Dave the Cook

I'm sorry I didn't get any pictures, Jason -- as often happens with charcuterie in my vicinity, it disappears too fast! What's going on at Element is quite different from One, and though the chef seems to have plenty of freedom, it's not like Blais, either. The aim seems to be to maximize flexibility, whether it's in the menu, the dishes, or even the ingredients. Opening night, there were lots of changes, even as things were leaving the kitchen. The filet, for example, was plated at least three different ways during the first night. I think I got the last one of the evening; it came in three medium-rare pieces (marrow coins on two of them) with airy-but-rich Robouchon-style potatoes, glazed pearl onions and a syringe of melted marrow. Two ramp leaves were plastered to the plate. As I ran the edge of my fork along them, they crinkled up like an accordion. The filet is not my favorite cut of beef (it's pretty far down the list, actually), but I wanted to see how it worked as a sous-vide item. I'd call this very successful. I also got a taste of the fish. Though slightly overdone, it was an excellent piece of flounder treated with a twist on the classic meuniere (a bit of the chutney described below anchors the filet to the plate). The accompaniment of scallops are gnocchi in name only; they're called that simply because the tiny bays resemble the pasta. I can't believe that the doneness issue won't be straightened out quickly. Blais has a long-standing fondness for fish (he was, believe it or not, a Fish Fellow at the CIA). There were also menu changes from the first night to the second: They switched out the beet cubes and apple caviar on the sashimi for beet caviar and apple sorbet. If you go there tonight, you'll get whipped apple in a crunchy malt sphere. The mozzarella (which was great, though a little underseasoned) sold out the first night. It's been replaced by a chevre (not too goaty) from Sweet Grass Dairy. They found some nice-looking soft-shell crabs, which they're serving in a straightforward (for Blais) style: brown butter, curry and a chutney they invented the night before that uses the dregs (pine nuts, the solids from Jana Valley butter, a handful of parsley) from making the foamed butter on the fish in combination with some eastern spices. The potatoes that accompanied the filet have been replaced by a whipped corn puree with a touch of truffle oil. Tuesday night, the crew loaded up a huge saucepan with chicken wings, chicken fat, duck fat, thyme and rosemary. This was covered tightly and tucked into a low oven overnight: chicken wing confit. Last night, they were grilling a mess of them with some Korean smoked spices and serving them with ping-pong ball-sized turnips in a ponzu-like broth and turnip greens scattered with lardons. Some of these changes are the unavoidable consequences of overhauling a menu in three or four days, of course, not to mention trying to maximize the value of the inventory left over from the previous menu -- something any good chef should be doing in these circumstances. They also speak to what Blais seems to be trying to accomplish here, which is not to recreate One, Bazaar or Blais (the restaurant), but to advance the simple cause of good food at reasonable prices. That he goes about it in his own way simply makes it more interesting: sometimes it means cooking asparagus two different ways for a single plate (the fluke), or reinventing a classic dish of mussels by pouring on a thick beery broth and gilding the lily with smoked aioli; sometimes it means reviving a beautiful medley of vegetables that dates all the back to his Fishbone days. And sometimes it means eliciting the best that a humble chicken wing has to offer -- or finding a few quarts of perfect strawberries and leaving them pretty much alone so you can celebrate their ephemeral singularity. Then, like a lot of dishes on the Element menu, they'll be gone. That's not a reason for despair, though. It means there's room on the menu for the next new thing.

Yes indeed, and it was very, very tasty, if sliced just a bit thick for my taste (not Jason's fault at all; the restaurant didn't have a slicer). The "ravioli" were actually yogurt spheres created (inverse spherification) with sodium alginate -- a fun riff on the traditional middle-eastern combination. Thanks for the photos, Rowdy, and welcome to the Society!

Good call, micropundit. More info here.

As the indefatigable and amazingly accurate micropundit revealed on his blog, Blais and his team (known collectively as "Triail-Blais") have signed on to revitalize Element at 11th and West Peachtree. Here are some notes from a pre-opening party Saturday (19 May) night. Sous chef Jeff Sigler was shucking some sort of Pacific oyster, and serving it with carefully mounted garnishes of chorizo, beer reduction and microgreens. To do this, he had comandeered a section of the upstairs bar (ironically, a sushi bar when the property was known as Cherry, a couple of years ago). Similar to a shifting One concoction that sometimes featured mussels and sometimes oysters, these could only have been improved by a lower serving temperature, forgivable under the circumstances.<br><br> We sampled four other portions (one of them repeatedly): bay scallop with tortilla risotto and smoked tomato powder; "waffles and eggs": a cocoon of waffle batter, deep fried and served in a mini-tagine with a poached quail egg and a drizzle of maple syrup; A thin toast topped with beef marrow, bits of oxtail and wine reduction; and a mostly boneless half-quail, dipped in egg wash and panko, then deep fried. The quail was the winner. The mostly boneless part meant that only the thigh bone remained. The rest was flattened before frying, so the effect was that of a large, butterflied, deep-fried shrimp, with only the bone poking up as a handle. Nothing molecular about this, though the sweet/slightly hot mayonnaise that garnished it was reminiscent of other Blais romps through the emulsion garden. To give the scallop its due, I only had one small sample; it seemed promising. Likewise the bruschetta; I need to get better about hooking waitstaff elbows. The waffle and egg wasn't up to a similar dish I had at One, which used a bit of smoked sous vide belly to much better effect. In fairness, this sort of dish requires careful timing -- not a reasonable expectation in party circumstances. Still, it seems to me that the waffle component should be added to the egg and bacon, rather than substituting for the pork: breakfast in a bite.<br> Copies of a prospective new menu were circulated at the party. I found out today that there were actually several versions, accidentally publicizing the evolution of Blais's thinking. The fact is that the menu probably won't be set until Tuesday morning, and there's every chance that it will change by Wednesday dinner. The team took a bold but obvious step in closing the restaurant after the party; Sunday and Monday are being spent in staff training, menu finalization and prep. <br> Nevertheless, here are some of the ideas presented on the menu that I brought home: kampachi sashimi, ginger juice and soy caviar; chicken wing confit, barbeque carrot, celery dressing; lamb spare ribs, goya malta, sourwood honey; mozzarella, warm figs, olive oil marmalade; Riverview Farms pate, candied fennel, pistachio arugula emulsion; "Pot au Pho": shrimp noodles, shaved beef, spiced consomme; strawberries, whipped almond, cilantro sorbet. <br> The above notwithstanding, when I visited the kitchen this afternoon, I saw two immersion circulators full of sous-vide bags. I thought I recognized the contents, but asked director of cuisine Mark Nanna (most recently sous chef at Pura Vida and a former Blais colleague at One) anyway. "Yeah," he replied, "It's cool to think about what's in there: tails, feet, bellies. Nothing that you'd expect at a traditional restaurant. No steaks, no roasts . . ." I was right: pigs' feet, ox tails, pork belly. (An interesting aside: the belly, which had been given a quick cure in the morning, had been sealed up with an unmistakeable yellow smear of French's mustard.) A few minutes later, lamb rib sections (sans loins) were added. Clearly, the Tilia is working overtime. <br> As of today, anyway, Blais plans to include a "staff meal" special on the daily menu -- a gambit that might pay off big with the neighborhood clientele, which includes a fair number of business travellers looking for comfort food, as well as with the staff, who'd be less likely to dress up hot dogs with bottled Italian dressing if they knew it was going on the menu -- and that they have an opportunity to eat better themselves if the staff meal is subsidized at retail. <br> Blais has ambitious notions for Element (by the way, is there a better name for a molecular gastronomy restaurant? I haven't seen one). He's revived vendor relationships that lay dormant since his escape to Miami, and he's excited about local production -- the invocation of Riverview Farms, Sweet Grass Dairy and the legendary Dan Moore speak to this commitment. He talks about a menu that might change weekly or even daily, depending on what comes through the back door or what he can cadge from nameless sources. Kitchen shelves (what there are of them; it's a small space) are already stocked with methylcellulose, calcium chloride and a number of other reagents. There's a cannister of LN2 in the kitchen, and another at the downstairs bar. The Kennesaw initiative is still alive. In the meantime (my earliest estimate for opening Elevation is mid-July), this opportunity came along, and Blais grabbed it. A number of questions come to mind quickly: can Element overcome the reputation of the former Cherry as a singles-bar scene, and more recently, a middling lunch-dinner-brunch restaurant, and become a destination venue? Will folks from Virginia Highlands, Decatur and Druid Hills brave the parking challenges of the neighborhood? Two years after Blais the restaurant closed abruptly, is there a profitable niche for (in the adopted lingo of the new Element) a gastro lounge and food lab in the Atlanta market? Element opens for dinner Tuesday, 22 May. They're not on OpenTable yet; call 404.745.3001 for reservations.

When did we decide that soap couldn't smell like soap and instead had to smell like lemons, oranges or cherry blossoms? What's up with furniture polish (I know, Lemon Pledge has been around for a while, but still)? Who said it was okay to fill my (or anyone's) car with the scent of a fresh-cut Granny Smith? For a while there, I couldn't face a fresh lemon -- all it brought to mind was dishwashing detergent. These days, thanks to an immersion program comprising gin, Maraschino liqueur and lemon juice, in conjunction with a thorough sequestration of cleaning supplies, I'm on my way to recovery. But I'm very careful about what comes into the house now -- things need to smell like what they are, and not like fruit salad or a central Flroida orchard. Unless, of course, they are fruit salad or citrus. No one should have to face this olfactory tyranny. Ammonia is strong and sharp, and swears that things have been scoured. Bleach tweaks the nose with the hopeful sanitation of hospitals, and memories that recall the nurseries of the (thankfully) obsessive and compulsive. These are the smells of clean. You can't steal my food to appease your noses. If, one day, I pass a shelf bearing "SOS Pads with New Pan-Roasted Ribeye Scent," I'm hunting you down. And you'll know what scouring means.

This is what I do -- or try to do -- as victims of a number of my previous posts will attest. But thanks! I'm lost. Are you saying the difference between the whole pink salt number and the pink salt minus regular salt number is inconsequential? If so, I agree. It's pretty much within the margin of error. I was just being faithful to my source! The pink salt that has all of us statesiders excited is this. It's uniodized sodium chloride mixed with sodium nitrite, along with a couple of other things that keep it well-mixed and -- not to be dismissed -- identify it as something other than regular salt (that's why it's pink). I suspect that what you're seeing from India and elsewhere (Hawaii, for instance) is not this but "sea" salt that's been colored by small amounts of minerals that survive the evaporative process and get swept up in the cultivation. I agree with you about the color -- what's the point? But there are two other issues that nitrite/nitrate addresses: preservation and taste. On the first count: if you're smoking uncooked pork (or any protein) for long periods of time, you're subjecting it to the 40 F to 140 F danger zone, where bacteria thrive. Nitrites are effective at preventing the growth of botulinum bacteria (among other lesser nasties). Since, if I recall correctly, you're not smoking but rather roasting your bacon, this isn't a significant issue. But the taste might be. Certainly Americans, anyway, associate the tang of nitrite (whether they know it or not) with "cured meat." Leave it out, and you're missing something, I think.

I admit to lingering doubts about the value of a second, dry cure, but I'm willing to wait for Chris's no-doubt tasty results. However, I believe in the brine. It yields more uniform flavor than the rub recommended in the Polcyn-Ruhlman book. For guidance, I consulted Paul Bertolli's excellent Cooking by Hand, where he uses some fairly precise calculations (and some elaborate justifications, most of which I find convincing) to arrive at a brine recipe. Since I was going to go through it for the belly I scored last night, I figured I might as well show my work. (I should add that Bertolli doesn't specifically recommend brining as a step in making American-style bacon. In fact, the only bacon recipe in the book is for tesa, flat version of pancetta, and it's dry-cured.) Bertolli starts with the assumption that meat is 60 to 70% water, noting that the brine can actually be diluted by the water in the meat. To prevent bacterial growth, he recommends a brine strength of three to five percent, and opts for the lower amount, since he prefers more lightly salted meats. Sugar is added to balance the salt. (Bertolli uses two percent.) On top of this, he calculates nitrite strength using the federal guideline of 200 ppm for immersion-cured meats, and helpfully reminds you that this concentration must be figured for the entire contents of the vessel: meat and brine. All of this sounds horribly complicated at first, but it breaks down into a series of arithmetical steps, none of which is difficult. To see a real-world example, read on. 1. Weigh the meat. The belly I've got is 11.7 pounds. 2. Figure out how much brine you're going to need to cover it. I guess there are a couple of ways to do this, but the easiest is to put the meat in the container you'll be using, fill the container with water, take out the meat, and measure. I just did this, and found that two gallons would work (barely). 3. Calculate the water weights. Using 65% as the water component of the meat, that's 7.61 pounds. Water itself is 8.33 pounds per gallon, so that's 16.66 pounds. Total water weight: 24.27 pounds. 4. Calculate the salt content. For a 3% brine: 24.27 x 0.03 = 0.728 pounds 5. Calculate the sugar content. For 2%: 24.27 x 0.02 = 0.485 pounds 6. Calculate the nitrite. Here's where it gets a little tricky, mainly because pink salt isn't entirely nitrite (it's usually 6.25%; check your package), and because of that, we're dealing with pretty small amounts. a. Add up the weight of everything -- water, meat, salt and sugar: 24.27 + 0.728 + 0.485 = 25.483. b. Remembering the 200 ppm guideline, multiply your total weight by 200, and divide that sum by 1,000,000. So: 200 x 25.843 = 5096.60. 5096.60/1,000,000 = 0.0050966. That's how much nitrite, in pounds, we need. But -- c. Remember, pink salt is only 6.25% nitrite. So divide 0.0050966 by 0.0625. That comes to lessee . . . 0.08155 pounds of pink salt. But -- d. Yikes. Really teeny number. So we convert to grams. 454 grams to the pound: 0.08155 x 455 = 37 grams, more or less. 7. For the sake of convenience, convert your other additions to grams: 0.728 x 454 = 330 g salt; 0.485 x 454 = 220 g sugar. 8. This is where Bertolli gets really picky, but in for a penny -- in for a pound. He calculates the regular salt in the pink component and subtracts it from the total salt. Since pink salt is 93.75% plain salt (100 - 6.25), multiply 0.9375 x 37 = 35 g (rounded). Okay, that's more than an ounce -- more than 10% of the salt component -- not so picky after all. Subtract that from your salt addition, and you get (330 - 35 =) 295 grams. 9. Now you can assemble your recipe: 2 gallons water 295 g salt 220 g sugar 37 g pink salt 10. Add to this whatever other seasonings you wish; these are the essential components. And of course, you can vary the concentrations of salt and sugar just by using different percentages in the calculations. I'm not suggesting that everyone convert to this method. It's tedious, and I'm not sure it's a responsible for improvement in my bacon so much as the simple switch from a straight dry cure to brining. What it does do is ensure a proper concentration of nitrite, as well as allow you to replicate (or modify) a brine precisely, even if you have different cuts of meat and different quantities of brine.

Having just had to toss out a pound of precious home-made bacon, I've decided I need one of these. Any new information or insights before I go shopping? I'm particularly interested in the cost of comsumables, as well as how people are deploying their devices. Do they live on the counter? In a cabinet?

Here's the link takomabaker was pointing out: Low acid foods, step by step.

As Susan points out, the serve-the-second-day strategy opens the door to a number of refinements -- the new vegetables can be shaped in more sophisticated ways, they can be caramelized or even served crispy; the liquid can be rebalanced (a little acid -- sherry vinegar is great for this -- can really brighten up a braise) and adjusted for thickness and viscosity. Because you've separated the meat, all of this can be accomplished without overcooking. (A variation on straining the vegetables and seasongs is to use a cheesecloth bag to contain it all. Just remove it after the initial braise.)

In addition to focusing on larcenous fringe benefits of grocery bags, maybe it's worth expanding a bit to discuss other aspects of this most basic container. A few things come to mind: Several learned institutions (the University of Kentucky, the University of Florida, Penn State) identify the paper grocery bag as a significant vector in home cockroach infestation. Plastic bags possess what I would call apparent abundance. They're lightweight, they come by the millions on a roll that's easily replaced; compare this with the drudgery of hauling a bale of heavy, dusty (need I add, cockroach-infested) paper bags, and maybe you'll see what I'm describing. This has led to astonishing profligacy with respect to their dispensation. This doesn't just come in the form of new rules for how bags get filled (poultry, leaky and presumably salmonella-laden, is now sequestered in its own filmy quarantine; gallon jugs of milk, detergent containers and eight-pound bags of dog food, all easily manipulated on their own, get bagged), it results in me somehow leaving the store with six items packed in nine bags. The craft of packing has all but disappeared. I lament this not just as a former bag boy and someone who appreciates craft in an absolute way, but as a consumer. There's a reason to pack things so that weight is well-distributed, so like items go with like items, and so that bags can stand up on their own: it makes the rest of the grocery-shopping experience (getting the bags into the vehicle; arriving home without the contents being redistibuted across an expanse of cargo area; getting them into the kitchen and onto the counter without spillage; and being able to put things away in an orderly manner) not just easier, but nearly pleasurable, in the way that any well-executed plan can be. Grocery stores have let down their end, and I feel betrayed. What are your grocery-bag issues? Paper or plastic, and why? String bags (how do you handle a week's worth of supplies)? Do you pack you own with pride (I'm secretly thrilled at the absence of a bagger when it's my turn to check out)? Are you running off to set roach traps before posting?

The Reuters piece doesn't do a good job of explaining what's actually going on. A NY Times article from 20 April (now behind the paywall) takes it a step further: Deeper, a secondary impetus is described: We don't buy much milk -- about a half-gallon a week -- but there's no doubt in my mind that there are repercussions beyond just the supply of organic milk. A few weeks ago, for example, the Publix chain announced that henceforth, all of its milk would be free of rbST. Of course, relevant to Fat Guy's point that the health and flavor claims are sketchy at best, the Publix news release ends with the statement, "The FDA has stated that no significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rbST-treated and non-rbST-treated cows."

I'm in woodburner's camp -- I would add unlit charcoal. Adding coals that are already smoldering will cause a temperature spike. Conversely, I wouldn't worry about a drop in temperature. It's not like you're adding a pound of frozen peas to the fire. Just opening the lid will cause more of a dip than the slight bit of energy expended to ignite the new fuel, and it will all stay inside the dome, anyway. As for acrid smoke, I don't believe that's a concern unless you're using one of the quick-light briquette brands (and I think we're all hoping you're not).

Not to be ebullient over such a sobering issue, but our own Shaun Chavis gave early warning on this issue way back in January. Shaun's piece in the Daily Gullet is well worth reading -- or reading again.

The chipper that Pam linked to is how I learned, but I have a suggestion: 1) Wrap the block in a layer of parchment, then seal it in two freezer bags. 2) Lay the carefully wrapped block crosswise on a 2x4. 3) Drive a mini-van over the block. 4) Back up, returning the mini-van to its starting position. 5) Remove from packaging. Enjoy.

Great attribute for a destination restaurant! ← . . . . So the restaurants enjoy a certain amount of "drive by" custom. And well-heeled custom at that, as this sort of airport serves charters and private owners. The restaurant's located in the metro Atlanta area, in Kennesaw, so not an unreasonable drive for those of us who live way, way in town. And it would be even faster by helicopter. ← Good call, therese. There actually is talk of a midtown helicopter shuttle! Start saving up -- the fare is likely to be about $250, round-trip (no in-flight meal). Yes, this will be the only restaurant at McCollum Field, unless you count the vending machines in the Northside Aviation building, which seem to be empty a great deal of the time. As a result, part of the restaurant's business plan includes packaging in-flight meals for general aviation customers (the industry term for charter and private flying). From what I've been able to glean, this is a desperately underserved market, at least at this airport. But that brings up the whole set of economics that drive general aviation. As therese has alluded, this is an economic and culinary sector that flies (sorry) under the radar. I'll be happy to expound more, if anyone is interested. Blais and his investors seem to be interested in more than just the traffic that plane owners can provide, though. They're trying to create a destination restaurant (thanks, Doc!) in the thriving area that surrounds the place. It's a high-income region that -- right now -- is served mostly by chain dining options, though nearby Marietta offers some interesting fare. And as we've seen, suburbanites will drive into town for great food. The question is, will city-dwellers do the opposite?

A bit more on Blais's current project: At the moment, it's just a box, empty except for the hoods, which were installed before he signed on (the ductwork went in last week). This is the view from the eventual greeting stand, looking back toward the kitchen, which will be open: That's intern Jeff Sigler standing off to the left, about where the aforementioned eating bar will be. When I say open, I mean open -- the pass will be halfway between Jeff and the hood. Here's the view from the eating bar. The runway is about 50 yards in the distance (those with really sharp eyes will recognize Creflo A. Dollar's Gulfstream in the hangar on the other side of the field). The guy kneeling in the foreground is welding the risers for the interior staircase. Back corner opposite the entry, to give you an idea of the space. From here, you can see that the restaurant is two stories with an atrium that will open over the downstairs cocktail bar. The upstairs will have its own bar, and will be available for events: And for those of you who've never seen one, here's a casket for a Transformer -- I mean, a virgin grease trap: I picked up a couple of other interesting tidbits. The kitchen will be all-electric. This is due to some airport/electric company arithmetic that I'm still trying to decipher, coupled with an inability to bring in a natural gas line, which would have meant an ugly and energy-deficient propane tank. The bottom line is that going electric saves tens of thousands of dollars in up-front costs. A probable menu item, the restaurant's signature burger: eight ounces of freshly-ground 75/25 beef, seasoned and slow-cooked for a few hours, then finished on a sizzle plate or in a small pan over a wood fire. It will be served on a soft bun (think steamed Chinese-style) with homemade pickles (including plenty of fresh onion in the mix), mayonnaise made with rendered chorizo oil, and hand-cut fries tossed in chopped dill. To go with it: a seasonal milkshake (peach-white truffle malt was mentioned) flash blended with liquid nitrogen.

Lipper makes Martha Stewart's cast-iron cookware, which is carried in-store and on-line by Kmart.

That Red and Red is brilliant, John. I don't have Red Hook, so I used Michter's Single Barrel, and added a barspoon of coffee-infused Carpano Antica for extra punch and balance. Cheers!

Bryan's right about Chef Blais. There's a recent article in the Atlanta paper (here, free registration required) that gives a few details. And if you can make your way through Steven's recount of a very long day, you'll be rewarded with a report from what he calls Ferran Adria's bar mitzvah, where Blais set up temporary shop, producing a number of LN2 dishes.

I imagine a lot of bacon, ham and sausage goes out on those breakfast biscuits and Croissan'wiches, not to mention the Enormous Omelet Sandwich.

It's no less horrid for you than Blais/Bazaar/O.MK were for us OTPers -- nevertheless we comprise a significant portion of One's clientele. Of course, you can get a good artisanal cheese course at Aqua Terra in Buford; in Norcross, Grace 17.20 is totally committed to local sourcing and seasonality; 5 Seasons North (Alpharetta) is a hybrid of brewpub and organic restaurant that's a little startling outside of Virginia Highlands or Little Five Points. So why not a subversively molecular bistro in Kennesaw? To answer Voodoo's questions (I can't speak for the Chef, though obviously I've spoken to him): yes, Blais will be cooking at Elevation, at least when it opens. But let's not forget that he subscribes to the executive model: a good head chef installs systems and trains people to ensure consistency and quality regardless of who's tending the stove -- or the LN2 tank. I don't think you'll see a reprise of the One tasting menu scenario. What seems more likely is a menu of small dishes at a dining bar, available to all comers. Presumably the menu would change with availability and seasonality of ingredients, not to mention whim and invention.

Chef Blais is working on Elevation, a new restaurant adjacent to McCollum Field in Kennesaw, scheduled to open in June or July. Expect an open kitchen with a seasoned crew and a bistro-oriented menu designed by Blais from the ground up, incorporating his characteristic style: expert execution, technology in the service of flavor, and always some wit.

I tried a salted Aviation: 2 oz. gin 1/2 oz. lemon juice 1/2 oz. maraschino pinch (maybe 15 grains) Diamond Crystal kosher salt It seemed slightly sweeter than usual, and a bit less complex. Of course, that could have been due to any number of variables, but I'm a pretty careful measurer, for what that's worth, and I did this as the first cocktail of the day.

I think Janet's right about salt and bitter, but I'm not sure that's what's going on in Chris's drink (though I'm sure he'll be quick to correct me if I'm wrong). It seems to me that a few flakes of fleur de sel in a cocktail are doing what salt is usually supposed to do: heighten flavors. If that's the case, maybe we have two classes of salted cocktails: those that are frankly salty (I think salted rims go here, as well as drinks like the Dirty Martini), and those where salt plays an important role, but doesn't put salt directly in flavor profile -- much like the salt that's added to chocolate to make it taste more, um, like chocolate.