Zombie Chef

Go! Teach your grandmother to suck eggs!

2009-01-29T03:39:25Z

In a recent discussion elsewhere on the internets, I joined a conversation on the meaning of the colloquialism "Go and teach your grandmother to suck eggs." Now, of course, what this is meant to convey is, "You're telling me something I know better than you do," but most people are unaware of why grandmothers would know how to suck eggs, and why they'd want to do so. As it happens, I was not entirely ignorant of the reason, so I took it upon myself to educate people. I know, you're all shocked!

Some time ago, kids who grew up with absolutely fresh eggs (chicken or any bird) readily findable outdoors would learn to poke a hole in the eggshell and suck out the contents, because raw egg yolks are darned tasty. Since kids can be pretty self-absorbed, they generally though that they'd invented the wheel, and eagerly tried to teach the trick to their elders, not realizing that said elders has found the same trick when they were young. Also, I was informed in the course of this, since grandmothers were often missing teeth (pregnancy takes a lot of calcium, and the adage went that a woman would lose a tooth for every child she gave birth to; when you add in a lack of dentistry, you have a recipe for toothless grandmas), they often got most of their protein by sucking eggs, so that it was even more presumptuous of the kids.

Now, I've mentioned that raw yolks are mighty tasty, but alas, raw egg whites not only have no flavor, they're rather slimy. Fortunately for us, there are a number of recipes intended to take advantage of the scrumptiousness of runny yolks while getting rid of the slime of albumin. There are common preparations like soft-boiled, poached and over-easy. There are more complex ones like Hollandaise sauce. But possibly the finest runny-egg-yolk recipe I've ever encountered involved a tempura-battered egg yolk.

Now, my chef at school perched it on top of a salad (I forget exactly what it was composed of), but you can do pretty much whatever you like with it. Try it, next time you're making tempura, and dip your veggies in the runny yolk. Just take a nice, very fresh egg (if you can, go down to the farmer's market and find somebody with a free-range farm -- the eggs will be both fresher and less likely to have salmonella* -- or try to find pasteurized in-shell eggs; but fresh is very important, since the fresher it is, the better the yolk will hold together), gently separate out the yolk with your fingers, dunk it in the batter (make sure it gets completely coated), and then, using either a slotted metal spoon or your fingers, drop it in the hot oil. It should only need to cook about 15 seconds (depending on your oil temperature), just until the coating it crispy. Then take it out with a slotted spoon and enjoy!

Wait, what? Not everyone know how to make tempura? Oh, dear.

Well, you could use any one of the myriad recipes out there, or you could buy a mix. It's really very easy, regardless. Heat up a nice, deep pot of oil to about 375F. Mix up some rice flour (say, a cup), ice water (another cup, with the ice still in it), an egg yolk (ooo, look, more yolky goodness!), and possibly some stuff like cornstarch and seasonings. Only stir it enough to roughly combine it -- there ought to still be bits of egg yolk visible, and lumps of flour. Chopsticks are good for this. Keep the batter in a metal or glass bowl, and you might want to set it on top of a larger bowl of ice. Keep that batter nice and chilly! Dip stuff in the batter, then fry it until the coating is crispy. Don't crowd the pot with too much stuff at once, and make sure to let it heat back up. Drain the food on paper towels, maybe salt it very lightly, and serve with a nice dipping sauce.

Now, you've learned the etymology of the phrase and how to make tempura! Isn't that nice?

Feed your BRAAAAAAAINS!

*Right. Obligatory Salmonella Discussion. I'm sure you've been informed that Eating Raw or Undercooked Eggs Can Increase Your Risk of Food-Borne Illness. And, well, yes, technically this is true. But seriously, even with factory-farmed eggs you're only looking at a 0.005% chance of any given egg being infected (that's one in every 20,000 eggs). Only an infected chicken can lay an infected egg, and not even all of those do. And the rate of infection in live chickens is relatively low. The reason raw chicken is riskier than raw eggs is that chicken is processed at facilities that sometimes unknowingly process infected chicken, and then the bacteria are apt to hang around the plant for quite a while and infect fresh chicken. So cook your chicken thoroughly, ok?
As far as I can tell, hand-raised free-range chickens are even less likely to lay infected eggs, but it's hard to find firm figures.
Also, so you know, eggs have only begun to be infected with salmonella in the last fifty years or so. Prior to that, the bacteria lived only in the digestive tracts and feces of the birds. How, exactly, they made their way into the reproductive systems is unknown (although personally, I suspect that it's from having factory-farmed chickens live in their own shit their whole lives). There is some evidence, found only within the last couple of years, which suggests that the bacteria are not living in the edible portion of the egg, but between the shell and the inner membrane, and only enter the edible portion when the shell is cracked, which actually makes the method less mysterious.

I got my figures on the rate of salmonella-infected eggs here.

Just a quick one, to prove I'm still alive. Er, undead. Whatever.

2008-10-24T09:55:15Z

The long-promised piece on hydrocolloids is still in the works, I'm afraid. In the mean time, here's a fairly specific question from emgrasso:

I have a question for you.

My weird list of food allergies has been narrowed to cow and sheep milk (but not goat milk) and egg yolks (but not the whites), green beans (but not kidney beans etc.), malt, oysters and lobsters. The malt is a pain because it is in a lot of commercial baked goods, but being able to at least use goat milk and eggwhites makes life a lot easier.

The 'America's Test Kitchen' show has a recipe for a lowfat chocolate mousse that uses Italian meringue instead of whipped cream. They also add some white chocolate chips (1/3 cup) so that the cocoa butter adds richness and smoothness to the texture. The other ingredients are all OK for me, but reading labels indicates white chocolate has milk in it.

I don't think I need more chocolate necessarily -- I tend to use darker chocolates than they used, especially now that I know about the dairy allergies. Would adding something like cocoanut oil be likely to help the texture? I remember you suggested it for use in cookies and such.

I'm glad your diet has expanded again! Still, what a wretched pain. You have my sympathies.
I can't think of any reason not to sub coconut oil for the white chocolate -- or, better, cocoa butter, if you can find it -- but you don't want to sub it one-for-one. White chocolate is, minimum, 20% cocoa butter. I'd use about 25%, or 1/4 if fractions are tidier for you, of the amount given in the recipe. Call it 1T+1t. (Heh. I did the math in my head, came up with that figure by guess and by gosh, then actually did the math on a calculator, and I turned out to be precisely right! I feel good about my very-tired-brain-math-skills now.) If you're using very dark chocolates, with a higher cocoa-solids-to-butter ratio, you might try adding another teaspoon of fat to that, if your first attempt isn't creamy enough for you. But it ought to serve most of the same purposes. (The missing purpose being adding more sugar, which it sounds like youdon't want anyway.)
And yes, by definition, white chocolate has milk solids. I suppose it's just barely possible that someone somewhere is actually making goat's milk white chocolate, but coconut oil is easier to find and probably cheaper.
I feel like I ought to add lots more technical information to this, but I just can't manage it right now. Besides, I answered the question.
Braaaaaaains...

askzombiechef @ 2008-10-06T23:33:00

2008-10-07T06:33:41Z

While I'm busy working, making jewelry, and, oh yes, writing the next entry, here's a toy for you to play with: Noodlr, the bowl-o-noodles generator. It comes up with some amazingly tasty-sounding combinations, and has a clicky-box to get vegetarian versions.

The Return of Zombie Chef

2008-09-20T23:07:33Z

Welcome back, my zombie hoards, to Ask Zombie Chef! I'm sorry about the long hiatus, I've had other things occupying my braaaaaaain. Things like a demanding job, a hyper Zombie Dog, some steampunk jewelry making, and the rare and elusive social life. But I'm back now, and I hope to keep this rolling on a regular basis once more.

On to the question of the day!
kitanzi would like to know about hardware:
When does it make sense for recipes to be specific about the materials of the hardware you're using? I've been told, for instance, not to use a plastic bowl for beating up egg whites (apparently it retains traces of oil?) but I just made muffins and it said to use a wooden spoon for putting the batter in the muffin pan. Is there a property of wooden spoons I should know about? I mostly use it when I want a spoon that won't heat up. What else should a basic cook know about this kind of thing?

Plastic, wood, glass, silicon, seventeen kinds of metal, coated and uncoated. When it comes to options in hardware, today's cooks have an embarrassment of riches.
The truth is, most of the time, most of it is personal preference. I like wooden spoons for many things, but my good friend the biologist very rightly points out that wood can hold all sorts of microbial nastiness, and won't have them in her home. I'm also quite fond of silicon spatulae and other implements, which many professional cooks don't care for because we sometimes cook at temperatures in excess of 500F, the highest temperature silicon can safely handle. People who use nonstick cookware generally don't want to use metal tools with them, since those will damage the teflon coating (please, people, the "how do they get teflon to stick to the pan" jokes are old -- really, really old). For most things, you sort of play with stuff to figure out what's best for you.
But yes, sometimes the basic physical properties of the materials matter.
Plastic does indeed hold on to trace amounts of oils which can deflate egg white foams before they've had a good chance to form (but once you've built a good foam, it's just fine to add fats). Plastics are made from oils, generally petroleum, and still have a chemical similarity that allows your favorite Tuscan olive oil (or any other kind you cook with) to hang around after even the most thorough scrubbing. Since egg white foams (the most common of which is, of course, meringue) are delicate protein lattices in water, they can be broken by even those tiny amounts, as the oil insinuates itself between the protein strands (soap is just as bad, by the way). So, yes, stick to metal or glass. Personally, I always whip egg whites in a stand mixer, and mine is all metal, so it's easy for me, but if you're using a hand mixer, or for some reason whipping it by hand, keep it in mind.
Any time a recipe mentions using non-reactive cookware, pay attention. You want stainless steel, glass, or enamel surfaces here. These recipes are almost always highly acidic and long-cooking, and can leech unpleasant or even dangerous compounds out of the vessels in which they're prepared. Recipes which might not specify non-reactive cookware but needs it anyway include tomato sauce, jam, and anything stewed or braised in wine or fruit juice. Definitely no aluminum or soft metals (copper is traditional for many fruit preserves, though, and of course for candy), and while it's possible in very, very well-seasoned cast iron, I advise pretty strongly against it. You don't need that much iron in your diet, and you'll damage that lovely coat of seasoning you achieved.
Also, don't use aluminum pots or bowls for anything that involves a lot of whisking, especially pale-colored sauces. Ever seen a batch of Hollandaise turn gray? Not a pretty sight, my friends.
Materials can be moderately-to-highly important to your results when it comes to cooking vessels in other ways, too. This one comes down to heat transfer, though. Copper is one of the best thermal conductors (which is why it's traditional for candy and jam, both of which require lots of heat and good control), but good copper pots are both difficult to find and extremely expensive, in addition to being prone to denting and requiring extensive cleaning. They're also overkill for most home cooks. Aluminum is also a good conductor: heats up quickly, cools down quickly, and is lightweight and inexpensive (which is why it's used in professional kitchens a lot); unfortunately, it also leaches into acidic foods, scrapes off into whisked sauces, and is easily damaged. Personally, I won't use it at home. Cast iron retains heat very well, making it really good for things where you want to maintain a constant temperature, like frying, braising and certain kinds of baking (cornbread, for that nice crispy crust). You either need to buy (expensive) enameled cast iron (Le Creuset is the much-loved classic) or maintain a good coat of seasoning (by never letting it touch soap, scouring it with coarse kosher salt and oil after every use, and then heating it and letting it cool before putting it away). I keep my grandmother's cast iron skillet and a couple of Le Creusets around for these applications, plus a large griddle for pancake making. Stainless steel isn't the best conductor, but it looks nice, and is very durable. What I really prefer for most stovetop applications, though, is stainless clad copper (mine are All Clad). The bottom of the pot or pan has a layer of copper sandwiched between layers of stainless. It provides excellent heat transfer, but is sturdy and easy to clean. It's not cheap, but it'll last a lifetime, as long as I treat it well. You can also get clad aluminum, like Calphalon, which is a good option, too. Lots of home cooks like nonstick pans (like Calphalon, or things with teflon), but nonstick metals are too soft for my tastes; I wind up damaging the coating, and if it gets scratched too badly, it's worse than no coating at all.
A cook should keep a variety of pots and pans around, in a few different metals. Definitely at least one or two pieces of cast iron, one or two sauté pans made of a good conductor (whether clad or a coated aluminum), a couple of sauce pans of the same, and some bakeware, plus a variety of stirring, whisking, moving and turning implements. But what, specifically, those are is pretty much up to the individual.
I will add one final comment on cookware, though. As a former Chef of mine said: In a perfect world, everyone would have All Clad, and everyone would take care of it.
Oh, and for stirring muffins, just use a large stirring spoon. The wood doesn't matter, but you do want a good-sized surface, which will combine more stuff at a time and keep your stirring time down. Don't overmix muffins!

Once more, with feeling:
BRAAAAAAAINS!

For more, and more detailed, information on kitchen gear from utensils, pots and pans to appliances, I recommend Alton Brown's Gear for Your Kitchen

Flame On!

2008-06-19T07:13:05Z

As some of you may know, your Zombie Chef has a new job. It's a good job, with good opportunities, benefits, and coworkers, but it's sapping most of my energy and time right now. So this week, only one, brief, post.

emgrasso, patiently waiting for my well-researched answer to another question about things which do not involve eggs or dairy, asks:
Back in January, Target had a creme brulee kit on the clearance rack for $4. Four ramekins and a little torch and fuel.
So if you find yourself in the mood for a silly question... what can be done with a brulee kit that doesn't involve eggs or dairy?

I never did make creme brulee with it...

Mwaha. Mwahahaha. MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Are there any other uses for a creme brulee torch? Ohhhhh, yes. Many and many!
You could caramelize pineapple with it. You could make S'mores with it. You could cook your steaks sous vide and then caramelize the outside with it. You could make little thin caramel crispies with it. You can, very carefully, toast spices with it. You could gratin the breadcrumbs on top of a casserole with it. You could slice an apple very thinly, spread it out, sprinkle it with cinnamon and brown sugar, and caramelize it. You could toast designs onto bread with it.
You can even, after a fashion, make a creme brulee with it.

What?! you cry. But Zombie Chef, you know that I can have neither dairy nor eggs!

Fear not, my friend. I have a solution.

Emgrasso, allow me to introduce you to panna cotta.

Panna cotta is Italian for "cooked cream". It is, basically, a custard thickened with gelatin instead of egg proteins, or a milk jello. Yes, yes, I know, that's still dairy, but there's no reason at all why you can't make it with rice, almond, hazelnut or even coconut milk (no soy for you!).

Here's what you do:

Take 1 packet of gelatin and pour it into 1/2c of cold milk-substitute-of-your-choice, and set it aside. Take 2.5c of milk-substitute-of-your-choice, 1/2c of sugar and 1 vanilla bean (King Of Spices!) or 2t vanilla extract (the good stuff, please), along with anything else you happen to like in your creme brulee (last time I made panna cotta, I put in two tablespoons of lavender; you could add ginger, cocoa powder, cinnamon, whatever), and put all of that in a small saucepan and set it on the stove to heat. If you're using a whole vanilla bean, naturally you should split and scrape it. Bring the not-milk up to a simmer, remove it from the heat, and stir in the bloomed gelatin (which will look really icky and lumpy and nasty; don't worry, it's supposed to do that) until completely dissolved. Strain the liquid to remove any undissolved bits of gelatin that might be hiding, the vanilla bean, or anything large and/or lumpy that you might have added for flavor. Divide the liquid between your ramekins, place them in a baking pan, and pour some ice water in around the ramekins. Set this in your refrigerator. Come back in a couple of hours and check on them. Have they set up nicely? Oh, good.
Take the ones you're going to serve right away and stick them in the freezer for about 5 minutes (you want them good and cold so the torch won't melt the gelatin). Take them out, immediately sprinkle the tops with sugar, and torch them. You may want to put the sugar on in layers if you like a lot of caramel, as the first layers will help insulate the panna cotta. Work quickly, and don't get the torch too close. If you see the panna cotta melting, pop it back in the freezer for a few minutes.

I do not know, absolutely, that this will work, not having had time to try it, but it ought to. Good luck with it, and if you try it, let me know how it goes.

And with that, I must go. I have groceries to put away, and Zombie Dog to feed.

My new job has eaten my braaaaaaains!

askzombiechef @ 2008-06-13T12:47:00

2008-06-13T19:47:39Z

What are we going to do today, Braaaaaaain?
Same thing we do every day, Pinky. Try to eat the world.

Menu planning, or, What the fuck do I serve this with?

2008-06-12T11:21:01Z

tereshkova2001 writes:
This is not strictly a cooking question, but it's a food question. Do you have any tips for putting a menu together based on what's fresh at the market? I tend to wander farmers' markets going "ooh, tasty!" and end up with, e.g., a bunch of chard, some rhubarb, and a brick of raw-milk cheese. (If you have Seattle-specific favorite markets or ingredients, I'd love to hear them.)

cilande would also like to know about menu planning, but in a more general way:
Yeah, I know, the answer to a question is inversely proportional to the number of words that make up the question. :-)

Maybe I just don't know enough about food, but the Food Pairing web site isn't all that helpful for me. I need something a bit more basic I think... where I can type in "Moroccan Chicken" and have it return possible side dishes. Right now, I make Moroccan Chicken with a bland sauce transport device (basmati rice) and a side salad. It seems like there might be something else that would work better...

Menu planning can be very simple, or it can be very complicated. Let's try for simple, shall we?
Unfortunately, for menu planning to be simple often requires a lot of knowledge. For instance, because I've studied Moroccan cuisine a little, I can instantly say, "Oh, well, Moroccan chicken should be served with couscous and possibly some braised vegetables if they aren't already in the chicken dish. You may also want to add some dried fruits and, I dunno, pistachios to the couscous." But that doesn't help cilande's basic dilemma, which is that she doesn't have that kind of knowledge conveniently crammed into her skull by demanding chefs. (And the tyop of the day is "damnding" for "demanding" there. What color was Freud's slip, again?)
Well, let's turn for a moment to tereshkova's question, to see how it might work in practice.
If I, as a Seattlite, want to cook a particularly fresh, seasonal and local meal, then, with no planning whatsoever, I head out to one of Seattle's farmer's markets, or, of course, to the world famous Pike Place Market. In practice, like most people who live here, I rarely go to the Market, because it's full of damned tourists who stop in the middle of the way to do stupid things like take pictures of vegetables. (Please, if you come to our city -- and you should! -- and you go to the Market -- and you should! -- and you want to stop to look at something or take a picture, then be considerate and step out of the way of foot traffic.) But let's say, for the sake of argument, that I do go to Pike Place. If I walked into the Market at the main entrance (under the sign with the clock, and next to the pig), and stopped to watch the guys throwing fish, I would then turn right and walk down the length of the market. I'd pass a number of produce stands on my right, and I'd stop and look and smell, but I'd keep walking, because I know that just past the last of the produce stalls that are on my right, there's one on the left, tucked into the wall instead of backing onto canvas-covered spaces that open onto Pike Place itself. In front is at least one person with a paring knife, handing out samples to anyone who wants one. This is Sosio's, and this is where the cooks shop.
I would walk up, sample the fruit the guy with the paring knife is handing out (right now it's peaches, the only ones I'll eat that are grown in Washington), and then I'd ask, "So, what's good today?"
The folks who work at Sosio's know their stuff. They can tell you what's at the peak of its season, how to cook it, what farm it came from, and what it goes well with. This week, I might pick up morel mushrooms (foraged from forests on the Olympic Peninsula), with advice to saute them lightly in butter with a little kosher salt and perhaps some pink peppercorns; green garlic spears (properly known as garlic scapes, from a farm Snohomish), which can be sauteed, steamed or roasted and dressed with a little butter and lemon juice; some purple carrots (grown less than thirty miles away), which I love to cut into matchsticks, roast until they're golden brown and delicious and eat them like French fries; and some of those fantastic peaches to make a cobbler out of (I'm from Florida originally, and was spoiled by having peach tree in the yard; we had to wear our swim suits when we ate those peaches). All simple preparations, and I don't need to worry too much about whether they go together, because, much like the wine and cheese of a single region of France pair well together, most of the foods of a given season pair well together. Asparagus would be a more traditional choice with morels than the green garlic, but except for the hot-garlic flavor of the bulb at the top of the garlic stem, it's actually very much like asparagus, and garlic and morels do go well together. So I tend not to overthink that, but just buy what's good, and make sure that any seasoning I use works with everything.
That would take care of my sides, so I can now turn to the centerpiece of the dinner: the protein. I'm an omnivore, and for once I'm not going to talk much about vegetarian options, because what I'd do with that selection to get my protein in is probably just add whatever's handy, fu or tofu or some nice legumes. So, if I was in the Market and shopping for dinner, I'd take my purchases from Sosio's and continue on down the way, to City Fish Market (these are not the guys who throw fish). There, this week, they'd tell me that it's Copper River Salmon season just now, and damn, Copper River is some of the best fish I've tasted in my life. So I might shell out the $30 a pound it's running this year (there's a shortage), sear it with the skin on (they'd be happy to tell me how, only I wear my whites and checks to the market, so they'd assume I know), and I'd pick up some Holmquist Farms dry-roasted hazelnuts (found further down the market still) to chop up, heat briefly in the butter with the salmon, and spoon over the top of the fish.
If my bank account is a little thin, and that $30/lb is too much for me, I might stop at Uli's, instead, and pick up some freshly-made-on-the-premises lamb sausage. It's still early in summer, and the spring lambs are still young, tender and extremely tasty. Uli's, I think, usually suggests grilling their sausages (when they aren't offering a variety of recipes in which their sausages can be used), but sometimes I braise mine in red wine or beer.
Oh, look! It's a meal! Local, seasonal, fresh, and delicious. Also simple to cook. Simplicity is frequently a hallmark of the seasonality movement. Alice Waters, owner of Chez Panisse, and one of the founders of this movement, says, "What makes a good meal is not how fancy it is or how difficult and time consuming the preparations are, but how satisfying it is."¹ If you have a complicated recipe you know and love, or want to try, and you source your ingredients locally, that's one thing; but if you're simply planning your menu based on what's fresh and local, then this is a good method to try. Go to a place that has what you're looking for and knows a lot about it, ask them what's best and how best to prepare it. Collect a green vegetable, a starch, maybe something else for flavor and fun (like those morels), a protein, and something to make into dessert (those Holmquist hazelnuts, mixed with salted caramel, poured into a tart shell, and covered with bittersweet chocolate ganache, are freakin' fantastic, and if you don't believe me, head down to Stumbling Goat Bistro and try theirs; Chef Seth is fantastic at seasonal-and-local, and the site even lists their local purveyors). Prepare it all simply, and enjoy.
This isn't exactly the type of menu planning cilande was asking about, unfortunately. This is sort of adventurous and carefree menu planning, and I started with the sides when she wants to know how to figure out what goes with a main dish, especially an exotic one. (I mean, everybody in the US knows what to serve with pot roast, right? It's only the things we didn't grow up with that we don't know how to pair.)
Okay, let's take Moroccan chicken. I know what to serve it with, but how would someone else figure it out? The Internets to the rescue! I head on over to Wikipedia, search for "Moroccan cuisine," and get all kinds of interesting information. Scrolling down, I find that couscous (helpfully linked) is a main dish there. Couscous, I discover, is a type of pasta formed into little spheres. Fantastic, there's a starch! Instant couscous (much of what's available in the US) is quicker than rice to cook, too, so that's nice. Back at the Moroccan cuisine article, we see that tajine is also listed as a main dish. A tajine is a stew or braise, which would include most American recipes for Moroccan chicken. Hey, check it out, they usually include vegetables. So you could just drop some in the stew with the chicken, and you'd have your veg. If you must have a separate vegetable, well, the main Moroccan article tells us that salads are common there. It offers no recipes, but a quick Google search returns approximately 599,000 results, some of which look quite tasty.
And approximately 5 minutes worth of internet research has given us the knowledge we need to put together a meal based around Moroccan chicken.
For good measure, let's talk about meal planning for the week. Lots of people go shopping once a week, and don't want to do it again. I don't shop like this, but my brother does, and here's the advice I gave him.
On your way to the store, ask yourself, your best friend, your significant other, your dog, or whoever's handy, "Hey, what sounds good for dinner this week?" Between you (or you and yourself), generate no more than 2-3 ideas. Seriously. Do not attempt to plan the entire week at this point. Instead, be flexible. Say your ideas are roasted chicken, slow cooked short ribs and something involving shrimp (really, the ideas can be that vague). Great! Roasted chicken is simple, and will provide leftovers for at least one more meal, and (if you're me and live alone) as many as four. Ribs are another great leftover food, plus if you've got a crock pot or slow cooker, they're extremely simple. And shrimp are a quick poach or saute dish, and can be made all kinds of different ways. Fantastic. Pick up those three proteins, plus something simple and versatile like a white fish filet or some ground beef or sausage (which you should freeze when you get home). You ought to keep a variety of starches in your pantry at home, like potatoes, rice, pasta, quinoa, couscous, lentils, or whatever strikes your fancy, so don't worry too much about those unless you want something specific. Check out the produce section, looking for items which can do double or triple duty. Let's see, the cabbage looks nice, and if I do German short ribs, I can either braise or saute it and have a nice side, plus cole slaw if I fry the shrimp or some fish. Zucchini can be grilled or sauteed, and is good on the side with either the shrimp or the chicken (plus you can buy a lot less of it at a time!). Asparagus can be roasted with the chicken, or cut up and sauteed with the shrimp... You get the idea. Whatever sounds good, but make sure you can either buy it in small quantities or that you can prepare it in enough different ways that you won't get sick of it. Stock up on your staples and your seasonings, and head home.
Okay, now let's see how that plays out, cooking for just me, and on two nights, a guest.
Shopping is on Sunday, and that's when I eat my impulse buys of the week, while I'm still excited about them. Monday is a morning shift for me, and I won't want to do much when I get home, so before I leave, I set my short ribs to cook in the slow cooker. When I get how, I take four or five fingerling potatoes, cut them in half, toss them in olive oil and salt, and shove them in a 450F oven for 15-20 minutes. Meanwhile, I saute a little of the cabbage (which I cleverly cut up small the night before) in butter (because I like it that way, dammit). Less than ten minutes worth of actual effort that evening, and I have dinner, plus leftovers, which I'll probably eat Thursday. Tuesday's another early morning, and I'm cranky. Boil some pasta, saute the shrimp, asparagus and zucchini in a little butter and garlic, add some white wine, toss it all together, and I have pasta primavera with shrimp. Perhaps 20 minutes worth of effort, but damn it's tasty, and with some of that white wine, I'm feeling better already. Wednesday's a lighter day for me (actually, I have it off, but I spend it running errands), so I can do something a little bit bigger, plus the Boy is coming over to watch the Young Indiana Jones Chronicles with me. Time to roast that chicken. Rub it with oil and a little garlic, stick it in the oven. 15 minutes before it's done, stick the asparagus (also oiled) in there, too. Cook up a little wild rice, and it's a meal. Thursday is leftover short ribs, by then they've aged nicely and I'm ready for them again, and after supper, I'll take the leftover chicken and turn it into tarragon chicken salad, for lunch or dinner over the next couple of days. Friday I have all manner of leftovers to graze from, and on Saturday, when I (most bizarrely for a cook) have the day off, I can either go out with the Boy or stay in, pull the mahi out of the freezer, dredge it in cornmeal and pan fry it, and serve it with the rest of the cabbage, which has now become cole slaw. And tomorrow I'll shop again.
So then, guidelines for planning-while-shopping:
Go in with a couple of ideas, but not so many that you feel overwhelmed and like you have to regiment your week.
Plan your proteins so that you have one that you can have basically ready when you get home, one that takes a while, and one that you can prepare in under thirty minutes. At least two of these should provide leftovers.
Pick up 1-2 extra proteins, things which are very versatile and also freeze well (in case you don't use them). If you already have a stash of several of these in the freezer, skip this bit.
Choose vegetables which you can either buy in small enough quantities to use up at one meal or that you can cook in different ways.
Keep your pantry stocked. It lends versatility.

There you go. Menu planning made simple.

And now, your humble Zombie Chef is off to bed, because her brains are tired.
Mmmm, braaaaaaains.

¹Page 34 of The Art of Simple Food. Highly recommended for anyone interested in seasonal cooking, or just good food.

Resources:
The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters
See all those links up there? Those, too.

Anonymous commenting ON

2008-06-10T12:39:30Z

It would seem that LiveJournal had, ever so thoughtfully, automatically disabled anonymous commenting when I set up the journal. That's now fixed. Sorry about that.

In Which Our Heroine Bravely Attempts to Discuss Bread

2008-06-10T02:54:43Z

ribby wants to know:
Are rising baskets useful for keeping shoggoth bread from becoming overly blobby and dense, and why, oh why, was my dear shoggoth HP acting so dense? *grin*

And julzerator asks:
Ok zombiechef... I have a question...

How the heck will I ever get my challah to rise? I've been using this recipe, and while it doesn't rise like it should, it tastes the most amazing!

Nnnnnnnng... OK, gonna start this one off with my disclaimer about any and all yeast-raised goodies. Dammit, Jim, I'm a cook, not a baker! Keep this is mind. I am not an expert at this. I just have good sources.

On to the questions!

A rising basket, also known as a brotform or banneton, is a basket used to give shape to a rising loaf, especially sourdough. Traditionally, these were made of cane or wicker, but may be made of silicon or plastic in this degraded age. Sometimes they come with cloth liners to prevent the bread from sticking to the sides. Unlike loaf pans, bread is not generally baked in these, just allowed to rise. There are also other types of forms used similarly, such as baguette forms.
The presence or absence of a rising basket does nothing for the texture of bread, as far as I can tell. It mostly helps the loaf hold its shape during rising. You still have to shape the loaf correctly before bench proofing it, even if you use one. The blobby part of ribby's problem probably has more to do with shaping technique than with lack of a basket.
Really, the only type of loaf I'm competent at shaping is a (pardon my French) boule, or round loaf. Here's how the round chef¹ taught me to shape round loaves:
After punching down the dough, or, in the case of shoggoth² dough, gently pressing it down, and squeezing out all the air, sort of flatten it out a little, then roll it up. Massage this into a rough ball.
Take the ball and pick a nice, smooth surface. Gently pull on the dough to expand this surface until it covers nearly the entire ball, except for a bunchy bit on one side.
Set it on a flat surface, like a table or counter, and put the bunchy part under the outside edge of your hand, with the ball rising under your palm (or out from under, if your hands are as small as mine). Roll the ball back and forth against the table, somewhat vigorously, until the bunchy part squishes together into a tail and stays that way. Swiftly pick the ball up and set it on your baking pan, with the tail underneath. Now bench proof it.

Now let's talk about bench proofing. Bench proofing is the second rise a bread gets, at room temperature (well, maybe; more on that in a minute), set out on the baker's bench (or your countertop). Contrast fermenting, the first rise of the dough.³ Proofing needs to be done in a warm space, and works best in humid air. If there isn't a place in your kitchen that between, oh, 78 and 85F (and possibly warmer, depending on your yeast and dough), then an hour is not going to be enough rising time, and you might not get enough rise out of it at all. Underproofed dough is dense and often won't bake through properly. Some ovens do come equipped with warming/proofing drawers, but these tend to be high-end models. If you do have one, what can you do, short of turning your kitchen into a rainforest or buying a professional proof box? Why, use your oven.
Take a heatproof bowl and half-fill it with hot water. Put it in your oven and set the oven to "warm." If you have a nifty probe thermometer, put the probe in the oven and set it for 105F. If not, keep an eye on your oven thermometer (you do have an oven thermometer, right?) and watch for about that. When it hits 105F, put the loaves in there and turn off the oven. The temperature will drop to about the right range because you opened the door, and the warm water will keep things moist. Set your timer for an hour, but keep a close eye on it the first few times, just to make sure. If the oven is a little warm for your yeast, it may reach full size quicker than that. In that case, pull the bread when it's fully risen, and next time, put the bread in to proof when the oven reaches 100F. The temperature drop from opening the door ought to bring it down into just the right range. (Don't forget to slash the top before you bake.)
See? Proof box, using the stuff you already have in your kitchen. Ain't ingenuity grand?
Underproofing, or low temperature proofing, isn't the only thing that can cause too-dense bread, though. Sometimes density is a problem of adding too much flour. Try cutting back next time. Another possibility is that HP, being a wild shoggoth (something ribby mentioned to me elsewhere), may not have the rising power of his domesticated cousins. You may need to use more starter, or add a little commercial yeast to help him out. Another trick I've found is to let my shoggoth dough rise eight hours in the fridge, then let it come up to room temperature (about two hours) before shaping.
Julzerator, you may also be having yeast problems (and doesn't that sound unpleasant?). Mary Ellen (proprietress of That's My Home and Razzle Dazzle Recipes, former pastry chef, and my aunt) looked over your challah recipe and says that yeast and honey don't interact well, and that you should try adding another teaspoon of yeast. She adds that cinnamon can also cause problems with yeast, and that's why you rarely see cinnamon in bread dough, but instead get breads with cinnamon fillings. I'd listen to her, she's much better at this than I am. (And maybe she'll correct my advice on the sourdough in the comments. If she does, listen to her on that, too.)
There are a few other common problems that can cause dough not to rise as much as expected. If the water in which you bloom your yeast isn't foaming before you mix in the other ingredients, your yeast may be dead (solution: throw it out and buy more), or you may be using water that's too warm or too cold (water for yeast blooming should be about 100F; test it on the inside of your wrist or against your lips, and it should feel just slightly warm), which can kill the yeast or fail to activate it. On the other hand, it may be that your dough is too stiff. Dough should be yielding and pliant to the touch. It should feel, in the words of Julia Child, like a baby's butt, or in the words of a friend of mine, like a woman's breast. The amount of flour needed for dough varies greatly with the humidity and the amount of water present in the flour, and contrary to popular belief, the air in Seattle is fairly dry. I almost always wind up using less flour than is called for.

OK, recap:
Blobby bread is probably caused by problems with forming the load. A rising basket can help this, but the loaf still needs to be formed properly before bench proofing.
Dense bread is may be a failure to rise properly, also known as underproofing. Underproofing may be a result of yeast malfunction (not enough yeast in a shoggoth, dead commercial yeast, commercial yeast which is killed by water that's too hot or is not activated by water that's too cold) or of poor conditions (air not warm or moist enough).
Dense bread may also be a result of adding too much flour. Add less flour, or, if you find that the dough is already too stiff, spritz it with some plain water in a spray bottle and knead that in (this only works during the initial kneading phase, but if you get past that with too-stiff dough, you're pretty much fucked already).
Honey and yeast don't play well together, and a honey-sweetened dough may require extra yeast. Cinnamon and yeast don't play well together, and cinnamon should usually not be put in dough.

Oh, and just to have mentioned it, over proofed dough can also be blobby and malformed and not cook through because it got too big, but it will be spongy inside rather than dense, and will tend towards large air pockets.

Zombie Chef says:
Braaaaaaains!

¹Seriously, this man was shaped like a tennis ball. That's his phrase, too. Terrific chef. Scared the shit out of me on multiple occasions, lots of fun to work with, very helpful.
²For those of you who haven't read over the FAQ and aren't Deltas, a shoggoth is not only a monstrous creature bioengineered by the Old Ones to do heavy construction work in the fiction of H.P. Lovecraft, it is also a fond nickname for a sourdough starter. This means that sourdough bread is sometimes called shoggoth bread, at least in this corner of the internet.
³Two other possible phases of leaving-the-dough-alone include retarding, or putting the dough in a cold environment to slow the yeast's fermentation and allow it to develop flavor (usually done with sourdoughs, not commecial-yeast breads, but sometimes done to promote malolactic fermentation in a sponge); and autolyzing, allowing the dough to rest so that the gluten relaxes. Not relevant to the current discussion; maybe at some point I'll do a whole post on malolactic fermentation or gluten.

Resources:
King Arthur Flour's Bread Troubleshooting
Wikipedia on Proofing, from which I got the alternate names for the baskets

And a special thanks to Mary Ellen, because without her information on honey, I'd have given Julz some bad advice.

Resources Post The First

2008-06-06T00:48:59Z

Job hunting has really eaten into my blogging time this week, so instead of answering a question, here's a start on the Resources List I'm compiling for you. Eventually, there will be a master list of these which includes food blogs I read, recipe sites I mine, shops I patronize, books I own (which will probably be on LibraryThing), and other sites I find useful. I will only be posting things with which I have personal experience.

Blogs:
101 Cookbooks, a vegetarian food blog that often has really tasty recipes and excellent book recommendations.
blog.khymos.org is my hands-down favorite molecular gastronomy (or "post-modern cuisine" or "experimental cooking" or whatever the hell they want us to call it now) blog. His series on Ten Tips for Practical Molecular Gastronomy is excellent.
Ms. Glaze's Pommes d'Amour is the blog of an American woman working in a 3-star Parisian restaurant. (Note: This means that the restaurant was given three stars by the Michelin Guide, the highest rating given by the august restaurant guide. She works at one of the finest restaurants in Europe.) Ms. Glaze is the real-life version of Collette from Ratatouille, and I admire her quite a bit.
Just Hungry is a food blog by a Japanese woman living in Switzerland. She talks a lot about Japanese food, and occasionally about Swiss food. She's extremely readable and very helpful, and has advanced my knowledge of Japanese food immensely. She also writes Just Bento, about, surprise!, bentos (Japanese packed lunches).
Michael Laiskonis is the pastry chef at New York's 4-star Le Bernardin. His blog includes information on how he develops recipes, as well as the recipes themselves.
Michael Ruhlman is not a chef, but he is an excellent food writer, and his blog is a lot of fun.
News for Curious Cooks is the blog of Harold McGee, whose book On Food and Cooking you will find referenced in nearly every entry I make.
The Rancho Gordo blog talks a lot about beans, corn, beans, Mexican pots used for cooking beans, beans, New World herbs, tomatoes, beans, tomatillos, chiles and beans. Also some about farming and the San Francisco market at which this guy sells his excellent beans and other products. Even if, like me, you're not a big bean eater, it's a good blog.
Serious Eats is a community as much as a group blog, and features all manner of interesting things. Brought to you by Ed Levine of Ed Levine Eats. Fun. You can find me ranting in the comments sometimes, if you're sharp, and know my other handles.

Recipe Sites:
One of the first places I look online for recipes is That's My Home. Less often, I check on its sister site, Razzle Dazzle Recipes. (Disclaimer: The owner of these sites is my aunt. Despite this, these are really good sites. My aunt worked for many years as a pastry chef, both in her own cake shop and at a four star hotel.)
I also regularly look for things at The Food Network's site, generally designating recipes by Alton Brown. (No disclaimer needed. They aren't paying me or anything, I really do check there.)

Places to Buy Unusual Equipment or Ingredients:
When looking for specific things that are available to the public, I often start on Amazon, actually. I can often find my favorite cookware (All Clad and Le Creuset) there on discount, and it also sometimes has nifty things like verjuice.
Chef Rubber is my usual source for molds, mold-making supplies, Molecular Gastronomy ingredients, and a few other goodies.
Chef Shop is a local-to-me business I love. I buy my good oils and balsamicos there, and when I visit the folks for the holidays and discover I need some extra-special ingredient for Krismas dinner rushed to my door, I go there first.
L'Epicerie is another great resource for professional-quality ingredients. A number of my chefs have recommended it and shop there.
Rancho Gordo (yes, same as the blog mentioned above) has excellent New World herbs, dried chiles, hominy, colorful popcorn, and, yes, beans. If you like cooking Mexican food, go to Rancho Gordo.

Other Sites I Find Useful:
Bigarade is actually a new site for me, and not one I've fully explored, but Madge Griswold is the compiler of A Bibliography of Culinary and Gastronomic Bibliographies, which is invaluable to the food researcher, so I'm going to go ahead and slap it up.
Food Pairing is a fascinating site that suggests food pairings by what aromas they have in common. Also a fount of information useful to the scientifically-minded cook.

That's all I've got for you today, folks. Coming up on Ask Zombie Chef: rising basket, hydrocolloids and why they're cool, and a plea for more questions (because I'm running out).

And remember:
Braaaaaaains!

Re: Brains

2008-06-02T12:57:42Z

willshetterly asks:
What is good with brains?

What are the best brains?

What common mistakes are made with brains?

If you could only make one dish with brains, what would it be?

And tryss wants a recipe for Chilled Monkey Brains.

I expected this. I mean, really, I choose the name Ask Zombie Chef, and of course, people are going to ask me about brains. Very well, then. Brains.
Since my readers are presumed to be, by and large, living human beings, I will confine my discussion to the brains of animals normally eaten by humans, thus avoiding problems of kuru, the human transmissible spongiform encephalopathy disease caused by cannibalism of the brain. (And just for good measure: sesquipidalian.) The brains of fowl and fish being notoriously small, I shall further confine myself to sheep, cattle, pigs and, yes tryss, monkeys. I think this will provide quite enough meat for discussion.

What is good with brains?

Classic accompaniments and complimentary ingredients for brains include bacon, brown butter, capers, cheese (particularly Gruyere), cherries, cream, eggs, lemon, mushrooms (particularly porcini), parsley, rice, spine marrow, sweetbreads (thymus glands, not sweet baked goods), toast, tomatoes and tomato sauce, vinegar, watercress salad, wine and Worcestershire sauce.
Monkey brains are commonly eaten with pickled ginger, chiles, cilantro and fried peanuts, anything to give it more flavor.

What are the best brains?

Well, that depends upon the use to which they'll be put. All mammal brains have a fairly similar taste and texture, so much depends upon the ideal size for the purpose, and of course on the quality of the animals available. Great care must be taken to see that an animals whose brain you intend to consume has never eaten feed which might contain nerve tissue of another member of its species, as this can cause prion diseases that can be transmitted to humans. Cattle, of course, has become infamous for BSE (Mad Cow disease), caused by precisely this type of feed. Fortunately, pigs do not seem to have a prion disease, or at least not one of which we're aware, and scrapie, the prion disease found in sheep and goats, is apparently not transmissible to humans, and there's an accurate test for it besides. This would seem to almost entirely eliminate beef and veal brains, leaving us with sheep or lamb and pig.¹
Since preparation of brains for cooking involves removing the outer membrane and any blood clots, when cooking brains in quantity, a larger brain is preferable, as it has a lower surface-to-mass ratio. This makes pigs brains the preferred type for popular restaurant situations, such as at the Hilltop Inn in Evansville, Indiana, where the traditional specialty of the house is deep-fried brain sandwich. (The Hilltop, I understand, used to use beef brains before BSE became a problem, beef brains being larger still.)
However, many fine dining restaurants prefer the smaller, and more difficult to work with, lamb brains. This is probably due to a number of factors, most of them societal, and having to do with the popular perception of lambs as opposed to pigs, and a marked preference in haute cuisine for things which are difficult to prepare. Fergus Henderson, a British chef and author of The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating, recommends lamb brains very highly, referring to them as "the preferred cut,"² and seems to particularly favor them for their small size, which is conducive to single servings. His lamb brain terrine sounds particularly delightful.
Another factor in deciding what type of brain to pick is simple availability. Brains must be absolutely fresh and do not ship well, so the cook wishing to sample these needs to find a nearby farm willing to provide them. If there's a hog farm down the road, but the nearest sheep ranch is a hundred miles away, then pig brains it is!³
For myself, I would probably choose lamb's brains for most purposes, if I had both readily available.
Monkey brains, of course, are almost impossible to obtain in Europe and North America. You'll find a discussion of Asian use of monkey brains below, however.

What common mistakes are made with brains?

Most preparation of brains these days seems to be by people well-practiced in it. As I was unable to find any novice brain cooks, it was difficult for me to determine which errors are particularly common. I did, however, manage to turn up for you the following advice, which I am assured should be followed assiduously.

Brains must be absolutely fresh.
I mentioned this before, but it's important enough to mention again. Brains which have been allowed to putrefy even slightly become extremely nasty. If at all possible, obtain the brain the day the animal is slaughtered and use it within twenty-four hours. If this is not possible, keep the brain as cold as you can without actually freezing it (freezing it not only spoils the delicate texture, but will hasten putrefaction once the brain is thawed; freezing should be avoided at all costs, unless you plan on eating frozen brain), and use as soon as possible. Even kept at near-freezing temperatures, brain will not keep more than 2 or 3 days.
A fresh brain will be a bright pinkish-grey or -white, squishy but not runny, and plump, not desiccated-looking.

Carefully clean the brain.
Remove the outer membrane (which consists of the dura mater and arachnoid mater meninges) gently, under running water, and wash away any blood clots and liquid blood. If there are any apparent large blood vessels, you may want to gently pull them free, but this is unlikely when dealing with smaller brains.

Poach the brain lightly.
In court-bouillon⁴ or salted, acidulated⁵ water, kept at a simmer, poach your brain for four to eight minutes for lamb brains (less if you're going to cook it with some other method, more if you're going to serve it as is), proportionately longer for larger brains. Scoop the brains gently out of the water with a slotted spoon. For many applications, you will want to shock the brains by placing them in ice water.
Brains are mostly water, and contain only 12-13% protein and 10-16% fat.⁶ This is a lower protein to water ratio than is found in many custards, and cooking the brains serves to coagulate those proteins into an open lattice, just as it does in custards, setting the brains and firming them up.
Exceptions: If you are deep frying the brains, or serving them fresh in the skulls, skip this.

Do not overcook the brain.
Cook the brains until just set; they will still be soft and jelly-like. Over cooking them will only cook out the water, robbing you of their delicate, creamy texture.
This applies to deep frying as well.

Before I move on to Will's final question, I'll stop to discuss monkey brains.
After some frustrating research into Indian food, what I learned about chilled monkey brains was that really, George Lucas, or possibly Willard Huyck or Gloria Katz, made it up.
Chilled monkey brains appear to be a variant on the apparent urban legend of those uncouth people in some remote location who restrain a live monkey, poke its head up through a hole in the center of a table, take of the tops of its skull, and eat the brains while the monkey is still alive and screaming. Sounds appetizing mostly to zombies, and is generally used to show just how uncivilized those-barbarians-over-there are.
This is not to say that monkey brains are never eaten, nor even that the brains of still living monkeys are never eaten. But it's rare, and the hole in the table appears to have been replaced by a nice drink of rice wine to knock the monkey out. And, let me reiterate, it's really rare. In fact, in all the internets, I could find only one firsthand account, and that one appears in the sensationalistic newspaper Apple Daily in Hong Kong.
However, from this we can extrapolate something like a recipe for chilled monkey brains.
Take one monkey. Get him good and drunk. Behead him (there's something to think about next time the cute zombie girl at the club offers to buy you a drink, eh?), then carefully remove and reserve the top of the skull. Chill the entire head to near-freezing. Gently glaze the cold brains with a flavorful sauce. Replace the skulltop and serve. Share and enjoy!

If you could only make one dish with brains, what would it be?

While Henderson's lamb brain terrine, Batali's lamb brain ravioli and Ramsay's simply-prepared lamb brains all sound delightful, I think I will have to stick with my own Spicy Cinnamon Brains.

Spicy Cinnamon Brains

7 packets unflavored gelatin
5.5c water (divided thusly: 1.75c cold, rest hot)
1 of 12oz can evaporated skim milk
1.25c sugar
1 drop black gel style food coloring
liquid cinnamon flavoring to taste, about 1-2T
chipotle powder to taste, about 1t

Bloom the gelatin in the cold water according to directions. Boil together the hot water, milk, sugar and flavorings. Remove from heat and add the bloomed gelatin, stirring to get the gelatin to dissolve completely. Add 1 drop black food coloring -- NO MORE! Check the flavor and adjust cinnamon if necessary. Remember that your want a nice, strong cinnamon flavor, because the lower temperature of the finished product will dampen the flavors, but don't get it too strong.
Put the hot mixture in a metal bowl floating in an ice bath (a larger vessel containing ice water). Stir constantly, and don't forget to scrape the sides of the bowl to prevent to gelatin from thickening there. When the mixture is cool and has the consistency of a thin pudding, pour it into a lightly greased brain mold (kept steady in a large bowl with a rolled dish towel in the bottom) and refrigerate until firmly set, about 4 hours. If you're planning on storing the brain for a day or two after you make it, cover the open side of the mold with plastic wrap.
When you're ready to serve it, hold the mold in your hands and sort of jiggle it until the brain comes away from the mld all the way around the sides. Place an inverted plate over the mold, turn over, and shake until the brain plops out of the mold. Share and enjoy!

Brains can be problematic, practically, legally and with regards to health and safety, but they will reward your time and trouble with a delicious, squishy treat.

All together now!
Braaaaaaains!

Bibliography and References for this post:
Alton Brown's excellent series Feasting on Asphalt, second episode, in which Alton eats a brain sandwich at the Hilltop Inn.
Culinary Artistry by Andrew Dornenburg and Karen Page provided me with information on the traditional accompaniments for brains.
Auguste Escoffier's classic (and much hated by me) The Complete Guide to the Art of Modern Cookery gave me twenty six separate recipes for brains, often with the addition of spinal marrow, and no real help at all, but there you go. Poo on Escoffier!***
Fergus Henderson, mad British chef, in his brilliant and funny The Whole Beast: Nose to Tail Eating, provided some much tastier-sounding recipes.
The New Food Lover's Companion (fourth edition), by Sharon Tyler Herbst and Ron Herbst, indispensable volume that it is, provide advice on choosing and cleaning brains.
Harold McGee's On Food and Cooking once again proved very useful, giving me details on the nutritional content of brains, and prompting a discussion of zombie diet foods with my special consultant.
Gordon Ramsay's video of preparing lamb brains and sweetbreads was highly entertaining, as he so often is.
This article set me straight on monkey brains, and provided me with the link to the Apple Daily article.
Wikipedia proved helpful in figuring out which species got which prion disease.

And my gratitude goes out to my special consultant, M. Robinson, who kindly allowed me to pick her brains on the topic of brains (I am completely unrepentant). Mrs. Robinson (yes, she's heard the song) is an instructor in anatomy and biology at a Seattle-area college.

¹I wouldn't want any of my readers getting any form of spongiform encephalopathy. Not only would it make it a lot harder for you to read my blog, but prion-riddled brains don't taste very good and cause lower intestinal difficulties for zombies. And when your guts are rotting already, diarrhea is the last thing you want.
² Page 54 of the mentioned volume.*
³Perhaps it would be wise to mention that legality may also be an issue. Not all types of brains are legal in all countries, states, or other legal jurisdictions, which will severely limit the availability issue.
⁴A classic poaching liquid made by simmering together an onion studded with cloves (pique onion), celery, carrots, and a bundle of herbs called a bouquet garni, and then adding a splash of white wine or vinegar. And you people wonder why I complain about the amount of French in cooking...
⁵I feel like the one ought to be fuckin' obvious, but if I don't gloss it, someone is going to ask. "With acid added," fer pete's sake. Acid being something like lemon juice, wine, vinegar... you get the idea.
⁶Also 2,000-3,100mg cholesterol, 2-3mg iron, and 4-6mcg per 100g, according to McGee (p.166). In case you care.

*No, I am not going to use MLA or other fancy reference formats. This is the internet, ghoddammit, and I will hyperlink the book in the bib, and I gave you the page, and what more do you want?**
**Holy shit, my footnotes have footnotes now. Can you tell I'm a Terry Pratchett fan?
***I hated my Classical French Cuisine class even more than I hated the Much-Resented European (Read: French) Cakes Class. Much, much more. And the chef hated me, for reason on which I am still unclear.

It Begins...

2008-05-29T09:47:13Z

From cilande:
Hey,

I honestly don't know who else I could ask.

How the (*@&##! do you skim soup/stew/whatever? Especially when all the spices I want to *keep* insist on floating around with the scum? Is this some special skill passed along in dark kitchens?

In return for your consideration, I will disclose the Top Secret location of the best garlic EVAR. Not too far from Snohomish, WA. This year's crop should be available starting in a week or two.

Enjoy your weekend, thanks in advance and all that,
cilande

There actually exists a tool called a skimmer which is ideal for the task. It's usually got a long handle like a ladle, and on the end is a large, round, slightly concave bit of thin metal with holes in it, sort of like a circular pancake flipper. You can buy them at restaurant supply places. My favorite is Seattle Restaurant Supply, on Aurora in Shoreline (since you seem to be in the area).
To use, slide the edge of the skimmer under the floating scum and lift up gently, like lifting a pancake out of the pan. Most of the scum should stay on the skimmer, and most of the spices should flow back through the holes. Keep a bowl of cool water next to your pot, dip your skimmer in the water and slide it out from under the scum to clean it. You can also use a thin metal slotted spoon, but it won't work quite as well.
Also, if you're making a soup which you know produces scum, you may want to wait to add any floaty herbs until after you've skimmed a couple of times.
Now, how about that garlic spot? (Actually, she answered that privately already. I'm not sharing. Nope nope nope.)

From kicking_k:
Do you have any tips for making baked custard, such as would go in a custard tart? Whenever I've tried it, it won't set. (And I haven't tried it for a while, I admit.)

I also would love to know how to make northern French-style "flan", that thick custardy baked cheesecake (or I assume that's what it is) but I know how you adore "European" cakes so maybe I shouldn't ask... ;)

Ha! You have found one of the rare European desserts that I not only make well, but like making: custards.
And flan, or creme caramel (the former is the Spanish name, although the French do use it too, and the latter is the more strictly French name), is a baked custard, even if it's not the type used in custard tarts. Cheesecake is also a custard, as is creme Anglaise sauce and many ice creams. How can this be? I hear you cry.
Well, Dear Readers, here's where the SCIENCE! comes in.
A custard is any food where milk or dairy¹ is thickened (usually, but not always, to the point of semisolidity) by egg proteins coagulated with heat. The addition of the dairy, the proteins of which do not coagulate when heated, means that the egg proteins are not able to form the tight protein matrix found in, say, hard-boiled eggs; instead, they form a much looser, more open and more delicate lattice of proteins that give custards their delicate, creamy texture.
There two basic types of custards: stirred custards, which are cooked on a stovetop while being stirred constantly, often in a double boiler; and set custards, which are cooked to a firm state and often served in the dishes they were cooked in, and which can be baked, steamed, or even cooked in a pressure cooker. Then there are two basic methodologies for mixing custards, which I will call the creme anglaise method and the mix method.² In the second, you just beat together cold eggs and cream and whatever else and then cook it. The mix method can be used for most baked or steamed custards;³ stirred custards must be made using the creme anglaise method, as well as some baked custards that require some other ingredient to be steeped in the milk.
The first method, the creme anglaise method, is much more interesting, because it involves a process called tempering. (This is the bit where the people who behave as if any kitchen equipment is out to get them should cover their eyes.) Typically, milk or cream is heated (or "scalded") with whatever flavoring ingredients are desired (like Vanilla, the King of Spices); for stirred custards this is usually done in a double boiler. The eggs (either whole or yolks only) are beaten with sugar while the milk heats. The sugar denatures the proteins, which will help to keep them from coagulating prematurely when the hot milk is added. Wait, some observant soul objects, we're going to add hot milk directly to the eggs? Won't that cook them? Well, yes, it would if we added it all at once. But we won't. Tempering is the process of bringing the eggs up to temperature slowly, so that they don't coagulate before we cook the entire custard. What we're going to do is slowly add the milk to the eggs, whisking continuously. I like to use a one or two ounce ladle, add one ladleful of hot milk to the eggs while whisking, then wait a few seconds before adding another (whisking all the while -- don't stop!). Once all of the milk has joined the eggs, the whole mess can either be poured back into the double boiler and thickened slowly for stirred custards, or strained and poured into forms and cooked low and slow until just shy of done for set custards. Baked custards should almost always be baked in water baths, cake pans full of hot water that surrounds the dishes in which the custards are being cooked.
Custards for tarts and pies are usually actually pastry cream -- a stirred custard that receives additional thickening from the addition of starch. Pastry cream is made by putting scalding milk, beating together egg yolks, starch and sugar, tempering the yolks with the hot milk, then putting the mixture back on the stove and boiling for one minute. Then it can be put in pie shells or some vessel and allowed to cool. Pastry cream should not be stirred while it's cooling, as it disturbs the forming starch matrix and will therefor interfering with the thickening of the cream.
But kicking_k did specify that the custard tarts she was asking about were baked custards rather than stirred. No problem! A set custard in a pie or tart shell isn't really any different than a set custard in a ramekin. So you do the same thing: combine your milk, eggs and other ingredients by one of the two methods, beat until very very smooth, strain the mixture, pour it into your shell, and bake for a long time in a moderate oven, preferably in a water bath.
And before I give the recipe, a brief explanation of water baths: Custards turn out best -- smoothest and creamiest -- when cooked at low temperatures for a long time, and you're a lot less likely to overcook them this way. The purpose of a water bath is to moderate the temperature at which an item cooks. Your oven may be set to 350F, but that water isn't going to get any hotter than 212F at most -- the temperature at which water boils -- and if you use a steel or aluminum pan, it'll be more like 180F, which is much nicer to your custards. So, to make a water bath, start by having some boiling water handy, then take a cake or roasting pan (preferably steel or aluminum, not glass or cast iron or stoneware) and place a dish towel, or, better, a wire rack in the bottom. Put your tarts or custard cups (each covered with a bit of aluminum foil) on top of this, open your oven door and pull out the middle rack far enough to rest the pan on. Now pour boiling water into the pan, about halfway up the sides of whatever's holding the custard. Slide the rack in and bake. When the recipe-advised time as elapsed, peel back the foil on one of them and jiggle it to test for doneness. You ought to see some sluggish ripples, but no sloshing up the sides, and it should look a little softer than you want it to be when you serve it -- don't worry, it will thicken, both from carryover cooking and from cooling. If you feel like you can't tell from jiggling it, insert a paring knife into the middle of the custard and pull it out. If it's clean, your custard's done. Take the tarts or custards out of the water bath and set them on a wire rack to cool.

Zombie Chef's Creamy Flan
Hardware:
4 of 6oz ramekins
2 small or medium saucepans
1 medium heat-proof mixing bowl
1 whisk
1 small ladle
1 baking pan, large enough to fit the ramekins
1 kitchen towel, clean, or 1 wire rack that fits inside your baking pan
4 small squares of aluminum foil, large enough to cover each ramekin
4-6c boiling water, in something that pours well
350F oven
1 mesh strainer (optional)

Software:
1c sugar
1c water
2c whole milk
6 extra-large egg yolks or 7 large egg yolks
1/4c sugar
1t vanilla extract (the good stuff, please)

Put the first measure of sugar and the water in a small saucepan (or, heck, a sauté pan if you like), stir to dissolve the sugar, and put of medium-high heat. Cook until the sugar is a lovely golden-brown. If you see crystals forming on the sides of the pan at any time, dip a pastry brush in a little water and wash them off, or use plain water in a spray bottle to wash them off. Not too much water, please, as it'll just have to cook off again.
When the caramel is the color you want (don't let it get too dark), pour a layer into each ramekin. Leave that to cool while you do the rest.
Put the milk and vanilla in the other saucepan and set it over medium heat. While you're waiting for that to come to a simmer, whisk your yolks and sugar together until they're pretty, golden, and fully combined. Don't worry if you can still see tiny sugar granules in the yolks, they'll dissolve in a minute.
When the milk comes up to a simmer, turn off the heat and prepare to temper. Ladle with your dominant hand, whisk with your off hand. If you're ambidextrous, pick a hand for each now. Now, scoop a small ladleful of milk up, not more than an ounce or two, and pour it slowly into the eggs, whisking all the while. If you've ever made mayonnaise or an emulsified salad dressing by hand, go about that slow for this first ladle. Don't stop whisking as you go back for the next one. You can pour this one into the eggs a bit faster. Keep doing this. By about the fifth or sixth ladleful, it should be safe to just dump it in. But if you start seeing big lumps, then you went too fast and it curdled, and you've got to toss it and start over. If you see just a few little lumps, slow way, way down and make absolutely certain you strain it. Unless you see the big lumps, though, just keep going and keep whisking! When you've got all of the milk incorporated into the eggs, give it a final few whisks, then pour it through the strainer if you're using one.
Of course, as I mentioned, you can just dump it all in together, cold, and go from there. Make sure to beat it all thoroughly, and expect the cooking to take a bit longer (because you're starting from cold ingredients).
Put your kitchen towel or wire rack in the bottom of your baking pan, and set the ramekins on top of it. Leave enough space between them and the sides for the water to circulate, and leave room to pour in the hot water without splashing it into the custards. Fill your ramekins, not quite to the tippy-top, as that will just cause them to slosh over. If you have a little leftover, don't worry about it, just next time, put a little less caramel in the bottoms of the cups.
Cover each ramekin with a square of foil. Don't cheat and cover the whole water bath with it.
Open the oven and pull the middle rack out part way. Set the pan on it and pour in the boiling water until it comes half to two-thirds of the way up the sides of the ramekins. Slide the rack back in, close the door, and set the timer for one hour (an hour and twenty minutes if you put the mix in cold).
When it goes off, peel back the foil on one of the cups and jiggle it. Still seem pretty liquid? Come back in ten minutes and try again. Seem kinda solid, but you can't tell if it's done? Get a paring knife, carefully insert it, and if it comes out clean, it's done.
When they're done, pull the rack halfway out again and remove the cups from the water bath with tongs or silicon pot holders. Don't try to use cloth ones, it's too easy to get them in the water and scald yourself. Set them on a cooling rack to cool.
Flan can be served either slightly warm or chilled to refrigerator temperatures. Your choice.
To unmold the flan, take your thinnest paring knife, slide it down between the custard and the cup, and slowly and smoothly run it all the way around the edge. Place an inverted plate over the ramekin and flip the whole thing over. Give the bottom of the cup a few good taps with the butt of your knife. You'll know when it's come loose by the pool of caramel seeping out from under the cup. Share and enjoy!

A note on caramel in things:
Some of you might be tempted to take that pan you cooked the caramel in and immediately run water in it. Do not do this. Instead, let it cool, run water in it later, and boil the water on the stove. The caramel will dissolve in the boiling water. If your flan has been served by the time you do this, and there's still a layer of caramel in the cups, drop those in the pan and boil them, too, or boil them separately later.

Braaaaaaains!

Bibliography for this entry: On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen by Harold McGee, mined for facts on the nature of custards and for the basic proportions for the recipe.

¹Actually, some cultures make egg custards with liquids other than dairy products, such as the Japanese, who like to make savory custards with dashi or chicken stock. That's not really pertinent to the question, though, so I left it for footnotes.
²Totally my own terminology, invented for the purposes of this discussion. If you try to use these terms with anybody else, they'll just look at you blankly.
³If you're going to use the mix method for a set custard like flan, though, make sure you beat it really well, until it's completely smooth. Personally, I prefer to use the anglaise method for most of my set custards anyway, because I enjoy it, and because I find that it forces me to beat the mixture smooth enough, when otherwise I might be tempted to stop to soon.

Call for Questions

2008-05-26T09:59:24Z

In order for me to write a cooking advice blog, I need some questions to answer. So here it is folks, feed me questions, please!
Comments will be screened, mostly because if y'all get to discussing the questions before I blog about them, then there may not be anything left for me to blog about!

Braaaaaaains...