I want to take a little break from writing up full reports on everything I cook. It was getting a bit tiring, doing that day in, day out. Give me a week or so.
Monday, January 10, 2011
chilli con carne
I want to take a little break from writing up full reports on everything I cook. It was getting a bit tiring, doing that day in, day out. Give me a week or so.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
questions and doubts: this is not an exit
I've just passed recipe 100 and here I am having doubts. The fact that Italian chicken--an Escoffier recipe with a few modifications--sucked maybe woke me up. I've had a mixed experience cooking through Larousse Gastronomique. There are dishes I've loved and dishes I've disliked. I've learned something from most of them. I look forward to some dishes. The whole milk lamb? The cassoulet? The stuffed hare cooked in a casserole? They sound exactly like my idea of a good time.
The problem is that Larousse Gastronomique is not the book that's going to teach me to cook. Here are some flaws from my perspective:
Larousse Gastronomique remains an essential reference for me. Let's make that clear. I'll still cook from it but I'm not going to cook all those egg recipes. And I'm going to supplement it. I want to know more about the cuisines of other countries. I want to fuck around with some molecular gastronomy, just for fun. I have more than 50 cookbooks sitting here and I plan to get a few more. I'd like to grab the Quay book and mess around with that. Grab Thomas Keller's range of books, especially the sous vide one and Bouchon, in a couple of months if they're still on special for $30USD a pop. Turn to books already in my collection I know are good. Bourdain's Les Halles. Alinea. The Fat Duck. Dunlop's Land of Plenty. David Thompson's Thai Food. Greg Malouf's Middle Eastern cookbooks. And, on the pastry front, Advanced Bread & Pastry. I mean, I want to be able to make a fuck off awesome cassoulet for friends. But I also love a nice curry. I'd love to be able to make a beautiful Thai curry paste from scratch. I want to cure my own meats. Brew my own beer--moreso than make angelica liqueur, although that would still be a lot of fun. Savoury icecreams and sorbets. An artful cake. Something as well-thought-out as what I've had at restaurants like Embrasse and maze and The Press Club and Vue de Monde or as rustic as the grilled morcilla with boiled vegetables from MoVida or the pulled pork with much chilli salsa from Mamasita. How is all of that stuff not as valid as espagnole sauce? I just happen to like delicious food. Specific dishes and ingredients. Food does not become more or less delicious if it's French. Coq au vin isn't good because it's French. It's based on classic French technique but much of what makes it good are traits common through international cuisines. A few ingredients. Care. Time. A soothing quality.
How much can you learn from cooking through a single book? I now understand one of the major criticisms Julie Powell faced: it's a stunt. It's an educational stunt, yes, but in terms of providing an education about cooking it's providing an education about one style of cooking as seen through the eyes of one author or team or authors. Their preferences and fuck-ups and missteps and prejudices and limitations become your own. Their goals were not the same as yours. Cookbooks typically aren't written to be cooked through. These aren't novels. You're not really meant to progress from page one to page three hundred and fifty two, the end.
This is not an exit. This is not quitting. The blog shall continue. I shall broaden my focus while still following logical progressions: making a nice braise, refining my roasting technique, getting better at baking cakes, blending spices and herbs, discovering molecular gastronomy.
After all, anything in which recipe #3800 is the end point implies something I really never wanted to imply: an end point. A completion of a journey. I'm here to learn to cook. And that's a journey that will outlast all the cookbooks I currently own and will ever buy.
Onward.
The problem is that Larousse Gastronomique is not the book that's going to teach me to cook. Here are some flaws from my perspective:
- There are a hell of a lot of recipes for eggs with slightly different garnishes. Now I get why these are distinct recipes. I do. I get that location is everything in French cuisine and that a lot of those recipes are region-specific. I'm just not sure what value, if any, I'm actually going to get from booking two dozen different variations on boiled eggs over the course of three or four years. No one wants to read that, either.
- Larousse Gastronomique has remain unchanged in the face of modern wisdom in some key areas. The roasting temperatures and times often terrify me. I'm no scientist but I've picked up a bit of knowledge from Blumenthal, McGee and even Fearnley-Whittingstall. I know cooking meats at certain temperatures is a bad idea. If I have to change the recipes to account for knowledge I've picked up from elsewhere am I really cooking through the book faithfully?
- Larousse Gastronomique is French-centric. I knew this from the beginning and at first I thought that was okay. I mean, even in non-French restaurants, classic French techniques and preparations are clear and present. But they're not everything. This isn't a fault of Larousse Gastronomique. It's a fault on my part. I was a snob, I guess. In wanting to learn to cook I was ignoring the talents of chefs in other cuisines I like--Italian, Spanish, Indian, Chinese (Sichuan especially). I was precluding myself from really explloring something I want to delve into more heavily: using classic techniques from Asia and Europe with Australian ingredients such as emu and kangaroo and wallaby.
- Larousse Gastronomique still draws heavily on the cuisine of Escoffier. Now again, that's not a fault. The book is what it is. It doesn't claim to be more than it is. This means that there are recipes for all the classic sauces--espagnole and so on--and I want to get around to those, but it also means there's a lot of stuff I'm not particularly excited about. Italian sauce, for example ...
Larousse Gastronomique remains an essential reference for me. Let's make that clear. I'll still cook from it but I'm not going to cook all those egg recipes. And I'm going to supplement it. I want to know more about the cuisines of other countries. I want to fuck around with some molecular gastronomy, just for fun. I have more than 50 cookbooks sitting here and I plan to get a few more. I'd like to grab the Quay book and mess around with that. Grab Thomas Keller's range of books, especially the sous vide one and Bouchon, in a couple of months if they're still on special for $30USD a pop. Turn to books already in my collection I know are good. Bourdain's Les Halles. Alinea. The Fat Duck. Dunlop's Land of Plenty. David Thompson's Thai Food. Greg Malouf's Middle Eastern cookbooks. And, on the pastry front, Advanced Bread & Pastry. I mean, I want to be able to make a fuck off awesome cassoulet for friends. But I also love a nice curry. I'd love to be able to make a beautiful Thai curry paste from scratch. I want to cure my own meats. Brew my own beer--moreso than make angelica liqueur, although that would still be a lot of fun. Savoury icecreams and sorbets. An artful cake. Something as well-thought-out as what I've had at restaurants like Embrasse and maze and The Press Club and Vue de Monde or as rustic as the grilled morcilla with boiled vegetables from MoVida or the pulled pork with much chilli salsa from Mamasita. How is all of that stuff not as valid as espagnole sauce? I just happen to like delicious food. Specific dishes and ingredients. Food does not become more or less delicious if it's French. Coq au vin isn't good because it's French. It's based on classic French technique but much of what makes it good are traits common through international cuisines. A few ingredients. Care. Time. A soothing quality.
How much can you learn from cooking through a single book? I now understand one of the major criticisms Julie Powell faced: it's a stunt. It's an educational stunt, yes, but in terms of providing an education about cooking it's providing an education about one style of cooking as seen through the eyes of one author or team or authors. Their preferences and fuck-ups and missteps and prejudices and limitations become your own. Their goals were not the same as yours. Cookbooks typically aren't written to be cooked through. These aren't novels. You're not really meant to progress from page one to page three hundred and fifty two, the end.
This is not an exit. This is not quitting. The blog shall continue. I shall broaden my focus while still following logical progressions: making a nice braise, refining my roasting technique, getting better at baking cakes, blending spices and herbs, discovering molecular gastronomy.
After all, anything in which recipe #3800 is the end point implies something I really never wanted to imply: an end point. A completion of a journey. I'm here to learn to cook. And that's a journey that will outlast all the cookbooks I currently own and will ever buy.
Onward.
meat and potatoes
105. Beef salad
All that Italian chicken business was a bit of a let-down. Perhaps going into what is perhaps the most comprehensive of all French cookery books, I expected to like everything as much as coq au vin and poule au pot and steak au poivre and lemon tart. I mean, I feel that way about all those bistro books. About most of the stuff in Stephane Reynaud's books. That perfect balance of rustic and refined that is that sort of French cooking really appeals to me. So perhaps one of my biggest lessons is that such food is a small element of French cookery. There's going to be a whole lot of stuff in Larousse Gastronomique I'm probably not going to like. I have to admit, it's given me pause. What's the point of cooking through 3800 recipes if I hate half of them? I'm learning, yes, all the time--you can learn a lot from food you don't enjoy--but there are a million books filled, cover to cover, with recipes that I'm going to like. I can't call this a cook through blog if I'm going to ignore the boring stuff and only cook a suckling pig and a couple of variations of grilled rib eye and a cassoulet and maybe some coq au Riesling and then call it a day. Perhaps my prejudices and misconceptions are being challenged. When I heard 'French technique' and 'French cuisine before', I pictured all those old favourites and the modern, light, artistry performed at restaurants like Vue de Monde and Embrasse. Doubts? Perhaps.
With this swirling around in my mind, I decided to do something I knew I'd like: a Larousse Gastronomique salad. So far, they've all been good or great. Tonight's effort contained slices of steak, boiled potatoes, diced onion and sliced tomato. That's all.
All the recipe said about the beef component was that it needed to be cooked. You could use leftover roast beef, if you wanted to. I didn't have any so I bought a rump steak, rubbed some fresh herbs (sage and rosemary) into it and cooked until it was rare.
As for the potatoes, these were boiled and then sliced and immersed in a 'dressing' made from white wine and olive oil.
The whole lot was tossed together and then stressed with a mustard-flavoured vinaigrette.
Overall, this wasn't my favourite salad from Larousse Gastronomique. Not a total dud but it was missing a couple of things. If I'd had more money, I would've bought a nice piece of grass fed beef. The only steaks I've had over the past couple of years have been top quality: not necessarily wagyu but Angus or King Island Beef or Cape Grim or whatever. I'd go without steak for weeks, saving up to buy nice meat from Queen Victoria Market. The difference in flavour between those high quality steaks and what I had tonight is very obvious. Lesson here: don't have this sort of dinner when you're on a tight budget.
I don't blame Larousse for that one but I do feel that there should've been some sort of leaf matter in this salad. Some rocket would've been nice. Some baby spinach leaves, perhaps.
All that Italian chicken business was a bit of a let-down. Perhaps going into what is perhaps the most comprehensive of all French cookery books, I expected to like everything as much as coq au vin and poule au pot and steak au poivre and lemon tart. I mean, I feel that way about all those bistro books. About most of the stuff in Stephane Reynaud's books. That perfect balance of rustic and refined that is that sort of French cooking really appeals to me. So perhaps one of my biggest lessons is that such food is a small element of French cookery. There's going to be a whole lot of stuff in Larousse Gastronomique I'm probably not going to like. I have to admit, it's given me pause. What's the point of cooking through 3800 recipes if I hate half of them? I'm learning, yes, all the time--you can learn a lot from food you don't enjoy--but there are a million books filled, cover to cover, with recipes that I'm going to like. I can't call this a cook through blog if I'm going to ignore the boring stuff and only cook a suckling pig and a couple of variations of grilled rib eye and a cassoulet and maybe some coq au Riesling and then call it a day. Perhaps my prejudices and misconceptions are being challenged. When I heard 'French technique' and 'French cuisine before', I pictured all those old favourites and the modern, light, artistry performed at restaurants like Vue de Monde and Embrasse. Doubts? Perhaps.
With this swirling around in my mind, I decided to do something I knew I'd like: a Larousse Gastronomique salad. So far, they've all been good or great. Tonight's effort contained slices of steak, boiled potatoes, diced onion and sliced tomato. That's all.
All the recipe said about the beef component was that it needed to be cooked. You could use leftover roast beef, if you wanted to. I didn't have any so I bought a rump steak, rubbed some fresh herbs (sage and rosemary) into it and cooked until it was rare.
As for the potatoes, these were boiled and then sliced and immersed in a 'dressing' made from white wine and olive oil.
The whole lot was tossed together and then stressed with a mustard-flavoured vinaigrette.
Overall, this wasn't my favourite salad from Larousse Gastronomique. Not a total dud but it was missing a couple of things. If I'd had more money, I would've bought a nice piece of grass fed beef. The only steaks I've had over the past couple of years have been top quality: not necessarily wagyu but Angus or King Island Beef or Cape Grim or whatever. I'd go without steak for weeks, saving up to buy nice meat from Queen Victoria Market. The difference in flavour between those high quality steaks and what I had tonight is very obvious. Lesson here: don't have this sort of dinner when you're on a tight budget.
I don't blame Larousse for that one but I do feel that there should've been some sort of leaf matter in this salad. Some rocket would've been nice. Some baby spinach leaves, perhaps.
Friday, January 7, 2011
assorted 'Italian'
101. Italian sauce
Before I settled on cooking through Larousse Gastronomique, I entertained the idea of cooking my way through Escoffier's La Guide Culinaire. I ended up choosing Larousse because it's more comprehensive. Larousse covers a lot of the same territory as Escoffier's Bible--indeed, a lot of the recipes are basically the same--but it also has a lot of modern refinements and techniques. There are a couple of sous vide recipes in the 2009 edition of Larousse, for example.
Alongside all the classic sauces you'd recognise as French--bechamel, demi-glace, espagnole and so on--Escoffier wrote of sauces inspired by foreign cuisine. These appear even in the 2009 edition of Larousse, although some of them have been modernised considerably to include ingredients people from India or wherever would actually use.
The first part of Italian sauce that I needed to take care of was the stock. I still don't have any in the freezer. I bought a couple of chicken carcasses with a view to making siome stock for the next week's worth of Larousse recipes.
The stock done, the rest of the sauce is very simple. You saute some chopped mushrooms, an onion and a shallot and then pour in a bit of stock and a few spoonfuls of tomato paste. The sauce is flavoured with salt, pepper and a bouquet garni. At the very end of cooking, ham is added. I have to say--and I feel a bit dirty for saying this, as I know sauce italienne is a classic French sauce--that it reminds me of two things old Auguste Escoffier probably would've looked upon with disgust: pub chicken <Aussie accent>parrrmas</Aussie accent> and a product heavily marketed on television during my childhood, the 'Chicken Tonight' range of simmer sauces. Then again, maybe if Escoffier was still alive today he'd be marketing simmer sauces, just like all those other celebrity chefs promoting Coles and Masterfoods products.
102. Chicken a brun
Chicken a brun (and chicken a blanc, for that matter) serves as a base recipe for many other recipes in Larousse Gastronomique. It's no more than a paragraph instructing you to saute chicken pieces over a high he so they brown up nicely.
103. Chicken a l'italienne
Once you've sauteed the chicken pieces, you can assemble the dish. Deglaze the pan with white wine and then pour in the Italian sauce. Cook until both the meat and sauce are heated through--although note that the 'chicken a brun' recipe states you shouldn't bring the sauce to the boil at this point.
The photo probably makes it obvious: this dish was nothing to write home about.
104. Macaroni calabrese
Figured I'd try and find a side dish that was a bit more fitting than, say, another variation potatoes with animal fat. The sauce for macaroni calabrese contains roasted tomatoes, pitted black olives, capers and basil. Can't go wrong with that combination, can you?
Because I had the time, I slow roasted the tomatoes: 120 degree oven over the course of the afternoon alongside a couple of cloves of garlic and a wee bit of oregano.
The sauce was nice--I just wish I'd bought an extra tomato or two so I had more of it.
Before I settled on cooking through Larousse Gastronomique, I entertained the idea of cooking my way through Escoffier's La Guide Culinaire. I ended up choosing Larousse because it's more comprehensive. Larousse covers a lot of the same territory as Escoffier's Bible--indeed, a lot of the recipes are basically the same--but it also has a lot of modern refinements and techniques. There are a couple of sous vide recipes in the 2009 edition of Larousse, for example.
Alongside all the classic sauces you'd recognise as French--bechamel, demi-glace, espagnole and so on--Escoffier wrote of sauces inspired by foreign cuisine. These appear even in the 2009 edition of Larousse, although some of them have been modernised considerably to include ingredients people from India or wherever would actually use.
The first part of Italian sauce that I needed to take care of was the stock. I still don't have any in the freezer. I bought a couple of chicken carcasses with a view to making siome stock for the next week's worth of Larousse recipes.
The stock done, the rest of the sauce is very simple. You saute some chopped mushrooms, an onion and a shallot and then pour in a bit of stock and a few spoonfuls of tomato paste. The sauce is flavoured with salt, pepper and a bouquet garni. At the very end of cooking, ham is added. I have to say--and I feel a bit dirty for saying this, as I know sauce italienne is a classic French sauce--that it reminds me of two things old Auguste Escoffier probably would've looked upon with disgust: pub chicken <Aussie accent>parrrmas</Aussie accent> and a product heavily marketed on television during my childhood, the 'Chicken Tonight' range of simmer sauces. Then again, maybe if Escoffier was still alive today he'd be marketing simmer sauces, just like all those other celebrity chefs promoting Coles and Masterfoods products.
102. Chicken a brun
Chicken a brun (and chicken a blanc, for that matter) serves as a base recipe for many other recipes in Larousse Gastronomique. It's no more than a paragraph instructing you to saute chicken pieces over a high he so they brown up nicely.
103. Chicken a l'italienne
Once you've sauteed the chicken pieces, you can assemble the dish. Deglaze the pan with white wine and then pour in the Italian sauce. Cook until both the meat and sauce are heated through--although note that the 'chicken a brun' recipe states you shouldn't bring the sauce to the boil at this point.
The photo probably makes it obvious: this dish was nothing to write home about.
104. Macaroni calabrese
Figured I'd try and find a side dish that was a bit more fitting than, say, another variation potatoes with animal fat. The sauce for macaroni calabrese contains roasted tomatoes, pitted black olives, capers and basil. Can't go wrong with that combination, can you?
Because I had the time, I slow roasted the tomatoes: 120 degree oven over the course of the afternoon alongside a couple of cloves of garlic and a wee bit of oregano.
The sauce was nice--I just wish I'd bought an extra tomato or two so I had more of it.
century
100. Fried eggs
My first recipe was something very basic and classic: roast chicken. It's fitting, although it wasn't intentional, that my hundredth recipe was something even more basic: fried eggs on toast.
My first recipe was something very basic and classic: roast chicken. It's fitting, although it wasn't intentional, that my hundredth recipe was something even more basic: fried eggs on toast.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
I'm breaking up with you
99. Spaghetti all'amatriciana
Spaghetti all'amatriciana was one of the first non-bolognese pasta dishes I cooked. It remains one of my favourites. Easy. Delicious. Comforting: you can't say no to a combination of pasta, chilli, cured pork and tomato.
Now. Tomatoes. You see, canned tomatoes used to be a staple in my diet. Most of the time when I was cooking a pasta sauce, I'd use a can or two of tomatoes. I'd use canned tomatoes in dishes like chicken cacciatore. I just realised today, as I sorted through a tub of tomatoes to find the good ones, that I stopped buying canned tomatoes. I think Larousse Gastronomique has something to do with that. The recipes just don't call for canned products. The only canned products I can recall buying, 99 recipes in to the book, are anchovies and tuna. And even then, I think I have to buy maybe one more can of tuna. Not bad for 3800+ recipes.
I'm not saying there's anything wrong with canned tomatoes. Like canned beans, they're a convinience worth having in stock in the pantry. Just in case, you know. But I've found that using fresh tomatoes--and I'm not talking about expensive hierloom tomatoes here, as I'm not made of money--lightens dishes. A friend reckons that canned tomatoes have a better flavour but I disagree. I mean, I used to agree, but as I've fallen deeper down the rabbit hole of French cooking and started eating at nice restaurants, I've started to develop an appreciation for subtlety. Canned tomatoes, especially Italian ones, offer a flavour that's ... abrupt. So no more canned tomatoes for me.
Aside from the use of fresh tomatoes in place of canned tomatoes, Larousse Gastronomique's version of all'amatriciana sauce is the same as other recipes I've used. Simply fry up some cubes of pancetta (Wikipedia says it's more traditional to use cured cheek, though) with a little bit of fresh garlic and chilli. I'm using one of the habaneros from the pot plant I purchased a few weeks ago. Deglaze the pan with a little bit of dry white wine and then add your peeled and crushed tomatoes. Simmer until the liquid has evaportated and then stir through your spaghetti.
In making the sauce, I borrowed from the tomato sauce recipe. After peeling the tomatoes I cut them into large chunks. These I stewed in the saucepan for about half a hour with the lid on: the idea being that I wanted a sauce with texture but without great lumps recognisable as tomato. Once the tomatoes had broken down a bit I removed the lid from the pan and reduced and reduced and reduced until the sauce was thick but still moist enough to coat the pasta.
A winner.
Spaghetti all'amatriciana was one of the first non-bolognese pasta dishes I cooked. It remains one of my favourites. Easy. Delicious. Comforting: you can't say no to a combination of pasta, chilli, cured pork and tomato.
Now. Tomatoes. You see, canned tomatoes used to be a staple in my diet. Most of the time when I was cooking a pasta sauce, I'd use a can or two of tomatoes. I'd use canned tomatoes in dishes like chicken cacciatore. I just realised today, as I sorted through a tub of tomatoes to find the good ones, that I stopped buying canned tomatoes. I think Larousse Gastronomique has something to do with that. The recipes just don't call for canned products. The only canned products I can recall buying, 99 recipes in to the book, are anchovies and tuna. And even then, I think I have to buy maybe one more can of tuna. Not bad for 3800+ recipes.
I'm not saying there's anything wrong with canned tomatoes. Like canned beans, they're a convinience worth having in stock in the pantry. Just in case, you know. But I've found that using fresh tomatoes--and I'm not talking about expensive hierloom tomatoes here, as I'm not made of money--lightens dishes. A friend reckons that canned tomatoes have a better flavour but I disagree. I mean, I used to agree, but as I've fallen deeper down the rabbit hole of French cooking and started eating at nice restaurants, I've started to develop an appreciation for subtlety. Canned tomatoes, especially Italian ones, offer a flavour that's ... abrupt. So no more canned tomatoes for me.
Aside from the use of fresh tomatoes in place of canned tomatoes, Larousse Gastronomique's version of all'amatriciana sauce is the same as other recipes I've used. Simply fry up some cubes of pancetta (Wikipedia says it's more traditional to use cured cheek, though) with a little bit of fresh garlic and chilli. I'm using one of the habaneros from the pot plant I purchased a few weeks ago. Deglaze the pan with a little bit of dry white wine and then add your peeled and crushed tomatoes. Simmer until the liquid has evaportated and then stir through your spaghetti.
In making the sauce, I borrowed from the tomato sauce recipe. After peeling the tomatoes I cut them into large chunks. These I stewed in the saucepan for about half a hour with the lid on: the idea being that I wanted a sauce with texture but without great lumps recognisable as tomato. Once the tomatoes had broken down a bit I removed the lid from the pan and reduced and reduced and reduced until the sauce was thick but still moist enough to coat the pasta.
A winner.
soldiers
98. Soft-boiled eggs
When my girlfriend first moved in with me, she'd always get upset at how I cooked eggs. For me, eggs--whether they're fried or boiled or poached--require runny yolks. Not in salad, no. But when you're having them with toast and bacon. Gradually I won her over.
For me, runny egg yolks are one of life's simple pleasures. I could quite happily forget the whites and just egg runny yolk after runny yolk. With toast, of course, and much pepper.
And so, today's lunch: boiled eggs with toast 'soldiers' made from ciabatta.
When my girlfriend first moved in with me, she'd always get upset at how I cooked eggs. For me, eggs--whether they're fried or boiled or poached--require runny yolks. Not in salad, no. But when you're having them with toast and bacon. Gradually I won her over.
For me, runny egg yolks are one of life's simple pleasures. I could quite happily forget the whites and just egg runny yolk after runny yolk. With toast, of course, and much pepper.
And so, today's lunch: boiled eggs with toast 'soldiers' made from ciabatta.
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