Mush Before

Mushrooms — just like some people — need time and space to achieve greatness. Composed of 80 – 90 % water, they’ll cry their eyes out in a crowded pan, weeping excess moisture and preventing a perfect sear. The next time you have to use mushrooms in any recipe try cooking them on their own in a hot pan. Use canola oil so you don’t have to worry about smoking, and work in batches so water evaporates quickly enough to maintain temperature. Leave them be for a few minutes until they are richly browned, and then careful turn them to cook the other side.

Mushrooms cooked this way will sear deeply and produce flavors that border meaty. The ones I pictures here ended up topping a pizza, but since I’m a breakfast blogger lately I’m sure they’d be bitchin’ in an omelet or some sort of hash.  Or how about a risotto, or minced up as some sort of pasta filling?

What are you going to do with your meaty mush?

Mush After

When I was much much younger my mom packed up the car, bought me a Chinese take out container of grass shrimp, and took me on a fishing trip. The lake churned with blue gill and my bait was like potato chips. I was pulling fish out of the water as fast as I could rig the hook.

Throwing each fish back, I impaled a new grass shrimp, and promptly pulled out another. In retrospect I wonder if I was just catching the same stupid fish repeatedly.  When the day ended I tossed my last catch in a cooler with ice and went home to cook up my prize.

Prepared to scale and clean back at my kitchen sink, I became keenly aware my fish was staring right back at me. Unsettled but determined I forged ahead turning on the faucet for a quick rinse, and the second the water touched that fishes skin a last ditch effort of self-preservation ensued. Flopping wildly my fish wanted nothing to do with my fillet knife.  And thinking he had been long dead I had wanted nothing to do with killing him again.Thankfully, Mom came in and clubbed the poor thing, liberated its fillets and told me never to bring home a fish again.

Now this is where you’re expecting to hear it was the finest tasting fish that ever crossed my lips but actually it tasted like shit. Turns out I don’t have the taste for what ended up being over-cooked dirty pond fish. I do have a taste for freshness though, so in other ways that fish left an impression and now when I go fishing I use my wallet instead of bait.

Magazines, cookbooks, or other food pubs love to tell you how to buy fresh fish touting jet black eyes and smells of the sea.  My advice to fish shoppers who want to pick out great product would be to take a trip to the aquarium. See how they look when they’re alive? That’s how they should look on ice.

My two favorite places for good fish, are the Black Salt Market, and many of the Asian groceries peppered around Northern Virginia. Both specialize in fish mongering, and quick turnover assures a reasonably fresh catch. If you get lucky enough to see eyes fresh enough to stare back at you purchase immediately and cook quickly. Fish that fresh will be worthy of memories.

Photo by flickr user nurpax

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I think these farmers are up to something.  On little plastic plates piled high for grubby hands were the sweetest, most perfect representation of peachy pleasure I’d encountered all summer.  I’d been waiting for peach season for weeks and rumors that the rainy Spring was great for stone fruit was fueling desire.

At home with the sweet taste of peach still fresh in my mind  I pealed my bounty with a paring knife while juice collected in my palm and ran down my wrist.  I fumbled with the glistening skinless orbs as they slid around my cutting board hanging on to stubborn pits.

I popped a slice in my mouth and …

This wasn’t the peach I sampled at all.    Tart, a little unyielding and less than flavorful.  A slice from another confirmed my suspicion.  These peaches were good, sure, but they weren’t the massively sweet specimens I’d hoped for and sampled back at the market.

That’s alright though I’ll hold no grudge.   A little booze can make a perspective mate more attractive so I’ll slather these babies in a healthy splash of bourbon and sugar and let things macerate a while.  I’ll top them with a sweet drop biscuit dough and bake them till they’ve reduced to a sweet and sticky filling.  I’ll make a decent peach cobbler with a less than perfect peach.

Outdoor Plancha for Home

When I started reading the Comme Ça burger recipe I quickly identified it as one of those techniques that works well in a restaurant, but doesn’t translate perfectly at home because residential ovens don’t pack the same heat.  It’s the same reason roast chicken skin at your favorite bistro is just a little bit crisper, or the crust on a steak has a little more umph.    Even Viking, Thermador and Wolf “prosumer” ranges come up short for reasons of safety.  To install something truly professional and not burn down your house, you’d also need a ventilation and sprinkler system to match.

The Comme Ça burger tries to replicate the power of a plancha by heating a cast iron skillet over high for 3-4 minutes but that still won’t yeild restaurant heat.  Since I didn’t want to invite the fire inspector for a cookout I decided to take my house out of the equation. Outdoor patio stoves typically enlisted for turkey frying can turn out 50,000 BTUs.  More than some restaurant ranges, and hopefully enough to duplicate the plancha when topped with a heavy cast iron skillet.

This past week I spent my vacation making several of these super burgers and I think I’m on to something.  Smoke surges upward from the cast iron during the intense searing session leaving a charred flavor reminiscent of a grill on steroids.  The oven finish still takes the guess work out of doneness.  375 for four minutes for medium rare, and six for medium.  Is it worth the fuss?  I’ll still use my grill when making burgers for a crowd, but for four or less the plancha burger is outstanding.

They won’t leave me alone.  Today’s NY times piece on burgers has opened up a Pandora’s box of craving.    The same cake tester, potato rolls, handling instructions, pickles and other pointers I’ve been playing with for weeks have been re-arranged and laid out for me in a way that has stoked an absolutely ravenous  burger lust.   I dare you to read it and try not to order a burger for lunch today.  I’m left  concerned for my future well being.

The Comme Ça burger recipe embraces my call for simplicity leaving me smitten, but it’s the quoted chef’s restaurant technique that has me most curious.  The author glances over a plancha as a high end flat grill, but I’ve stood next to these devices at Cafe Du Parc and I’m telling you they get HOT.  I’ve always thought the best burger had to be kissed by fire, but I’m envisioning a crisp uniform crust that amounts to one giant grill mark and I’m starting to drool.

Just a week ago I thought I had burgers perfected, but now I’m forlorn for a commercial source of steady and intense heat.  How do you make your perfect burger?

The quest for Bovinity continues.

While hunting for the perfect hot dog, I spent some time with Peter Smith at PS-7. There was a lull in the interview so I mentioned my recent steak debacle, and asked him if he ever used cake testers to test the doneness of steak. Peter confirmed I was right to not toss my steaks in an ice bath. He then went on to demonstrate the proper technique.

Plunge the cake tester all the way into the meat and mark its depth on the tester with your thumb. This way when its removed you can tell what part of the tester was in what part of the steak. Count to three and quickly pull the tester out and touch it to your face. The area just above my lip where my mustache would start (if I had one) is most sensitive for me. Starting where your thumb marked the outside of the steak draw the tester across your lip. As the tester moves across your skin you can “feel” the steak from its surface, to its center, and then out the other side.

Warm near your thumb, then cold, then warm at the tip of the tester indicates a steak that is rare, or completely underdone. Hot, then slightly warmer than your body temperature indicates medium rare. As you start to perceive heat across the entire length of the tester — it’s game over.

Peter also described how to use a tester to tell the doneness of fish based not on temperature, rather resistance.  I’ll cover that in another post.

Medium Rare

To read more about this technique be sure to check out Part 2.

I don’t cook steak very often.   When I do, I’ll  go all out and buy big.  Massive dry aged porter houses. Rib eyes so thick they look like they belong on the Flintstones.  It’s expensive and usually worth it, but only when cooked properly.  A while back I posted  a menu titled Steak Dinner for 4.  It was a nice meal, but a critic would have noticed the pictured beef was woefully over-done.

Cake Tester Thermometer... and some really big steaks

Bourbon Steak house had just opened and every blogger that scored an invite was gushing. I had butter blanketed dry aged beef on the brain and it was time to have a few guys over for red meat.  Dinner for four with wine at Bourbon could run at least five bills.  We thought we could accomplish something similar at home for a fraction of the cost.  The difference could be  blown on red wine and a bottle of scotch — sans corkage fees.  Maybe even some cigars.  My job was to purchase the meat, whip up some sides, and not fuck up.  Seemed easy enough…

Except I fucked up.

Most meat thermometers (save some pricey digital ones) take some time to report accurately, if they’re accurate at all.  Sure they work but it’s fussy analysis when you’re dealing with multiple steaks.  Then there’s the touch test that everyone describes, but never quite the same way.  Touch your palm here, squeeze your thumb there nonsense that I think is prohibitive for the average home cook.  And who’s to say that a tender Fillet Mignon feels exactly the same medium rare as a humble hanger steak?  They don’t.

Enter the cake tester.  Small and narrow the thin metal assumes the temperature of the surrounding meat in seconds, and then can be read against the lips in an instant.  I’d read about the technique in Heat, and seen it practiced at Michel Richard’s Central, Inox, and other restaurants in D.C.  A cool cake taster indicates meat that is undercooked, while slightly warmer than your lip represents a perfect medium rare.  Anything warmer and you’re in trouble.

When my tester emerged from my steaks scorching hot, I freaked.  I let them rest un-tented while debating a frantic ice bath, and eventualy carved the medium-ish results.   Admitting defeat I served the rarest peices from the center for my guests while I ate humble steak.   I was remided to never try a new technique on company — or 70 bucks worth of meat.

Prime Aged Rib Eye Cooked Medium

I’ve been spending too much time making the best burger or a perfect roast chicken.  Maybe I should just chill out and not worry about a 450 pixel well lit piece of food porn.  I’ll take a couple of red onions and slice them about an eight of an inch thick.  Let ‘em cool out in a buttermilk bath.  Thirty minutes to remove all those harsh compounds that distract me from how sweet an onion is.

To a big scoop of flour, and a teaspoon of baking powder I’ll add just enough Bud from a can for a loose batter.  And I’ll bring a few cups of peanut oil to 375° on the stove.  With a light thin coating these beauties would crisp up quick.  The onions inside would wilt, then brown in no time.  I’d be left with mild onion and chewy caramel encased in a light crunch — finished simply with a little salt.

I’ll generously top a burger with the results if I haven’t devoured each batch the second they’re cool.  I’ll greedily dip them into homemade ketchup spiked with adobo from a chipotle chili can.  I’ll drink another Bud.

This is how I’ll cook tonight.  This will be fun.

Extreme Funion Close-up

I’m beginning to wonder if burger joints are like condominiums percolating upwards in what will amount to a great burger bubble.  Five guys and Elevation burger were early adapters as Hell burger in Arlington and others continue to join an increasingly competitive environment.  I’m all for open markets and capitalism but the growth of the burger movement doesn’t come without opportunity cost.  While I can’t deny the utility derived from devouring well crafted bliss on a bun,  burger joints rob me of the subtle carnal pleasures I realize when grilling my own.

Home aficionados and the food  literature that fuels them devote serious effort debating the best sources for meat and other ingredients.  But for me the best burger is an act in simplicity and anyone can conjure burger perfection with  little effort.   Fresh ground beef, salt and pepper, a good bun, and proper technique are all you need to achieve a state of burger perfection I like to call Bovinity.

Read on for tips that will help you achieve your own burger Zen

Burgers on the Grill

Tips

1. Use 80/20 Beef. I know a few people think it’s excessively fatty, but fat assures juicy results.
2. Stay Cool. Keep your beef in the fridge until you’re ready to work. Subtle heat will cause fat in the meat to soften. If the slightly warmed meat is then overworked or mixed, you’ll end up with a dense, homogeneous texture.  Work on a sheet pan you can easily return to the fridge and chill your hands in ice water before you begin. If you’ve formed your patties but aren’t yet ready to grill, promptly return them to the fridge.
3. Aggressively season. 2 teaspoons kosher salt per pound of beef may look like a lot, but it will help draw out all that beefy flavor.  Go heavy on the pepper too.
4. Keep it loose. Gingerly break the meat apart onto your sheet pan to expose as much surface area as possible. With the meat spread out, you’ll be able to season liberally without having to mash or mix the ground beef. Applying as little force as possible, gently form the patties. A loose pack gives the burger a light airy texture and allows fat to drain from the meat as it cooks.
5. Don’t go too big.  Just big enough to allow a good crust to build on the exterior while the center stays pink.  6 ounces is a perfect size for me.    Each patty should be 3/4 inch thick and slightly larger than the diameter of your bun.
6. Use a scale.  Or any method you can come up with to assure consistency.  If all your burgers are the same size they’ll cook uniformly.  No more dry burger for Timmy, bloody burger for Tod.
7. Use a timer. Every grill is unique so devote an afternoon and a few burgers to getting to know yours. Your friends certainly won’t mind being test subjects, and they’ll appreciate your dedication to perfection. For example on my grill over high heat, 6.5 minutes gives me a perfect medium rare.
8. Bloody isn’t better. I used to think I wanted my burgers black on the outside and red on the inside but cold meat wont release fat.  The juiciest burger is just shy of medium.
9. Don’t lose the juice. It takes one squish of the spatula to destroy all the hard work you put into the perfect, loosely packed patty. That one squish will also send all the juice and flavor into the fiery depths below. Treat your burgers to a light touch and turn them only once (halfway through the cooking time). And always keep your grill lid closed.

Sheet Pan Production

a scale assures consistency

Epicurious' Seasonal Ingredient Map

With artichoke and asparagus season coming to an end it’s nice to know what to expect next. I’ve encountered a few calendars that list a breadth of produce and show season duration and peaks. Most guides either focus on a small local area and some take a more aggregate view, but I’ve recently found a map at Epicurious that gives you both.

Click each state to see what’s in peak now, and use the slider for what you can expect throughout the year.  There’s also links for each ingredient with cooking tips and recipes.  I like the ability to explore the country and see how local produce varies from state to state.  My artichokes for instance came all the way from California.  Not exactly local…

Lemon Juice Choke Bath