Homemade chicken stock for celebration soup
CHICKEN STOCK
Vegetables
Meat and bones
Herbs and bouquet
Salt
VEGETABLES
Always twice as much onion as carrot
And an equal amount of carrot to celery
That way nothing dominated
The vegetables are the bed
On which you rest the bones
BONES/MEAT
Stock is not ‘bone water’
It includes bones and meat
So, for 1 chicken
1 onion
½ carrot
½ celery rib
BOUQUET/HERBS
12 parsley stems
1 branch thyme
1 bay leaf
(I usually tied them together with
A branch of celery, cut in half)
A pinch of salt
Because some proteins only render in the
Presence of salt, which makes the stock richer
However, not too much salt, or if and when
You reduce the stock, it becomes salty
WATER
When you build your stock/broth
You put the vegetables in first
Put the meat/bones on top
Toss in the bouquet garni
Hold everything in place with your hand
And cover your hand with water
You do not fill the pot with water
And, the reason you put your hands over the bones
When adding water, is to prevent them from floating
And diluting the stock/broth
When the ratio of water to bones, meat vegetables is right
When you refrigerate the stock, it jells
Once the water is in the pot
Add a pinch of salt (1/2 teaspoon per 6 cups)
Bring the water to a boil
Skim off the foam and discard it
Turn the heat to a simmer
And let the broth/stock simmer for 1-1/2 hours
After an hour and a half of gentle simmering shut the heat off
Let it cool
Strain it
Toss away the solids
Let the liquid cool to room temp
Then refrigerate overnight
In the morning the fats will have risen to the top
And solidified
Lift the fat off
Throw it away (or if you’re jewish, use it to cook)
Measure the liquid into 1 quart zip lock bags
And freeze if you can
Otherwise, squeeze air out, and refrigerate
Double bag if necessary
Try not to keep this more than 1 week if refrigerated
It keeps indefinitely if frozen
Reboil if necessary
Be mindful that stock is the perfect medium for attracting bacteria
So don’t leave it at room temp
Re-boil if in doubt
And, if there is the slightest hint of ‘sourness’ toss it
It’s fragile and susceptible
Otherwise it’s delicious
And it’s the basis of your soups
PUMPKIN SOUP FOR COMPANY
Serves 8
½ cup onion in a small dice
½ cup leeks in a small dice
1/3 cup carrot in a small dice
1/3 cup celery in a small dice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small pumpkin 1 to 1-1/2 pounds
roasted in a 400 degree oven
until it goes soft – 30 minutes
2 cups good chicken stock
2 cups water, at a boil (more as needed)
Sea Salt
Fresh ground pepper
Garnish:
Goat cheese & herbs, or
Gruyere and whipped cream, or
Olive oil & persillade or,
Foie gras on toast, or
Chicken liver spread on toast, or
A compliment of your own invention
Set the pumpkin to roast first on a baking sheet in a 375oF oven for about an hour, until it collapses. While the pumpkin roasts get everything in place, select a heavy casserole large enough to contain our soup, assemble ingredients and cut vegetables.
Prepare the vegetables in a small dice. Melt the butter in the casserole. When the butter is hot enough it foams, and usually the foam recedes. Add the mix of vegetables, and give it a pinch of salt. Put the cover in place securely so that no steam can escape. Turn the heat to low-ish and let the vegetables ‘sweat,’ or cook slowly 10-15 minutes. Check the pot from time to time to make sure that the vegetables aren’t browning. At the same time don’t work the pot lid so much that all the liquid evaporates, because without water collecting on the bottom of the pan you will burn the vegetables. If the whole process makes you nervous, add a half a cup or so of stock and let the vegetables cook in that.
Vegetables, particularly the fibrous ones, onion, leeks, and celery, need to be cooked through. Because onion is fiber, if it doesn’t break down by cooking, it becomes tough to digest, i.e. you make something indigestible. The best test of doneness is to taste. If the onions are sweet, have no resistance, no crunch, then you are ready to go on to the next step. Give a tiny pinch of salt and proceed to the pumpkin and lock in the flavor of the cooked mirepoix.
When the pumpkin has softened, cut it in half, peel the skin away, scoop out the seeds and discard them. Add the cooked pumpkin flesh to the base of the mirepoix. Add the chicken stock and the water, turn the heat up and bring it to a point where it almost boils; then turn it to a simmer and allow the flavor to steep for 5 minutes.
Liquefy the soup in a blender. Have more boiling water or stock on reserve so that you can thin the soup out as needed to achieve the texture of liquid heavy cream. Season the soup by batches. When the soup has been liquefied and flavored, return it to a clean bowl or pot and keep it warm.
Present the soup in a flat soup bowl. Add the garnish of choice directly into each bowl. Give a final grinding of pepper and serve the soup at once.
Select a red or white wine; the soup will love it. It’s meant to be festive, so it might be great for a holiday.
Things Italian
“What is your favorite shape of pasta?” my friend Marietta would ask her guests as she went around the room asking each person face to face. They would answer earnestly, and when she was done she’d turn back to the kitchen where her decision, already made, was boiling away in a big pasta pot. She would say to everyone, or no one, “Just because I asked you what your favorite shape was, doesn’t mean you’re going to get that. You’ll get the one I like.”
My experience with Italians and Italy is that they have a favorite pasta. They have a favorite everything which perhaps explains why or how their culture has survived longer than any other in Western Europe. Waverly Root wrote that “Italians have given longer continuous conscious intensive attention to the growing of food than anyone else in the Western world.”
I was once in a kitchen where the chef was busy preparing Italian food. The dishwasher, who came from Italy, was peeling potatoes. Without looking up, the chef asked, “Do you think this dish should get ground pepper?” The room went silent for a moment, then the potato peeled answered, “I do not know. My matha she does not do that.”
And so I have learned over time with things Italian that I have my own favorite shape of pasta. It evolved over years of eating pasta in Italy, and noodles in France. I have long since learned that they are not the same thing. Any noodle dish the French prepare will more than likely be delicious, but not Italian. I have only ever had one French noodle dish that I thought might qualify for consideration as Italian in spirit.
Tonight I stood in front of my stove at home. I was hungry and wanted something quick, which is to say I knew there were leftover delicious things in the frigo. I decided I would finish the last of a sauce we’d made earlier in the week of backyard tomatoes. They were not San Marzano tomatoes, but local, and the last of the season. They’d been turned into a sauce and flavored additionally with pancetta, dry porcini mushrooms, and little bits of zucchini. The flavor was sweet from the tomatoes, deep from the porcini, meaty from the pancetta, and had a nice lightness from the vegetables that allowed the olive oil they were all cooked in to participate in the panoply of flavor. Simple, clean, satisfying.
I looked in the cabinet to see what sort of pasta was available. Normally I only have my favorite, but I am to be forgiven if from time to time I allow other pasta shapes in the door. There are orechetti, which I Iove with rapini, flavored with chile flake, moistened with the water they cook in, and anointed with olive oil.
I keep penne, the smaller ones, at all times. For although they are not my favorite pasta, I nevertheless love them sauced with cream, or bechamel parma, Gruyere and cracked pepper; or with a fresh tomato sauce and olive oil.
Tonight however, I reached for a box with large tubes, a shape I don’t think I’ve ever purchased apart from the box sitting on my shelf. It is not a candidate for my favorite pasta, But there it is, and it is from Italy. Italy on the label always lends, if not credence, then an expectation that they will be flavorful and good. I cooked them in salted water for the prescribed time noted on the box. I put the sauce in a small saucepan that I’d set on top of the pan of pasta water to help it come to a boil. The sauce warmed simultaneously.
When the pasta was done, I drained it, put it into a chipped handmade flat bowl for pasta from Italy. It has a beautiful parmesan cream color which displays the pasta to perfection. I drizzled the tubes with olive that gave off its perfume as soon as it coated the naked pasta in the bowl. I spooned sauce over the top, grabbed a glass of wine and sat down, wondering what I had done by not selecting my favorite pasta.
I tasted each tube coated with a little of the delicious sauce and complimented perfectly by the wine. I enjoyed each bite. Half way through I started to measure the sauce if I was going to have enough for the last bit of pasta. I could see the excellent olive oil pooling at the bottom of the bowl, so knew that even if I failed in managing the sauce till the end, I would be compensated by the olive oil. I got reckless.
With each forkful I wondered how it would have tasted with my favorite pasta shape. I found the pasta too thick, too chewy, the shape too big. But it was nevertheless compelling coated lightly with that tomato sauce, or augmented by the chew and flavor of the earthy mushroom, or pancetta. Each bite was a revelation, and left a question; how would this have been with my favorite pasta? I was haunted to the end. That’s how it is when you are not faithful to your favorite.
Fundamentals of Pastry – Summer 2010
Based on Chef Robert Hammond’s view and experience of classic and contemporary American and European patisserie, students are introduced to the fundamental skills, concepts, and techniques used by pastry chefs today.
Special significance is placed on study of ingredient function, product identification, weights and measures as applied to baking.
Lectures, demonstrations and hands-on exercises with close instruction and supervision.
For the week-long course a sampling of the following subject areas will be covered:
[] Quick breads: include coffee cakes, muffins, scones, tea breads, biscuits and popovers.
[] Pastry dough: pie dough, pate brisee, pate sucee, pate sable, linzer dough, puff pastry, pate a choux, strudel and phyllo.
[] Cookies
[] Creams, custard and mousse
[] Souffle, meringues
[] Cake batters, iciings, fillings
[] Sauces
[] Selection and proper use and handling of chocolates used in baking and decorating
[] Sugar cooking basics
Each lesson will build on techniques and methods studied in the previous lessons.
Upon comletion, students should be able to prepare many of the basic pastry components that comprise the major building blocks of modern pastry.
For questions and information regarding dates for 1-week pastry courses in August, email: troufood@me.com
What I learned
As a teacher I’m good at breaking skills down into smaller and smaller pieces so that when people demonstrate to me what they know by what or how they do a task, I can see the logical next step.
My background is in early education, a magnificent endeavor bestowing gifts that last a lifetime. Since the subject became food I find myself thinking how to help people learn about expressions in English like, “Easy as pie.” I’m not sure why we sat it. It’s easy to make mediocre pies, not easy to make good ones. Pie crust should be a national treasure because the simple beauty of transforming flour, butter (I don’t use anything else) and water is magic.
Three ingredients. Five when you add a bit of salt to bring out the flavor of the butter, and acid to tenderize the protein in the flour. Nevertheless, each thing matters. The flour is governed by one principle: when mixed with water and given mechanical action, it produces gluten. Gluten gives strength to flour; something you want when you make bread, and absolutely do not want in crusts.
I’ve watched people struggle and have refined my responses accordingly, for example having them count the number of times they roll out the dough. No ingredient understands where you’re trying to take it; it only understands what you do to it. Roll it twenty times with forced intent, and you get a shingle every time.
Recipes often tell you to gather the flour, butter, water into a ball, and refrigerate it to rest before shaping it to fit a tart pan. Refrigeration firms up the butter, so you need to develop a strategy to get it soft enough to roll. After observing most people resorting to force, I learned to say, “Things turn out the way you make them.” Back away from the pastry bat ….
Flour doesn’t like to be handled when the result demands tenderness. Yet ingredients, particularly the fat, need to be cold. It’s why we add ice the water to the flour after the butter is worked in. Chilled fat either laminates, creating flaking crust, or coats the flour, creating a tender, melting crumb.
If I chill everything beforehand, then I can avoid having to refrigerate a dough later. Cold bowl and flour. The butter is supposed to be cold. I don’t have ice at the studio, so I go to my neighbor, Ken’s Pizza, for a few cubes.
When I use the food processor, I start with flour and a pinch of salt, pulse to loosen it and make it ready to meet the butter. I cut the butter into what I think of as thumb-sized pieces. I pulse to break the butter into smaller pieces, readying the butter to take on the flour.
If I leave the butter in pea-sized pieces, I can get the finished tart to laminate, having created layers of flour, butter and water. The water gives off steam while baking, leaving butter to fry the flour flaky. If I process the butter to sand, before adding water, I end up with a fine crumb.
I add a teaspoon of white wine vinegar to the iced water. There is an argument about whether the vinegar tenderizes the protein or not. I’m of the opinion that it does, so as a matter of belief, I do it. Sometimes intent wins out over science.
With the machine running, I add the water, a tablespoon at a time, until it is just short of gathering. I don’t want that ball to form, because as it rolls around the inside of the processor, and while it’s being worked, gluten develops.
I dust the counter with flour and dump the dough. Depending upon how it looks, whether the butter and flour seem completely incorporated or not, I may gather the dough into a cake, set it on it’s side, and press the top to re-flatten. I’m not kneading.
Now comes the key part. The dough, about an inch thick and as round as a saucer, submits to the rolling pin as I operate with the understanding that time is no longer my friend, I roll the soft dough away from me in one pass making it thin and also wide enough to fit the tart pan. Then I roll from the center toward me creating an oval as wide as the tart pan. So far I’ve only rolled once.
I turn the dough and repeat the same action, one roll away from me, another one toward me. Now with just two passes, I have a tart dough that will fit the tart pan and be tender beyond belief. The dough fits into the tart pan, is trimmed, allowed to rest and firm up before baking. If you don’t win the church bake-off doing this, I’ll be surprised. That took 40 years.
* * * * * * * * * *
MARCH TO MID MAY - DAY TIME AND EVENING CLASSES
Come during the day (9AM to 3PM) for any number of days you’d like. We have plenty of time to examine food in greater depth than an evening course. It’s great for people working in restaurants but who may not have formal training. The approach leads to independent thinking, and insight into the bigger picture of food and cooking. It’s also great training for people changing careers, and for people who want to learn about food and bring their skills home. $50 for 1 day – $95 per day subsequently.
Fridays I save a seat for candidates interested in the more formal 8-week course to spend the day with us from 9 till 3. $50 fee would apply to any future classes; talk to me about availability and details.
EVENING CLASSES – 6 to 9PM Monday through Thursday. They all begin with a snack, and end with a meal. Sandwiched in between is hands-on learning (except Tuesday classes which are demonstration classes).
MONDAY EVENINGS - THE SPIRIT OF THE KITCHEN
Monday evenings are specially designed for people who work in disciplines where an understanding of food might help inspire new ways of thinking and improve performance. We think of designers, architects, planners, people who build, who garden—but the list is close to endless.
Come see and experience one actual session at no charge.
This special Monday 4-part series focuses on technique, discipline, and application of theory on how French and Italian cooking sits on a solid foundation that serves cooks, both professional and amateur. Step into the thinking that fuels the design of the cooking space and animates the spirit of cooking. $75 per session (willing to trade some tuition).
TUESDAY EVENINGS (March and April)
4 INGREDIENTS – demonstration classes in which we explain how 4 ingredients can easily produce simple, perfect food. Simple cooking. $30 per session.
WEDNESDAY EVENINGS (Single sessions or 6-part series)
MENU COMPOSITION classes help intermediate cooks focus on how to develop recipes into harmonious menus. $75 per session.
SATURDAY COOK (Special March and April classes)
2- hour demonstration class based on ingredients found at the Farmers’ Market.
4 recipes, 4 ingredients.
Lunch included. $30 per session.
The Chef Studio designs classes for cooks with skills ranging between beginning and advanced. The aim is to give information that will serve you in your daily life. We never go after the next new thing or trend. You’ll never see us do Mexican cooking one time, Indonesian the next. We don’t want you to just come back for more classes, but rather to keep a conversation going because we provided you with knowledge that connects the dots between food and how it is engaged with what you are interested in. We help build real and tangible understanding. We educate.
FRANCE IN THE FALL
Cook everyday, learn the markets, suppliers, and get a feel for what real France is from the inside out.
The egg & a conversation with God
The egg is another design they’ve improved on. When they make an omelet, for example, they start by heating a nugget of butter in a skillet. When it’s hot they pour in the appropriate number of eggs, beaten in a bowl with a fork, and then they wait. Twenty seconds or so may pass with the eggs heating in the skillet, forming a skin (not a crust) on the bottom, before the next move is made.
The French have a special relation to time that allows them to stand cool in front of a skillet on a flame and to not do anything. They are nervous people, but not nervous cooks. Personally, I think their sense of time is shaped by how they count. They go one to twelve, the way we do, but after that things differ. Thirteen becomes ten-three; fourteen becomes ten-four, and so on. When you count from sixty to seventy, you repeat the phenomenon – 71 becomes 60-eleven. Eighty becomes more time warpy as we watch how 81 becomes 4-twenty-1, and 91 becomes 4-twenty-eleven, but 97 inflates to 4-twenty-10-7.
What it means to the speaker and listener, is that they have to suspend time, and learn to hesitate.
97 seven is
4 ….wait
twenty…wait
ten…wait
seven …. Go!
I’m not sure something equivalent happens in other languages.
I believe the ability to wait in front of a skillet of beaten eggs, heating in warmed butter, without becoming flummoxed, derives from French numerizing.
Heat butter in skillet, wait till it warms
Beat eggs in bowl, have ready
Pour eggs into warm skillet/butter
Wait 20 to 30 seconds (don’t count to 97 however)
Shake the skillet back and forth over the flame
Watch the curds
Which formed on the bottom
Move to the top
Making room for more liquid to go to the bottom of the skillet
And ….make more curd
Keep doing that until there is still some liquid egg left
Then slip the omelet onto a plate
With a deft turn of hand that allows it to roll
Lookit that; or as you’d say if you were French: Voila.
You’ll have a lovely omelet
I never mentioned
Seasoning, i.e. salt
Pepper
The filling you might decide to put inside the pre-rolled omelet.
There is nothing on earth like an omelet made by the French.
My friend’s daughter has a Salon de The, a kind of lunch place. She will take a simple egg still in the shell and cook it a few minutes in boiling water. It’s perfect when the white firms nicely, and the yolk remains runny. She decapitates the egg, creating a hole large enough for a demi tasse spoon to fit inside. The egg is served in a little egg cup, and is garnished with a simple slice of baguette, spread with a mixture of butter and Roquefort. The slice of bread is then cut into three finger thick slices. Salt and pepper come on the side; the eater makes those decisions.
The Eater (like the Maker) seasons the egg to taste, then inserts a finger of Roquefort bread into the center of the egg in its shell. When removed the finger of cheese bread, coated with rich yolk, goes directly into the Eater’s mouth. No one has ever figured out greater pleasures from an egg.
My all time favorite egg is one that should inspire some young person to start a food cart, and to sell as street food in Portland. The egg is decapitated first. The entire contents are then dumped into the cook’s hands, while the cook allows the whites to slip through the fingers into a bowl, and to be used in some other way. The yolk is then slipped carefully back into the decapitated egg. Salt, pepper, chives, and quatre epices are added for seasoning and flavor.
The egg, with only its yolk, is set into a pan of simmering water. The shell floats because they are bottom heavy. The bobbing shells remind me of a boat that characters in a Beatrix Potter-like children’s book might use to navigate a harrowing escape on a cartoon river. I’m always amused as I set them hollow shells bobbing in the saucepan.
They float only long enough for the whites left clinging to the yolk to warm and coagulate. It’s heated, but not really cooked. When you look inside the opening of the shell you can tell the white has coagulated.
A small amount of heavy cream, whipped to soft peaks, replaces the useless white. The egg, nested in an egg cup, is served at once to a waiting Eater, along with a demi tasse spoon. The trick is for the Eater to spin the spoon inside the shell, only three or four times, and much to the Eater’s surprise, they will have created a warm mousse. If over worked, over mixed, the whole magic moment collapses. The Eater spoons cream, eggs, salt and peppered egg flavored with spice and herb. Usually their eyes glaze over as they surrender to the egg. I see a food cart.
The Chef Studio
