Workbook

Celebrated Summer

I have a small pile of bits that, for whatever reason, never came together over the last few months. But the sudden shift of the weather has got me thinking about discoveries that quickly came and went this year.

One of these brief encounters was with fresh angelica. I've always been curious about this plant, ever since my first taste of one sweet and unnaturally neon green stalk ten years ago. Not too much later (and surprisingly, not too much since), I had been introduced to angelica in its fresh form, through Ken Oringer at Clio. More recently, I've been playing with angelica seed- a common aromatic used in gin. Perhaps because of its relative obscurity, this vegetal component has always been on my radar.

   
 

Back in early June, I stumbled upon a source from a small farm. The five pounds I excitedly ordered nearly filled a small garbage bag- it was a tangle of thick and slender stalks, of tiny shoots and tough, palm-sized leaves. We set to work breaking down the angelica, separating the hollow stalks from the leaves, and then further sorting the stalks into their different sizes. The leaves went into a few different infusions; the stalks were cleaned, blanched, and simply candied.

 

I noticed only one other pastry chef in town who'd been using it: Alex at WD-50. He, coincidentally, also became familiar with angelica while working with Oringer. Among his desserts I tasted over the summer, Stupak incorporated an angelica ice cream and thin rings of candied stalk into one with pistachio and meyer lemon. Our stab at giving it a prominent role was in a clafoutis-like cherry tart with mahleb ice cream- infused with cherry pits to lend a bitter almond and vanilla flavor, not unlike that of tonka bean. It seemed intuitive that, as it emerged during peak cherry season, the two would have an affinity for each other. 

I'm keeping on hand a small stash of preserved angelica to snack on, but I look forward to seeing it again next summer...

Gummy

It’s probably been at least a year and a half now since we started tinkering with our own version of gummy candies and starch molding. Of course, it was right about the time Sam was doing his various alcohol ‘bears’- including absinthe, sambuca, and amaro, and at least once, there was the infamous ‘whiskey dick’. We didn’t really want to tread on his territory, so apart from playing with starch molded fish and the like, we shelved the idea.

 

I sat in on a hydrocolloid demo at ICE a couple weeks ago, featuring George Mendes, Tim Koerner and Anthony Caratozzolo, as well as Mr. Mason, who blew through his repertoire of cold oil spherification, soft chocolate set with carrageenan, gellan films, and warm custards made possible with methylcellulose. The gummy bears just kind of came up in conversation, reminding me that I hadn’t thought about them in many months.

 

Our first test was with Pernod, a little softer and less chewy than the commercial candy we all know; we didn’t factor the blooming water into Sam’s formula (dosing gelatin at 25% of the total), nor is there the high enough sugar content to contribute much texture. And though we’ve taken a break from pearls and caviars and such, we still keep some cold oil in the walk-in, so I dropped the last few cc’s of Pernod gel into the oil to produce a nice transparent pearl.

 

 

From there, I wanted to see if they would float in water; they didn’t, but I’d love to try floating them in a slightly more viscous fluid. And then the general idea of suspension led to the thought of floating such pearls into a clear gummy. Below are basil and strawberry gummy pearls dropped into a clear gel, and strips inlaid with raspberry. We went for a firmer texture using 25% gelatin, and along with some sugar we also added a small amount of citric acid. The technique can certainly be refined, but it was a cool starting point.

 

 

 

 

Download: Pernod Gummy-Workbook 27.7.09

 

 

 

Final Touches

 

The great thing about all of these daily exercises is that I'm certainly not wanting for lack of ideas and launching points. The downside is that it sometimes takes awhile to see these initial sparks through to a completed dish. It might be time or a matter of logistics, or I might just be waiting for that final component to unify a composition.

I've finally circled back to a yogurt-based dessertthat is now ready for prime time. Once we nailed the micro-sponge for a la minute service, I needed that one extra element to round it out: basil ice cream.

 

The final dish now consists of the yogurt parfait, rhubarb marmelade, yogurt micro-sponge, grated freeze-dried bluberry, micro-basil, the ice cream, and rhubarb chips.

 

Download: Basil Ice Cream-Workbook 28.3.09

 

 

Purple Drink

 

So I've had this purple corn sitting around for some time now. It was a gift from Giuliana, my Peruvian pastry chef running the show down in Grand Cayman. Often with something new and weird and special, you almost hate to play with it in fear that if you do find something useful, you'll never be able to source it again. After noticing this corn tucked in to a corner at Kalustyan's recently, I finally decided to get into it.

As with the falooda, just a little bit of research reveals that what first appears an oddity to some of us is everyday fare for many others. This is why I'm attracted to such things; by confronting new (to me) ingredients I not only grow as a chef but I also learn a thing or two about other cultures. What I discover may not fit into the context of what I do right here/right now, but at least my frame of reference expands ever so slightly. And it's humbling as well, to be reminded that what we do is just a tiny drop in a very big bucket.

     

It became quickly apparent that I use the chicha morada as a starting point. Under a broad umbrella, chicha refers to drinks both fermented and unfermented- primarily derived from corn, but other grains, too- found throughout South America. In Peru, the purple corn drink is as ubiquitous as Coca Cola and Kool Aid here; in fact, though it can be made at home, it is sold in the bottle and in powdered packet form as well.

Using the recipe on the package as a general guideline, I began by simmering the dried corn, eventually adding some lemon, clove, cinnamon, and pineapple rind, followed by sugar and more lemon and lime. It didn't take long before I realized, "OK, basically this is like... it's corn sangria!"

 

   

Also obvious was to give the chilled liquid some carbonation. But then I have to ask how it all works in my context. The gut reaction was to turn the chicha morada into a gelee, with the appropriate garnish- julienne pineapple, apple granite, micro cilantro-  to create a sort of 'solid' sangria.

Download: Purple Corn Soda-Workbook 25.3.09

Download: Purple Corn Gelee-Workbook 25.3.09

 

Using Your Noodle

 

This exercise had a dual purpose. For starters, in planning my second class at ICE- Asian Flavors in Contemporary Desserts- I wanted to include central Asia in addition to what we normally perceive as 'Asian' (we usually stop at China and southeast Asia). But I've always been interested in those dishes from other cultures that closely resemble some of our own, too. In this case, it's falooda, which is little more than an ice cream sundae, or perhaps better described as a milkshake with texture. Versions exist from India and Pakistan into Iran and further west, the constant being these vermicelli-like noodles (as far as I can tell, most often made from corn or arrowroot), but also basil seeds and rose.

     

Without adding too much of my own quite yet, I kind of just felt like exploring some of the classic flavor combinations to see what might inspire me further. Building upon our rose sorbet, I wanted to incorporate mango, saffron, jaggery, and pistachio, in addition to the textural play of the noodles and basil seeds. I guess the only thing missing would be cardamom. Nothing earth-shattering in its own context, I guess until you view it through the lens of conventional Western desserts.

     

The noodles themselves have always interested me. I initially assumed they would soften up nicely with just a cold water soak, although they are most often quickly boiled then shocked in ice water. It's also not uncommon to see them broken up and incorporated into an ice ceam or kulfi, though I learned the hard way that they might benefit from a soak in syrup first; mine became crunchy little filaments upon freezing. The basil seeds held up much better when folded into our sorbet. It was also a no-brainer to throw a few strands of dried noodles into the fryer; they puffed up beautifully.

Somewhere among these ingredients or their juxtaposition, there's a dish waiting for me...

Download: Falooda-Workbook 24.3.09

 

Contemplating Starch

 

I finally got around to this project after many months of hibernation. The concept came from a presentation given by Aki Kamozawa and Alex Talbot, where the dynamic duo discussed starch and low temperature cooking, specifically as it applies to potatoes and rice. The idea put forth was that cooking starch at its precise point of gelatinization will provide some measure of integrity and eliminate the probability of a gummy potato puree or a pasty risotto. And always looking to provide a practical angle, Alex and Aki demonstrated how risotto could now be made a la minute, as opposed to a lengthy 15 minutes of constant stirring or less-than-ideal par-cooking followed by reheating.

As we were chatting after the demo, it came up that they had yet to apply the technique to a sweet rice pudding. This was way back in September or October; if I'm good at anything, it's procrastination.

     

I began with the rice (arborio) per the Ideas in Food method: loosely wrapped in cheesecloth, cooked for 30 minutes at 65C, and then chilled down and rinsed to release some of the excess starch. From this point, the rice can held for a couple of days; it's certainly 'cooked' to some degree, but still far from a pleasant al dente.

As I set out the other day, I asked Alex if they had come to a fixed ratio of liquid to rice, and he had suggested I try a proportion of 4:1. I cooked the rice in milk and vanilla alone, uncovered, and at a fairly agressive simmer. I was called away in the middle of it, but it took no more than 9 or 10 minutes. Once tender, it was off the heat and in with a splash of heavy cream, sugar, cocoa nibs, dried apricot, lemon zest, and rosewater. The flavor combination came out of a long-ago project Monica and I had worked on, but unrelated to rice. I wanted a creamy pudding, but not too loose, for reasons dictated by its final destination...

Download: Rice Pudding-Workbook 16.3.09

   

I love feuille de brik. I had brushed, layered, wrapped, and otherwise folded enough phyllo back in my earliest years of cooking, that to this day I still avoid it. But brik does all the things you only wish phyllo could do. Here we rolled the rice pudding into long, thin strudels, then sauteed them in clarified butter.

     

   

It's a tasty morsel, but a difficult component for us to work into the menu. But I'm excited to see where else this pondering of starch can take us.

Further Study

 

In addition to the oro blanco grapefruit, our stage Jeffrey also brought us some Paige mandarins last weekend. They too were from Tory Farms, who are also known for their grapes and stone fruit. Inspired by the grapefruit-granite dish from yesterday, I wanted to explore a further riff on southeast Asian flavors to pair with these little orange flavor bombs.

I started thinking about complex Thai curry, and then thought it might be fun to play along the lines of a soup, something like a sweet tom yum. Infused into coconut puree were lemongrass, palm sugar and lime, as well as some of the juice and zest from the mandarin. When I went to grab a knob of ginger I discovered we were out, so for a touch heat I snipped a off a tiny piece of Thai chili once again.

   

   

The mandarins themselves presented a conundrum: I can't remember the last time I've served citrus in its own membrane, yet the segments are quite delicate. I love their natural shape, too. I remember a couple years ago hearing that another chef in town was experimenting with a pectinase. As its name implies, this is an enzyme that 'eats' pectin, or the glue that holds cellulose together. Is this how canned mandarin segments retain their beautiful shape? I also recall a rumour that the pectinase was kind of scary to work with, but I digress...

So I chose not to peel the segments, instead slicing them in half and standing them up on end. Plated and also en verrine, the mandarins were joined by crumbled black sesame cake. The 'soup' was frothed up, and then further hit with spray-dried coconut powder, a few black sesame seeds, and ginger caramel.

Download: Coconut Lemongrass Soup-Workbook 15.03.09

     

   

A Study in White

 

A visiting stage last week was kind enough to leave us with a gift: some beautiful specimens of California oro blanco grapefruit straight from Tory Farms, 200 miles south of San Francisco. A special, limited product calls for minimal treatment to allow its own personality to shine.

   

The inspiration hit me in a flash with one glance of the walk-in. First, some background...

Ever since my trip to Thailand last year, I've been making a simple dish that I've become addicted to: pad ga prow. Finely minced chicken or pork is quickly stir-fried with garlic, Thai chili peppers, Thai basil, and nam pla. Though I've occasionally improvised with jalapeno and serrano peppers, as well as conventional basil, the results just aren't quite the same; there's something about the Thai ingredients that lend the dish its authenticity.

I've been thinking about the basil and those peppers in connection with a completely different project. With the arrival of these special grapefruit, it was by chance that I thought about pomelo, and a great spicy salad I had also eaten in Bangkok. Thus, the idea comes full circle.

   

As I've been working so much with ice cream and sorbet, I decided to change it up and infuse these flavors into a simple granite. After that, everything else fell neatly into place: the grapefruit sectioned, the juice made into a gelee, and an avocado puree. A sugar garnish rounds things off; the grapefruit remains the star.

Monochromatic compositions are tough to pull off, especially when it's all a variation of white and yellow. But I like the purity and simplicity- it belies the intensity of flavor within.

 

     

Download: Thai Basil Chili Granite-Workbook 14.03.09

The Best Thing Since

 

Although we've pretty much been a Valrhona house for years, I'm always tasting other chocolates, often bringing them in for very specific uses. We've done this with Amedei, Weiss, and most recently Michel Cluizel. I'm actually beginning to lean heavier on the Cluizel line; my favorite at the moment is their Maralumi Lait. As more and more consumers have become aware of cocoa percentages, I think milk chocolate has gotten a bad rap over the years, scoffed at for being 'pedestrian'. It definitely has its place, and sometimes offers certain subtleties that darker chocolates can't. In addition to the warm caramel and malt flavors, the Maralumi in particular (a whopping 47% cocoa content) has notes of licorice, spice, wood, and toasted bread. A perfect compliment for bread ice cream, of course.

   

I've seen a dozen or so variations on this idea over the years. Perhaps my first encounter was a pain d'epice ice cream by Bernard Loiseau, from the amazing, but short-lived publication Opt Art (if you ever stumble upon one of the six issues they published, buy it). There have been countless other variations bouncing around for sure, even one where milk is inoculated with yeast to provide fermentation and that 'bread' flavor- I never got around to trying that method, but it has always intrigued me.

I like to start with a whole wheat bread, and to provide optimum flavor, I toast the slices until the color has developed and the bread is completely dry. Then it's an overnight soak in whole milk. The resulting milk is a beautiful tan color; we press as much moisture from the bread as possible, but there's still a significant loss- more on that later. The milk also takes on a slight saltiness, which makes sense, as salt would be one of the primary soluble materials left in the bread.

   

The base is made in the normal manner with one exception. If I'm going to go through the process of making a bread, or better put, toast ice cream, why not a cinnamon toast ice cream? Using a trick that I picked up from Bajard, I fold a cinnamon-sugar mixture into the finished ice cream after it comes out of the machine. The result is a brighter and more intense flavor than infusion can ever offer. And as a bonus, the sugar gives it a texture that is not unlike a slice of actual cinnamon toast. We simply reserve half the sugar from the otherwise conventional base for this purpose.

Download: Cinnamon Toast Ice Cream-Workbook 13.03.09

     

To capitalize on the affinity I assumed the Maralumi Lait might have for the ice cream, we fashioned a simple cremeux. We had saved the spent bread, which would have made a nice puffed garnish (using the tapioca starch method mentioned here), but opted to go with super-thin slices of bread brushed with olive oil and toasted. A small amount of the soaked bread did get incorporated into an anglaise, which was then further lightened with whipped cream.

Download: Maralumi Cream-Workbook 13.03.09

   

Spice

 

Back when I was in Thailand last September, I was able to get a brief market tour from an expat writer who was (and still is) spending time traveling through Southeast Asia. We had discussed a special peppercorn grown in neighboring Cambodia, which I had never heard of, and which I had promptly forgotten about. That is until a tiny package arrived the other day, from Mari, through a mutual friend: securely encased in bubble wrap was my first taste of Kampot pepper.

    

 

There have been recent efforts to revive the cultivation and export of this once highly regarded peppercorn, grown in the southern province nestled between Thailand and Vietnam. Though it thrived under French colonialism, it stands to reason that this industry was all but wiped out as result of the civil turmoil within Cambodia that began in the 1970s. And as inferior pepper is often falsely sold under the name, Kampot pepper farmers are now working to achieve a government sponsored geographic appellation status.

    

Apart from the occasional garnish, it's been awhile since I've used peppercorn as a flavor. I'd like to play around with infusing different amounts for longer or shorter periods, at higher or lower temperatures. Gently infused into an ice cream base, I was surprised how little of the heat came through, but rather a sweet fruitiness that I didn't expect.

The ginger-candied raspberries came from an idea I'd seen several years ago in a dish by Jean-Phillipe Maury: fresh raspberries are macerated in sugar, lemon and sliced ginger, then heated slightly. The fruit maintains it's integrity while taking on the subtle heat of the ginger.

And most chefs seem to be rigidly split over the idea of raspberry paired with chocolate. I can't say that I claim a passionate opinion either way; it makes sense, however, with the spice involved, that it would work here in both a complimentary and contrasting way.

Download: Kampot Peppercorn Ice Cream-Workbook 10.3.09

Download: Ginger Candied Raspberries-Workbook 10.3.09