autumn bbq sauce

Autumn is a great time to fire up the grill. Not for the flash-in-the-pan type of grilling, but for low-and-slow, smoke-licked barbecue. The aroma alone will cause you to linger over yard work, drive your dog into a frenzy, and you'll meet neighbors you never knew you had.

Outdoor cooking in autumn is an entirely different sensory experience than in summer. With a seasonal bbq sauce to finish it off, it tastes just as unique.

autumn bbq sauce
Bbq sauce is not about pure clean flavor—it's a potpourri of smoky, savory, sweet and piquant. This sauce gets its acidity from sumac. If not available, substitute 50g (3 Tblsps) cider vinegar for the sumac berries.

12g (1 Tblsp) vegetable oil
180g (1 medium) sweet onion, chopped
12g (2 medium cloves) garlic, chopped
270g (10 oz) winter squash, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
30g (1 oz) whole ancho chilies, cleaned of stems and seeds, torn into large pieces
2 small chipotles, coarsely chopped
2g (1 tsp) smoked paprika
2g (1 tsp) five spice powder
5g (1 tsp) kosher salt
450g (2 cups) apple cider
180g (3/4 cup) pomegranate juice
50g (3 Tblsps) soy sauce
375g (1 3/4 cups) boiling water
40g (1/2 cup) sumac berries
50g (3 Tblsps) maple syrup

Heat vegetable oil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onions, sauté 3 minutes, or until golden. Add garlic and squash, continue to sauté until they take on color, about 3 minutes more. Add anchos, chipotles, paprika, five spice, and salt. Stir until well blended. Add cider, pomegranate juice, and soy sauce. Stir until mixture comes to a boil. Lower heat to maintain a simmer, cover and cook for 15-20 minutes until vegetables are very tender. Let cool slightly and scrape mixture to a blender. Blend until smooth. Transfer mixture back to saucepan.
Place sumac berries in a heat resistant bowl and pour boiling water over. Allow to infuse for 5 minutes. Strain, first through a sieve to remove berries, then through a micro filter or several layers of cheesecloth to remove fine hairs. Add infusion to mixture in pan along with maple syrup.
Return pan to stove and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, for about 10 minutes, or until mixture is reduced, darker in color, and glossy. Remove from heat and allow to cool. Pack into jars or storage containers. Seal and refrigerate. Makes about 3 cups.

crispy lemon verbena-infused sticky rice
sumac-brined pulled pork • autumn bbq sauce

sumac

Sumac is often regarded with fear and suspicion because of its toxic namesake— poison sumac. Caution should always be exercised when dealing with harmless plants that have harmful counterparts, but in this case, these two plants are distinctly different in appearance. The surest way to tell them apart is by the color of their drupes: poison sumac (Toxicodendron vernix) sports hanging clusters of white berries, while harmless varieties (Rhus) display erect panicles of brick-red berries.

The variety that I'm most familiar with, Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina), is native to northeastern US and Canada. At this time of year— with the leaves nearly gone and the silvery splayed branches exposed— it's easy to see where it gets its name.

Culinarily, sumac has a long history in the Middle East and along the Mediterranean, where it is ground and used in powdered form to add sour notes to mezze and meat dishes. A popular seasoning, Za'tar, is a blend of thyme, sesame seeds, and sumac.

In North America, sumac is rarely used outside of ethnic dishes, although it was widely used by indigenous people to make a sour beverage similar to lemonade. The late Euell Gibbons, who introduced Americans to wild foods, was very fond of the beverage and dubbed it Rhus-ade. There is a story that tells of his use of an old washing machine exclusively purposed for Rhus-ade, in which he made large batches by loading the tub with sumac panicles, running them through a cold water cycle and catching the liquid as it drained.

Sumac has little aroma and a flavor that can be almost entirely defined as "sour"— largely due to malic acid, and, to a lesser degree, citric and tatric acids. The acids are concentrated in the tiny hairs that cover the berries and are water soluble. Most recipes that I've seen recommend cold water infusions, warning that hot water draws out the undesirable tannins. This, I assume, is true when using the panicles where the berries are still attached to the stems, as the bark and leaves are richly tannic. Historically, sumac was used to tan hides and is still used today to produce high quality leathers such as Morocco and Cordovan.
To test flavor concentration in various temperatures of infusion, I made three controls of just berries and one with berries still attached to the stem. All were strained after 3 minutes, then chilled for 30 before tasting.

sumac-water infusions, left to right:

berries in cold (5C/40F) water— faint color, bright flavor, pleasant acidity, no aroma
berries in warm (38C/100F) water— pale color, bright flavor, pleasant acidity, faint aroma
berries in hot (90C/200F) water—medium color, bright flavor, slightly sharper acidity, faintly musky, faint cider vinegar aroma.
panicles in warm (38C/100F) water— faint color, less bright flavor, slightly less acidity, no aroma

In conclusion, I favored the hot water infusion. It was barely perceptively more acidic— which suggests that higher temperature does not extract more acid (wish I had ph strips to know for sure), but heat seemed to draw aroma from the sumac and coax out more of its essence.

A sweet and sour syrup is a useful thing to make with sumac.

sumac syrup

2 parts water
1 part sugar
1 part sumac berries

Measure quantities by weight. Bring the water and sugar to a boil. Pour over sumac berries in a heat resistant vessel. Allow to infuse for 5 minutes. Strain, first through a sieve to remove berries, then through a micro filter or several layers of cheesecloth to remove fine hairs. When cool, bottle and store in refrigerator.

And, a cocktail is a useful thing to make with a sweet and sour syrup.

sumac-lemongrass vodka sour

2 parts lemongrass-infused vodka
1 part sumac syrup
ice
fresh lemongrass stalks

Pack a cocktail shaker with ice. Add vodka and syrup. Shake. Strain into tall glass. garnish with lemongrass stalk.

lime basil tomato martini

There is transient beauty in a dying garden; an intimacy that is gained by observing its natural progression.

Looking around at the tracery of brittle stems, shriveled leaves, and the determination of fruit clinging to withering vines, I see the loveliness of imperfection, the quiet dignity and grace, the stamp of passing time.
The Japanese call this wabi-sabi.
I call it the poetry of decay.

There is, however, nothing poetic about cleaning up all of this decay. It's hard work. It merits the reward of a libation.

It seems that anything can be called a martini these days. I'm not a purist, but to me, a martini is not defined by the vessel that it's served in, but by the inclusion of gin and vermouth. Beyond that, any added flavor is fair game.

lime basil tomato martini

2 oz. lime basil-infused gin, chilled
1/2 oz. dry vermouth, chilled
1/2 oz. filtered tomato water, chilled
2 cocktail tomatoes, speared on a sprig of basil

Place liquids in chilled cocktail shaker with 2 cubes of ice. Shake and strain into chilled martini glass. Garnish with cocktail tomatoes.

To make lime basil infused gin: Pack an isi whipper with fresh lime basil that has been lightly crushed. Half-fill the canister with gin. Cover and charge with 1 N2O cartridge. Shake slowly for 1 minute. Rapidly discharge gas. Uncover and allow to stand for 3 minutes before straining. Chill.

To make tomato water: Cut Ripe tomatoes in half horizontally. Set a sieve over a bowl and squeeze out the seed sacs and liquid from tomato halves. Reserve the tomato flesh for another use (if you peel the tomatoes beforehand, the flesh can be diced into concassé). Press on the solids in the sieve to extract as much liquid as possible. Pass the liquid through a micro filter or a coffee filter, without pressing, to produce clear tomato water. Alternately, the sieved liquid can be allowed to stand until the solids settle to the bottom, and the clear liquid can be spooned from the top.

To make cocktail tomatoes: Cut a small, shallow slit in the stem ends of cherry tomatoes (I used Sungolds and Sweet 100s). Drop them into a pot of boiling water for 5 seconds, or until the skins rip open. Immediately remove to a bath of ice water. Slip the skins off each tomato and layer them in a sterilized glass jar with coarse salt (1 teaspoon per pint). Pour in enough dry vermouth to cover the tomatoes by 1/2". Let the tomatoes cure in the refrigerator for 2 days before using.

gouda fries

One of the things that I like about the Parmesan pasta is its versatility. Because there's no starch to cook through, it just needs to be heated enough for the methocel to gel and the cheese to fuse. This means that it can be cooked directly in a sauce, braise, or roasted. I assume that it can also be grilled or deep-fried, although I've tried neither. Cut into batonnets and pan-fried in a nonstick skillet, they form a thin, crisp shell around a soft melted center.

Curiously, the recipe only works with Parmesan. Even other hard cheeses, like an aged Pecorino, causes it to lose its definition, turning into puddles of melted cheese. I've found that the problem can be solved with the addition of a relatively small amount of starch. Both cornstarch or potato starch will work and still keep it gluten free, though I prefer the flavor and lightness of rice flour.

gouda fries

75g water

3g methocel SGA150

112g grated aged gouda

40g rice flour

Add methocel to water and disperse with immersion blender. Chill solution for 4 hours to hydrate.

In a bowl, toss together the gouda and rice flour until well blended. Drizzle 64g of methocel solution over mixture in bowl. Stir mixture until it forms a uniform dough.

Turn dough out onto a sheet of plastic wrap. With fingers, pat into a rough rectangle, about 2cm thick. Cover dough with another sheet of plastic wrap. With a rolling pin, roll out to even 1cm thickness. Remove plastic wrap and cut dough into 1cm x 1cm x 8cm batonnets.

Heat a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Lightly grease the bottom with butter. When the butter sizzles and begins to brown, add the batonnets to the pan, turning until they are evenly brown and crisp on all sides. Serve immediately or hold in a warm oven.

gouda fries

peach ketchup

lovage

peach ketchup

peach ketchup

2250g (5 lbs) peach puree (see below)
500g (17.5oz/2.5 cups) brown sugar
432g (15.25 oz/2 cups) cider vinegar
6g (1 Tblsp) ground ginger
2g (1/2 tsp) ground cloves
2g (3/4 tsp) fresh grated nutmeg
50g (2 1/2 Tblsps) shiro miso

To make peach puree: wash 3 kilos (about 6.5 lbs) of ripe peaches. Cut each in half lengthwise, remove and discard the pit and lay them out, cut-side down, in a single layer on silpat or parchment-lined baking sheets. Bake in 350F/176C oven for about 20 minutes or until skins wrinkle and they begin to release liquid. Remove from oven and allow to rest until they are just cool enough to handle. Slip the skins off the peach halves and transfer to a food processor. Save the clear, flavorful juices for another use (I froze mine in ice cube trays to add to iced tea). Process the peaches in batches to make a smooth puree.

Place all of the ingredients in a large bowl and whisk together until well blended. Pour into a large roasting pan (about 30.5cm x 40.5cm/16"x12"). Bake in a 149C/300F oven for 2 1/2 to 3 hours, until it has reduced by nearly half, deepened in color, and the flavor is rounded and balanced.
Wash and sterilize seven 1/2-pint canning jars. Pack them with the hot ketchup, leaving 1/2" headspace at the top and seal tightly. Fit a deep pot with a rack, or place a folded dishtowel at the bottom. Place the sealed jars into the pot and add boiling water to come halfway up the sides of the jars. Set pot over medium-high heat and process the jars in boiling water for 15 minutes. Carefully remove the hot jars from pot and allow to cool completely. Label and store for up to a year.

parmesan pasta

I developed this pasta analog last year for a client who was diagnosed with Celiac disease.
It contains no gluten— only Parmesan, water, and methylcellulose.
The recipe was featured in an article about Molecular Gastronomy written by Peter Barrett for Chronogram Magazine.
You can find the recipe here.

tomato milk and cornflakes

More bottom-of-the-bowl goodness: tomato milk.
Tomato milk is the lovely elixir that occurs when tomatoes mingle with bufala mozzarella and basil.
It is liquid essence.

Late-summer native corn has no peer.
When we're not eating it straight off the cob, I'm juicing it for sauces and soups.
As is often the case when juicing vegetables, the remaining pulp is dry, flavorless fiber that is discarded. A wonderful by-product of juicing just-picked corn is that the pulp is juicy, tender, and full of flavor.

corn flakes

Note:It is important to use the pulp from corn that has been juiced on the same day that it is picked, before the sugars convert to starch and the pellicle toughens.

After juicing corn kernels, remove the pulp from the juicer basket and saute it over medium heat with 1 Tablespoon of butter for each cup of pulp until it just begins to brown. Season with salt and scrape pulp onto a baking sheet that has been lined with silpat. Compress corn pulp into a 1/4" thick even layer, using fingers or a spatula. Dehydrate at 65C/150F for 2-3 hours or until uniformly dry. Break off a segment of dried pulp and gently crumble into flakes with hands, letting flakes fall back onto silpat. Repeat with remaining dried pulp. Spread flakes evenly on silpat and bake in 82C/180F oven for 30 minutes-1 hour, until crisp and lightly toasted.

potatoes halibut garlic

earthy potatoes the color of an Aegean sky
silken paint spread on a porcelain canvas

piquant bulbils strewn across a Skordalia triptych
like stray pearls from a necklace that has come undone

Poseidon offers fish from the depths of a torrid ocean of oil
they emerge blistered and weightless as ghosts

caught up in the fantasy I imagine
[only for a moment] that I've made something new
something original

foolish me it's only fish and chips

skordalia

200g red bliss potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
200g purple potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2" dice
100g extra virgin olive oil
7g garlic, thickly sliced
salt
50g french bread, trimmed of crust and soaked in milk
25g white wine vinegar
25g red wine vinegar
garlic bulbils

Place the red bliss potatoes in a bowl and drizzle with 10g of olive oil. Add half of the garlic and a sprinkle of salt. Toss well, then pack into a bag and vacuum seal. Repeat with purple potatoes. Sous-vide at 85C/185F for 45-60 minutes or until very tender when pressed.
Empty the contents of the red bliss potatoes into food processor and add half of the remaining olive oil. Process until smooth. Squeeze excess milk from bread and add to processor along with white vinegar. Process until smooth and fluid, adding some of the milk if too thick. Season with salt. Repeat with purple potatoes, using the remaining ingredients and the red vinegar.
To serve, screen the skordalia through a stencil onto plates or serve in separate bowls. Sprinkle garlic bulbils over top.

halibut crisps

115g halibut, cut against the grain into 1/4" thick slices
rice flour
salt
peanut oil for deep frying

Season halibut with salt on both sides. Lay out a sheet of plastic wrap on a flat surface. Cover with a thick dusting of rice flour. Place a slice of halibut over top of rice flour and generously dust top with additional flour. Cover with another sheet of plastic wrap and pound until paper-thin, adding more rice flour if necessary. Repeat with remaining fish slices. Cut pounded slices into 2" discs with round cutter.
Heat a pot of oil for deep frying to 190C/375F. Fry discs for 1-2 minutes, or until crisp but still pale.
Serve with skordalia. If desired, sprinkle with dehydrated, pulverized kalamata olives and cinnamon basil stems.

the simple charm of wild carrots

A new attitude is really just a change in perception. It's what makes one man's rags another man's riches. It's how a weed becomes a charming flower.

And, yes, the wild carrot has many charms.

Take, for instance, one of its common names: Queen Anne's lace.

OK, maybe you have to be a girl (or an Anglophile) to appreciate that one.

And then there's the flowers, all lacy and white, but they can be any color you like. If you put the cut stems in water stained with food color, the blossoms will change color right before your eyes. They're chameleons that way.

What it doesn't have, at this stage, is a lot of edible parts. But because it's so aromatic, it has plenty of extractable flavor.

Simple infusions are one way to capture the flavor. In these very busy days of summer, simple is good.

And it doesn't get more simple than this. The only hard part is the waiting.

I picked my first cucumber and serrano pepper from the garden on the day that the vinegar was ready. It made sense to toss them together in a light salad. Cool cucumbers and hot peppers are a nice contrast.

I let the syrup infuse for just over a week, until the wild carrot flavor was good and concentrated. I have lots of fun, simple plans for this syrup. One of them is to drizzle it over grilled carrots: wild carrot-candied carrots.

But since the cucumbers are coming in fast and furious, my attention went back to them. This time, I pickled slices of the cucumber in the vinegar, spiked with serrano, then topped them with a dollop of syrup, whipped with 5% versawhip. The whipped syrup looks like a rich whipped cream, but with pure, clean flavor and a lightness that cream cannot imagine.

I served the sweet-tart-spicy-cool-creamy bite in a nest of fuzzy wild carrot seeds so that when my fingers rubbed against it to pick it up, they carried the scent of wild carrots to my nose.

Quite simply, wild carrots have me charmed.

coconut fig curry

Coconuts were introduced to Europe by Portuguese explorers who brought them back from India. Vasco da Gama's sailors thought the round, hairy fruit (actually, a seed), with the black eyes and nose, resembled "Coco", a folkloric ghost/witch/monster; the precursor to the jack-o-lantern. When it reached England, "nut" was added to the end and the name stuck.

Although the coconut palm (Cocos nucifera) and the fig tree (Ficus carica) have little in common except for similarity of flavor and aroma, they sure taste good together.

I can't help but wonder if 16th century Europeans, upon opening a coconut for the first time, thought that it smelled like fig leaves. I also wonder what they would've thought of this dessert: a familiar and beloved fruit, married to newly-discovered treasures from faraway lands.

coconut fig terrine ✢ curry tea foam ✢ agastache blossoms

Fig leaf tea makes a light and flavorful base for an aromatic curry broth. Further lightened into a foam, it lands weightless on the tongue and dissipates, leaving only an impression of warm spice.

Download recipe: coconut fig terrine with curry tea