasu and fragrant basmati rice into the risen dough. For that shortcut, I make no apologies— to you, or to myself— because the bread was truly remarkable.

kasu bread ✢ kombu butter ✢ salt ✢ kinome

Kimura's anpan is but one example of how cross-cultural influences inform and develop cuisine by borrowing ideas, processes, and/or ingredients, and tailoring them to the tastes of the people that it will feed.

My kasu bread goes one step further; it closes the circle.

The Japanese were inspired to create a national bread from their introduction to leavened bread via the Portuguese. Inspired by sakadane, I borrowed kasu from the Japanese and applied it to a bread from my own heritage: Portuguese pão.

How does it taste?
It tastes richly personal,
sweet with history,
seasoned with a touch of irony.

kasu bread

starter:
54g compressed kasu
180g water
100g bread flour
.4g active dry yeast

dough:
175g bread flour
1.6g active dry yeast
5g salt
5g rice bran oil
5g mirin

solids:
100g cooked, drained, and cooled basmati rice
40g compressed kasu, cut into small bits

starter: In a blender, blend together the kasu and water until homogenous. Place the flour in a bowl and stir in the yeast. Pour kasu water into center and stir with a spoon to form smooth batter. Cover loosely and set aside at room temperature for 2-3 hours until batter forms bubbles.
dough: Place flour, yeast and salt into the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment. Mix on low speed to blend dry ingredients. With the mixer still on low speed, slowly pour in the active starter. Turn speed to medium and mix for 2 minutes. Add the rice bran oil and the mirin and mix 2 minutes more. Replace paddle with dough hook, turn speed up to medium high and knead dough for 5 minutes. Lightly oil a large bowl. Scrape dough into bowl and turn upside down, so that top of dough is oiled. Cover with plastic wrap and set aside at room temperate until doubled in volume, about 1 1/2-2 hours.
solids: Punch dough down to deflate and turn out onto floured board. With fingertips, press dough into a rough rectangle, about 1/2" thick. Evenly sprinkle rice over dough, followed by bits of kasu. Starting at wide end of rectangle, roll dough in a tight spiral to form a log, and seal the ends. Cover dough with lightly oiled plastic wrap and let rise at room temperature for 1 1/2 hours, or until nearly doubled in size.
40 minutes before baking, place a baking stone on floor of oven and preheat to 232C/450F. When dough has risen, transfer it to a floured baking peel and place on heated stone in hot oven. Mist the oven 3-4 times with water in a spray bottle during the first 10 minutes of baking. After 15 minutes, turn the oven down to 204C/400F, and continue baking for 15-20 minutes longer until deep golden brown. Remove from oven with a peel and allow to cool on a rack.

pickled shad roe

The turning of the seasons brings a new palette of flavors that are never more ephemeral than in spring. For a few short weeks I gorge on newborn onions, particularly those of the sweet Vidalia variety. Grilled, roasted, braised— I can't seem to get enough of them before they're gone.

The season for shad roe is equally fleeting and depends on where you live. Like salmon, shad are anadramous fish that live in salt water, but ascend rivers and streams to breed when the waters warm. Along the east coast, they begin running in January in Florida, and continue through to June in Canada. In Connecticut, where the American shad (Alosa sapidissima) is the state fish*, the month-long season is nearly over.

And shad roe's perishability is more evanescent than its season. I only buy it when I know that I can cook and serve it the same day. Yet, I couldn't walk away from the remaining pair of sacs in the fish case and when I asked the fish monger to wrap those as well, I knew I would be enjoying them days later.

*Want to know your state's fish? Here you go.

pickled shad roe

1-2 shad roe sacs
1Liter/1.05 qt cold water
85g/3 oz kosher salt
56g/2 oz brown sugar
3.5g/½ tsp. pink curing salt (optional, but will give the roe a rosy color)
1 bay leaf
10 black peppercorns
3.5g/1 tsp mustard seeds
3.5g/1 tsp whole coriander seeds
1g/½ tsp dried thyme
rendered bacon fat

Place roe sac(s) in a non-reactive container and chill. Bring water, salt, sugar and sodium nitrate to boil in a stainless steel saucepan. Remove from heat and allow to cool completely. Pour cooled brine over roe. Add remaining ingredients, cover and pickle in the refrigerator for 3 days. Remove roe from brine, discard brine and rinse container. Return roe to container and cover with fresh cold water. Chill for 12 hours.
Remove roe from water and pat dry with paper towels. Place roe sac(s) in sous vide bag. Add 28g/1 oz rendered bacon fat per sac. Vacuum and seal bag. Cook at 64C/147.2F for 40 minutes. Remove roe from bag and pat dry with paper towels. Chill before serving.

pickled shad roe ✢ braised/grilled spring onion
coriander mustard sauce

miso-cured oyster

Oysters can be cured in miso in less than a week. I left some to cure longer, but five days seemed to be the magic number for optimum flavor and texture in this particular batch. Of course, this could vary depending on the size of oysters and the type of miso used.

To make miso-cured oysters: Steam scrubbed oysters just until they open. Remove the oysters from shell and place them on paper towels to dry. If using shells for curing, sterilize them in boiling water for 5 minutes, then allow them to cool and dry. Spread a 1/2" thick layer of miso in the bottom of each shell. Cover miso with a layer of cheesecloth, then an oyster. Cover the oysters with cheesecloth, then another layer of miso, and finally, the top shell. Layer oysters in a sterilized container, cover tightly, and allow to cure in refrigerator for 3-7 days.

miso-cured oyster ✢ kombu aioli ✢ mushroom crisps ✢ ngo om

The assertive flavor of kombu and garlic is a good compliment to the meaty oyster and earthy mushrooms, brightened by refreshing bursts of cucumber provided by the ngo om (rice paddy herb).

After the oysters were gone, we happily nibbled on the aioli and mushrooms.

kombu aioli

6g garlic
3g salt
2 egg yolks
60g rice wine vinegar
200g olive oil
10g kombu powder*

Place the garlic, salt, egg yolks, and vinegar in a blender or food processor and processes until well blended. With the motor running, very slowly drizzle in the oil until thick and emulsified. Add the kombu powder and process briefly until blended. Scrape out aioli into a bowl, cover and let refrigerate for 2-3 hours to allow kombu to hydrate and flavors to mellow. Stir before serving.
* kombu powder can be made by grinding pieces of dried kombu sheets in a spice grinder to a fine dust.

mushroom crisps

small king oyster mushrooms lend themselves well to crisping because of their thick meaty stems.

With a vegetable peeler, shave thin slices of mushrooms by imbedding the blade of the peeler into the cap and dragging to the base. Lay the mushroom slices out in a single layer on a sheet pan and allow to air-dry for 1-2 hours, until their edges begin to curl. Lightly brush or mist the slices with a thin layer of olive oil. Bake in a 149C/300F oven for 4-5 minutes, or until they are golden and crisp. Lightly sprinkle with salt and serve immediately.