french toast bacon

Breakfast has found a place on dinner tasting menus–and with good reason. They appeal to us on an emotional level, evoking feelings of nostalgia, comfort and familiarity. This is true of, and perhaps even more profound when experienced within the context of a modern menu consisting of otherwise unfamiliar flavors and textures.

Recently, I had a conversation with someone who dined at The Fat Duck earlier this year. He waxed rhapsodic about the scrambled egg and bacon ice cream on the tasting menu and stated that, hands down, it was the best breakfast he'd ever eaten. I could say the same about the eggs benedict at WD-50. Sous-vide egg yolks had an unforgettable texture of fudge. Deep fried cubes spilled hot, liquid hollandaise into the mouth when bitten. These, despite learning that they contained gellan, Ultrasperse and Hexaphosphate, tasted pure and familiar, and were deeply satisfying.

bacon-crusted french toast

maple ice cream

Here, a cube of brioche is injected with a cinnamon-laced

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.

This adaptation of a breakfast classic contains all of the familiar flavors that press the comfort buttons, with a bit of decadence thrown in for indulgence.

chicken biscuit

Inspiration can come from anywhere:

A scent can trigger a delicious memory.

A crackly sound can instigate a refined texture.

A neat stack of fallen leaves can rekindle a technique.

A written word can invoke comfort and pleasure.

:: Biscuit ::

Thanks John Paul and Nathan. This one is for you.

Flaky Chicken Biscuits

makes 12 2" biscuits

Save the rendered chicken fat when roasting the skin for the croquant to flavor the butter. This is a wet dough that results in a tender biscuit. Use only enough dusting flour to prevent the dough from sticking. It's supposed to be messy–have fun with it.

3 oz (85.5g) rendered chicken fat

3 oz (85.5g) unsalted butter

8 oz (228g) unbleached all-purpose flour

1/2 tsp (3.55g) salt

1 tsp (4.75g) baking powder

1/8 tsp (1.15g) baking soda

6 oz (170.5g) cold buttermilk

2 oz (57g) chicken skin croquant powder

Melt the butter with the chicken fat and pour into a small plastic container. Freeze until solid.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the flour, salt, baking powder and soda. Toss together with a fork to combine. Pop the butter/chicken fat out of the container and cut into 1/2" cubes. Add to the dry ingredients and toss to coat. With your fingers or a pastry blender, cut or rub the butter cubes to half of their size, constantly tossing and blending into the dry ingredients. Pour in the buttermilk and combine just until a rough dough has formed. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and pat into a rectangle. Lightly flour the top of the dough and roll out into a 1/2" thick rectangle. Fold top third of dough over, followed by the bottom third. Turn the dough 45 degrees clockwise. Repeat rolling and folding. Wrap in plastic wrap and chill for 20 minutes. Unwrap and repeat the rolling and folding 2 more times for a total of 4 turns. Re-wrap the dough and let chill for 20 minutes more.

Preheat the oven to 400F (205C). Unwrap the dough and roll out into an 8"x6" rectangle, about 3/4" thick. Cut into 12 2" square biscuits. Spread the chicken skin croquant out on a shallow dish. Place each biscuit, bottom-side-down, onto the croquant and press firmly on the top to adhere. Place each biscuit, croquant-side-up, on a baking sheet that has been lined with silpat or parchment, about 1" apart. Chill for 20 minutes.

Bake for 12-15 minutes, or until golden brown.

chicken skin croquant

Chicken skin croquant

Salting the chicken skin draws out the moisture that inhibits crispness. Isomalt is a sugar alcohol made from beets and is less sweet than granulated sugar. Tapioca Maltodextrin acts as a starch, binding the sugar with the fat and improves the texture of the croquant.

chicken skin

kosher salt

isomalt

tapioca maltodextrin

Spread a layer of salt in a shallow non-reactive dish. Lay the chicken skin over the salt in a single layer and cover with another layer of salt. Set aside in the refrigerator for 8 hours. Rinse the salt from the skin and dry well with paper towels. Lay skin out on a metal sheet pan and bake in a 350F oven until golden and crisp. Drain on paper towels, pressing to remove excess fat and allow to cool. When cooled, grind in a spice grinder.

Weigh the ground chicken skin and weigh out an equal amount of Isomalt. Place the Isomalt in a saucepan and melt over medium high heat until fluid. Pour out onto a silpat and allow to harden. Break Isomalt into small pieces and grind in a spice grinder.

Combine the ground chicken skin with the Isomalt and weigh it. Add 30% by weight of Tapioca Maltodextrin. Combine well. Sprinkle a thin layer on a silpat for a freeform shape that can be broken into shards. For more defined shapes, sprinkle evenly over a stencil. Bake at 300F just until melted and fused. Allow to cool, then peel from silpat.

puff pastry

Flour. Butter. Water. Salt. No leavening. Or is there?

When these four ingredients are combined into a homogeneous dough, then rolled out and baked, you end up with a cracker or flatbread. Not much rise there.

Blend the same ingredients together but stop while the butter is still discernible– about the size of peas. Now roll out and bake. You have a pate brisee or a short, flaky pie crust with unevenly puffed layers that may have doubled in height.

Now, take the same four ingredients, blend the flour, water and salt to make a dough. Evenly layer the butter throughout the dough through a series of rolling out and folding. Stop when you have made 6 "turns", resulting in 1459 alternating layers of fat and starch. After a final rolling and baking, you are left with pate feuilletee or puff pastry. This time, the finished pastry leaving the oven has risen up to 6 times in volume from the raw dough that went in.

Three products…sharing identical ingredients in similar proportions…with significantly different results. Do you know why?

Lacking chemical leavening, the release of gases is not responsible for the differences between the three pastry products. And with the absence of yeast, it cannot be attributed to fermentation.

What caused the puff pastry to rise to glorious heights and the pie crust to puff to a lesser degree is the steam created by the melted butter. As the butter melts and boils, the gluten matrix in the dough hardens, trapping the pockets of steam. The degree of rise in the three products varies with the distribution of fat and starch.

Understanding this was an epiphany. So was grasping the unfolding of egg proteins. And the destruction of sugar to make caramel. And so on.

These were my AH-HAA moments. They allowed me to analyse mistakes and to not only correct them, but to control the outcome. They liberated me from bondage to recipes, and with this freedom came a broader one: the freedom to create.

Modern cooking places an emphasis on science, when, in fact, chemistry has been at play throughout the history of food and cooking. Does a strong knowledge of food science make us good cooks? If that were true then scientists, by right, would all be chefs.

What about technique? Consider the baker who gets up at 3 AM every morning to bake bread. After some time, he can turn out hundreds of perfect loaves even while half-asleep. He may even have a grasp on the chemistry of his craft through extended observation of cause and effect. His talent and dedication may move him onto the saute line, where through repetition he learns to turn out a perfectly cooked piece of fish every time.

But would he know what to do with a salsify? Would he even know what to serve it with?

At ICC, Jordi Butron of Espai Sucre gave a presentation about the process of creating desserts. A lot of what he said resonated with me. In it, he stated (from my notes) "Pastry is techniques…but technique has to service flavor. Technique is easy–it only requires repetition, but a library of flavors takes many years to acquire."

As a baker, I have made puff pastry countless times. Through muscle memory, I could even make it while half-asleep. Because of my understanding of steam pockets and gluten matrixes, I was able to effectively teach it to my students, passing on the AH-HAA moments. My familiarity with this product allows me to play and ask questions:

Why butter? (because it is fat and for it's flavor)

What else is flavored fat? (oils..but they won't work, they're liquid and here, the fat needs to start as a solid)

What else is solid, flavored fat? (pork fat, bacon fat, foie, cheese…)

Cheese? Which cheese? (needs to be spreadable and have a high fat content…a triple cream)

Saint Andre? Boursault? Brillat-Savarin? (no…too subtle for the flavor to come through)

l'Explorateur? (a triple cream, assertive flavor…yes, it will work)

That is how I have come to make l'Explorateur puff pastry; a product that pleases me.

Will it please everyone? Is it ground-breaking? Life-altering? No. No. And no.

It is simply a token of where I'm at as a cook/baker at this moment in time and a synthesization of what I know about technique, food science and my own palate.

Do these things make me a better cook? I'd like to think so. What I do know for certain is that by relying on their guidance, I am free to contemplate and to think about food; what it is…what it can be.

And that, I believe, is the starting point for innovation.

mozzarella balloon

Back in May, I received an email asking me what I thought about the newly launched Mosaic site from Alinea. Just as I began to fret about not receiving the required password, I found it in a junk folder. I spent the next few hours (and many since) pouring over the techniques and ideas contained in the sampling of the anticipated book.

One of these, the mozzarella balloon, was what prompted me to give fresh mozzarella another try. It was very rewarding to finally succeed at making a high quality cheese that had eluded and frustrated me, but it was really the viable curd that I was after.

A few days ago, while in NYC for the International Chefs Congress, I took a break to visit Kitchen Arts and Letters. I can never resist perusing through their trove of esoteric cookbooks that is full of surprising gems. The biggest surprise awaiting me on this visit was a trail copy of Alinea. I'm here to tell you that it's for real, and it is an opus of a book, more massive and beautiful than us mere mortal cooks had any right to expect. Those of us who pre-ordered it directly from Mosaic will have it in our hot hands as early as next week. Get ready folks–this book is going to change everything.

mozzarella balloon

Break off a 4-5 oz. piece of mozzarella curd that has been acidified and ready to stretch. Place it in a bowl and cover it with water that has been heated to 71C (160F). Allow it to melt for a few minutes, then pull and stretch it to form a disc of uniform thickness that is roughly 6" in diameter.

Form hand into a C-shape and drape the disc loosely over.

Half-fill a whipped cream charger with a mixture of salted tomato water and extra-virgin olive oil that has been set with 1.5% gelatin. Charge with NO₂ cartridge. Chill. Shake charger firmly and place tip of nozzle over the center of mozzarella disc. Gather the disc around the nozzle, wrapping thumb and index finger around to hold firmly in place. With nozzle facing down, slowly discharge foam into mozzarella. While maintaining a firm grip, slowly slide balloon off of the nozzle, pressing and pinching the ends together to seal. Cut off any excess.

Serve immediately.

fresh mozzarella

My first attempt at making mozzarella was a miserable failure. I was overly optimistic. I started with 5 gallons of milk and ended up with 5 pounds of ricotta. It was fine ricotta, but it wasn't the pasta filata that I had hoped for. My family ate lots of lasagna that week.

My second attempt produced the same results. Ditto for the third. And the fourth.

I was obviously missing a piece of the puzzle. The recipe that I used was from a reliable source, complete with detailed, step-by-step instructions, but I could not make it past the second step where rennet was added to the inoculated milk. At this point, it was supposed to coagulate into a solid mass and separate from the whey, instead it formed small curds that would not "spin" or melt together. I tried different types of inoculants from citric acid to buttermilk to yogurt. I tried varying the amount of rennet. I tried different brands of milk–all to no avail. I'm not easily discouraged, but even I know when to let sleeping dogs lie.

I decided that it was time to revisit the mozz when a unique application recently caught my interest. More on that later. After further research, I found the missing piece: raw milk. While I found many accounts of mozzarella being successfully made from homogenized and pasteurized milk, I went directly to the source: real milk, straight from the cow, unhomogenized and unpasteurized.

The real advantage of making fresh mozzarella from raw milk is that I can produce a product that is superior to anything that I can buy in terms of flavor, texture, and nutritional content. On a socioeconomic level, it allows me to lighten my carbon footprint while supporting local farms. An added perk of raw milk is that in the summer, when cows graze on fresh grass and clover, the milk is rich, buttery, and yellow…pure sunshine.

Fresh mozzarella

yields about one pound

1 gallon raw milk

3 Tblsps plain yogurt

3 Tblsps buttermilk

1/2 tablet rennet

Step 1: Inoculation

Pour the milk into a large stainless steel pan. Set over medium heat and bring to 32C (89F). While milk is warming, stir together the yogurt and buttermilk. Add about 1/4 cup of milk from pan and blend well. Cover the pan and maintain the temperature at 32C for 10 minutes to allow the live cultures and bacteria to activate.

Step 2: Coagulation

While the milk is activating, dissolve the rennet in 1/4 cup of tepid water. Stir the dissolved rennet into the milk gently, but quickly. Cover the pan and set aside, undisturbed, for 2-3 hours in a warm, protected place until it coagulates into a solid mass that will pull away from the side of the pan.

Note: I place the pan in a large bowl of warm water and monitor the temperature of the water, maintaining it at 32C. It is important to not disturb the curd while it is coagulating.

Step 3: Cutting the curd

After 2 hours, check the curd for a clean break by poking a finger into the coagulated curd and lifting. If the curd does not break cleanly, allow it to sit, undisturbed until it does. Be patient.

When a clean break is achieved, cut the curd with a long, thin knife into 1/2" cubes. Stir the cut curds gently, breaking up any large curds.

Set the pan over medium heat and bring the temperature up to 36C (97F) with constant, gentle stirring. The curds will continue to break up.

Step 4: Acidification.

In order for the curd to spin, or melt together and stretch, it must be acidified to a PH of about 5.3. To achieve this, cover the pan tightly and set aside in a warm place for 8-10 hours. After 8 hours, check to see if it will spin by removing a walnut-sized piece of curd and dropping it into a bowl of water at 71C (160F). When it is lifted out and pulled, it should stretch without breaking. If it breaks, allow the curds to acidify further.

Step 5: Melting

Once the curds spin, heat a half gallon of water to 71C (160F). Drain the acidified curds in a colander (reserve a quart of the whey to make a brine if you will not be consuming the mozzarella immediately). Break up the mass of curds and place into a large bowl. Pour the hot water over the curds.

Allow them to soften for a few minutes, stirring gently, until they begin to melt.

Step 6: Molding

When the curds melt and fuse together, pull off a lemon-sized piece and with two hands, pull and stretch like taffy. Fold it onto itself and continue the stretching and folding until it is smooth, glossy, and elastic. If it begins to stiffen while working, let it soften in the hot water before molding.

Roll the sheet of stretched curd upon itself, working it into a smooth ball.

If you do not intend to consume the mozzarella immediately (I recommend that you do), the balls can be stored for up to two days in brine.

To make a brine: dissolve 1/4 cup of salt in 1 cup of hot water. Mix in the reserved quart of whey. Cool.

potato juniper

fingerling potatoes in a progression of textures and temperatures

clockwise from top right:

baked potato skin [hot/cold] juniper. creme fraiche. caviar

potato salad [cold] pickled 83˚potatoes. mustard mayo. juniper snow

raclette potato [warm] potato puree. raclette

juniper roasted potato [hot] coffee oil. balinese salt

potato soup [hot] smoked potato. maytag blue. gin foam. crispy potato spoon

Juniper is an coniferous (cone-bearing) shrub that belongs to the Cypress family. Along the east coast of the United States, the native juniper is Juniperus Virginiana
and is identified by tiny scale-like needles and small berries that are green throughout the summer and turn dusky blue in the fall. These berries are actually cones and are used in the production of gin, providing it's distinct flavor. The berries, like the needles, have a clean, bracing botanical flavor.

baked potato skin

A taste of earth, sea, pasture and forest.

fingerling potatoes
juniper oil
creme fraiche, chilled
caviar, chilled

Bake fingerling potatoes in a 350 F oven until tender. Cut each in half and scoop out most of the flesh. Rub with juniper oil and return to oven until they begin to crisp. Put a dollop of creme fraiche in each potato skin and top with caviar. Serve immediately.
To make juniper oil: Wash sprigs of juniper and pat dry with paper towels. Add to blender with enough extra virgin olive oil to cover. Blend until sprigs are finely chopped and oil turns green. Strain through a fine mesh sieve.

potato salad

83C is the optimum temperature for sous vide vegetables as explained by Chad on this post. Cooking the potatoes with vinegar and salt pickles them as they cook.
The grated juniper snow is a refreshing jolt against the warm spice of mustard and earthy potatoes.

potatoes:
fingerling potatoes, cut into 1/8" slices
white wine vinegar
salt
olive oil

Lay potato slices out on a plate and sprinkle liberally with vinegar and salt and drizzle lightly with olive oil. Pack potato slices into a vacuum bag in a single layer and add excess vinegar from plate. Vacuum and seal. Place in 83C water bath and cook for 90 minutes. Remove bag from bath and chill in refrigerator until cold.

mustard mayo:
2 parts prepared mayonnaise
1 part whole grain mustard
honey, lemon juice, and salt to taste

Combine all ingredients until well blended. Chill.

juniper snow:
200 g water
25 g juniper needles
10 g agave nectar
3 g salt

Place all ingredients in a blender and blend until juniper is finely chopped. Strain through a fine mesh sieve. Transfer to a plastic storage container and freeze until solid. Simultaneously, place an empty metal bowl into freezer. Pop block of ice out of container and grate to form snow, letting it fall loosely into chilled metal bowl. Freeze until ready to use.

raclette potato

This is a reconstructed potato, made from potato puree set with Methocel and wrapped with a melted raclette cheese skin. For recipe and step-by-step illustrations, see previous post.

juniper roasted potato

Roasting the potatoes wrapped in juniper releases it's
aromatic essential oils, perfuming the potatoes (and your kitchen) with it's scent. Alternately, they can be roasted over hot coals for a primal experience.

Lerida makes a blended oil from extra virgin olive oil and virgin coffee oil that is simply amazing. Here, it rounds out the spicy, woody tones of the juniper.

juniper sprigs

fingerling potatoes

coffee oil

balinese hollow salt

Preheat oven to 375F. Wrap juniper sprigs around potatoes and fasten in place with small gauge wire. Place on baking

sheet and roast until potatoes are tender. Unwrap while

hot, drizzle with coffee oil and sprinkle with salt.

potato soup

Creamy and comforting, earthy potatoes with the complexity of smoke, the bite of blue cheese, and a kiss of gin, delivered with a crispy potato spoon. A satisfying finish.

soup:

1 large potato, peeled and cut into 1" chunks

2 cups milk

3 Tblsps butter

3 oz Maytag blue cheese

salt and pepper

Place potato chunks into saucepan with enough salted water to cover. Cook over high heat until very tender. Drain, and pass through a ricer. Set aside to cool.

When cool, place potatoes in a smoker and lightly smoke. Or, to create your own smoker, use a pan that can be fitted with a steamer basket and a cover. Fill the pan with wood chips and a small amount of water. Cook, covered, to create the smoke. When the water has evaporated, place the potato puree in the steamer basket, quickly covering to hold in the smoke. Remove the potatoes after approximately 1 minute or when the flavor of the smoke has permeated the potatoes.

Place the milk, butter, and blue cheese into a saucepan and heat until butter and blue cheese have melted. Add the smoked potato puree and blend with an immersion blender until smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Keep soup hot until ready to serve.

hot gin foam:

150 g gin

100 g water

2.5 g soy lecithin

Combine water, gin, and lecithin in a small saucepan. Heat until very hot. Quickly form foam by blending with immersion blender. Keep foam hot until ready to serve.

Crispy potato spoon:

Cut a 1/2" thick slice from a large potato. Cut a spoon shape from the slice. Carve out the underside of the handle, leaving it 1/4" thick. Scoop out the bowl of the spoon with a melon baller. Carve the underside of the bowl until it is of a uniform thickness. Rub the spoon on all of the surfaces with olive oil. Place, bowl-side-down, on a baking sheet and bake in a 250F oven until it is browned and crispy. (If the handle browns faster than the bowl, wrap it with parchment paper, then foil.)

raclette potato

I have a confession to make:

I am a sucker for babies. They reduce me to a pile of cooing, quivering jelly. When I encounter a neonate, i have to fight the urge to stuff their pudgy cheeks, fists, and feet into my mouth. This may seem bizarre, but I'm willing to bet there are some of you that are nodding in recognition.

This same compulsion applies to baby vegetables (just ask Sid Wainer). These, I recognize, are OK to put in my mouth.

My first vegetable garden was largely dedicated to the cultivation of baby root vegetables. I planted miniature varieties of white turnips, red and yellow beets, cylindrical and round carrots, and red and white pearl onions in neat rows. It was a garden fit for a dollhouse.

I also planted Yukon Gold potatoes that were intended to be full size, but when I prematurely dug them up, I was delighted to find tiny, marble-size potatoes clinging to the roots. Within minutes, I was in my kitchen, rinsing off the still-wet earth, their skins so thin that the force of the water nearly peeled them away. After a few minutes in boiling, salted water, they went into a saute pan with fruity olive oil, smashed cloves of garlic and sprigs of thyme. Heavenly, they were; creamy inside, crisp and earthy outside. Later that day, I made a simple dinner of roasted baby potatoes with melted raclette cheese, good bread and wine. I will never forget those humble meals; they rekindled my love affair with the potato.

Nowadays, I seldom grow potatoes, mainly because I don't want to sacrifice the space in my garden required to grow and hill them. At this time of year, I am on the lookout for new crops of spuds that appear at the market and will rummage through bins and baskets, picking out the tiniest specimens.

The newborn fingerlings that I found, just hours old I was told, were prime for simple preparations. But, of course, I had to play.

raclette potato

Methocel SGA forms a firm gel when heated and reverts to it's original state (here, a soft puree) as it cools. For best results, allow it to hydrate overnight.

160 g hot potato puree

75 g milk, cream, or buttermilk

15 g butter

salt

100 g water

5 g methocel SGA150

raclette cheese, cut into thin slices.

To make potato puree: Peel potatoes and cut into chunks. Drop into boiling, salted water and cook until very tender. Drain and pass through a ricer, tamis or sieve 2-3 times or until a very smooth texture is achieved. This is best made just before proceeding with recipe, while still hot.

Combine hot potato puree with milk, butter, and salt, stirring vigorously until butter melts.

Add methocel to water and blend it in with an immersion blender. Combine gel with potato mixture, stirring until well blended. Cover and chill overnight in refrigerator.

The next day, preheat oven to 250F. Fill molds with potato mixture and bake for 8-10 minutes, or until firm. Remove from oven and unmold onto baking sheet lined with silpat.

Lay slices of cheese alongside potatoes and return to oven just until cheese softens and begins to spread.

Peel cheese off silpat and drape over potato. Lift potato and mold the cheese around the bottom, pressing into place.

If desired, the raclette potato can be painted with strongly-brewed, finely-ground coffee. Serve warm.

pork peanut peach poblano

pork belly

"baked beans"

peach

poblano

coriander

My husband's baked beans are legendary. The recipe has been handed down through the generations of Canadian men in his family like an heirloom. They are not the stuff that you find in cans–they are the real deal. And they are made in a pressure cooker.

When he first told me of his cooking method, I scoffed, believing that beans should be baked long and slow. A challenge ensued. After an overnight soak, the beans were divided. His went into a pressure cooker, mine went into the oven. Thirty minutes later, his were ready to eat–soft, but firm enough that each bean kept it's integrity and the sweet, tart, and peppery syrup had penetrated them to the core. Five hours later, mine were still hard and inedible, the sauce had all but dried up. I had to concede.

Years ago, a friend brought me a can of green boiled peanuts from his travels to the Low Country. He warned me that they were an acquired taste. For me, the acquisition was quick and complete. It was the one and only time that I had access to them, until recently.

When in season, Asian markets carry raw peanuts, still in the shell. I wanted to cook up a batch in heavily salted boiling water as they do in the South, but the four hour cooking time was putting me off. Then I looked at the pressure cooker. And then I looked at the individual shelled peanuts.

Making the connection to my husband's baked beans was just a logical progression.

pork belly

Pork belly, when properly cooked until tender and succulent, is downright obscene. Choose a belly with a high ratio of fat. It can be cooked with the skin on, then sliced off to expose the creamy layer of fat that will be seared. For an added treat, the cooked skin can be sliced into thin strips and fried until crispy. The belly can be cooked in one piece or cut into individual portions for a shorter cooking time and thorough penetration of flavor. Cooking in a pressure cooker will cut the cooking time further.

3 lbs. pork belly

1 qt. rich chicken stock

1 cup peach juice

2 Tblsp molasses

1 Tblsp brown sugar

salt and pepper

In a heavy skillet, sear the pork belly on both sides until golden. Remove and place in a deep baking pan or a pressure cooker. Pour about 1 cup of chicken stock into the skillet and deglaze pan, then pour over the pork belly. Add the rest of the stock and the remaining ingredients.

To braise in the oven: Preheat the oven to 300°F. Cover the casserole and bake for 4-5 hours or until fork tender.

To pressure cook: Cover pot, lock lid and bring up to pressure. Cook for 1- 1 1/2 hours.

When tender, remove the belly from the liquid. Remove skin, if still attached, and cut into serving pieces. Sear the fat side of the belly until crispy, then brush with glaze.

For glaze: In a saucepan, combine 1 cup of peach puree with 2 Tblsps of brown sugar and 1 Tblsp lime juice. Cook over med-high heat until thickened, about 5 minutes.
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.

"baked beans"

Salt pork is pork fat, usually from the back, that has been cured in salt. Fresh pork belly can be used in it's place.

4 oz. salt pork or fresh pork belly

1 lb. shelled green raw peanuts

6 Tblsps molasses

6 Tblsps brown sugar

1 Tblsp prepared mustard

1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

1/2 tsp salt (omit if using salt pork)

1 whole large onion, peeled

Cut the pork into 1/2" pieces and fry in a pressure cooker until browned and crispy. Add peanuts, molasses, brown sugar, mustard, pepper and salt (if using). Stir to combine. Place onion in center. Cover, lock lid, and bring up to pressure. Cook for 30 minutes. Release pressure and remove onion.

poached peach

August is peach season here in the Northeast. My Redhaven peaches need another week or two to ripen, but there are earlier local varieties now available at the markets. The kernel of the peach pit is a good source of Benzaldehyde (the essence of bitter almonds). To extract the kernel, strike the pit with a heavy hammer or mallet until it breaks open.

3 ripe peaches

2 cups peach juice

1/2 cup Sauternes

2 Tblsps agave nectar

3 peach kernels

Wash peaches and cut each in half. Remove the pit and extract the kernel. In a pan large enough to hold the peaches in a single layer, combine the peach juice, Sauternes, and agave nectar and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the peaches, laying them skin-side-up, and their kernels. Poach gently, until tender, about 5 minutes. Remove from liquid, peel off skin, and cut into 1" cubes. Serve warm.

poblano salad

Poblano peppers are a staple in my vegetable garden, along with the other chilis: jalapeno, serrano, thai dragon, and habanero. Poblanos are the mildest among these. Towards the end of their growing season, I allow the dark, glossy green pods to ripen on the plants until they turn a deep red. When dried, these are known as Ancho chilis. Charring the poblanos accomplishes three things: it allows the waxy skins to be easily removed, it softens the flesh to a tender-crisp texture, and it infuses them with a smoky flavor.

2 poblano peppers

1 Tblsp avocado oil

1 1/2 tsp lime juice

Salt

Char the peppers over an open flame until the skins blister and blacken. Place them in a heatproof container with a tight-fitting lid and allow them to steam in their residual heat for 10 minutes. Remove the blackened skins by rubbing them off with your fingers or a dry towel. Resist the temptation to rinse them off–you will only be diluting the flavor. When peeled, rip them open and remove the stem, membranes and seeds. Finely julienne the flesh and toss with the remaining ingredients.

poached salmon

chilled poached salmon
caviar
persian cucumber
creme fraiche
green dill seeds
leek buds
hyssop flowers

At the restaurant, we make tons of poached salmon.
Well, maybe not tons, but on the weekends we make enough to feed the masses. I'm told that it's been on the catering menu for the past 20 years and that attempts to remove it have been futile. I am not surprised by it's popularity; every time that I taste it I'm reminded of the complexity of flavor that can be achieved through simple, classic techniques.
The secret to it's success at the restaurant is that it is consistency prepared the same way. The fillets are cut off the bone and two whole sides go into a hotel pan, skin side down. Chopped onions, celery, lemons, and parsley are strewn over the top along with a liberal sprinkling of salt. Half of a magnum of white wine is poured over, followed by enough water to cover by an inch. They go into a cold convection oven at 375F. After 20 minutes, the court-bouillon just begins to steam, the vegetables begin to soften, releasing their aroma, and the oven is turned down to 325F. The salmon cooks slowly and gently until it is opaque all the way through. After the pans are removed from the oven, they cool on a rack until they are no longer hot, then they chill overnight in the walk-in. This is where the magic happens: as the salmon cools, the flesh retracts and draws in the aromatic liquid, locking in the flavor. The next day, the flesh, although cold, is soft and unctuous, and the flavor is deep and complex.
When I begin to play the what-if game with this particular preparation, I always come up short. I can think of no other techniques (short of sous-vide, which is unpractical with the quantities that we do) that would yield the same results.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

hot poached salmon
salsa verde
court-bouillon

whipped buttermilk potatoes

At home, hot poached salmon with salsa verde and softly whipped buttermilk potatoes is my go-to dish when I have salmon, fresh herbs, and a good bottle of Chardonnay on hand. The ripe flavors of the wine marries well with the richness of the fish and the assertive herbs.
Because the salmon is served hot and does not benefit from the flavor-boosting overnight chill, the court-bouillon must be concentrated. Copious amounts of aromatics are simmered in white wine and water until all of their flavor is extracted. This becomes more of a stock than a court-bouillon (court, in French, means short or quick). When the temperature of the stock is at 185F, the salmon are dropped in and poached for about 8 minutes, or until a translucent core remains.
Sometimes, when I can't bear to throw out the flavorful stock, I will surround the salmon and potatoes with it in shallow bowls. Doing this transforms the dish into something else…not a soup, but not quite a sauce, either…it becomes both. The soft potatoes melt into the stock along with flecks of herbs, so that after the salmon is consumed, a delicious potato-herb soup is left in the bowl.

Here, I have taken the dish and played with the textures. The salmon has been left alone, in it's state of perfection. The salsa verde, consisting of parsley, tarragon, golden oregano, common thyme, lemon thyme, anchovies, shallots, capers, extra-virgin olive oil, and white wine vinegar, has been set with agar. The agar has a higher melting point than most gels, allowing it to be served hot, while retaining it's shape. The potato base is cooked potatoes that have been passed through a tamis, blended with olive oil, salt, and buttermilk to a pourable consistency. 1.5% Methocel SGA150 is added and the mixture is whipped to aerate and lighten. The mixture is dropped off of the end of a spoon into the hot stock to form small, leaf-shaped dumplings that are firm while hot, yet melt on the tongue.
The tips of herbs, planted in the sheet of salsa verde, is directly inspired by my new planter. After years of trekking up to the garden to pick a few sprigs of herbs to season a dish in progress, and returning to a find that it has scorched or overcooked (I am easily distracted in the garden), I have planted an assortment of my favorite herbs in a windowbox on the front porch. Such a simple solution, and now I have no excuses to not use fresh herbs when the inspiration strikes.