Hallowe'en fun - potions and chocolate mice

Happy Hallowe'en, foodies!

I don't usually do much for Hallowe'en.  Early in my time as a homeowner, I would hopefully buy candy to dole out to adorable little ghosties and goblins, but I don't live in a high traffic area for kids - one banner year my doorbell rang 5 whole times!  The last couple of years, nothing.

This year, however, my Hallowe'en has been more festive.  At work, we were encouraged to decorate our areas, and at lunch today, there was a costume contest.  My colleagues and I take such events as as a challenge.  It is not only a time to have a little fun, but a time to demonstrate our creativity and imagination to the other teams we work with.  So we went all out, turning our area into a tent city and offering spooky Hallowe'en services such as palm and aura reading for very reasonable prices - for example, an eyeball, or all your hopes and dreams.  After learning about the future, we offered candidates a restorative potion, to strengthen their resolve against whatever calamities that were about to befall them (and to help them grow back whatever body part they sacrificed for the reading in the first place).

This particular potion involved 3 parts cranberry juice, 1.5 parts each of grape juice and apple juice, and 2 parts cola, plus some frozen strawberries.  The frozen berries are a handy trick to help cool without dilution.  I recommend keeping most of the liquids fairly dark so that the "potion" has a foreboding look.  For a better visual, we also got dry ice.  Place the punch bowl in a larger bowl and place warm water in the outer bowl.  Then add dry ice for smoking and steaming, changing water as it gets cold from the ice.  In theory, dry ice could be added directly to the potion for a more dramatic visual, but the risk of harm from accidentally ingesting a dry ice cube wasn't something we wanted to risk.  At -79 c, frostbite occurs in seconds, and it can bite all the way down to the stomach.

And what goes well with a potion?  Why a spooky cookie, of course!

 

My manager, M, made the meringue ghostie and the shortbread severed ladyfinger.  The fingernail is an almond, with cake decorating gel for visual effect, both were very tasty and appreciated by our colleagues.  The chocolate mouse is courtesy of D, and she kindly shared the recipe:

4 oz of semisweet bakes chocolate (4 squares), melted
1/3 c sour cream
1 c chocolate cookie crumbs
almond slices for ears
cake decorating balls for eyes
shoestring licorice for the tail

The chocolate can be melted either in the microwave, in 20 second intervals, stirring between, or in a double boiler.  Microwave is faster, but you sacrifice some control - greater possibility of scorching and having to start again.  Once melted, mix in the sour cream, and then add the breadcrumbs, and place in the fridge to cool.  Once cool and fairly firm, roll into two different sizes of balls to shape the head and body and press together.  There is a sweet spot for working with the chocolate mix - too warm and it is very sticky; too cold and it crumbles.  You may have to adjust accordingly.  To ease rolling into balls, D used additional breadcrumbs, which helped combat the stickiness, and gave the added benefit of creating a nice outer texture that made the mice seem more realistic.  Add the decorations and voila!  Cute, and tasty little mice that will more than satisfy an ardent chocolate lover.

I found the use the sour cream to be very interesting, and a great idea.  It is basically a variation on a ganache (equal parts melted chocolate and heavy cream), giving an intense chocolate taste, a gorgeous texture, and a hint of tartness from the sour cream.

For updates, follow me on twitter!  @culinarykira

Sweetbreads - My kitchen experiment

Hello foodies!

Like many people, much of my own cooking involves personal classics.  Comparatively simple things, cooked well, perfected over time.  Often I start with a recipe and make it a couple of  times, and then start fiddling with it to make it my own.  I won't necessarily say better, but more reflective of my personal taste.

When I want complex or outside-the-box food, I can usually get it in a restaurant or a speciality shop. I have never made my own sausage because it involves expensive equipment I don't (yet) have.  I have access to top notch artisan sausages here in Ottawa.  Pork belly confit, one of my favourite things on earth, is a 4 day process, and it is almost always available on Play's menu.  Despite this, sometimes I have a hankering to try my hand at something involved, something complex, maybe even something daunting.

Last weekend, I started the process of making sweetbreads.  Sweetbreads are the thymus or pancreas gland of a young animal - calf or lamb.  Flavour-wise, they are among the least objectionable organ meat.  Pale in colour, creamy in texture, they don't have that pronounced offal taste you find in liver, or the strong muscle meatiness of something like heart.  Most often served either pan-fried or grilled, they are a beginner's introduction to the off-cuts, and with recent trends towards nose-to-tail eating, they are becoming easier to find on North American menus and in quality butcher shops.  When I saw them in my favoured shop, I decided that, labour intensive or not, making them was worth a try.

Here, you see the raw, uncooked, uncleaned product.  They look a little like  pieces of chicken breast, although a closer look reveals the differences - a lot more membrane.  My research revealed several methods.  Soak in multiple changes of water, soak in milk, remove membrane right away, wait to remove membrane.  I decided to go with the more classic approach of soaking for hours in milk. after which I rinsed the sweetbreads and then simmered for about 5 minutes in acidulated water along with a couple of bay leaves.

 

After the simmering, we are not done yet; this is a 2-3 day process.  The next step is pressing the sweetbreads under a weight.  I put them on a plate, another plate on top, and used my trusty 5 lb saltbox to press them. 

The next day is the most daunting part: trimming.  Sweetbreads are covered in a membrane of varying thickness - to me it is similar, but less troubling to deal with than the membrane you find with rabbit.  Surprisingly, it was not a difficult as I had imagined to remove the membrane that will interfere with your enjoyment of the meat.  Any fat or non-meaty tissue pulls away fairly easily, and the membrane, once slit, is also not that difficult to remove.  Also, you don't have to remove all of it.  The thicker bits that will produce a chewy product should be removed.  Thinner bits that merely hold the various chunks of creamy gland tissue together don't have to be removed.  After they're trimmed, dredge in seasoned flour and pan fry in a mix of hot oil and butter.

 

The cook fairly quickly - maybe 4 minutes per side.  At the end, you have a crisp exterior, and a soft, creamy interior.  For me, sweetbreads are more about texture than taste.  The texture is so different then what you expect of beef, with its grain and structure.  The sweetbreads are rich, but not aggressive in their flavour.

My dinner that night, sweetbreads with soft polenta and pickled beets:

 

Experimentation in the kitchen is important.  It is how we perfect new techniques and bring interesting foods from the restaurants into the home.  It is how we gain confidence to move away from the childhood classics and break new ground.  Sweetbreads, were, for me, a particularly successful first attempt.  It took me 3 tries to get a good result with pork belly confit, and the polenta pictured above, although adequate, is still not what I had in mind - and attempts to make polenta fries with the leftovers were a complete failure.  No structural integrity:

 

But I will keep trying, and someday, hopefully this winter, I will add the full range of polenta to my repertoire. Stay tuned.

Follow me on twitter: @culinarykira

Seared fish

Hello foodies,

I am deep into a cooking weekend.  I have sweetbreads soaking in milk (look for a post later this week), gorgonzola sitting in the fridge waiting to be added to the polenta I am attempting tonight to go along with my beef ribs.  Last night, I pan seared a black cod (also known as sablefish) fillet.

We all know that fish is a healthy protein, and that most of us do not eat enough of it.  Granted, most of us also done live beside an ocean, and growing up that was a challenge.  Fresh fish in a smaller, landlocked Ontario town was just not widely available, so the fish I experienced growing up was either the ubiquitous childhood staple, fishsticks, or rectangular bricks of frozen sole or haddock available in the freezer section.  Neither were a particularly inspiring introduction to fish, although, as I child I prided myself on the fact that, unlike most kids (particularly my brothers and sister), I liked fish. Things are different now.  Decent fish is available in most supermarkets, and if you're lucky, your town/city has a good fishmonger.  Ottawa definitely has good fishmongers.

So with good fish more widely available, it stands to reason that we would, as a whole, be eating more of it.  The problem is, many, many of us don't know how to cook fish.  Or, more accurately, we all know how to overcook fish.  Fish, particularly most white fish, with its delicate flesh, offers comparatively little wiggle room - few seconds too long can mean the difference between moist/succulent and dry/rubbery.

Lately I have been on a sablefish kick (it has been regularly available at my local fishmonger).  It is a fairly fatty, but not oily, fish.  The fattiness makes it more forgiving to cook.  Pan searing is one of my favourite ways of cooking any white fish, but particularly sablefish. It is fast, simple and tasty. Fantastic just with a squeeze of lemon, but also easily dressed up with a beurre blanc if you want to impress.  Sablefish also works well with Asian flavours - with a dashi broth it is sublime.

I buy the fish with the skin on.  The skin helps to guard against dryness, and is good eating when fried crispy in the pan.  The skin also helps to maintain the structural integrity of the fish.  The first step, salt the skin side, salt and pepper the flesh side.  I usually do this about 15-20 minutes before I want to put the fish in the pan.  It allows them to come up a little in temperature, and allows the seasoning to sink in.

Heat a pan (I like a non-stick pan best) to med-high and add oil, then a bit of butter.  The oil will keep the butter from scorching, and the butter, of course, adds a nice flavour.  I use grapeseed oil, which has a high smoke point and a neutral flavour.  When the oil/butter is hot, put the fish in, skin side down.  There should be a sizzling sound.  Depending on the thickness of the fillets, 3 - 4 minutes should be sufficient.  When looking at the base of the fillet, near the skin, you should see that the flesh has turned opaque from cooking, while the upper portions remain translucent.

 

Here, I have flipped the thinner fillet because it was ready while the thicker fillet needed another 30 seconds or so.  You can see the crispiness of the skin, and the slightly golden cook on the flesh.

The key to not overcooking fish is, basically, to undercook it.  Once taken off the heat, all meats continue to cook for a few minutes, and fish, because of its delicacy, is particularly sensitive.  If you take it out of the pan when it is done, it will be overdone when you eat it.  Once flipped, another 2-3 minutes and it should probably come out of the pan.  You may wonder why it gets longer cooking on one side than the other.  It is because the skin offers protection and slows the cook down, and generally there is a layer of fat between the skin and the flesh that needs to render.  If you're cooking with skinless fillets, cooking time should be even.

 

And here we have the finished product.  Golden, slightly crispy on top.  The flakes starting to pull away from each other.  You can see in the fillet on the right that the inside does not look dry.  In fact, it looks a little underdone.  But, after a couple of minutes, what you have is....

 

The fish is just opaque, with a hint of translucence in the centre.  It remains moist and tender.  The flakes come apart easily, indicating its doneness.

There are, of course, many more ways to cook fish, and I vary my methods depending on the type of fish and the season (I like a whole grilled fish in summer - trout is particularly nice done this way)  But this is fast and simple - about 10 minutes from putting the pan on the stove to putting the fish on the plate.

For updates, follow me on twitter!  @culinarykira

Roast Beast - Let's Talk Turkey

Hello foodies,

So, how is everyone doing with Thanksgiving leftovers?  Tired of turkey yet?  With one turkey-centric holiday down, another fast approaching, this is the time to talk about the choice of roast beast, because today, I am here to tell you, that where the beast in question is turkey, increasingly it is a dish I cannot stand in the least. 

I am, perhaps, a exaggerating slightly when I say I can't stand turkey, as well as indulging in a love for Dr. Seuss, but I am serious when I say there are better options out there. 

As a child, a roast turkey was magical.  The excitement of family coming over, the smell in the house for hours.  The beautiful golden product.  I had a particular love for the crispy skin.  I still enjoy the things that go along side turkey.  Stuffing and cranberry sauce, potatoes and gravy.  But the bird itself....  not so much.  The beast is a victim of overbreeding for those plump, dry-as-dust white meat breasts.  It is a catch 22 - the dark meat takes longer to cook, so the massive legs that support those breasts aren't done until the breast meat is overdone and can only be choked down with liberal saucing.  People have developed methods to try counteract this - brining, deep frying, working butter under the skin of the breast, injecting the breast, etc.  But the basic flaw remains - the meat itself is not very appetizing when compared to virtually any other meat.

Think about it - when was the last time you were really excited for roast turkey?  Not any of the accoutrements, the meat itself, on the day it is cooked.  I'd wager it has been a while.  Now think about all the ways in which a roast can be better.

Smaller fowl such as chicken, capon or Cornish hen.  If you're a traditionalist, this is a way to go. You can have all of the sides, but since they're not deformed to satisfy mass consumerism, a nicer meat.  Having several holiday meals over the years with a friend's family, I can say those delightful Cornish hens were part of what started my holiday focus trending away from the Big Bird.

Roast duck - though smaller and more expensive than a turkey, when handled properly, you get moist dark meat (all dark meat), and luscious crispy skin.  In addition to the traditional sides still working, you get a quantity of rendered duck fat to save and use elsewhere (liquid gold in culinary terms).  Probably not the best option if you're feeding a large number of people, but for smaller gatherings, a duck is quite impressive.  I like Ted Allen's slow roasted duck with cherry rosemary sauce.

Roast beef - my family, too, is slowly turning away from turkey.  Last year, at Christmas, we had a roast beef, and it was delightful.  Easier to cook evenly than a turkey, beef comes with its own heavenly sides, like Yorkshire pudding and horseradish.

Pork roast - the king of meats.  A slow roasted pork shoulder is a bite of heaven, and it is one of the more economical ways to feed a larger number of people.  There is a particular richness to a picnic shoulder that is found in few meats.  The crackling on pork compares nicely to turkey skin, and cranberry sauce goes nicely with the meat as well.

Keeping in the pork line... Ham can also please, though it isn't my personal favourite. 

The point is, bite for bite, all of these are more flavourful and pleasing than turkey.  So when it is time to by the next beast for roasting, ask yourself are you buying turkey because you love turkey, or simply because it is habit and tradition?

The weather is finally cooling down and more cooking adventures are coming.  I am planning to try my hand at sweetbreads within the next couple of weeks, and my polenta challenge awaits.  Plus, the Ottawa Food and Wine show is coming up fast!

For updates and observations, follow me on twitter!  @culinarykira

Salmon Gravlax

Hello foodies!

My gravlax experiment, begun on Saturday, concluded last night with a delicious dinner, the cured salmon being what I consider an unqualified success (much different from my first attempt, back in April, which was a salty as the Dead Sea).

Some background.  The title of this post is a bit of a redundancy.  The "lax" in the word "gravlax" actually means salmon in the originating Scandinavian languages.  The "grav" means grave in those same languages.  A literal translation of "gravlax" is "grave salmon."  However, to the average North American eater, the word salmon provides something of an idea as to what might end up on your plate.

Gravlax is a cured raw salmon.  In appearance, it is similar to cold smoked salmon, though the texture is a little different, and the flavour significantly so.  Historically (think the middle ages), salmon was salted and buried in sand (hence the connection to the grave) above the high tide line and allowed to ferment as a way of preserving the salmon for later consumption.  In modern times, the fish is no longer fermented, but "buried" in a combination of salt, sugar and herbs/spices and allowed to cure for at least 24 hours, but up to several days.

The end result is a delicately salted, unctuous, beautifully textured bite where the true star is the excellent, fresh salmon you start with.  Done properly, the texture is neither mushy (like cold smoked salmon or sashimi can be), nor dry (like salted fish usually is).  It is smooth, and velvety, and almost melts in your mouth. 

When looking to make gravlax, the internet is little help.  Recipes vary widely.  Look at enough of them and you get some ideas, but until you actually cure the salmon, you don't know for sure what the end result will be.  Balance of sugar and salt is key.  If you go too far with the salt, you end up with a tough, dry product.  Too far with the sugar, and it is mushy and unpleasant in texture, and not properly cured.  However, there is a lot of room for personal taste in finding that balance.  Recipes range from a 2:1 sugar to salt ratio to the complete opposite - 2:1 salt to sugar.  Anything in that range *should* work, but texture, flavour, and how long it will keep might vary significantly.

Beyond the salt and sugar, dill and black pepper are extremely traditional, though other flavour elements can be used.  Some recipes call for citrus, some for liquor (vodka or aquavit, usually).  Basically, you can use whatever flavours you like and think will work.  I went fairly traditional, and added vodka and lime.

So, first thing:  the salmon.  It must be fresh.  I am lucky in Ottawa - there are a couple of good fishmongers where I can get quality product.  If you buy from a chain grocery store, I suggest a chat with the fish counter personnel to find out their delivery schedule and time your gravlax making accordingly.  You want matching, skin-on fillets of equal size and thickness.  Place them skin side down on a large sheet of clingfilm.

 

Then, I zested and peppered.

 

Next step: the salt and sugar.  I used a little more salt than sugar.  A ratio of about 2:1.5  I used a coarse kosher salt, but a very fine grain white sugar.  To the mix, I added more fresh ground black pepper.  As you can see, the cure is liberally sprinkled over the flesh.

 

Then the dill, lime and vodka.  A note on adding liquid - you don't want to use too heavy a hand.  The curing process essentially draws out the liquids and preserves the flesh.  Adding too much liquid at the start subverts the process.  A little squeeze of lime and 1-2 tbsps of vodka splashed over the fillets is sufficient.  I didn't bother chopping the dill, I just laid the whole fronds over the fish.

 

Then, carefully, you flip one fillet over on top of the other, sandwiching the dill and cure in the middle.  If you have one side of the fish that is thinner you want to match it to the thicker side of the opposing fillet for the best chances of getting an even cure.

 

Wrap your gravlax-to-be tightly in several layers of clingfilm and place in a baking dish - something with a lip.  The package will release liquid, so you don't want it to leak all over the fridge.  Put a plate and something heavy - at least 1 or 2 pounds - on top of the curing package to weight it.  I used a 5 lb box of salt.  Place in the fridge, and let cure for 2-3 days, flipping the package every 12 or so hours.  The thicker the fillets, the longer they will take to fully cure.  I let mine go 3 days.

 

Afterwards, unwrap and discard the dill.  I rinsed mine in cold water to get rid of any excess salt and patted dry with paper towels.  Then, slice as thinly as possible on the bias.

 

Traditionally, gravlax is served with a mustard and dill sauce. I changed it up a bit by adding a bit of Dijon to sour cream with some chopped fresh dill.  It works with crackers, as pictured above, bread, boiled potatoes, or just on its own.  It should keep up to a week in an airtight container in the fridge.

This is my new favourite way to have salmon.  I will probably still play with the recipe a bit, try some different ratios of salt and sugar, maybe some different flavour elements.  Experimentation is at least 1/4 of the fun of doing something like this.  3/4 of the fun is, of course, the eating.

For updates, follow me on twitter!  @culinarykira