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July 17, 2010

Cowboy Cake

After poaching apricots last week, I confess. I was turned around on apricots. Though I’m still not a fan of eating them straight out of hand, they were quite delightfully tart and juicy when cooked. So, when the week 7 basket had more apricots, I was actually pretty excited.

Rewind to last summer. I made peach upside-down cake, then promptly remade it with apples instead. The peach cake was yummy, but in case you didn’t already know this about me, I mostly eat cake for breakfast. (That is: It’s not the only thing I eat for breakfast, but that’s when I’m most likely to eat cake.) The peaches and brown sugar were just too tooth-achingly sweet first thing in the morning.

The tartness of the poached apricots made me think they would be a perfect substitute. And I wanted to look for alternate upside-down cake recipes that didn’t involve beating egg whites separately. Call me a sucker for a gimmick, but when I saw this recipe for an apricot cake in a cast iron skillet, I immediately announced to Bryan, “I’m going to make a cowboy cake!”

It’s really, insanely delicious. The salt in the brown sugar really highlights the caramelly aspects of the topping, and the apricots are exactly what I’m looking for in a sweet-but-not-too-sweet cake. And it’s so cute! (Bryan has declared to me that no cowboy worth his boots would make this cake, and that just because something is cooked in a cast-iron pan does not mean it could be made on an open fire. He is no longer invited to eat my cowboy cake.)

Cowboy Cake (Apricot Upside-Down Cake)

adapted from Gourmet Magazine’s Fresh Apricot Upside-Down Cake

For topping

1 stick unsalted butter
3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
10 to 15 small fresh apricots, halved lengthwise and pitted
1/2 tsp kosher salt (or 1/4 tsp table salt)

Preheat oven to 375. Melt the butter in a 10” cast iron skillet over medium heat on your stovetop. When foam has subsided, mix in the salt. Mine never really dissolved, but stir it up for a while. When you’re satisfied the salt is evenly distributed, lower the heat to low, and sprinkle the brown sugar over the butter, trying to achieve a uniform layer. After 3 minutes undisturbed, arrange the apricots around the pan.
For cake

1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 large eggs at room temperature
3/4 cup buttermilk

Mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a bowl.

Beat together butter, sugar, and vanilla in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until pale and fluffy, 2 to 3 minutes. Beat in eggs 1 at a time, then beat until mixture is creamy and doubled in volume, 2 to 3 minutes.

Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture in 3 batches, alternating with buttermilk, beginning and ending with flour. Beat until just combined.

Gently spoon batter over apricots and spread gently to make an even layer.

Bake cake in middle of oven until golden brown and a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 30 to 45 minutes. (Mine was done really quickly!)

Wearing oven mitts, immediately invert a large plate over skillet and, keeping plate and skillet firmly pressed together, invert cake onto plate. Carefully lift skillet off cake and, if necessary, replace any fruit that is stuck to bottom of skillet. Cool to warm or room temperature.

July 7, 2010

Poached Apricots

One of my favorite things about being a CSA member is the freedom to experiment. When I get something in the basket that is not a particular favorite of mine, I think, “Well, at least I don’t have to worry about how it turns out!” If the dish is delicious, great. If it’s terrible, well, I didn’t like it that much to start with! (See: roasting peppers, watermelon salad and watermelon limeade)

I have strong feelings when it comes to fruit, and clearly ranked preferences. To me, apricots don’t make the cut. They just aren’t juicy. Thus, I was free to cook with abandon! But the lack of love also meant I wasn’t interested in tackling a tart. Enter poaching. It takes 5 minutes. I had the ingredients. (Oh, who am I kidding? This is always my recipe selection process, whether I like the main item or not.)

In the name of science and your taste buds, I made two batches. One used simple syrup. One used fabulous Egyptian honey, courtesy of Cybèle! I was originally inspired by this recipe, which features greek yogurt. Since I love yogurt and honey, I was sure that one would be the tastier. In the end, my personal preference? I’d use the simple syrup. Turns out I like my honey straight.

Poached Apricots

4 or more apricots (just don’t crowd them in the pan)
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup sugar or 1/4 cup honey
half a vanilla pod, scraped
4-8 lightly smashed cardamom pods (optional)

In a small saucepan, heat water, sugar/honey, vanilla and cardamom pods on medium-high heat, until all the sweetener is dissolved. Halve the apricots, removing the pits. Reduce the heat to a light simmer, and put the apricots in the pan.

Poach for 2 to 5 minutes, turning once. Don’t overpoach! (The apricots will fall apart if you do.) How do you know how long to poach for? The drier the apricot, the longer you should go, I noticed.

Remove the apricots from the poaching syrup. Raise the heat again, and reduce the syrup until it’s at least twice as thick. Pour some of the thickened syrup on the apricots. (Put the rest in a jar. Use it to make yourself cocktails.)

Eat warm, or stick it in the fridge and eat whenever. Try not to drip syrup all over yourself when you do. And now I’m actually kind of looking forward to the apricots coming in this week’s basket!

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June 21, 2010

Salad days

Every cook has their bête noire - the item, against all logic and rational decisions, you just can’t convince yourself to make. I do the lion’s share of cooking in my house, but when Bryan and I first started dating, I started the campaign to make his official cooking duty “salad dresser”.

He is a voracious salad eater. Me, not so much. His toppings of choice: raw everything — carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes. Mine: Anything that covers up the taste of lettuce, and the more the better — cheese (please!), fruit (dried, fresh or cooked), nuts, roasted veggies, meat, herbs, grains, basically anything you can pick up with a fork other than raw vegetables.

I know I should eat more fresh, raw veggies, so I thought it was a good thing when he started stocking salad greens in my fridge. Imagine my horror when it was revealed that his favorite kind of salad dressing, the only one that he would even consider at the store, was one that turned my stomach. The culprit? Newman’s Own Light Italian.

Sounds innocuous enough, I know, but it is also my parents’ salad dressing of choice, and I associate its taste with one too many greens-only, slightly wilty salads. That was the moment when I started selling the virtues of DIY salad dressing.

“It’s so easy! It only takes a minute!” “You can make it however you want — add anything you like.” “It’s so much cheaper, and fresher tasting, too!” They all sound a little hollow when the speaker has never once been witnessed making her own salad dressing.

The passage of time changes all things, though. Whether it was the wrinkling of my nose every time the Newman’s Own came out, or the effusive praise I heaped on any early attempt at creating a dressing, Bryan has fully embraced his role as salad dresser. In fact, he’s asked me several times when I am going to blog about his salads. So, in celebration of my lovely husband, who exuberantly takes over the odious kitchen tasks of my life, I present his dressing recipe.

Bryan’s Own Salad Dressing

olive oil
one lemon
3/4 tsp mustard powder
salt
pepper
1/4 tsp cumin
1/8 tsp chili powder
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1 clove garlic or some shallot

Note: This is truly a “to taste” recipe — measures above are approximate, and ratios are based on nothing but how Bryan likes his salad to taste.

The rule of thumb for oil to lemon juice is typically 3 to 1, but in nearly every case, you have lots and lots of olive oil, and a finite amount of lemon juice, so start at 2 to 1, and add oil to taste.

I find it easiest to squeeze the lemon directly into a measuring cup, so you know how much you’re working with. For us, a lemon will dress approximately 8 salads.

Start seasoning! Bryan likes plenty of salt, pepper and mustard, a moderate amount of cumin, and a little chili powder and cayenne pepper to spice it up. Feel free to adjust those measures to your own taste. Go crazy; add a second garlic clove if you love it.

We pour ours in a jam jar, for easy shaking. If you’re making it all in the measuring cup, use a fork to mix it all up, and give it a taste. Adjust as necessary. If you are like Bryan, make it first, before you start prepping your toppings. Then stick it in the fridge, to get the desired salad dressing chill.

The dressing will keep for at least a week, so make more if you want it. Note that all the flavors will get stronger over time.

(My other campaign, still underway, is to make him the bread maker — specifically, the baguette guy. I am keeping my fingers crossed!)

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URL: http://phillyfoodie.com/post/723278050/salad-days

May 13, 2010

Strawberry shortcakes

It is time. Today. Go get yourself at least one pint of local strawberries. Don’t go to Superfresh. Go to a farmer’s market. Go to Reading Terminal Market and hit up the Amish or Fair Food. Yes, they cost more. If there is one form of produce worth the outlay to get fresh and local, it is berries. They do not ripen after picking, but they are fragile (read: do not ship well cross-country) when ripe. You will taste the difference.

Now, I will share with you the most important lesson I learned from my french exchange host family. There is no such thing as a strawberry too sweet and ripe to sugar. I learned to embrace the indulgence. Just add a teaspoon or so, to really bring out the flavor. Slice them up, sugar them, and eat in 5 minutes. You will eat the whole bowl.

Repeat. After you have done this 3 or 4 times, you may be ready to move on to the strawberry shortcake recipe below. You may not. That’s ok. It is perfectly fine to worship strawberries in their primal form first and foremost. But this recipe is pretty good, too.

Strawberry Shortcake

a half batch of biscuits (add 2 tablespoons of sugar to the dry ingredients when making)
1 pint strawberries
1/2 pint heavy cream
1 tablespoon of sugar (plus more for the berries)

Make your biscuits (you can use this recipe, but any basic biscuit recipe will make a tasty shortcake.) When you’ve put the biscuits in the oven, slice your strawberries, removing the stems. Sprinkle the berries with a teaspoon of sugar, or more to taste. Set aside.

When the biscuits come out, set them aside to cool for a bit (or they will melt the whipped cream.) When they are warm, but not hot, make whipped cream.

If you aren’t already the sort to make whipped cream fresh, I strongly encourage you to try it. It’s faster than this description makes it sound, and it is worlds better than store bought. If I were going to cheat making strawberry shortcakes, I would definitely use Pillsbury poppin’ can biscuits before I used canned whipped cream.

I have been informed that some people have the capability to whip cream by hand, but you will want to use a mixer. I have also been told there are many schools of thought about how one should progress through the speeds when mixing, but I have never noticed a difference in my cream, so I’ll just tell you the fast way. Start with your heavy cream in a large clean bowl. Take the mixer through the speeds until you are at the second-fastest speed. Whip the cream until it starts to hold slight shapes. Then, mix in your tablespoon of sugar (and a splash of vanilla extract, if you want.)

Continue mixing until the cream holds in peaks. At this point, if you like a soft, slightly runny whipped cream, it’s done. If you want dollops that sit firmly where you put them, turn the mixer down a notch, and keep going until it gets to the consistency you like. Aren’t sure? Stop the mixer, and taste a swipe!

Usually, for cakes and sundaes and other very sweet things, I barely sugar my whipped cream (maybe a teaspoon of sugar.) For strawberry shortcakes, though, the biscuit is savory(ish. buttery, at least.) The strawberries are tart. So, the cream should definitely be sweet on the tongue. Again, if you aren’t sure, taste it! You’re just whipping air into the cream, so the sweetness won’t really change much in the whipping process.

Put it all together, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in yum.

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May 4, 2010

Garlic yogurt

There are two kinds of people in this world: people who love garlic, and … um, actually, maybe there is only one kind of people in this case. If you think that everything could be improved with the addition of a little (or a lot) of garlic, then this is the recipe for you.

Savory flavors may not be the first thing that comes to mind when you think yogurt, but try not to think of this in the same vein as a Danon fruit-on-the-bottom cup. This is more like garlic aioli, but much, much simpler. It takes about 60 seconds to prepare, and is an awesome hit of garlic to add to just about anything. I love to use Fage greek yogurt to make it, because it’s extra thick and creamy (watery yogurt is one of my pet peeves), but you could use any plain yogurt to make it.

I love it with chicken or roasted root vegetables of any kind, or as a dip for carrots, or heck, just bread! It also makes a kickin’ replacement for mayo in sandwiches, or a tzatziki stand-in for any other cucumber-haters out there. 60 seconds to punch up any meal. Try it.

Garlic Yogurt

8 oz. yogurt (one little container or 3 scoops from a big container)
1 large clove garlic
1/4 tsp. kosher salt, or to taste

Smash/slice/mince garlic, depending on how much garlic flavor you want. The finer your garlic, the more garlic flavor. Mix the garlic and salt into the yogurt.

Try to make it at least 20 minutes before you eat, and stick it in the fridge to let the garlic permeate the yogurt. Again, the longer it sits, the more garlicky the flavor.

from Bill Granger’s Sydney Food, one of my very favorite cookbooks

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April 15, 2010

Lemon Granita

Do you like to eat ice? Not water ice, or ice cream, just pure ice? I love to, and, believe it or not, it’s because I was anemic during my pregnancy. I didn’t feel anemic, but a friend pointed out that the new ice-eating habit I had picked up was a side effect of my anemia. I could and would consume two or three cups of ice in a few hours. I ate it as a snack and as a dessert and as a movie-going treat. Yum!

While pregnant and eating ice cube after ice cube, I wondered how I could do so without seeming like a giant freak. Finally, I hit upon a dessert my mother-in-law had made one night pre-pregnancy — granita. It’s perfect. It’s icy, crunchy, flaky deliciousness. And better yet, to my pregnant tastes which had demanded citrus twenty-four seven, it could be lemon-flavored.

Now, nearly two years later, I’m still in love with ice, citrus, and lemon granitas. I regularly make granitas and eat them all up all by myself. With summer coming up, it’s time to share my recipe!

I would caution about making this as the sole dessert for a dinner, however. A friend I have calls this a faux dessert. While I still count this currently honeymooning individual as a friend, I now know that for them, granita is either a palette cleanser or a part of a bigger dessert.

By the by, my granita recipe is not that sweet. If you like really sweet desserts, you might want to consider adding a few tablespoons of sugar to it. If you like really tart desserts, either take out about half a cup of the water or add a lemon or two.

Lemon Granita

From: combination of several online recipes

3 lemons
2 cups water
1/2 cup sugar

1. Get the water to boiling in a small pot. Is it boiling? Good! Add your sugar and stir!

2. Turn the burner off, and get our your zester (or Microplane) and zest up your washed lemons. I just zest directly into the pot of hot sugar water. Put your zested lemons off to the side.

3. Roll the lemon under your palm against your counter or cutting board. What you’re doing here is softening it up, because I don’t believe in using a juicer to get juice from lemons. Cut the softened lemon in half and using a fork, juice the lemons into the pot, seeds and pulp and all. Really, just dig the tines in for all that they’re worth.

4. Mix that all up and let it sit until the mixture has cooled to room temperature and then strain it into a glass pan that you can stick in your freezer. I hope you have enough room in your freezer. I always have to push over all the meals my husband makes for me that I never reheat.

5. This is so super important — every twenty minutes promptly (and possibly a little more often near the end of this step), go in to your freezer, and stir up the granita with a fork. Scrape the ice down. When you near the end, try your hardest to break up the ice bits with your fork or you’ll not be eating flaky ice, you’ll be eating ice cubes. Once your granita starts to look more like fluffy snow than frozen ice, you’ll be good to go!

6. At this stage, I get out a bowl and I scoop several spoons of granita into it and top the whole thing off with raspberries or candied lemon slices. Then, I eat it as rapidly as possible and go back for more.

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March 30, 2010

Candied Lemon Slices

Candied fruit always struck me as such an old-timey candy that I had actually never eaten any. Since many candies now elicit the “ugh, too sweet!” reaction from me, I decided to give it a shot. All you need is a lemon or two, sugar and water, right?

Okay, that’s not entirely true. You also need a really sharp knife and a heavy-bottomed skillet. A dull knife will avoid your lemon pits, instead of slicing through them, which means your slices will come out all funky. And since half the appeal (to me) of candied lemon slices is how pretty they look, it would be a crying shame to have them look all messy. Sharpen that knife first! Your slices should be the same thickness all the way through, and thin enough that they are nearly translucent. Too thin slices will lose their structural integrity during the candying process, though, so strike a balance.

A thin-bottomed pan (like the one I was using) will make the sugar over the burner boil and bubble, while the sugar at the edges of the pan is too cool to candy. I got around it by shifting my slices every few minutes, but this recipe would have required almost no oversight with a properly heavy pan.

So, how much oversight did it take? I made these while talking on the phone with Jane, so… still almost none. They were dead easy to make, and they are a pleasingly tart, slightly bitter after dinner sweet. Give them a shot! Sometimes, those old-timey folks have a few tricks up their sleeve garters.

Candied Lemon Slices (from Martha Stewart Living)

1 lemon (I used a Meyer lemon)
2 cups of sugar
water
ice

Prepare an ice bath, while setting a pot of water on to boil. Slice your lemon into thin, nearly translucent slices, removing seeds as you go.

When the water has boiled, turn off the heat and dump in your slices. Stir for about a minute, until the slices are soft. Drain and put the slices into the ice bath.

Set your heavy-bottomed skillet to medium heat, and dissolve the sugar into a cup of water. When the syrup begins to bubble, reduce the heat to medium low, and add the lemon slices in a single layer. Simmer the slices until the rinds are fully translucent, about an hour.

Remove to a wire rack over parchment so the excess sugar can drip off. Beware, they’re very hot! Let cool for two hours before eating.

Side note: I made something with hot sugar, and neither burned myself nor made anything catch on fire. Take that, Bryan!

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URL: http://phillyfoodie.com/post/485715113/candied-lemon-slices

March 28, 2010

My Morning Coffee

Vietnamese coffee is simply the best: strong, dark coffee softened by sweetened condensed milk. It’s a unique flavor and the softest possible landing in the morning.

Vietnamese coffee, halfway through the first percolation

Making it couldn’t be easier. You’ll need ground coffee, sweetened condensed milk, and a Vietnamese coffee maker. The makers can be had for under $4 from any of the Vietnamese markets down on Washington Avenue. (More on them soon!)

The Vietnamese coffee maker isn’t much, just a filter and a screw-in press. Drop in a a bit of coffee, tamp it down, then unscrew the press almost all of the way — you’re ready to go!

A few notes:

Just as when tamping espresso, the press has a sweet spot. Press the coffee too much and it’ll run slowly or get stuck; press the coffee too little and it’ll taste thin. You can jiggle the press or coffee maker to restart a stuck filtration. Use a dark roast, like Café du Monde—the budget option at the Vietnamese markets.

Don’t open the can of sweetened condensed milk all the way. Make two diametrically opposite cuts with your can opener, one larger than the other; then bend the larger one open as a spout, leaving the small one as a vent. Just rest the can on the rim of the glass, spout-end in. As the can runs low, it may take a second for the can to find its balance. I keep my can in the fridge with a bit of plastic wrap over it.

Pouring in the sweetened condensed milk

Vietnamese coffee (for one)

2T ground coffee (dark roast)
2T sweetened condensed milk, or to taste

Heat 1 cup of water to the boil. This takes two minutes in my microwave, which is ample time for the next two steps.
Add the condensed milk to a glass that fits your coffee maker (and the forthcoming coffee!). This is easiest with a can that has a spout and an air vent, which you can rest on the edge of the glass.
Put the coffee into your coffee maker, screwing the press down until the coffee is packed. Unscrew the press until it’s just barely screwed in. Set the coffee maker on top of your glass.
Fill your coffee maker with water, letting it percolate through. When it’s run dry, fill it again.
Mix, savor, and feel a little more awake.

As it gets warmer, try pouring the mixed coffee over ice!

Comments (View) so far. Add your comment! | Filed under Michael coffee Vietnamese drink cook at 2:12pm
URL: http://phillyfoodie.com/post/479667237/my-morning-coffee

(No. OF NOTES: 2)

February 16, 2010

Dulce de leche, can to pan

If you would like to draw me to a recipe, here is the phrase that pays: “It only has one ingredient!” (In my world, salt is not an ingredient. It is a fact of life.) It takes almost no prompting to get me to whip up a batch of butter. So, the idea of boiling a can and getting out a tasty treat had immediate, obvious appeal to me.

Traditional dulce de leche requires you to spend one to two hours tending a pot of sweetened milk, until it has reduced down to a yummy goo. Quick ‘n easy dulce de leche has you simmer a can of sweetened condensed milk for a few hours until it’s gone from a can of milk to a can of deliciousness. What could be easier?

I paid attention in chemistry class, though, and I have a bad track record with sugar products. (See: the time I set the roof of my oven on fire making baked apples.) With Bryan out of town, the vision of dragging myself to the hospital covered with super-heated sugar globules after the can exploded ran rampant through my head. That is, I chickened out. After 3 hours of simmering, this is my can contents.

A change had happened. Just not much of one.

It’s ok, though. In the 3 hours it had been simmering, I had been looking at recipes. I could add cinnamon! I could add SALT. Suddenly, the idea of finishing it off in a pot seemed very appealing.

I simmered it on a stovetop at medium (to medium-low; my stove was a little too hot, and I did get some browned bits as you can see) for about 10 minutes. I added about a quarter teaspoon of cinnamon and kosher salt. It reduced by about 25%.

I can see why people talk about eating jars in one sitting. Yum!

Dulce de Leche

1 can sweetened condensed milk
cinnamon, nutmeg and/or salt, to taste

Place can in a pot of simmering water. Make sure there is enough water to keep the can covered at all times. Simmer for 3 hours.

If it’s still too thin, take it out of the can, season as desired, and simmer for another 5 to 15 minutes, until it reaches the desired consistency. Place in a container, and eat!

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(No. OF NOTES: 1)

February 14, 2010

Hello, and Consommé

Hi! I’m Michael. I’m friends with Helen and company, and I’m excited to be share some of my cooking with you fine people.

This is my kitchen; it’s in Philadelphia. (I mean, so am I.)

I love to cook: saute, steam, fry, bake, cure, smoke, brew, whatever. (You can see evidence of most of those in this picture, actually.) I like to make things myself, to a fault.

But enough about me. Today we’re making consommé. Consommé is the apotheosis of stock, made by clarifying a stock with egg whites. (Yes, egg whites.) It’s something to sip piping hot on a cold, blizzard-y day, but it’s also great as a base for soups and sauces or as a braising liquid.

The technique here is Michael Ruhlman’s, as described in his book Ratio. The idea is quite simple: to make X consommé, make X stock, then simmer the stock with a mixture of 3 parts (by weight) X, 1 part egg white, and 1 part mirepoix (which itself a 2:1:1 mixture of chopped onions, carrots, and celery). Typically, X ranges over meat and poultry: veal, beef, and chicken are all common. This time, it’s chicken consommé. (This time…ha! I’ve never made this before. Here we go!)

Our plan:

make a chicken stock

strain

cool (overnight)

skim off the fat

bring to a simmer, with more chicken, egg whites, and mirepoix

cool again for bagging and freezing

It’s a long process, but there isn’t too much active time. We’re going to use two stewing chickens and a bunch of chicken feet to build the stock. (The feet will provide lots of gelatin, which will help provide a rich mouthfeel later on.) For the clarification, we’ll use boneless thighs.

First, we’ll chop up the chicken feet and some scrap chicken from the freezer.

Small bits make sure we get all the goodness.

For kicks, I took apart the chickens neatly. You can just maul them to small bits, if you like. I went at them with the cleaver after taking this picture.

Cover with an inch or so of water and bring to a simmer, say around 180F. Don’t let it boil, or the stock will be very hazy. (Whether it’ll be so hazy that the clarification won’t work, I don’t know. But why go looking for trouble?)

Eventually fat and foamy scum will rise to the top; keep skimming this off until it stops coming.

Rather than fiddling with the heat on my stove, I set my oven to 180F and simmered for four hours.

About two pounds of mirepoix. Throw in some crushed peppercorns, bay leaves, garlic, herbs, or what-have-you, too.

Adding the mirepoix will cool the stock down again, so it’s easiest to finish it on the stove. It takes another hour.

Another 45 minutes to an hour of simmering, and we’re ready for straining. I used a sieve lined with a (very clean!) kitchen towel, but a colander will do just fine.

I should say: this is a perfectly good stopping point. After it’s cooled a bit, you can see that we already have a tasty, relatively clear stock. But we have not yet begun to fight!

We’ve been basically following Ruhlman’s recipe, though I’ve slightly increased his quantities: about 4lb of chicken made a little under a gallon of stock. We’ll use about a pound of meat (15oz) and 5oz each of egg whites and mirepoix. I’ve added some tomato, for both flavor and color. (Plus a bay leaf and some ground black pepper.)

Apart from my knife, my most important piece of kitchen equipment is my scale. Four eggs yielded 5oz of egg whites.

I forgot to photograph the chicken, but I chopped 15oz of boneless chicken thighs (with the fat cut out and rendered for something else) to a paste in the food processor.

We bring the stock, meat, egg whites, and mirepoix up to a simmer, stirring to avoid scorching. I’m using a flat-edged spoon, as Ruhlman suggests.

As the egg whites congeal, they’ll form what’s called a “raft”, floating all of the other bits to the surface. The proteins in the egg white will filter the stock as it floats to the top, like a French press in reverse. This process is a little slow and requires some attention—it took about twenty minutes.

Now that we have a nice raft, we simmer for another hour. Foam will rise up and over, filtering back through the raft, leaving the scum on top. Ingenious!

After an hour has elapsed, we’re ready to strain. The stock is already very clear (look at that shine!), but we’re going to use a sieve lined with a coffee filter to be extra certain.

It’s said that you should be able to read the date off a dime at the bottom a bowl of consommé. (Ruhlman says the bottom of a gallon.)

Let’s have a closer look.

2007, if you squint. Not bad.

So: consommé. I served it garnished with beech mushrooms and scallion greens. Definitely worth the effort. I think it’s particularly interesting that unlike many other “luxurious” dishes, consommé is very low in fat. (Not that I’m into that sort of thing, but still.) I hope this little (?) walkthrough gives you confidence to try it yourself.

It’s been fun, and there’s more in the pipeline: tongue, morcilla de Burgos, and beer!