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.

pea prosciutto peanut

late night cravings for wasabi peas and peanut brittle… sometimes both together.

rereading a childhood fairytale… a terrible giant (who grinds the bones of Englishmen to make his bread!), redemption, and golden eggs.

revisiting a classic trio… fresh peas, cured meat, hard aged cheese.

observing nature in high summer… the race towards the sky.

random inspirations are often the inception of a dish.

english pea pudding ✢ pea sprouts ✢ prosciutto
manchego ✢ wasabi pea powder ✢ peanut brittle

miso-cured hen eggs

More yolks… this time, from hen eggs… cooked at 65C and cured for 5 days.

Well worth the time and effort for the sinuous luxury that it added to this humble dish of young root vegetables and shiitake dashi.

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.

tekka miso

Tekka miso is a condiment traditionally made from burdock, carrots and lotus roots. The grated roots are slowly cooked in sesame oil, then blended with ground black sesame seeds, ginger, and Hatcho miso— a dark, long-fermented type of miso made entirely from soybeans. The paste is slowly cooked over a low fire until all of the moisture evaporates, resulting in a dry, crumbly mixture.

Prized in Japan for its flavor and aroma, tekka miso is reminiscent of chocolate and coffee. Not surprising as it, too, is a product of fermentation and roasting, with parallel complexity.

tekka miso
makes 200ml (¾ cup)

9g sesame oil
30g grated daikon
30g grated carrot
25g grated beet root
25g finely minced scallion
25g black sesame paste
6g microplaned gingerroot
130g hatcho or red miso

Line the bottom of a skillet with the sesame oil and set over medium heat. Add the daikon, carrot, beet root and scallion and toss to coat with the oil. Cook until vegetables just begin to take on color, then lower the heat to medium low and continue cooking until soft and tender, stirring often. Add the sesame paste and gingerroot, pressing into vegetable mixture until incorporated (it will form a clump). Cook for 2-3 minutes while spreading and turning the mixture, then blend in the miso. Spread the resulting thick paste in the bottom of the pan in an even layer. Turn the heat down to lowest setting and continue cooking for 20-30 minutes. Alternately, the mixture can be spread on a baking sheet and baked in a 65C/150F oven. In either case, turn and spread the mixture every few minutes until it is dry and crumbly. Cool before packing into jars. Store in refrigerator for up to 3 months.

roasted buna shimeji stems (brown beech mushrooms)
asparagus pudding
tekka miso

miso adaptations

Spontaneous fermentation is the oldest form of 'cooking'. Long before man understood the chemistry of how microorganisms preserved his food and heightened its flavor while making him healthier, he learned to control and manipulate the process. Each culture developed their unique specialties based on indigenous ingredients. Early travelers borrowed techniques from their neighbors and assimilated them to what was available back home.

In this spirit, I've taken the time-honored process of making miso and adapted it to the bounty of ingredients that are available in the modern world to make these trial batches. The choices were not arbitrary— they needed to fit the protein/starch profile that koji requires to feed upon. In some cases, soybeans were added to the base ingredient to boost the protein content. Many borders were crossed, but no bridges were burned.

No doubt, some will fail, and some will succeed, but that's part of the fun of discovery. Ultimately, flavor will dictate which ones will be pursued.

mortadella kohlrabi pistachio

Kohlrabi is unique among vegetables in that the edible part is actually a swollen stem. The leaves, which are commonly eaten in parts of India, are often removed in US markets. On the few occasions that I've grown kohlrabi, I've found the leaves to be similar in texture and flavor to kale, collards and other cruciferous greens. This vegetable is really about the stem.

Always look for small kohlrabi, as large ones can be pithy. Once the thin skins are removed, the crisp, creamy-white orbs can be enjoyed cooked or raw. Sliced thin, they make excellent quick pickles.

Lately, I've taken to replacing the water in a pickle solution with fruit juice when I want a bit of sweetness. Apple juice works well, but white grape juice doesn't darken the pickle as much.

kohlrabi quick pickle

250g cider vinegar
4.5g kosher salt
200g white grape juice
2.5g pink peppercorns
8 allspice berries
2 bay leaves
5 small kohlrabi

Combine vinegar and salt in saucepan. Heat until salt is dissolved. Remove from heat and stir in grape juice and spices. Let cool completely. Meanwhile, peel the kohlrabi and slice thinly with a knife or a mandoline. Place kohlrabi in a clean jar or bowl and pour cooled brine over top. Stir to separate slices. Set aside, covered, in refrigerator. Pickles can be consumed after 2 hours, but are better after 4. There is little difference in flavor if kept for longer than 4 hours, but they will continue to soften.

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I've always thought of mortadella as bologna's refined older sister and the hotdog as their skinny younger brother. Indeed, they all belong to a family of cured sausages that utilize meat paste.

This dish came together while exploring various textures of mortadella that started with thin, silky slices wrapped around a light mousse of liquid mortadella and gelatin. When whipped, the gelatin gives the mousse structure without added fat and a clean mouthmelt. For the third texture: crispy pan fried mortadella strips. The fourth was added when I heated a dollop of the mousse in a hot pan and watched it spread and form a lacy wafer. Brittle and crisp, the wafers add textural interest with a bacony flavor.

Mortadellaravioli

mortadella mousse

This versatile mousse can be used as a dip for crudites or spread on toasted brioche. Here, it's used to fill thin slices of mortadella ravioli-style and made into lace wafers by thinly spreading dollops on a nonstick skillet and cooking over medium-high heat until water evaporates and they harden.

90g mortadella, cubed
93g hot water
12g tepid water
2g gelatin

Place mortadella and hot water in high speed blender and blend for 5 minutes, or until mortadella is liquified. Place tepid water in microwavable bowl and sprinkle gelatin over top. Let bloom for 3 minutes, then stir and heat in microwave in 30-second increments, until gelatin is completely dissolved. Add to mixture in blender and blend briefly to incorporate. Pour mixture out into a large bowl and allow to cool to room temperature. Half-fill a larger bowl with ice and cold water to make an ice bath. Set bowl with mousse mixture inside ice bath and beat with a hand-held electric mixer until mixture lightens in color and texture and holds its shape.

mortadella mousse ravioli
pan fried mortadella
mortadella lace
kohlrabi pickle
raw pistachio pesto

pumpkin oven

The final week of November is, without doubt, the busiest of my year. Between filling orders at the restaurant and cooking for clients, the cooking marathon known as Thanksgiving passes me by in a blur. Even though it's stressful, I enjoy the process, knowing that I am contributing to what is perhaps the most nostalgic— thus, emotional meal of the year. As always, organization keeps things flowing smoothly, but there are always glitches— forgotten ingredients, malfunctioning equipment, etc. The real drama, though, plays out when I shut down at night. The stress and anxiety that I have no time for during the day manifests itself in my dreams— or, more accurately— nightmares.

One perennial nightmare that perplexes me is when the entire turkey vanishes into thin air after being loaded into the oven, never to be seen again. In another, dessert turns into a calamity of events that begin with a pumpkin souffle that sinks like a battleship and ends with flambeed cranberries that set the dining room on fire. Then there's the one where I spill a cup of hot coffee down a guest's back. Oh… wait… that one actually happened.

Mercifully, whether in reality or the imagination, Thanksgiving does not only induce visions of disaster; sometimes there are glimpses of perfection: crackling golden skin, moist juicy flesh, fluffy potatoes, flaky crusts, flavors that produce smiles and make memories. And, in the most traditional of holidays, it is only in the nocturnal world that I am allowed flights of food fantasies like this one:
A colossal gilded pumpkin , pulled from a cavernous oven, placed on a carriage and escorted into the dining room by a pair of footmen dressed like dandy pilgrims. Guests gathered round as the lid was lifted off the pumpkin, releasing a cloud of enticing aromas. The footmen, standing on tufted stools, reached in and pulled out a golden brown turkey large enough to feed a crowd. They reached in again and each pulled out a pumpkin, one filled with potatoes, the other with chestnuts. They reached in yet again and pulled out more pumpkins, these filled with brussels sprouts and cranberries. This went on and on like clowns coming out of a Volkswagen until the sizable table groaned with pumpkins filled with all manner of fruits, grains, and vegetables.
An entire meal for the masses cooked in a pumpkin!

Cooking in a pumpkin is nothing new. Indigenous North Americans used hollowed-out pumpkins and gourds as cooking vessels. They would fill them with soups or stews and drop in hot rocks or cook them along with their contents, buried in hot embers. Early European settlers adopted this method by filling them with a custard made of eggs, milk, and honey. Although there is no documentation, there is speculation that this dessert appeared on early Thanksgiving tables. Similarly, in Thailand, Sankaya is a popular street food that consists of a pandanus-scented coconut milk custard, steamed in a small kabocha squash. You can find a recipe and video here.

Now that the holiday has passed (without incident), my waking life, as well as dreamland, can calm down. Inspired by the fantastical dream, I created my own private feast from my very own personal pumpkin oven.

Remove breast and backbone from quail. Stuff cavity with fresh lemon balm.

Cover quail with aromatic paste: Mix together 10g microplaned fresh ginger (1" piece), 10g microplaned garlic (2 medium cloves), 3.5g ground long pepper (1 tsp), 1g ground dried bird chili (1/2 tsp), 4g ground sumac (1 1/2 tsp), 16g extra virgin olive oil (1 Tblsp), 6g kosher salt (1 tsp).

Cut the top off of a medium-sized sugar pumpkin. Scrape out pulp and seeds. Bake in a 176C/350F oven for 30 minutes to heat the cavity. Meanwhile, bring 103g (1/2 cup) apple cider to a boil. Add 42g (1/4 cup) wild pecan rice and a pinch of salt. Return to boil and remove from heat. Immediately pour into warmed pumpkin. Lay a few sprigs of lemon balm over rice. Place quail on top of lemon balm. Cover pumpkin with lid and return to oven. Turn oven temperature up to 232C/450F and bake for 45 minutes, or until rice is tender and quail reaches 74C/165F.

Bring pumpkin oven to table and admire.

Lift lid and inhale.

Serve quail and rice with autumn bbq sauce and a scoop of the fragrant roasted pumpkin flesh. Enjoy.

green squash

Squash belong to a family of plants known as Cucurbitaceae which also includes pumpkins, gourds, melons, and cucumbers. Unlike their summer counterparts, winter squash are harvested when they are fully mature. The fruit of cold weather varieties start out green and are ready to pick when their leathery skins turn uniformly orange or yellow. However, color is not a reliable indication of ripeness with varieties that remain green, such as acorn, hubbard, and some turbans. Regardless, pumpkins and winter squash will continue to ripen during the curing stage, when the fruits are stored at warm temperatures to develop flavor and thicken the skin.
Properly cured, pepos are notoriously long keepers. I once displayed an enourmous Hubbard squash, its skin like ceylon porcelain, as a piece of sculpture for nearly a year before it eventually rotted from within. My parents kept an offspring from their compost heap in a corner of their living room for well over two years before it succumbed to the same fate. True story.

Over the decades of cooking in restaurants and catering, I've processed more than my fair share of winter squash, but I can't say that I've ever encountered an unripe one before this particular hubbard, grown in a heritage squash garden. It's unclear whether it was picked immaturely or not properly stored— I'm guessing it was a combination of both. Of course, I had to taste it.

The inner ripe layer was creamy and sweet, with typical squash-like vegetal flavor (why are there no studies on the aromatic properties of winter squash?). The outer green part was where it got interesting— it was denser in texture and also sweet, but in a fruity, estery way that instantly brought to mind a ripe honeydew. Not surprising, I had to remind myself, considering their close relationship. And then it got fun when I realized that through carefully calculated cuts, I could control the play of fruity and vegetal flavor in the distinct layers. Slant the knife one way and I'd get a bite of melon-on-squash, slanted the other way, and I'd have squash-on-melon.

I chose a decidedly fruity slant for this dish: green squash, asian pear, watermelon-sumac, pine nut milk, pumpkinseed oil, calendula petals, and a final flourish of grated long pepper.

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