Chef at Home

Archive for January, 2010

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There is nothing like a good steak. My sweet tooth blossomed with pregnancy, and I enjoyed desserts in a way that I haven't in years. I abhorred fish in any form except for a desperate craving for raw oysters and french fries, still unsatisfied as a matter of fact, that I sidestepped with fried oysters because I just wasn't willing to risk raw seafood during gestation. Anyway I digress, I'm talking about cravings and the only constant before, during and after pregnancy is my craving for a good steak. It hits periodically and although the actual steak may change with what's available, the desire for properly cooked red meat never seems to vary.

A great steak needs nothing else. The potatoes, spinach, salad, etc are simply decoration. They may be delicious on their own but beside a beautifully cooked piece of beef they seem to fade into the woodwork, taking up space in my stomach that could be filled with meat. I still stand by a simple cast iron pan, lightly coated with salt and heated till it just begins to smoke. Drop in a thick steak, lower the heat to medium, and turn often. I got this technique (the continuous flipping of the meat) from Harold McGee ten years ago and never looked back. Constant turning not only cooks the meat more quickly and evenly, it helps develop a beautiful, even caramelization on both sides of the steak. Let the beef rest on a warm plate topped with some good butter, pour a glass of decadent red wine, and then enjoy. The meat develops an almost crisp salty crust, giving way to the rich meat and mineral-ly juices. There's nothing else quite like it. The dry aged prime steaks pictured here are from our local Whole Foods (local being a relative term as it's in Princeton, NJ), our most recent go-to butcher, and they were delicious. Take my word for it.

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As opposed to the tea kettle. The tea kettle being what you use to boil water for your tea. There's one I have my eye on but I haven't taken the plunge yet. On the other hand I really needed a good teapot. Winter is in full swing and there's nothing like a cup of tea to warm my bones on a chilly afternoon. I had a few requirements. It needed to be insulated so that tea wouldn't cool off before I could drink it and it needed to do its job well and be easily cleaned. The solution was the this teapot from Bonjour. It's not perfect (is anything?) but it does make a damn fine cup of tea. I've only had it for a few days but it has already brewed several cups for me. One of the hazards of having a toddler is that more cups end up cold on the counter instead of warm in my tummy.

The teapot has a stainless steel, perforated well in the center for the tea leaves and a plunger that allows you to stop steeping when the tea is strong enough to suit your taste. The plunger can be a bit awkward and in spite of this, the teapot works beautifully and I have no complaints. It's on the expensive side, as teapots go, although I considered it an investment. If I'm going to spend the money on premium tea leaves I ought to have a proper pot to brew them in. Now I do and not a moment too soon because it's the little pleasures that make my day feel special.

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When I was growing up I was lucky enough to be taken to the theater more often than most kids. I loved it, absorbing the music and the costumes, getting carried off in a story filled with drama and pageantry. The fact that we always went out to dinner beforehand made the entire evening an event. One of our favorite pre-heater haunts was Victor’s Cafe 52.

That restaurant was my first exposure to Cuban food and like the theater that followed dinner, it took me to another place. I loved everything about that restaurant. The fact that most of the diners were speaking another language made it feel exotic and otherworldly. The fact that the food was delicious was an added bonus. Somehow the black beans and rice were unlike anything I’d ever had before and believe me I ate plenty of rice. The ropa vieja was a favorite as was the beefsteak Duran. Suckling pig and savory rice dishes were also delicious. But it was the green sauce that won me over. We started every meal with small, sizzling casseroles of garlicky shrimp and clams in green sauce. The shrimp were delicious, it’s just that versions of that particular preparation could be found in many other places. It was the clams in green sauce that drew me in, and stayed with me, prompting me to answer “Victor’s” whenever I was asked where to go to dinner before the theater. They were something special. Briny and earthy, they spoke of land and sea, bright blue skies and tropical horizons. I would pry each small clam from it’s shell, bathe it gently in the sauce and carefully convey it to my lips. The flavors were bold and soft at the same time, evolving in my mouth as I chewed on the delicate meat. Frankly I could have made a meal of just those clams with good bread and a Shirley Temple or two.

As I grew old enough to ask questions about the food I found out that backbone of that dish was parsley and garlic. It’s a simple and stunning combination that finds its voice in cuisines around the world. Earthy, herbal and balanced, that combination can make almost anything not just edible but worth savoring. It’s been well over a decade since I last ate at Victor’s Cafe. Although I’m sure it has change immensely over the years, as restaurants do, it’s comforting to know it still exists there on the edge of the theater district. I like to imagine it filled with the buzz of happy dinners, basking in the scent of parsley and garlic. I like to think of it as a slightly magical combination that brings happiness whenever I employ it in my own kitchen.

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The cabbage is sauteed in butter and seasoned with Meyer lemon juice and sesame oil. The final grating of aged Gouda demonstrated the old adage the whole is often much greater than the sum of its parts.

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Butterscotch Pot de Creme, Dulce de Leche & Brown Sugar-Cumin Roasted Pecans

You could say I know Butterscotch. I know it well. And more than most people, I know what Butterscotch is not, never was and, if it's up to me, which of course it's not; because I need the help of all pastry chefs worldwide, not to mention the massive corporations who decide what you eat, in what form, and, {did you know?!} with what flavorings… But I digress.

If it were solely up to me, I would make sure everyone, e v e r y  one, knew the true, real taste of Butterscotch.

At my current workplace, I appear to be doing a good job of just this sort of delicious education. Because, contrary to popular plated dessert menu logic, this Butterscotch Pot de Creme is oftentimes selling better than my chocolate dessert.

I kid you not.

The People?

They appear to want the real thing.

Take that you imposters! You pretenders! Take that artificial butterscotch chips! POW! Artificial flavors be banished!

The People have spoken. With their mouths full. 

Butterscotch, the passion. Who knew? Underdog or trendsetter, flavor or philosophy, back road or freeway, Butterscotch could very well be bipartisan. Who do you know that can cast aspersions on Butterscotch?

In some ways you could say Butterscotch is simple. It is merely the flavor of its parts. No fancy flips or one-handed emulsion tricks, no major machinery needed, no ingredients you can't get at your local regular supermarket.

Dark Brown Sugar. Butter. Cream. Madagascar "Bourbon" Vanilla Extract. Salt.

See? Easy. Easy as a pot on a stove, whisk in hand, a dash of patience & a good, solid, belief in the seasoning & balancing power of salt.

All that said, pot de creme? It's not so easy. I worked for a pastry chef once who, after I asked nervously, "How do you know when they're done, when they're just set?" said, "You'll come to have a pot de creme sense. You'll know before the timer goes off. The oven will talk to you. Listen. The custards, and their corresponding ramekins, will teach you. You'll see."

And she was right.

But not everyone has it.

You have to be a student of the egg. You have to understand coagulation. You have to understand why. You have to be a Why Asker. You have to get quiet. Really quiet. Because when eggs talk, when eggs school, they do so quietly. Eggs are great whisperers. 

You have to understand steam. You have to know what a water-bath does. You have to understand your oven. You have to understand the physics of ratio. Ratio of ramekin weight & depth to liquid custard. 

You have to be patient. You have to have a gentle touch when checking up on your setting pot de cremes. You have to have the eye. Your eyes need to be connected to your mind, but also your heart. For an overcooked pot de creme looks a lot like an underset one.

And you have to know something about carryover cooking.

Yes, carryover cooking isn't just for meat cooks. All protein, all baked goods, experience carryover cooking.

All that warning aside. A pot de creme is worth it. Worth every worry, worth every every ramekin of wobbly, custardy joy, worth every pot de creme you have to dump immediately in the garbage bin because you waited 1 minute too long.

Pot de creme is not forgiving. Overcooked pot de creme? Scrambled eggs. Literally. Not smooth texture. Overcooked pot de creme feeds the garbage gods, who laugh in your face. But you have to stare them down, even with tears streaming into their hungry, mean mouths, and get back on the pot de creme pony.

A perfect pot de creme will evaporate in your mouth faster than cotton candy. A perfect pot de creme will keep you from sharing. A perfect pot de creme will leave you wordless. Will humble you.

I promise.

And so… the dessert at hand.

Butterscotch plays well with others. Butterscotch pairs with many other flavours sweet & savoury. Being that we're still in the thick of January & winter's brittle clutch, my dessert menu leans heavily on warm, hearty compositions. Butterscotch can still taste like itself up against some pretty powerful ingredient egos. Like cumin.

Who says cumin has no place in desserts? I seem to remember proving y'all wrong a few years ago when I made a Cumin Pot de Creme with Heirloom Apple Salad & Bee Pollen.

Cumin can be a bit frightening because of it's sharply bitter edge which is never demurely hiding against the wall waiting for Coriander or Black beans to ask it to dance. Cumin will more likely steal your car than open the door for you. So, yes, you do have to be careful with cumin.

But, up against Butterscotch, cumin checks her guns at the door. She hooks the arms of one slender, dashing, buttery pecan, stands up straight as an arrow, shows off a little leg, and lets a night of brown sugar, butter & sea salt take her away.

And if you're still not convinced, these brown sugar-salty butter-cumin roasted nuts sit on a deeply colored dulche de leche: one of the world's most voluptuous, silky, milky, caramel known to all whose tongues have come   with across it.

I make one final stroke. {You could say I learnt it in London.}

To offer a bit of 'refreshment,' brightness, & mystery to the dessert, I pour a thin stream of cream on the butterscotch pot de creme's surface. The taste of cold cream is one of life's rare, secreted, pleasures.

If you were a wee bit afraid of whether butterscotch were going to be too sweet for your elegant palate, the cream is there for your tempering pleasure. If the plate were slightly too wintery browns for your intelligent eye, the lid of juxtoposed white would immediately balance the plate's aesthetic dynamic.

And if you, were anything like me, you would allow me to blindfold one of your five senses, and trust me to take you on a journey filled with familiar & unfamiliar, common & uncommon, rich & deep sensations, beyond your wildest imaginings.

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