Dave the Cook

Recently, I've been conducting research for an intermediate cooking class (topic here), and that's led me to both books I hadn't read, and a couple that have been on my shelf for quite a while but that I'd forgotten about. They're worth mentioning here, since they're great resources for those of us looking to improve our techniques and our ability to improvise, and I don't think there are discussions on them already. The first is one that I'd heard of but never read: Tom Colicchio's Think Like a Chef. It was published in 2000, about the same time as Colicchio opened Craft. It opens with a series of technique lessons: roasting, braising, blanching, stocks, sauces. What lifts the chef's approach above the ordinary is both his straightforward style and his clear appreciation for (pardon the expression) craft. He also defines -- for example -- roasting, in a way that makes sense but isn't necessarily how everyone thinks of it. Finally, he doesn't stick with the tried and true: he roasts salsify and tomatoes and braises artichokes (an old technique that needs reviving) and snapper. The second section is called "Studies." In places it seems like an excuse to toss a few more recipes into the book, but there are lessons along the way: caramelized tomato tarts (he does the same thing with mushrooms) and polenta gratin with mushroom "bolognese" are really lessons in how to think in new ways about taste, texture and technique. "Trilogies" are groups of three ingredients (asparagus, ramps and morels, for example), which Colicchio puts together in different ways, again to showcase flexibility and imagination. Finally, the chef explains what he calls "Component Cooking," where he engages seasonality and tries -- with modest success -- to put everything together. This final section has some terrific recipes for elements designed to elevate a meal. What's most interesting about this section is how, without saying so, it describes much of what goes on in terms of menu planning and production at good restaurants. If you've got endive chutney, pickled ramps and pan-fried zucchini blossoms in your repertoire, it's that much easier to put a compelling menu together. All in all, I'm not sure you'll come away from the book thinking like a chef. But you'll be thinking a bit more like Tom Colicchio, and if you're a cook, that's a good thing. I've got a couple more to talk about, but meanwhile, what's on your shelf gathering undeserved dust?

I meant to add that I think it's a clever move on the part of craft brewers, and I'm all for interesting new stuff. It also reminds me of running into the head of Cognac Ferrand (in a liquor store, of course). He talked me into buying their Citadelle gin, and told me the story of how they got into spirits besides cognac and armagnac. By law, you can only distill cognac for a brief period each year, meaning that all their very expensive copper pot stills sat idle for nine months out of twelve. So they looked around at what else they could make, and settled on gin (I think they make vodka in them now, too).

Looking through the article, I picked out quite a list of stuff that I've yet to see. Some of it sounds interesting (though "Freshwater Rum" just seems wrong). I have seen Spruce, priced at $40 (rather than the $35 that it seems to get in Chicago). Nothing about it seemed special enough to command that price. Pretty much every decent gin on the market uses a wide range of botanicals and anyone willing to drop $35 - $40 on a bottle gin probably knows it. They'll have to make a more compelling case, at least to me -- or someone around here needs to try it and report.

By all means, try both and let us know. I haven't had the biscuit, but in my experience, the McDonald's sandwich is no match for Chik-Fil-A, appearances notwithstanding.

You might look through the "Apron" section of the Publix site. I quickly found this recipe (scroll down to the dessert). It doesn't call for Dream Whip, but it does sound something like what you're describing. It also reminds me of the chocolate "mousse" we served at the first place I worked: equal parts Dream Whip and canned chocolate pudding. It was better than a lot of "real" mousses I've had.

Zactly.

As to the strip question, here's a recent data point: I ground 2-1/2 pound of chuck for burgers the other night, using the KA grinder attachment. After trimming away all the visible sheathing but before doing the last chop, I remembered this topic. So I did strips. Since we were really hungry, I wasn't too picky about grain orientation. I dumped the strips in a bowl and stuck the bowl in the freezer for about fifteen minutes. The grind was effortless -- a huge improvement over any previous grind. Just drop the strips in one by one. The screw picks them up and sprials them through the blades. While by looks it wasn't as good as what Chris A. is getting with his NT, it was much closer to that than what I usually see out of the KA. Timewise, it's not much different than cubing and plunging -- especially since between the chill and the strip feed, there were no smearing breakdowns, and since the grinder didn't labor as much, the meat temperature remained nicely chilly.

Dave~ that sounds interesting; I love that type of approach. Would you recommend the book? ← I'm trying to find time to work up a proper report on it, but the short answer is that though it's not for everyone, it's one of the best cookbooks I've worked through in the last couple of years.

I haven't been to Top Flr; it sounds interesting. There are an awful lot of very decent restaurants in the city these days, but among the best -- and unique -- places right now are Restaurant Eugene (the new pub across the driveway, Holeman and Finch Public House, is getting really good buzz, too); Pura Vida; Repast; Bacchanalia (and Quinones); if you want a non-chain meatfest, Rathbun's Steak usually gets good marks. Of these, the closest to where you are are Bacchanalia and Quinones -- a short hop down I-75. A trip to Richard Blais's new place Home might be worth your while, too. Be sure to check out micropundit's "blog on the scene" topic -- a pretty amazing compendium of inside restaurant information. His latest entry is here.

Bit by bit, I'm working my way through Tom Colicchio's "trilogies," which are featured in his book Think Like a Chef. These are groups of three ingredients, like pasta, peas and lobster, or duck, root vegetable and apples. There are four variations on the former; three on the latter. Despite sticking to very basic components, the mixtures of flavors an textures are varied and surprising.

No revelations, unless "simple" counts; now that I think about it, it should. A dozen last-of-the-season Appalachiola oysters and a couple of handfuls of CSA greens led me to Emeril's "Fried Oyster Salad with Pernod Buttermilk Dressing" from New New Orleans Cooking. There's a similar recipe here, but there are some differences, especially in the breading. The book recipe calls for a three-step process: flour, egg, masa; the TV version is simpler but not better. If you've ever wondered what makes New Orleans po' boy seafood so nicely soft and crunchy at the same time, the secret is corn flour. The dressing, where I subbed more authentic Herbsaint for Pernod, is terrific, and wouldn't be amiss for any sort of pan-fried fin- or shellfish. Don't skimp on the lemon juice; it's essential for balance.

Quillaia foams -- is that a drawback? It's amusing that it's called a "natural" soap, since my first thought on seeing this topic was "well, it might not be what he's after, but detergent would work . . . " Many emulsifiers can be used as surfactants, as can glycerin and alcohol.

I was a garde manger for a couple of years in the early '80s, and all of this rings true. My first job was to peel, devein and butterfly fifty pounds of U-10 shrimps, a task that left me with a skin sensitivity that persists to this day. For the first week, despite being surrounded by food, I was so busy that I forgot to eat. It's dismaying -- and reassuring -- that nothing much has changed since I did my time.

I was fortunate enough to meet Shirley at the IACP conference a couple of weeks ago. She confirmed an October date. She's done with her part, and now it's up to the publisher.

As of last Friday, Vieux Carre Wine & Spirits (in the French Quarter of New Orleans) had at least ten bottles of the old formula on the shelf.

Perhaps there's a trick question at work here. For zucchini, don't blanch. Rather, cut it into portions and lay out on a rack. Salt heavily and let it sit for half an hour or so, then rinse and pat dry. The salting leaches out the extra moisture and seasons the vegetable at the same time.

We hadn't been at the IACP conference in New Orleans 24 hours before we'd heard about this new place of Allison Vines-Rushing and Slade Rushing (late of Longbranch on the North Shore) three times -- the first from local blogger Blake Killian; the second from Lolis Eric Elie; the third from legendary mixologist Chris McMillian (who hosts the bar at the attached Renaissance Pere Marquette Hotel). After due consideration, we demurred on the spring tasting menu (which included seared filet of veal, foie gras, madeira sauce -- something I'm loath to pass up) for the ala carte -- mainly so we could try the "Oysters Rockefeller Deconstructed," which both Blake and Lolis had described as the culinary equivalent of the second coming. They weren't wrong. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We were seated immediately -- an occurrence that's becoming increasingly rare in New Orleans. The room is simply done, with a few dramatic banquettes floating among simpler tables. A deep blue lighting scheme accented with soft drum-like hanging fixtures makes the room feel like just past dusk on the bayou. Within seconds we were greeted by servers three times, a pattern that would repeat itself throughout the evening, though it never felt stuffy or forced. Despite that level of attention, three waiters and two runners handled the entire room (I'm guessing fifty diners, though I didn't count) with ease. We ordered glasses of Mumm's Napa Cuvee to start, and stayed with that through the first course. The bread basket arrived, an equal portioning of sweet potato rolls and cornbread, with a good, unsalted (I think) butter that had been properly sprinkled with fleur de sel. The rolls were great; the cornbread was denser than I prefer, though nicely savory rather than sweet. I do wonder, though, why New Orleans restaurants seem to prefer to serve these sorts of baskets, unleavened with the very good French bread that's available in the city. Something light and crunchy along with the sweet and dense would provide a good contrast. The amuse was a single seviche-style bay scallop dressed with truffle oil, tobiko (and some sort of microgreen that was gone before I ascertained its species). It's a perfect little gift from the kitchen -- I wanted about five more. Now back to the oysters: four (maybe five) fat specimens, having been poached in beurre fondue, rest on top of a bed of spinach. A half-inch square of thin, crispy bacon crowns each oyster. The dish is finished with a foam (no emulsifiers or stabilzers; just beaten into a froth with an immersion blender) made from the poaching liquid. The lightness of the composition is a complete surprise; the balance is impeccable. A bit of licorice root sharpens the softer oyster and butter flavors without letting the iron of the spinach get out of hand. This is a dish that all by itself makes a visit to New Orleans worthwhile, at least when the oysters are good. Luckily, the rest of the meal adhered to the same standards, though perhaps it didn't reach the same heights. A white asparagus veloute, garnished with tender crawfish tails (too many places overcook them) and spicy lobster oil, was notable for its impossible texture -- absolutely lacking the graininess that often characterizes vegetable purees, yet full of asparagus flavor. Again, the accompaniments were of a piece with the dish's concept: light and piquant, balanced in texture and taste. For mains, we had Rotisserie Sweet Tea Brined Duck and Seared Rouget. The duck, as you can imagine from the description, is marinated in sweet tea for a couple of days, then set over an open fire and lacquered with (I'm guessing) date reduction. Then it's carved into nice plump chunks and set on a bed of greens. Cubes of red and gold beets are scattered about; date reduction completes the dish. It's as rich as the veloute is light, but no less balanced. The greens are spicy (arugula, I think), and the date reduction isn't nearly as syrupy as one might expect. Perhaps the skin of the duck wasn't absolutely top-notch in crispness, but robust flavor and perfect roasting (no rare duck here; this is cooked through, but remains tender and moist), with overtones of tannin and smoke from the tea and the fire. Time now to explain a private joke we like to play on restaurant staff: at restaurants, we almost always make our choices with the intention of sharing. We'll place the order as a piece, and tell the waiter what we're doing. Sometimes this results in extra plates; somtimes it doesn't. Regardless, it's always amusing to see who gets what. In this case, the runner placed the duck before me, and the fish in front of my female companion. This is the most common pattern -- the guy gets the steak, the beer, the duck; the girl gets the chicken, the wine, the fish. In this case, though, I figured that the joke was on me, as our usual habit is to eat half of what we get, then trade plates. There was no way the rouget would stand up to dates, duck and beets. I was wrong. Rouget is a small fish, but its fat level stands up well to robust treatment. At MiLa, they pan fry it skin on, pile up the small filets with ribbons of ramps like a piscine napoleon and set the stack on a pool of black-eyed pea puree. More lobster -- this time in the form of an emulsion -- completes the dish. It's every bit the equal of the duck. We didn't stay for dessert, but the Root Beer Float (vanilla bavarois, gingersnap tuiles, root beer sorbet) was tempting, as was the rhubarb clafoutis with lemongrass and white chocolate sherbet. That last entry is telling: rhubarb, lemongrass, white chocolate. Though MiLa is at heart a southern (specifically Mississippi and Louisiana, hence the name) restaurant, the Rushings are unafraid to look at ingredients from outside the region (though the actual provenance of many ingredients is less than a half-day's drive away) and apply them using their expansive talents and exceptional palates. Go now -- before you can't get in. + + + MiLa 817 Common St New Orleans, LA 70112 (in the Pere Marquette Hotel) Reservations: (504) 412-2580 Website: milaneworleans.com

Chicken wings in particular present a strange issue. When I've deep-fried them, I end up with more liquid in the fryer than when I started. I'm guessing that the added volume is a mixture of rendered fat and collagen. I've never reused that oil, on the assumption that if it's got gelatin in it, it's not going to behave like pure oil with just a few impurities.

So, Toby: what about the Long Island Rainbow?

I doubt it's been discontinued. The brand is only about a year old, and it didn't show up here (Atlanta) for several months after that. If you don't want to invest in a bottle, buy a few miniatures to start (these seem to be widely available), and try it in a Pegu Club.

Habitat is also a housewares manufacturer in the UK. If I recall correctly, they do some ceramic stuff.

Thanks. The classes are at The Cook's Warehouse in midtown. You can find the schedule here.

To give folks an idea of how the basics class is managed: Even though it's 11 or 12 hours, there's very little time to waste. So we establish a written schedule for each of the three sessions. The granularity of the schedule varies, depending on what's going on; it might be by 15 minute segments, or as long as an hour. Janet and I, and the person called the principal assistant (in charge of the volunteer crew that helps out by doing prep, washing dishes and plating), each have a copy. We install a small digital clock at the corner of the counter so we can keep track. Each segment is titled with a topic: "searing," "onion chopping," "cuts of pork," etc. In the next column, we list the recipe (and maybe the task at hand), or who's speaking/demonstrating. A third column includes the essential points we want to make during the segment. These reminders include myths that need to be explained or debunked, important personal experiences to relate (our admission of mistakes is a confidence builder for the students -- the sillier the better); and connections to previous points that will let us reinforce a lesson. For example, we don't really have a segment called "Salt," but because of those notes, salt gets mentioned so often that students absorb a lot of information about it. So a typical schedule entry might be:<table width="70%"><tr><td width=25%>12:00-12:30</td><td width=25%>Steamed asparagus - Dave</td><td>steamer basket; trimming; seasonality/crop fluctuation; chlorophyll; acids and degradation; Lincoln Logs; salt afterwards, emulsions</td></tr> <tr><td> </td><td>Janet</td><td>Hollandaise, why we're serving it as an appetizer, blender technique</td></tr> <tr><td> </td><td>Dave</td><td>stovetop Hollandaise technique</td></tr> <tr><td>12:30-1:00</td><td>Teams to stations</td><td> </td></tr></table> We leave lots of time for questions, and lots of extra material to go through if there aren't many questions (but there always are). At the start of the class, we go around the room (starting with ourselves). Each person explains why they're there and what they hope to learn from the class. In the first class we taught, we had a guy who had never cooked anything but Kraft Dinner. After the Friday and Saturday sessions, we review the class and make adjustments for the next day. So we adjusted the Sunday menu to include macaroni and cheese. The students range from early 20s to early 60s. There's always an engaged or newly-married couple, a recent retiree, and at least two people who just graduated from college and can't rely on a meal plan or fast food any more. The class divides up into teams or four or five to do much of the hands-on work, though there are individual stations for knife work and other small tasks. For example, everyone gets to trim a few asparagus spears, everyone gets to slice and chop an onion. Even though they're in teams, we make sure that the work is shared so everyone gets real experience. So, like a lot of people have suggested, we tend to teach by recipe and menu, and use them as springboards for lessons across a range of subjects. Does all that make sense?

Further on the definition of "intermediate": as I often do, I'm analogizing from my erstwhile days as a musician. A musician who can improvise -- successfully -- is advanced. To me, it should be our job as teachers to help students build the solid foundation necessary for improvisation -- the equivalent of getting comfortable with scales and modes, modulation, tempo and volume, and a variety of time signatures. I'm not sure that we can actually teach improvisation; we can only help cooks develop the necessary skills and mindset. To put it another way (more music here): the songwriter Paul Simon to aspiring composer is that when you get stuck on something, go back and work on the parts you understand, and the tough things will get easier. My takeaway from that is that if you're having trouble creating, it's possibly because you're not comfortable with the underlying essentials. Master those, and your mind is freed to wander comfortably. Am I off base? This has all been extremely helpful. One concept we're working on, thanks to a combination of ideas expressed here, is to start with a whole chicken and, as qwerty says, take it down -- to wings, thighs, legs and breasts. Then we'd load up a pot with the carcasses to get a stock going for later use. The rest of the parts would be used in recipes throughout the class. We might be able to combine lessons on technique and ethnicity (as well as a little improvisation). For example, we could use the thighs in a simple saute with the student's choice of acid/aromatic/herb/spice, such as wine vinegar/shallot/tarragon; sherry vinegar/garlic and ginger/soya; or lime juice/onion/oregano and cumin. We could poach the legs or breasts and use them to make chicken and dumplings or a pot pie (which might mean learning about biscuit dough). Nothing carved in stone here -- what do peeps think? Mario Batali says (something like) "the quality of your meal is determined once you leave the grocery store," and to a large extent, we agree with that. One issue we're having trouble with is how to teach shopping in the classroom environment. Any ideas?

Thanks for a bunch of wonderful suggestions; please keep them coming. We're going to discuss them and come back with some concrete ideas and more questions. As we develop the curriculum, we'll start post specific syllabus components for comment, too. In the meantime, I'm reminded of a few things that I should have explained. (And then I have another question!) We definitely think that tying techniques and principles to recipes and menus is an effective teaching tool -- so much so that we're pretty sure that students are leaving class without having absorbed everything. For example, we teach this recipe in the Basics class. It's an opportunity to explain the concepts of reduction, browning, sweet-sour balance, and cooking with wine. It also lets students learn technique: searing, knowing when a sauce is reduced properly, fat separation, some knife work, salting and so forth. Then we pair the dish with cheese grits, and that comes with another set of points: starches and liquids, adding umami, how to punch up bland side dishes, menu balance, etc. What we also do is make two big promises at the start of the class: that by the time they leave, they'll know how to make a great Hollandaise sauce, and that they'll know how to cook fish in a stainless steel pan without sticking. Based on comments we got after the first class, these are two big daunts for the beginner. (Fish period is a huge issue.) So in the second class, everyone makes Hollandaise sauce two ways: in a blender and on the stovetop. In keeping with the menu idea, we have them trim and steam asparagus -- an opportunity to discuss seasonality, locality (to some extent), green vegetables (chlorophyll, acids, salt0, steaming vs. boiling vs. grilling -- you get the idea. The thing is, those two accomplishments build confidence in an incredible way. When you see the smiles on students faces as they run a stripe across the back of a spoon of butter sauce, or watch them flip a filet without a bit of scraping -- well, it's the stuff that makes the trials of teaching worthwhile. So here's my question: what techniques and/or recipes would be the intermediate equivalent of Hollandaise and pan-fried fish? Finally, there seem to be three lines of thought in the topic so far: one that emphasizes improvisation; another emphasizes technique, and a third suggests ethnic/flavor/texture explorations. How do people feel about these categories? Are they all essential? Are they all intermediate-level endeavors?