trout quinoa tangerine fir

fir-infused trout

crispy quinoa crust

fir oil

tangerine

black olive dust

If you've ever belonged to the Scouts of America, or have been camping, then you surely know what a hobo pack is. Maybe you don't. Or you need to be reminded.

A hobo pack is a self-contained meal where a square of foil serves as both pan and plate.

When my boys were young and had polar tastes in food, both of which conflicted with my husband's and mine–hobo packs saved my sanity. With very little effort, I could assemble fresh and nutritious meals that were customized to our individual tastes without destroying my kitchen. In the dog days of summer, vegetables and herbs went directly from the garden (with a brief pause under the faucet) to awaiting packs by the grill–no kitchen involved. In the winter, the packets were cooked on glowing embers in the fireplace and eaten on plates while sitting on the floor in front of the fire. These meals always felt effortless.

But if it was just convenience that I was after, there were other alternatives. What appealed to me about hobo packs was the cloche environment that allowed for infusing flavor. Here, there was plenty of room for play. Virtually any ingredient(s) that performs well in a steamy, hot environment is a candidate for this method, with herbs, spices, liquids and/or fats added for flavor.

What distinguishes this method from other forms of vapor cooking is that it is performed on a very hot heat source, which introduces the element of caramelization in the bottom layers that permeates the rest of the contents. One adjunct to this is that when using dried woody herbs as a bed, they will burn and impart a smoky flavor.

That smokiness was what I was going for when placing rainbow trout (a good choice for sustainability) on a bed of dried fraser fir needles. The result is a stunning sweet, resinous aroma that infiltrates the fish. If terroir, or 'a sense of place' can be captured in a dish, this one certainly does, conjuring up memories of sitting around a campfire in a fragrant forest, with a well-stocked lake nearby. In this context, food really does taste better when kissed by the great outdoors.

A thick layer of fresh fir needles are arranged on a square of heavy-duty foil. A deboned filet of trout is rubbed with olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper. Thin slices of tangerine are arranged over top. The foil is tightly sealed around fish, leaving some airspace for heat circulation. The packet is placed on a red-hot cast iron skillet (it's ready when drops of water immediately evaporate) and cooked for 3 minutes, then removed and allowed to steam for 5 minutes before opening.

Fraser fir (Abies fraseri) is the quintessential American Christmas tree, known for its fragrance and ability to retain its soft needles for weeks after cutting. It has one of the strongest terpene scents among conifers.

To make fir oil, blend fresh needles in a high speed blender with olive oil. Strain and store in an opaque container in the refrigerator.

ginger beer

The oldest recipe in existence is a collection of ancient tablets in the Sumerian language describing the making of barley into bread which was used to make a drink. Its quite possible that this drink was a form of beer as it is said to have made the consumer feel blissful and exhilarated.

Another early form of beer was mead, a simple fermentation of honey and water, enjoyed by the Vikings, Saxons, Celts, and even the Egyptians, Greeks, and Romans. In those days, mead was celebrated as a nectar of the gods, a mind-expanding potion that brought on euphoria and wove together the primitive worlds of science and magic. In Scandinavia, it became a symbol of romance and fertility. It is commonly believed that the origin of the word "honeymoon" refers to the Nordic belief that if mead were consumed for one month (one moon) after a wedding, the first child would be born a male–a prized addition to a clan of warriors. Ironically, this primitive superstition falls in line with modern science that has revealed that the PH of a women's body at the time of conception can help to determine the sex of a child.

The introduction of exotic spice to Medieval Europe made an immeasurable contribution to their enjoyment of food and beverages. Not only did spice enhance and mask off-flavors, it was valued for its medicinal properties. Water was often contaminated from widespread diseases which led doctors to prescribe beverages of fruit juices and spices. Ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg were used to flavor metheglin, a spiced mead. Another variation, ginger beer, was made from fresh ginger root, honey, water, and a mysterious "plant".

Ginger root plant, the source of fermentation of early ginger beer, is a misnomer. Its not of the green, leafy variety, but a naturally occurring, self-propagating organism similar to gelatinous lichen. This anaerobic starter culture resembles various sized knobby grains that must be activated in sugary water and can be recycled, or used over and over. It consists of many microorganisms living together, two of which are vital to producing ginger beer; a fungus Saccharomyces pyriformis and a bacterium Brevibacterium vermiforme. Together, these form carbon dioxide and alcohol. The origin of the ginger root plant is unknown and was not identified until the late nineteenth century– yet another testament to the interminable will of man to explore the wild and strange world of nature.

Ginger beer was brought to North America by the British colonists where it was brewed locally in homes and taverns. After the civil war, it was commercially produced and transported to new markets, mostly in western New York State, where breweries cropped up along the Erie Canal. In the US, production was abruptly halted by Prohibition.

Today, industrially-produced ginger beer is but a shadow of its predecessor. Only occasionally can it be found as an alcoholic beverage. Most often, it comes in the form of a soft drink that is not fermented, but carbonated with pressurized carbon dioxide. It is enjoying a resurgence in the cocktail arena as a component of the cocktails Dark 'N Stormy (a blend of dark rum and ginger beer), Shandy (beer or ale and ginger beer), and the Moscow Mule (vodka, ginger beer, and lime).

An authentic and worthy ginger beer can effortlessly be brewed at home with a few basic ingredients. The hard part is waiting two days for it to ferment. The finished product is delightfully fizzy, brightly flavored, minimally sweet, pleasantly dry, and only slightly alcoholic (about 0.4%). Unlike pressure carbonized ginger beer or soda, this product remains carbonated for extended periods, even after multiple openings.

The beauty of this method is that the only essential ingredients are water, yeast, and sugar (to feed the yeast), the rest is flavoring. What that represents to me is a blank liquid canvas on which to paint with flavor. And that is where the parade begins….passion fruit beer, watermelon beer, coffee beer, popcorn beer, pumpkin beer, celery beer, parmesan beer, jalapeno beer…and can we make milk beer…or brown butter beer (please, oh, please)? And what could these fermented products be used for? Can they be added to breads or baked goods to add or reinforce flavor and make them lighter? What would a fermented soup taste like? The parade marches on…

ginger beer

Be sure to use a plastic bottle when making ginger beer for two reasons: 1) You can easily tell when the beer is ready by pressing on the bottle. It will be rock hard like an unopened bottle of soda. 2) You don't want to be anywhere in the vicinity of an exploding glass bottle. Trust me.

114g (4 oz) fresh ginger juice

114g (4 oz)fresh lemon juice, strained

171g (6 oz) granulated sugar

.8g (1/4 teaspoon) granular bakers yeast

Place all ingredients in a clean 2 liter plastic bottle. Fill with cold, fresh water to within 1" of top of bottle. Cap tightly and shake gently to distribute contents. Set aside in a warm (70F) spot for up to 48 hours. Begin testing after 24 hours. When the bottle no longer yields when pressed, place bottle in the refrigerator to retard fermentation for at least 4 hours before opening. Slowly release cap. When fizzing stops, re-cap and shake gently. Store remainder in the refrigerator, carefully releasing cap each time that you open bottle. Enjoy!

ginger bread bourbon

Its hard to believe that nearly four months have passed since the Starchefs International Chefs Congress and I am just beginning to assimilate the plethora of ideas and information that I gathered there. Over the course of three days, a large group of food professionals witnessed demonstrations by some of the most creative chefs on the planet: Heston Blumenthal, Jordi Butron, Masaharu Morimoto, Joan Roca, Carlo Cracco, Rene Redzepi and Grant Achatz, to name a few. And that was just on the main stage.

In addition to these demonstrations, there were optional hands-on workshops and seminars that catered to smaller groups. I wished that I could have attended all of them, but time and money forced me to choose the ones that I felt were relevant to my interests. In the end, these were the ones that I chose:

Wylie Dufresne of WD-50–what was supposed to be a demonstration of his re-interpretation of the classic Eggs Benedict turned into an invaluable discussion of the evolution of the dish and his unique process of creativity.

Michael Laiskonis of Le Bernadin–a thoughtful and meticulous approach to creating petit-fours using classic flavors and modern techniques.

Blogging with Andrea Strong, Traci Des Jardins, Aki Kamozawa, Alex Talbot and Michael Laiskonis–lots of good information and insight from a panel of chef-bloggers.

Eben Freeman of Tailor–this one proved to be the sleeper of the bunch. I was hesitant about this workshop that was geared for mixologists and controlling costs in a recession, but I've been an ardent fan of his innovative cocktails and hoped there would be some creative content. I wasn't disappointed–his sound economic strategy could be applied to all aspects of operating a restaurant and his discussion of infused spirits and flavored sodas broadened my horizon of perceived liquid flavor. In retrospect, this workshop was confirmation that a modern mixologists approach is the same as a chefs and that a well conceived and executed cocktail lifts the craft beyond the formulaic blending of beverages and into an artform. Did I mention that the 9:00 AM workshop started out with a sample of Eben's popular cocktail: the Waylon, a blend of bourbon and smoked coca-cola? Amazing depth and complexity of flavor.

As it turned out, the day ended with more Waylons at a cocktail party where Eben Freeman, along with other master mixologists, offered up some of the most deliciously creative potions that I had the good fortune to sample. Among these were: Junior Merino's Ginger Julep, Hibiscus Cocktail with rose-aloe foam, and a savory fennel potion; Simon Difford 's In-Seine–an evocative blend of cognac, St. Germaine and absinthe; and Audrey Saunder's refreshing and beautifully balanced Gin Mule.

Modern cocktails–its a Brave New World.

ginger bread-infused bourbon

The yeasty, fermented aromas of brioche reinforce those that are already present in bourbon. The spices add an evocative complexity. I leave the quantities up to you and your personal taste.

bourbon

thick slices of spice brioche

whole cloves

cinnamon sticks

chunks of nutmeg

slices of fresh ginger root

Place the brioche and spices in the bottom of a glass jar. Cover with bourbon. Seal and set aside for at least 3 days. If you have access to a chamber vacuum sealer the process is instantaneous. Strain through a very fine mesh.

puffed pasta

puffed ras el hanout pasta with yogurt

This post should come with a warning:

Caution–consuming this product could be habit forming and produces psychological and physical symptoms including euphoria, chronic smiling, compulsive readings of Arabian Nights, and uncontrollable urges to take up belly dancing.

Pregnant women are at high risk.

Consider yourself warned.

………….

To make puffed pasta: roll out dough very thinly (second to last setting on a pasta machine). Cut into desired shapes. Cook in boiling, salted water until tender. Drain well, then spread out on baking sheets or dehydrator trays. Dehydrate or bake in 150F oven until hard and dry, occasionally flipping pasta. Dried pasta can be stored for prolonged periods in airtight containers. To puff, fry in vegetable oil at 375F until golden and puffed. Serve sprinkled with dried yogurt powder and sumac, or with Greek yogurt for dipping.

If you make ras el hanout pasta, be sure to cut some into wide pappardelle ribbons and cook them al dente, then toss with yogurt and serve with braised lamb. You won't be sorry.

…………..

This concludes the ras el hanout portion of the program (that is not to say that it will not be revisited at a later time).

Stay tuned for more Adventures with Spice.

preserved parsley

I don't remember when I first began preserving leaves with glycerin. As a gardener, it was just something that I did to prolong the fleeting life of flowers and foliage.

I do remember introducing it to my boys when they were young. In the autumn, we would gather branches of oak, beech, and maple leaves just as the colors began to turn and submerge them in vases filled with a solution of equal parts of water and glycerin. Over the next week, we would watch the color metamorphose as the chlorophyll ceased production, triggering the release of pigments. The glycerin, an emollient, would fill the cells, rendering the leaves supple and leathery. They would last for years this way, more so if pressed. Undoubtably, I still have some hidden between the pages of old books.

Last week, as I was preserving some blue holly cuttings this way, it occurred to me that I've only applied this procedure for decorative purposes, when all along, I've ignored its role as a food preservative. It was time to rectify that.

Within three days, a few sprigs of parsley were visibly transformed by the glycerine. The color darkened and the leaves appeared denser and heavier. The taste is sweet up front, which is surprising in a pleasant way, followed by the fresh flavor of parsley. Even after a week of sitting on the counter, loosely wrapped, the leaves are still supple and appear fresh.

Now, the obvious question arises: How can this make food better? Is the answer in its ability to preserve… or transform…or both?

apple caramel gel

The intention was to make pate de fruit.

The intention was to make it with only fruit juice. No added sugar.

The intention was to make it with agar and gelatin. Not with pectin.

The intention was one thing. The result was another.

Pate de fruit is typically made with Certo–a high methoxyl pectin that forms gels in a high sugar enviroment. Low methoxyl pectin does not need sugar, but requires the presence of calcium. The apple juice that I intended to use contained only inherent sugar (fructose) and insignificant amounts of calcium.

Agar and gelatin will form a variety of gels–from soft to brittle, depending on the proportions used–and require neither sugar or calcium. This was the territory that I intended to explore.

The initial gels were unremarkable–either too brittle or too soft. Concentrating the sugars through reduction introduced a desirable stickiness and became a critical point. Reducing too far resulted in a syrup, not enough produced a gel that was rigid and brittle.

Through a series of reductions and additions of decreasing amounts of juice, the emerging texture is firm enough to hold its shape, yet the pull of a knife renders it fluid. The mouthfeel is creamy like caramel with the viscosity of gel.

The intention was to make a pate de fruit. The result is a caramel gel.

apple caramel gel

Lacking a refractometer to measure brix, the results may require final adjustments in reduction/addition.

150g apple juice

1.5g agar

.6g gelatin

Place the apple juice in a saucepan. Sprinkle the agar and gelatin over the top. Let stand 2 minutes for the gelatin to bloom. Set pan over medium high heat, whisking until gelatin and agar are dissolved. Bring to a boil and continue boiling under mixture is reduced to app. 2 Tablespoons.

Add 80g apple juice. Boil and reduce to app. 2 Tablespoons.

Add 30g apple juice. Bring to a full rolling boil for 30 seconds.

Remove from heat and cool.

kimchi brown butter

Winter is kimchi-making time. In the past, I've made batches with cabbage, bok choy, and thinly sliced cauliflower. This year, I'm back to the traditional Chinese cabbage variety.

Although kimchi is not in my culinary heritage, it holds an inextricable position in my family of deliciousness. Another esteemed member, brown butter–though seemingly disparate, has an affinity for kimchi. Linked by dimethyl sulfide, their symbiotic relationship feels like a toasty warm blanket on a cold winters night.

romanesco steak. buckwheat. lamb bacon. kimchi. brown butter.

serves 4

kimchi stock

If your kimchi has plenty of liquid, you can decrease the amount of vegetable stock. Adjust the finished stock with salt and additional spice and acid to make it vibrant.

500g (18 oz) kimchi

125g (4.5 oz) vegetable stock

Puree the kimchi with the stock in a blender. Strain through a chinoise. Reduce the stock by half.

romanesco steak

Cooking a thick cut of romanesco cauliflower in brown butter and kimchi infuses it with a nutty, meaty flavor with a kick of fiery spice.

2 1" thick crosscut slices of romanesco cauliflower, each cut in half

40g brown butter

100g kimchi stock

salt

Season the cauliflower with salt and place in sous vide bag with the brown butter and stock. Vacuum and seal bag. Sous vide at 85C for 20 minutes. keep warm.

lamb bacon

At the restaurant, we get saddles of lamb from Colorado. After they're broken down, we're left with sheets of creamy fat, striated with meat, from the backs. Because the sheets are thin, I glue 2-3 layers together and cure them to make bacon.

4 1/4" thick slices lamb bacon

Bake in a 300F oven until golden and crisp. Chop finely.

buckwheat groats

Buckwheat groats, also known as kasha, are a psuedocereal as they do not grow from a grass. The cooked seeds have a nutty, mild mushroom flavor.

1 1/2 cups buckwheat groats

3 cups vegetable stock

1 tsp salt

In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a boil. Add buckwheat and salt. Stir well, cover, and turn heat down to low. Cook for 15-20 minutes or until tender. Reserve half of the cooked groats to make puffed buckwheat.

puffed buckwheat

reserved cooked buckwheat

2 cups canola oil

Drain buckwheat well and spread out in a single layer on dehydrator tray or on a baking sheet. Dehydrate or bake in a 150F oven until groats are hard, dry, and shriveled. Place the oil in a deep pan and heat to 375F. Drop dehydrated groats into hot oil in small batches. They will puff immediately. Scoop out with a fine mesh spoon and transfer to paper towels to dry. Repeat with remaining groats.

kimchi and brown butter emulsion

Glycerine flakes are a fatty acid ester that is soluble in fat. It has the ability to thicken oils and form

emulsions from fat and water-based mediums.

70g (2.5 oz) brown butter

11g (.40 oz) glycerine flakes

60g (2.10 oz) kimchi stock

salt

Place brown butter and glycerine flakes in a saucepan and heat over medium heat just until flakes melt. Place the stock in a bowl and gently heat over simmering water until lukewarm. Very slowly drizzle the oil into the stock while whisking vigorously. When all of the oil is incorporated, the mixture may look as if it is separating. Set the bowl into a larger bowl of cold water and whisk vigorously until mixture is smooth and stable. Season with salt. The emulsion can now be gently warmed by whisking over warm water.

to finish

Blackened garlic is made by roasting whole, unpeeled garlic cloves in a 325F oven until they are hard, dry

and black. Grated over a finished dish, they act as an earthy and mildly bitter seasoning. Store fragrant tubers such as ginger root, galangal, and tumeric in the freezer and microplane over a dish just before serving to brighten its aroma and flavor.

blackened garlic

frozen galangal

finely chopped kimchi

Arrange a half-slice of cauliflower on a plate. Next to the cauliflower, place a small mound of chopped kimchi. Cover the kimchi with the cooked buckwheat. Sprinkle with the puffed buckwheat. Make another mound of chopped lamb bacon next to the buckwheat. Place a dollop of warmed emulsion on the plate. Microplane the frozen galangal over the buckwheat. Microplane the blackened garlic over the cauliflower and emulsion.

foie brioche macaron

foie and brioche macaron with raspberry, passion fruit and fig dip

French macarons are the stuff that fetishes are made of and empires are built on…just ask Prince Pierre of Paris. Once, you had to travel to the City of Light to worship at its altar. Now, the Cult of Macaron has spread to all corners of the globe.

It is said that the macaron was introduced to the french via Catherine de Medici, though any frenchman worth his almond flour would argue that point. What is known for certain is that the original macaron was a humble cookie, a combination of egg whites, sugar and ground almonds. No additional flavorings or filling.

In Sofia Coppola's 2006 rendition of Marie Antoinette, there is a scene with the young queen and Ambassador Mercy that features the modern, brightly colored macarons. Its interesting that this modern version–a flavored and filled cookie sandwich–was created by a grandson of Laduree, over 100 years after Marie Antoinette's death. Even more interesting is that Laduree provided the pastries for the film.

Initially, the modern version of the macaron consisted of the original almond cookies sandwiched together with chocolate ganache. For the next 80-90 years, the flavorings remained simple: vanilla, chocolate, coffee, raspberry. It wasn't until the late 1990's that Pierre Herme began to seduce parisiennes with his annual haute-couture collections of sexy flavor combinations: olive oil and vanilla, passion fruit, rhubarb, and strawberry, white truffle and hazelnut, cream cheese, orange, and passionfruit, and my personal favorite–litchi, rose, and raspberry.

Nearly all of the flavor in these macarons is found in the filling. The cookies are largely left alone with the exception of food coloring, cocoa powder or chocolate, and in some cases, flavor essences. It is neccessary to maintain the delicate balance of ingredients in order to produce the crisp/fragile shell, the chewy/soft interior, and the characteristic "feet". With this in mind, I had to ask myself if there is any room for play.

The role of egg whites and sugar is fundamental. I've made macarons with methocel–they're not the same. That left me examining the almond flour. I understand its function; it provides structure and texture, but it also makes the flavor of macarons invariable and can be detected no matter what accompanying flavors are used. This, I realized, was a starting point.

As luck, or providence, would have it, I had a loaf of brioche on hand. I saw no reason why finely ground and toasted bread crumbs could not stand in for almond flour.

Macarons are notoriously capricious to make and my early attempts were hit-or-miss. It was only when I realized though the ingredients are simple, the technique is critical, that I began to get consistent results. Precisely following the procedure: leaving the egg whites at room temperature for 24 hours, sifting all dry ingredients, whipping the egg whites just until they hold their peaks, gentle folding, careful piping, leaving them to dry for 30 minutes before baking, ensured the control that was neccessary to determine if failure was caused by product, and not technique.

I am happy to report that both were a success. They came out of the oven looking perfect. The texture is right and the flavor captures the nuances and complexity of toasted brioche. The only question that remained was what to fill them with. As if I even had to ask.

Making macarons with bread crumbs is like getting a new playset at the playground. The potential for fun seems endless:

pumpernickle, pastrami, mustard

rye, smoked salmon, cream cheese

foccaccia, tomato, mozzarella

saltines, peanut butter, jelly

graham crackers, marshmallow, chocolate

oreos!

tollhouse

doughnuts, coffee

piecrust, apple, cheddar

…OK, I'll stop now.

grapes

One of my earliest taste memories is of grapes. Not of the insipid seedless supermarket variety. The grapes that I grew up eating were the European Vitis vinifera, grown in my backyard.

Growing grapes was my fathers passion. As far back as I can remember, he would tend the vines; training, pruning and grafting them year after year, in hopes of producing the perfect grape. The goal, of course, was to produce a great wine. The wines, though perfectly drinkable, were never remarkable.

When he stopped making wine, there was an abundance of grapes for the table. Just a few ripe bunches in a bowl would fill the house with a complex bouquet of aroma compounds made up of alcohols (methyl alcohol, ethyl alcohol), aldehydes (acetaldehyde, isobutyraldehyde), amines (methoxypyrazine), esters (ethyl, butyrate), thiols (mercaptohexyl acetate) and terpenes (linalool, nerol)–to name a few. Their flavor was amazing–a beautiful balance of acids, alkalies, tannins and sugars.

Nature blessed these fruits with many great attributes, but she did not make them conducive for good eating. Unless you are a bird.

As with most fertile plants that cover our planet, the grapes loftiest endeavor is to go forth and multiply. In order to sustain the species, Nature designed the grape berry as a seed carrier. Only when the seeds are ready, do the fruits ripen– making them attractive to the birds that will consume them and deposit the seeds.

Eating these grapes was a challenge. The skins, thick and tough, were unpalatable. Removing them was not an option, as they contained aromas and astringency necessary for a balanced flavor. The large seeds which contained the bulk of the tannins were completely inedible; Natures cruel joke to us humans.

As a child, I developed a slow, methodical approach to eating these grapes: First, the skins were split open to reveal the seeds, which were pried out with fingertips, and sometimes from impatience, with tweezers. Next, the tenacious skins were peeled, but only halfway, leaving them intact at the blossom end. Holding on to the end, I would insert the grape into my mouth, biting down on the skin to release the flavor and loosen the pulp, then remove and discard the masticated skin. Messy? yes. Attractive? no. It would take me nearly an hour to get through a small bunch.

Other members of my family did not have the patience (or neurosis) to eat them "properly" and would just eat them whole, or not bother at all. And yes, these grapes made an extraordinary jelly, but how many jars can a family consume or give away?

Not that many, it turned out. And so, the grapes were left for the birds.

A few years ago, my father, tired of cleaning the mess and tending the vines, cut them down and installed an awning over the patio that was once covered with a flourishing grape arbor.

Every year since, come October, I get a craving for those old world grapes.

I miss them.

"Those things are better which are perfected by nature than those which are finished by art", said Cicero, a long, long time ago

Nature, with her infinite variations, has always been a primary source of inspiration, as well as aggravation, but I have to concur with William Blake, who said "Great things are done when men and mountains meet"

This is not a mountain…its just a grape.

My intention here was to recreate the flavor and balance of the grapes, without the obstacles of seeds and skin. With my father's grapes no longer available, I turned to the the Concord (Vitis labrusca). The pulp was separated from the skins and each juiced separately. The pulp was set with agar and gelatin and molded. After a few trials, I found the best ratio was .85% agar to .35% gelatin. When the gelled pulp was unmolded, the grapes were marinated in the juice from the skin. Adria applies this technique in Gelatina Cru by vacuum sealing. I found that I had better control over the penetration and ultimate proportions of skin/pulp by simply allowing it to sit in the marinade for a few hours.

For the first time, I am able to enjoy the flavor and texture of old world grapes with none of the distractions. This technique also opens up possibilities for other whimsies…grapes made of white wine, marinated in red. Or, other manipulations of flavor contrasts between pulp and peel…sweet orange gel, marinated in bitter orange.

Have I outwitted Mother Nature? Just maybe on this one…but she is still legions ahead.

For a philosophical take on Man vs. Nature in the context of food, read "Cooking: The Quintessential Art" by Herve This and Pierre Gagnaire, a book that I forgot to include in my previous post. Chadzilla quotes from the book in a recent post, sparking an insightful conversation.

(I can't put up this post without a shout out to my friend, Uwe, who embraces the nicknames Uva and Queso [grape and cheese]. Check out his blog Gratifood. His food will make you drool. His language will make you smile.)

Category: technique

trout quinoa tangerine fir

ginger beer

ginger bread bourbon

puffed pasta

preserved parsley

apple caramel gel

kimchi brown butter

foie brioche macaron

grapes

black forest