Justin Dunham

's journal about making things

Oil-poached turbot

Filed under: Cooking Journal — Tags: , , , , — Justin Dunham on July 29, 2011

The completed dish.

Setting up the turbot, parsley and lemon in a cast-iron pan

The oil shimmers ominously as it heats. It will need to reach 300 degrees.

The oil poured over the fish, lemon and parsley. Next, it goes in the oven to bake for a few minutes.

There’s a technique that’s been on my list for quite a while to try – oil poaching. Poaching generally means just simmering something in a liquid. Poached eggs are one example; eggs are simmered gently in water and a little vinegar until they are cooked through. You can also poach in white wine, or in stock, or in other liquids. The general idea is a gentle, slow cooking, sort of like a fast braise.

So, when I came across this olive-oil poached flounder recipe, it seemed like a good opportunity to try this technique out. (Whole Foods was out of flounder, so I used turbot. The point was to get another fish with a mild taste that would stand up to the hot oil).

Here’s how the recipe works. First of all, note that oil poaching is not to be confused with frying, which would mean cooking food rather quickly in hot oil. Instead, the technique is as follows. You put whatever is to be poached in a pan, ideally an oven-safe one. (I used my cast iron pan, which I’d estimate I use for 90% of my cooking tasks these days).

This recipe calls for a layer of parsley and thin lemon slices on the bottom, then the fish, then more parsley and thin lemon slices on the top. It’s good to have these extra flavor components, since they’ll infuse the oil, and therefore your fish, with extra flavor.

The oil is then heated in a separate pan, up to about 300 degrees. Obviously, it’s important not to hit the smoke point, since then you’ll burn your oil and have to start again. That would be an expensive mistake given how much oil you’re using! The oil will just sit there as it heats, no bubbling or anything. This is why a good thermometer is important.

You then pour the very, very, very hot oil carefully into your prepared pan, and stick it in an oven heated to about 350. After it cooks for ten minutes, you’re done; pour off the extra oil and serve out of the pan.

If you are like me, this recipe sounds kind of dangerous. You’re going to heat 3 cups of oil to 300 degrees, then try to do things with it? While the oil quietly heats up and starts to shimmer, you’ll envision it spontaneously exploding, getting hot oil all over you and generally wrecking your day. You will ask everyone to else to leave the kitchen, and you’ll don what protective gear you have (a welding helmet and gloves). It was like that scene in Back to the Future when Doc was dropping the plutonium rods into the DeLorean.

Look, I’m not sure how to reassure you other than to say that I did it once and I seem to be OK. Also… totally worth it, because:

  • Fish is delicious, especially when cooked through perfectly so that it is flaky but not mushy. It is almost impossible to achieve any other result by using this recipe.
  • Olive oil is also delicious, and its unctuous, savory sweetness is a perfect complement to the similar textures and tastes of the fish.
  • Parsley and lemon aren’t too bad a combo, either. And when you poach everything together, the essential oils from the lemon and parsley also flood into the olive oil, and from there into the fish. So you get a burst of full flavor from those ingredients in every bite.

I served it with some mashed potatoes with sour cream. This dish gets even better as it ages in your fridge and the flavors meld.

What’s the difference between curly and flat parsley?

Filed under: Cooking Journal — Tags: — Justin Dunham on July 27, 2011

Parsley. From flickr user brucegilbert

Mmm, parsley. Every time I smell it, I’m reminded of being about 5 and running around on the lawn behind my grandmother’s apartment building in London. I have no idea whether parsley actually grew there, and yet I remember it very well…

These days, I have occasion to relive that memory often since I constantly use parsley in one dish or another. Potatoes, fish, mussels, soup, and lots of other things. I learned the hard way that apparently all recipes calling for “parsley” mean flat parsley – curly parsley has always seemed, to me, fairly bland in comparison. But what are the differences, and does curly parsley serve any culinary purpose whatsoever?

First, the basics. There’s curly (French) and flat (Italian) parsley, each of which are varieties of petroselinum crispum. There’s also another variety that’s grown as a root (Hamburg parsley), which according to Wikipedia gets used mostly in Central and Eastern Europe. It’s a tuber, just like potatoes, carrots, and parsnips.

Parsley’s part of the Umbellifera (“umbel-bearing”) family, which also includes chervil, cilantro, dill, fennel, and carrots. You may ask what an “umbel” is; in short, it is an arrangement of flowers such that they all grow from the same place on the stem in a cluster, with the youngest flowers at the center. You and I are unlikely to see a parsley flower in person, since the plants are picked before they flower; the flowers upset the flavor of the parsley leaves.

Do we care about curly parsley, then? Well, as I said I’ve always found curly parsley to be somewhat bland, and on top of that, unpleasantly chewy.

A quick search on epicurious also suggests that it’s rarely used in recipes. Total results for a recipe search on “curly parsley” or “French parsley”? Seven. There are over 500 for “Italian parsley”, and about 3,000 if you just search “parsley” by itself.

On the other hand, some people claim it has a strongly bitter flavor that actually makes it useful for recipes where flat-leaf parsley would blend in too well. And Mark Bittman, the well-known author of “How to Cook Everything”, actually rather likes curly parsley. At the very least, “it’s not worth making a big deal” about the differences. I guess I’ll have to give it another shot.

PS: I didn’t talk about the stems at all in this entry. They’re great to use in stocks and braises, but ideally you’d take them out before serving. There doesn’t appear to be a flavor difference in the stems of curly and flat parsley varieties.

Mushroom soup

Filed under: Cooking Journal — Tags: , , , , , , , , — Justin Dunham on July 22, 2011

Soup!

This is a great, and fairly easy to make, mushroom soup. It’s creamy and earthy, and the leeks actually help to bring out the more subtle mushroom flavor.

One sort of unique thing about this soup is that you make the stock for it from scratch. I’ve never actually made stock before (please don’t get too upset), but I’ve heard homemade stock is much better than the stuff you buy at the store. One of these days, I’ll have to commit to saving up some chicken bones so I can compare.

I can tell you that the mushroom stock for this recipe is delicious, and you get it pretty cheap, for the price of a carrot, an onion and some thyme, along with the stems of the mushrooms you bought, which you weren’t going to serve anyway, right? After boiling those ingredients in water for a while, you strain those ingredients out and put the mushroom caps, and sauteed leeks, into the liquid. That, together with some cream and white wine, is the soup. Stock, mushroom caps, leeks, white wine and cream.

You may ask why you wouldn’t simply make a soup with all of the ingredients, i.e. the carrots, onions, leeks, mushroom caps, mushroom stems, etc. Perhaps even puree them together? I was thinking about this myself, but by making a separate stock you really increase the flavor intensity of the resulting dish. The ingredients used for the stock, if you try tasting them, are a bland, vaguely flavored mush. Still strangely appealing, but not something you’d want as part of a meal.

The other reason is that there is something fitting about having this be a chunky, thin soup rather than a more velvety, thick, smooth soup. I’m not sure why, but the rustic texture of a soup with chopped vegetables in it seems to go better with the woodsy mushroom flavor. Maybe I’m imagining that you can make this in some homestead where you might have access to the woods, but not to a blender or food processor.

Catering 2

One of these days I need to learn how to work a grill.

Cornbread and (in the background) a couple of different types of salads. I made too much cornbread, but people were happy to take it home with them...

Tres leches and strawberry country cakes.

Note: This is a followup to this post.

A month or so ago, I wrote about some of the constraints I faced with catering a barbecue for 40 out of my tiny Philadelphia kitchen. (Seriously, I think the kitchen is about 30 square feet, including all counter space, oven, and fridge). In this entry, I’ll talk about my experience in cooking and how everything turned out.

One thing that is surprisingly difficult to do in cooking is scaling a recipe. I mean, it’s not too hard for things like salad where you just multiply out the ingredients, or for soup. But when you’re baking things – and that can be cakes, pastries, or lots of savory dishes as well – things often don’t turn out the way you expect. For example, these miniature carrot souffles still take the 11 minutes to bake that a full-sized souffle does. I recently made some beet donuts (more on that later), and same deal, the miniaturization does nothing.

Those are easy examples, because the timing changes but everything else is fine. More heart-rendingly, take note of my experience with cauliflower gratin, which I attempted to make at approximately triple the size (i.e. three portions in a 3x baking dish).

Disaster. The dish is basically cauliflower in a rich cheese sauce. It seemed to bake fine, though it took an abnormally long time. I waited an hour or so for it to cool, and as it cooled… the sauce separated. Instead of a thick, pudding-like sauce, I ended up with a layer of fat on the bottom, and pools of grease on the top, of the dish. The grease then soaked through all of the ingredients, creating an inedible, soggy messy. I had to throw it away! Six cauliflowers’ worth of gratin, gone. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but I guess the lesson is, don’t scale if you don’t have to. It would have been much better to just cook a bunch of normally-sized portions.

The other lesson is to make lots of different things; because I had done this, losing one dish didn’t matter. And actually, my experience with the cornbread I made was the opposite – the vastly scaled-up sheets (the recipe isn’t even for bread, it’s for muffins) were some of the best cornbread I have ever made, with a soft, moist interior and a slightly crunchy top.

Overall, the meal seems to have gone pretty well. The avocado and tomato salad, cornbread, and deviled eggs were devoured. Part of the art, of course, is to pick things that are difficult to screw up, which worked in my favor. People seemed to have an aversion to the potato salad; I couldn’t figure out why. The cakes I made didn’t get finished either (actually only about half of each cake was consumed), but I did hear several people struggle with their inability to put down their fork, despite being stuffed. Overriding your eaters’ free will is every chef’s main goal.

Mussels Steamed in White Wine… Adventures in Saffron!

Filed under: Cooking Journal — Tags: , , , , — Justin Dunham on June 26, 2011

Keeping the mussels alive overnight: damp cloth, bags of ice

Saffron threads.

Steamed mussels!

Served in broth.

This bread needs no explanation.

Who hasn’t had a deeply satisfying dish of moules frites? Or mussels in some other context? If you haven’t, go do that now and come back and read this posting later. It will still be here.

Since I’ve enjoyed mussels so much when I’ve had them – and since they’re really, really cheap and easy to make! – I decided to make a pot for dinner last week. As I often do when I haven’t made something before, I used Ina Garten’s recipe. A quick steam in some white wine, tomatoes, parsley, and saffron, and you’re done! It takes, I dunno, 15 minutes just about? And uh… I’m pretty sure they’re good for you. Probably. I served ‘em with some cornbread for some reason.

Here are a couple of interesting things that come up while making this dish, however:

Using saffron.
My fiancee’s mother very kindly bought me a bunch of incredible herbs and spices last year – whole nutmeg, vanilla beans, even juniper berries, awesome! (I have not figured out what to make with these yet, other than possibly gin, which I suppose could work). Anyway, I am ashamed to admit that I have been hoarding them since I’m a little afraid to use them. Well, no more; I figured this was as good a time as any to actually use the saffron called for in the dish rather than just leaving it out.

You may or may not know that saffron is well-known among amateurs for two things: (a) its beautiful color, and (b) its price – it’s the most expensive spice by weight, and even if you pay $20 for a little bottle, within the bottle you’ll only get a very tiny bag of the strands. Spice cartel.

It was a little intimidating, and exciting, to actually use this in a dish. I know connoisseurs will think less of me for saying so but… I wasn’t sure what you get for your money. It’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong! The color it imparts is rich and appetizing, especially in a dish like this where the mussels take the color up readily. I’m told it also has the taste of sweet hay. I think the solution is for me to make another batch of mussels without the saffron and see whether I can tell the difference.

Mussels.
Cheap and delicious. But boy, it is difficult to keep these guys alive for long enough to actually consume them. Opinions vary as to the best way to accomplish this, but realize that when you buy a mussel from the store, you are buying something that will – no, must – survive right up until the moment you’re ready to cook it. Mussels don’t like fresh water, warmth, or too little air. But should you keep them on ice in your fridge? Should you put them in bucket of salted water? Something else?

I went for the approach of putting them in a bowl covered by a wet tea towel and some bags of ice (sealed so the water couldn’t get out). I would estimate that about 1/4 of the mussels died overnight, and they seemed to be the ones that had too much access to fresh air – I left some gaps in the tea towel so they could “breathe”. Shows what I know; the best thing would probably have been to cover their bowl completely. Really, the best best thing would have been to buy the day of.

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