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Category: Culinary education (Page 3 of 3)

To read, to cook, and to dream (Thank you, M.F.K. Fisher)

October 5, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Books and cooking are perfect companions. I never tire of reading about food, about the preparation of it, the soul-nourishing properties of selecting and preparing what we eat, the way we dream and think about ingredients and countrysides and fields and markets and tables. Or the way we recall meals enjoyed in restaurants and gardens and backyards.

Cookbooks and volumes on wine and food and all things culinary occupy large amounts of space on the shelves of my bookcases, and I consult them often. (Or, I should say, will again once my books are out of boxes and back on said shelves.) Indeed, I miss terribly sitting with The French Laundry Cookbook and The Gift of Southern Cooking, among others, and delving into the passions of Edna Lewis and Thomas Keller. I miss my Le Guide Culinare. In the past several months I have found myself wishing I had easy access to On Food and Cooking and the words of Mencken on food and drink.

I have been traveling and cooking in Europe since July; Paris is the next stop. My books are in the dark, packed away. I wanted to take a few volumes with me when I began this journey, but suitcases fill rapidly, and shoes and knives and clothing are surprisingly heavy once one begins packing for an extended sojourn.

Reading about tête de veau and M.F.K. Fisher's days and nights in Dijon. (Photograph by Angela Shah)

Reading about tête de veau and M.F.K. Fisher’s days and nights in Dijon. (Photograph by Angela Shah)

I have with me one title, The Art of Eating, by M.F.K. Fisher. I recommend that anyone interested in food and life and love – not to mention good writing – get their own copy, or anything by the author. (I am sure many of you already have.) M.F.K. Fisher has nourished me in Germany and Spain and France and Switzerland thus far on this trip, and she’ll continue to do so for a long time. She has shared her thoughts with me about dining alone, which I have been doing a lot of lately, and her love of tête de veau and sweetbreads and the sorrow and frustration resulting from the fact that more people have not discovered the joys inherent in making a meal of these fine staples. (Of the latter, that sorrow and frustration, I feel the same.) The Art of Eating includes a great recipe for tête de veau, and these lines on eating such honest things:

“Why is it worse, in the end, to see an animal’s head cooked and prepared for our pleasure than a thigh or a tail or a rib? If we are going to live on other inhabitants of this world we must not bind ourselves with illogical prejudices, but savor to the fullest the beasts we have killed … People who feel that a lamb’s cheek is gross and vulgar when a chop is not are like the medieval philosophers who argued about such hairsplitting problems as how many angels could dance on the point of a pin. If you have these prejudices, ask yourself if they are not built on what you may have been taught when you were young and unthinking, and then if you can, teach yourself to enjoy some of the parts of an animal that are not commonly prepared.”

Ms. Fisher dreaming about that perfect trout.

Ms. Fisher dreaming about that perfect trout.

I have been reading this volume of collected works (a partial offering of her output) in an effort to get to know Ms. Fisher a little better, and I have. Recently in Switzerland I took the book high up into the hills above Montreux and Vevey, where she once lived and cooked and loved. I was hoping to make my way to what remains of her house in those hills, but instead met some very fine people as I searched for remnants of Ms. Fisher’s life. I’ll tell you about them soon, and of their kindness and hospitality and love for food. And, I have much more to say and write about Mary Frances Kennedy Fisher’s work and life.

M.F.K. Fisher and one of her admirers.

M.F.K. Fisher and one of her admirers.

In the meantime, read her. And live and love and cook and eat, well.

My favorite plate in Paris

August 11, 2012 / / 0 Comments

It was on the menu, to my relief. Great relief. I first sat down to dine at Le Comptoir du Relais two years ago. It was a warm summer day, and the tables on the sidewalk were full of families and solo diners and couples. I was solo, and so had to share with no one one of the best plates I have ever had, anywhere: Carpaccio de Tête de veau. The chef, Yves Camdeborde, has long been a favorite of Parisian diners, and his kitchen is still producing great food.

Yves Camdeborde’s tête de veau: It will have you coming back for more.

Simply put, the meat that comes on this plate is sublimely flavorful, and when it first touches your tongue the sensuality of it melting in your mouth will make you want to close your eyes and forever stay in that moment. That feeling, and taste, will be the reason you, like I, will visit that sidewalk as long as the restaurant’s ovens are hot.

I decided to return to Paris this year, to spend days and nights with Angela, who is here for most of August. I have on more than one occasion told Angela about the dish at Le Comptoir, the Carpaccio de Tête de veau, that dish I love and adore and can by merely thinking about eating it grow desirous. I told Angela we had to go to Le Comptoir du Relais.

(A few nights before I made my way back to that sidewalk near Metro Odeon, Angela and I ate at a place in the 7th, and I had potatoes stuffed with the meat from pig’s feet. It was good, but it was nothing compared to my Carpaccio de Tête de veau. So, when you are in Paris, and wanting a great dish, take my advice and do nothing until you visit Le Comptoir.)

On the joyous night, Angela and I met a former colleague, Nick Stout, who has lived in Paris for 30-plus years, and he had never been to my sidewalk table.

Nick Stout, Paris veteran

Nick Stout, Paris veteran

He loved the food, and the place. We sat at a table outside, and I became lost in the wine  list. Interrupting my jaunt through the Loire Valley, Angela showed me that the calf’s head carpaccio was indeed available. I was happy. I ordered that plate as my first course, and it was a good as ever. The sauce is warm and slightly tangy, and the lettuce hearts on top are perfect companions for the meat slices. (See first photo above.)

My main course, Pied de Cochon, is composed of a rectangle of porcine greatness, served with creamed potatoes on the side. Imagine a crisp outside and an interior full of unctuous, moist, slow-cooked pork. I grew happier.

From the feet of pigs ...

From the feet of pigs …

Angela started with a salad of Burrata and heirloom tomatoes, with a nice basil pesto. It was acidic and excellent. She then enjoyed a great sashimi of tuna belly, topped with wasabi foam.

Sashimi with a French twist

Sashimi with a French twist

Nick chose gazpacho, followed by squid stuffed with risotto; its squid-ink sauce was pungent and perfect.

Big squid, big taste

Big squid, big taste

When I was in Paris in 2010 Le Comptoir was the only restaurant I dined at more than once. For good reason. And before I leave Paris this time I will once again find myself at that sidewalk table, a bottle of white chilling in the Ice Bag.

Chilling at the table

Chilling at the table

I do not have to tell you what I will order.

Light in August

August 7, 2012 / / 0 Comments

The light. There’s something about the light in Paris that always gets to me, makes my eyes feel good. When I lived here in 2005 I loved the summer evenings, sitting outside with a carafe of wine under a slowly darkening sky. It seemed that it would never grow completely dark, and as my companions and I drank and ate and planned our next meal I silently gave thanks for the city’s geographical location and for the way the sun worshipped the streets and buildings and people.

That very same light makes, to my eye, the food and produce for sale in markets look better, brighter, tastier. The tomatoes are shiny and firm, and don’t look waxy. The flesh of a duck looks as it should, not violently compressed under a layer of cellophane. Radishes, berries, green beans, lettuces … they all benefit from the light in August.

And I benefit, because that light makes me want to cook and eat and wander the streets of this beautiful place. And that’s what I’m doing now.

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

In the bags above there are two pork chops, some lettuce, radishes, cheeses, wine, beer, Nutella, butter, shallots, eggs and a few other foodstuffs. Angela and I made a simple salad, but a salad whose lettuce had a crisp bite and actual flavor, so unlike most of the lettuces I was forced to eat while living in the desert. The radishes were also crisp, and had a heat that was pleasant and invigorating. I cooked the chops simply, in butter, and made a sauce from the shallots, garlic and some Crémant de Bourgogne “Egrade” brut.

We’ll always have Paris.

By the skin of a chicken

August 1, 2012 / / 1 Comment

If you like fried chicken, or a good roast chicken, and if you share my tastes, I bet you love eating the skin. Its crispness is a sublime mouth sensation, and depending on what type of oil you use when frying, or what you add to the butter or olive oil you use to baste the bird while it is roasting, the flavors of the skin can range widely. (Duck fat? Olive oil/butter mixture? Garlic, shallots, basil, sage, chili powder? The sky is the limit.)

One of the things I learned to do at Restaurant Amador is use the skin alone to make chicken-skin wafers, or chips. (You can ask your butcher to order chicken skins for you, or learn how to skin your own chicken, as it’s really not that difficult. And the skins freeze well, so there is no excuse for not having any on hand.)

What you’ll need: A Silpat or two, a large metal baking sheet, two baking dishes of similar size, some heavy stones, and parchment paper.

Baking stones

Baking stones

To begin, take a chicken skin and spread it on a cutting board, skin-side down. Then, using a flat, flexible plastic scraper – you can buy these at a cooking-supply store, or make your own – scrape as much of the fat away from the skin as you can. (Have a container near you to scrape the fat into.) You’ll find it impossible to scrape away all of the fat, but get as much as possible without stressing over it. (The less fat, the lighter the taste.) Then, one piece at a time, spread the de-fatted skins, skin side down, on a Silpat, stretching them as much as possible. Repeat this until you have the Silpat covered, making sure to not overlap the skins too much; you want the layer to be as thin as is possible.

Chicken skins, spread on a Silpat

Chicken skins, spread on a Silpat

Repeat the scraping procedure with another set of skins – and don’t worry, this is a fast procedure … once you get going you can de-fat one piece in less than a minute – and, one at a time, spread a skin over the pieces already on the Silpat. Only this time, make sure to put the pieces skin side up. Making sure that the layers are uniform, cover the first layer completely.

The next step is easy: take your other Silpat and place it on top of the chicken skins, then put the assemblage on a baking sheet. Put the baking sheet on the bottom of one of the containers, (the space created by the inverted container helps crisp the skins). Place a piece of parchment paper on top of the Silpat, and on top of the paper put your other baking dish. (The dish needs to be large enough to cover the entire surface of the Silpat sheets.) Into this dish go the stones, which serve to exert pressure on the skins.

A double batch of chicken skins

A double batch of chicken skins

(Do not fret if you don’t have metal pans like the ones in the photo above; improvise with what you have. But do invest, if you have not already, in Silpats; you’ll find yourself using them often.)

With the oven set at 330 Fahrenheit (165 Celsius), put the entire stack on a rack and cook for two hours. Your kitchen will develop a lovely scent.

Next, take the tray containing the stones out of the oven and put it in a safe place, as the stones will retain their heat for a long time. Remove the remaining trays from the oven and put the Silpat sheets on a counter. Slowly peel back the top Silpat and behold your creation: you will discover a crisp, flat layer of chicken skin, with uneven edges. (If you have a food dehydrator, now is the time to dry out your skin. If you don’t, put the skin on a piece of parchment paper and bake it in your oven at a very low temperature, say, 70 degrees Fahrenheit. This step helps give the skin a lighter taste and feel. Leave it in the oven for 30 minutes or so.)

A tasty wafer

A tasty wafer

Finally, it’s time to cut the skin into individual pieces; feel free to use your imagination here, depending on how you plan to use the pieces.

Rectangles of crispy goodness

Rectangles of crispy goodness

At Amador, the skin is cut into rectangles and served as an early course, adorned with purées, creams and herbs. They are delicious. Just take the skins from the oven and place them on a cutting board. Using a sharp knife – of course, you should have nothing but sharp knives – cut the pieces into your desired shape. As a final step, sprinkle with Maldon salt, or your preferred sea salt. You could serve them in many ways, and I know they would be good as a garnish on a bowl of shrimp and grits, perhaps sprinkled with dried shrimp.

Arrival at Amador: long days, great food, and a Spanish triumph

July 19, 2012 / / 3 Comments

I’m here, in Mannheim, working at Restaurant Amador. I arrived shortly before Spain played Italy in the Euro 2012 final. I was hoping Germany was going to be in that final, and I planned my flight so that it would fall on a day of no Euro matches. That Sunday, the 2nd of July, the restaurant held an “open house” event, and about 300 people attended. We roasted a pig, and the guests enjoyed some fine pork, among many other things.

The star of the show

The star of the show

My first day in the kitchen was Saturday, July 1. I worked hard – everyone in this kitchen works hard – and long. Harder and longer than I have in a while. I’m not complaining, just remarking that 15-hour days are long days.

Everything in its place

Everything in its place

Days that long contain plenty of time to peel parsnips for stock, to chop garlic and shallots, to shell and clean beautiful crabs, removing all of the yellow and reddish tissue and leaving behind nothing but briny white meat. Plenty of time to clean and scrub floors and counters and walls and ovens. Enough time to get to know the cooks in the kitchen, from whom I am learning a lot.

On the evening of the open house, after all the guests had gone, we set up a projector and watched Spain decimate Italy, watched the Spaniards show the rest of the world how to play football. We sat in the restaurant, eating beautiful steak, drinking some good wine, tired from the day’s work but happy. (Except for the Italian supporters; they were upset.)

Spanish flags aplenty in the Amador dining room

Spanish flags aplenty in the Amador dining room

As I watched the match and sipped a dry Spanish white, I thought to myself: I am in a three-star restaurant, watching the final match of the European Championships. I just finished a long day working in a great kitchen, a kitchen full of great equipment and ingredients. Some of my colleagues had just dried off from swimming in the pool on the restaurant’s grounds after their long days and were sitting near me, eating and watching the match.

A restaurant with a view

A restaurant with a view

I was tired, and I was just a little jet-lagged. But I was where I wanted to be.

It has only just begun, and I am loving it.

Pork on ice

March 24, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Most people I know love bacon, and most people I know have a strong affection for ice cream. Two years ago I was invited to a Thanksgiving dinner in Dubai – about 40 people were going to be attending. I was asked to bring something for dessert, because the turkeys and hams and gumbo were already taken care of. The hosts were from Texas, and I was happy to accept the invitation, because I had already been fortunate enough to taste D.B.’s slow-cooked pork and beef brisket.

I then got to thinking about what I would make; the year before, A.S. and I had put on a Thanksgiving dinner for about 15 friends and colleagues, and it was a great success. It would be good for a change to not have to brine and cook a turkey and make Scooter’s Southwestern Dressing and struggle to find room in the refrigerator for a 20-pound bird.

However, I knew I would miss working with poultry and pork and giblets and set out to come up with something both savory and sweet for my dessert. After a bit of thought I recalled a pine nut semifreddo recipe I had run across in The Silver Spoon; it is a great dish with which to end a meal – not too sweet, but sweet enough to satisfy, especially if served with a small chocolate cake. So, thinking of pork, and one of my favorite pork products, bacon, I decided to make Pine Nut and Bacon Semifreddo.

Goodness: Bacon and brown sugar

Goodness: Bacon and brown sugar

I do not want to mislead you into thinking that this dish sprung from my head with no precursor; by now, there is nothing original to do with bacon, and we have enjoyed it in brownies and cocktails and cheese and panna cotta, to name but a few. I also recall, with pleasure, a fine dish I had at a restaurant in Brooklyn that included avocado and bacon ice cream.

That said, my Bacon Semifreddo was a hit that Thanksgiving, so much so that the amount I made fell short of demand, the empty bowl in the middle of the dessert table looking bereft, yet satisfied, as the containers of strawberry and vanilla ice creams around it sat full and forlorn. More than several people asked me if there was more bacon “ice cream” and told me it was the best thing they had tasted that Thanksgiving evening. (I recall fondly, however, a giant pot of gumbo that included homemade andouille that had been brought over from Louisiana … it was as good as the semifreddo, and I am glad it was there.)

Have you ever pulverized bacon? You should.

Have you ever pulverized bacon? You should.

So, here’s how I make the semifreddo; I use the recipe found in The Silver Spoon (and if you don’t have this book, get it) as a foundation, and add the candied bacon:

Preheat oven to 400F; on a baking sheet lined with aluminum foil or a Silpat, arrange five slices of bacon. Sprinkle 2-3 tablespoons of brown sugar evenly on the slices and cook for 15 minutes or so (until brown), turning the slices midway through the cooking time. Cool bacon on a wire rack. When cool, cut slices and put in food processor with blade inserted; pulse until the bacon is nearly pulverized. Set aside in a bowl.

Next, spread 1 1/4 cups of pine nuts on a baking sheet and roast at 350F for 8 minutes or so, until the nuts are golden; do not overcook. While the pine nuts are roasting, put 1 cup of sugar and 4 tablespoons of water in a heavy pan over medium-high heat. The mixture will bubble and then become a clear syrup. Stir, and wait until the syrup begins to turn a golden brown. Carefully add the roasted pine nuts to the syrup and stir carefully. Coat the nuts evenly, then spread on an oiled cookie sheet. Let cool, then break up the praline and put half in your food processor, reserving the other half. Pulse until very fine. Then, pulse the rest of the praline until crushed, but do not turn it to powder.

Dessert is served.

Dessert is served.

Now, you proceed to the semifreddo in earnest. You need 1 vanilla bean, 4 eggs, separated, 4 tablespoons of sugar, 1 1/4 cups of heavy cream, and a pinch of salt. Slice the vanilla bean lengthwise and scrape the seeds into a bowl. Add the egg yolks and sugar and whisk until pale. In another bowl (use glass or other nonreactive bowls for this recipe) whisk the cream until you form peaks. (Always use a clean whisk; grease or fats interfere with the process; if you have only one, wash and dry it for each step.) In a third bowl, whisk the egg whites and pinch of salt until thick – I always do the whites last so as to have stiffer peaks.

Now, fold the cream into the yolk mixture, then fold the whites into that. Finally – and if all of this seems laborious, it isn’t – fold in your delicious bacon and the crushed praline. Pour the mixture into an airtight container and freeze until firm. You can make this the day before.

I like to serve the semifreddo with a flourless chocolate cake, but have been known to take the container from the freezer and, using my favorite silver spoon, enjoy as is.

Offal is good

March 20, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Sweetbreads. When I hear that word I salivate. I love them, and whenever I see them on a menu I order. Two recent meals in which they played a part I remember especially well: at Babbo, and at Le Pigeon, in Portland. (More on those meals, and restaurants, later.)

OFFAL: The Fifth Quarter, by Anissa Helou. Fully revised hardback edition, 192 pages, published by Absolute Press

OFFAL: The Fifth Quarter, by Anissa Helou. Fully revised hardback edition, 192 pages, published by Absolute Press

While I don’t need an excuse to think of sweetbreads, what brought them to my mind today was a book that I recently added to my collection: “Offal: The Fifth Quarter,” by Anissa Helou. (“The Fifth Quarter” refers to the parts of an animal – the head, feet, tail and innards –that do not belong to the four quarters of the carcass.)

Here is one reason I like this book; it is a quote found in its opening section – “An A-Z of Offal”– that introduces the entry on kidneys:

“Mr. Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls. He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart, liver slices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all he like grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented urine.”
Ulysses, James Joyce

You see, Anissa Helou not only knows her food, but she also appreciates literature. And food and literature are two of the passions of my life, so any work that combines them interests me.

But back to sweetbreads, and her wonderful book. I was glad to see “An A-Z of Offal,” because I am always encouraging people to venture beyond and try hearts and kidneys and brains … and, yes, yes, yes, sweetbreads.  In “An A-Z” Ms. Helou tells us, among other things, that “calf’s sweetbreads are finer than those from sheep,” an opinion with which, after much testing and tasting, I agree. You will also learn that a love of pig’s feet just might have been the undoing of Louis XIV.

If you buy this book, you will have at the ready a handy and informative lexicon of all things offal, and if you read it and cook from it, you and your guests will be the better for it. Above all, it allows one to understand that eating chittlerings or ears is not a macho, daring act, but one of taste, tradition and respect, and that is a valuable and important message indeed.

Calf's Sweetbreads with Capers (photo by Mike Cooper)

Calf's Sweetbreads with Capers (photo by Mike Cooper)

Full of clear and concise recipes – including Chicken Liver Tartlets, Mexican Pig’s Trotter Salad, and, a favorite of mine, A Head Dinner for Two: (Poached Brain and Eyes with Fleur de Sel, followed by Lamb’s Tongue with Vinaigrette Sauce, ending with Lamb’s Cheek with Blanquette Sauce) – Ms. Helou has stocked “Offal” with wonderful stories from her life and recounts the days and nights she spent in Paris, Barcelona, Marrakesh and other locales getting to know the items and recipes that make up the book. (Mike Cooper’s photography is an effective addition; take a look at his photo of frying pig’s trotters on page 101 and you’ll see what I mean.)

Personal and informative – “I am not one for eating feet stew for breakfast. Raw liver perhaps, but not feet stew.” – this volume belongs in the collection of anyone who embraces head-to-tail cookery. And I urge anyone who now turns up their nose at sheep’s brain and bone marrow to get “Offal: The Fifth Quarter” and explore a new route on their gastronomic journey.

The next course: An update

March 16, 2012 / / 0 Comments

Dessert course: A waiter prepares 'Hidromiel y Fractal Fluido' at Arzak.

Last week I told you I was going to spend at least three months in Europe this summer doing stages at two restaurants. I named Restaurant Amador in Mannheim, Germany, as my first stop, but at the time was unable to officially name the second one. I wrote that it was in San Sebastián, a wonderful city in the north of Spain that is producing some of the finest food to be had anywhere.

I can now let you know the name of my second stop, and I am excited, and thrilled, and just a little bit in awe, because the two chefs at Arzak, Juan Mari Arzak and his daughter Elena, are, to put it simply, geniuses.

Juan Mari Arzak, one of the fathers of New Basque Cuisine, is also one of the most influential and respected chefs in the world, and began cooking at Arzak, where his mother still worked, in 1966. Since then, culinary history has been unfolding there on a nightly basis. Elena Arzak joined the staff at Arzak after attending school in Switzerland and working at, among other restaurants, elBulli and Restaurant Pierre Gagnaire. The pair’s passion for learning, and teaching, has inspired many, and their respect for food and the land from which it comes is immense.

I am a lucky man.

The next course: culinary education

March 9, 2012 / / 0 Comments

It’s time to cook, time to take a big step in the journey that began in my childhood, when I first watched my grandmother cook in her Savannah kitchen. Standing next to Ida, in front of the oven, I began to understand the grace and power of cooking, the magic that happens when one transforms a table into a place of wonder through food.

As many of you know, those lessons are an integral part of my life. At my table, old friends and new guests alike always ask: “Why aren’t you cooking in a restaurant? I would gladly pay for this food.”

Well … that is why I’m reaching out to you. I have gone as far as I can on my own, so this summer I am going to Europe, where I will do stages at two restaurants, each holding three Michelin stars. (In case you don’t know, stages are unpaid internships during which you do anything a chef tells you to do.) I will learn from some visionary cooks and chefs, first at Restaurant Amador, in Mannheim, Germany, and then at a restaurant in San Sebastián, Spain, the name of which I will soon be able to announce.

This is where you can help me: I am looking for supporters – or, to be more exact, investors – to help finance my journey. My goal is to raise $5,000 through 50 individuals investing $100 each. The money will be used to pay for my lodging while doing the stages and for travel expenses to Europe.

My profound gratitude will be the short-term, instant return on your investment. But also, as soon as it is feasible, your support will become shares that you can use to purchase my food when I open my own restaurant. (But there is a lot to do before that can happen, including earning a position in a kitchen where I can continue my journey. I worked in a kitchen in Brooklyn for about four months in 2006, and I learned a lot, including the important lesson that working with food, and feeding others, is a great, and reverential, responsibility. I also learned that I really love to cook.)

If you can – and any amount will be appreciated – please click on the PayPal donate/invest button below.

I look forward to welcoming you to my table.

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