Here's one. I don't believe in preheating the oven. I'm against it. I think it's maybe the biggest lie that civilization has ever told. I'm convinced it's a conspiracy, a disinformation campaign cooked up by Gazprom to get us to put pressure on Ukraine. I don't believe it's necessary -- unless I were, say, baking a soufflé, which I'll never do. So here's my question: Is preheating the oven like the spreading of poison ivy when you scratch it, a lie that ninety-nine percent of the oven-owning/poison-ivy-encountering world believes to be true?
J., Saugerties, NY
Dear J,
Perhaps you’re right. I’m told that in the huge prison complexes the clandestine arm of the government is building up along the US/Mexican border (you know, where the squadrons of Chinese Army tanks are on maneuver), in the compound where the black helicopters are parked, and in the labs where the CIA is right now cooking up new street drugs to introduce to, and destroy, the American populace, they don’t preheat their ovens.
But here in Mayberry, we generally do preheat our ovens, and I’ll tell you why. When you bake something, roast something, what-have-you, you’re depending on there being a sort of assault on the food by the heat. In defense, the food does cool things like turn a nice color brown, become flaky, crisp, succulent, etc. You don’t get that if you start with the food in a cold oven. Instead, the food kind of acclimates to the heat and doesn’t have the fight-or-flight response that works its magic. Think of sautéing something, like a nice piece of beef such as I’m thinking of sautéing for dinner tonight. Creating that beautiful sear is dependent on that pan being hot. If I put the meat in a cold pan, turned on the heat, and waited, I would not get that beautiful sear. And by the time I got anything even close to a beautiful sear, the meat would be overdone and ruined. The oven is the same principle.
But, on the other hand, I like my baked potatoes so they’re crisp on the outside and almost a liquid on the inside. I.e., I like to cook the hell out of them. If I throw them in a cold oven, and crank the heat up, that does go a little further towards their hell being cooked out.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
In this entry: cooking eggs; the glory of salt; sesame oil; knives; and vegetarian cooking
I suck at anything other than scrambling and hard cooking. Soft boiled eggs always turn out hard cooked or not really cooked at all. Poaching is impossible. Fried eggs are always over done, even if I don't break the yolk. Am I egg-retarded or are there some tricks?
J.O., Brooklyn
Are there tricks? Oh, man—a thousand of them. And—probably predictably—everyone seems to think his or her egg-cooking methodology is the only way to do it. Cooking eggs is simple, which as I’ve learned at school, usually translates from any language into “pretty difficult.” Fernand Point, a restaurateur and gastronomic philosopher who died of excess when he was 58, used frying an egg as a test to see how competent a cook someone was. Daniel Boulud has people make an omelette. How do they do it? In Point’s case, butter was melted in a pan over very low heat, and not allowed to sizzle. More butter was melted in another pan. An egg was cracked into a saucer, and very gently slid into the first pan. The egg then sat there, slowly cooking and solidifying until the whites turned creamy. The butter in the second pan is then seasoned with salt and pepper and poured over the yolk of the egg at the last second. Point, who was, putting it charitably, a pretty big guy, would let loose a storm of shouts and curses if you deviated from doing it this way.
I was given a copy of Point’s book, Ma Gastronomie, for Christmas, and I decided to try his method the other day. Let’s just say it took a while. And being completely honest, let’s just say that I was getting hungry, grew impatient, turned the heat up, grabbed a spatula, and flipped the egg over to finish cooking. The weather was very cold and really blustery outside; perhaps Point was railing at me from the great beyond.
So, sure—this sounds like a pretty fussy, ridiculous way to do something that should—on the surface—be effortless. But there is some sound reasoning behind it all. Why do eggs that are cooked over high heat, or for too long, have a tough, nasty texture? When an egg hits a heated pan, the heat rends the protein strands apart and makes them form new strands that are solid and a different color (i.e., white). The higher the heat, the more violent the rending and mending, and the tougher the texture. So low heat gives the best results. At least this is my understanding.
What about poaching? It works on the same principle. You don’t want the water at a roiling boil when you drop eggs into it. Of course, poaching eggs is another one of those topics that takes in a million different opinions and techniques. How hot should the water be? Should there be vinegar in the water? Do you create a current by swirling the water in a certain direction? Who can say? But what I do know is that the way I was taught in class brings me consistently good results.
Bring a large pot of water to around 180, 190 degrees. It should not be bubbling, but should look like someday, not too far in the future, it might be on the verge. Add around a tablespoon of vinegar. Break the eggs into a cup and pour them—one at a time—into the water. Avoid the temptation to start playing with them. Let the egg cook for three or four minutes—remember: no boiling—and take it out.
The bottom line: eggs take a lot less time than you think they will. When frying an egg, keep the heat low (maybe not Point low) and when the egg has turned solid and is fluttering in the pan, gently flip it over, take the pan off the heat, and let it sit for 20 seconds. You should be in good shape at that point.
What's the best to buy in terms of knives?
Numerous questioners
Buying knives is probably like buying a car. Do you want the solid European model? The lighter, more compact Japanese model? The clunky American model? I kid, of course. But then again, not really. I know I’m just opening myself up for abuse here, but it does seem as if Germany and Japan have the market cornered. And that market seems to come down to Wusthof and Global, respectively.
On the second day of school at the CIA, we were handed a heavy knife roll filled with 7 Wusthofs. In classes, I’ve used all of them; I use the 8-inch chef’s knife every day; the paring knife, too; for butchering fish, the flexible boning knife was indespensible, etc. etc.. But at home, all I ever use is the chef’s knife and once in a while, the paring knife. I made a ricotta tart on New Year’s Eve, for which I used the Samurai-sized slicing knife when it came to cutting time, but it wasn’t strictly necessary. And I must admit, having a good serrated bread knife has come in handy once in a while.
But most professionals will tell you that the chef’s knife and the paring knife are really the only truly essential knives you’ll need. When I’m cooking at home, I find myself in agreement. That said, I also find myself coveting the santoku vegetable knives some of my peers use; they’re really light and easier to maneuver than the heavy German knives. That said again, my vegetables get cut just fine with the Wusthof. Oh, and obviously: don’t buy one of those blocks full of knives from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Spend a little more and get what you’ll need. A good chef’s knife will probably cost you $80 on up. Don’t scrimp, though—you’ll have a good knife for a long, long time.
As for German vs. Japanese, I’m comfortable with the Wusthofs I’ve been using, but I did get my Dad a trio of Globals as a Christmas gift, and I had a lot of fun taking them for a test drive. I strong-armed him into buying a relatively inexpensive Japanese water stone (around $35) to sharpen them, which is what’s ultimately going to make any knife purchase worth it. You need one of these things, and a quick search on YouTube will show you how to use it. And you’ll need a steel, too.
I've come to notice toasted sesame oil seems not good for frying (loses its taste and maybe even turns a little sour or metallic). It seems best added at the end of a dish for flavor. Is this true?
C.H., NYC
In a word: yes. Yes, it’s true. Really aromatic oils like sesame, or, for instance, some kinds of peanut oil, are meant for flavoring purposes. When they get heated up, the aromatics break down and you get those nasty flavors that can ruin whatever you’re using to cook. Add sesame oil right at end of the cooking process, and add it sparingly.
Do you add salt to boiling water to make it hotter? Always? Sometimes? Never? Does it matter?
Also C.H., NYC
No. If water’s boiling, that’s about as hot as it’s going to get. I have learned that salt raises water’s boiling point, but only by a degree or so—nothing that’s going to really make too much of a difference. At the CIA, we salt most water, not to affect the temperature but for flavor. Foods boiled or blanched in salty water (green beans, broccoli, pasta, whatever) will taste as if they’ve been seasoned already, and have a mellower taste than if you just sprinkle them with salt.
Only you know how big your pots are, so you’ll have to do a little experimenting. Add enough salt to the water so that when you taste it (and, yeah, odd as it seems, you should go ahead and taste) it tastes oceanic. Oh—I’ve created some weird divots in some of my cheaper pots at home by adding the salt before it boils. It seems to have a corroding effect. I don’t know why this is, but I have heard of other people’s similar experiences.
What are some good ways to add flavor to vegetarian dishes?
J.S., NYC
That’s pretty broad, but two words come immediately to mind: salt is one. Stock is the other.
Unless your heart is close to beating its last, or your blood pressure is just stratospheric, you probably don’t need to worry about salt intake. So go ahead and use it. Just try an experiment: the next time you have a dish you’ve cooked that tastes kind of bland, sprinkle a little kosher or sea salt over it. I bet you a shiny nickel you’ll notice the difference in a big way. Take that lesson to heart (no pun intended). Use salt when you cook. Notice the “when” part of that sentence. Use the salt while you’re doing the actual cooking; you’ll probably use less and get better, more dramatic, overall results.
And about stock: On one night in a class, we were doing some vegetarian cooking. My team was making risotto. Every risotto I’ve ever made has used chicken stock, but since we were cooking for that strange, non-meat eating variety of person, chicken stock was out. But the results we got from using vegetable stock were pretty astounding: I was hard pressed to believe how good it tasted. And all credit goes to the stock. The stock and the parmesan, probably, but the vegetable stock was definitely the evening’s MVP.
You’ll want a gallon of water and 3 pounds of non-starchy vegetables (no potatoes, in other words). The night we made it was the last night before a long weekend, and the refrigerators needed to be emptied. We were tossing everything we could get our hands on in the stock: cabbage, parsnips, parsley, turnips, rutabaga, mushrooms, etc. And the classic trio for any stock: onions, carrots, and celery. Bring it all to a boil, drop it to a simmer, and let it go for an hour. When it tastes good and strong (but might not taste tremendously appealing on its own), strain it. Use it for a risotto, or in a vegetable stir-fry, or as a substitute any time a recipe calls for a broth or stock.
J.O., Brooklyn
Are there tricks? Oh, man—a thousand of them. And—probably predictably—everyone seems to think his or her egg-cooking methodology is the only way to do it. Cooking eggs is simple, which as I’ve learned at school, usually translates from any language into “pretty difficult.” Fernand Point, a restaurateur and gastronomic philosopher who died of excess when he was 58, used frying an egg as a test to see how competent a cook someone was. Daniel Boulud has people make an omelette. How do they do it? In Point’s case, butter was melted in a pan over very low heat, and not allowed to sizzle. More butter was melted in another pan. An egg was cracked into a saucer, and very gently slid into the first pan. The egg then sat there, slowly cooking and solidifying until the whites turned creamy. The butter in the second pan is then seasoned with salt and pepper and poured over the yolk of the egg at the last second. Point, who was, putting it charitably, a pretty big guy, would let loose a storm of shouts and curses if you deviated from doing it this way.
I was given a copy of Point’s book, Ma Gastronomie, for Christmas, and I decided to try his method the other day. Let’s just say it took a while. And being completely honest, let’s just say that I was getting hungry, grew impatient, turned the heat up, grabbed a spatula, and flipped the egg over to finish cooking. The weather was very cold and really blustery outside; perhaps Point was railing at me from the great beyond.
So, sure—this sounds like a pretty fussy, ridiculous way to do something that should—on the surface—be effortless. But there is some sound reasoning behind it all. Why do eggs that are cooked over high heat, or for too long, have a tough, nasty texture? When an egg hits a heated pan, the heat rends the protein strands apart and makes them form new strands that are solid and a different color (i.e., white). The higher the heat, the more violent the rending and mending, and the tougher the texture. So low heat gives the best results. At least this is my understanding.
What about poaching? It works on the same principle. You don’t want the water at a roiling boil when you drop eggs into it. Of course, poaching eggs is another one of those topics that takes in a million different opinions and techniques. How hot should the water be? Should there be vinegar in the water? Do you create a current by swirling the water in a certain direction? Who can say? But what I do know is that the way I was taught in class brings me consistently good results.
Bring a large pot of water to around 180, 190 degrees. It should not be bubbling, but should look like someday, not too far in the future, it might be on the verge. Add around a tablespoon of vinegar. Break the eggs into a cup and pour them—one at a time—into the water. Avoid the temptation to start playing with them. Let the egg cook for three or four minutes—remember: no boiling—and take it out.
The bottom line: eggs take a lot less time than you think they will. When frying an egg, keep the heat low (maybe not Point low) and when the egg has turned solid and is fluttering in the pan, gently flip it over, take the pan off the heat, and let it sit for 20 seconds. You should be in good shape at that point.
What's the best to buy in terms of knives?
Numerous questioners
Buying knives is probably like buying a car. Do you want the solid European model? The lighter, more compact Japanese model? The clunky American model? I kid, of course. But then again, not really. I know I’m just opening myself up for abuse here, but it does seem as if Germany and Japan have the market cornered. And that market seems to come down to Wusthof and Global, respectively.
On the second day of school at the CIA, we were handed a heavy knife roll filled with 7 Wusthofs. In classes, I’ve used all of them; I use the 8-inch chef’s knife every day; the paring knife, too; for butchering fish, the flexible boning knife was indespensible, etc. etc.. But at home, all I ever use is the chef’s knife and once in a while, the paring knife. I made a ricotta tart on New Year’s Eve, for which I used the Samurai-sized slicing knife when it came to cutting time, but it wasn’t strictly necessary. And I must admit, having a good serrated bread knife has come in handy once in a while.
But most professionals will tell you that the chef’s knife and the paring knife are really the only truly essential knives you’ll need. When I’m cooking at home, I find myself in agreement. That said, I also find myself coveting the santoku vegetable knives some of my peers use; they’re really light and easier to maneuver than the heavy German knives. That said again, my vegetables get cut just fine with the Wusthof. Oh, and obviously: don’t buy one of those blocks full of knives from Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Spend a little more and get what you’ll need. A good chef’s knife will probably cost you $80 on up. Don’t scrimp, though—you’ll have a good knife for a long, long time.
As for German vs. Japanese, I’m comfortable with the Wusthofs I’ve been using, but I did get my Dad a trio of Globals as a Christmas gift, and I had a lot of fun taking them for a test drive. I strong-armed him into buying a relatively inexpensive Japanese water stone (around $35) to sharpen them, which is what’s ultimately going to make any knife purchase worth it. You need one of these things, and a quick search on YouTube will show you how to use it. And you’ll need a steel, too.
I've come to notice toasted sesame oil seems not good for frying (loses its taste and maybe even turns a little sour or metallic). It seems best added at the end of a dish for flavor. Is this true?
C.H., NYC
In a word: yes. Yes, it’s true. Really aromatic oils like sesame, or, for instance, some kinds of peanut oil, are meant for flavoring purposes. When they get heated up, the aromatics break down and you get those nasty flavors that can ruin whatever you’re using to cook. Add sesame oil right at end of the cooking process, and add it sparingly.
Do you add salt to boiling water to make it hotter? Always? Sometimes? Never? Does it matter?
Also C.H., NYC
No. If water’s boiling, that’s about as hot as it’s going to get. I have learned that salt raises water’s boiling point, but only by a degree or so—nothing that’s going to really make too much of a difference. At the CIA, we salt most water, not to affect the temperature but for flavor. Foods boiled or blanched in salty water (green beans, broccoli, pasta, whatever) will taste as if they’ve been seasoned already, and have a mellower taste than if you just sprinkle them with salt.
Only you know how big your pots are, so you’ll have to do a little experimenting. Add enough salt to the water so that when you taste it (and, yeah, odd as it seems, you should go ahead and taste) it tastes oceanic. Oh—I’ve created some weird divots in some of my cheaper pots at home by adding the salt before it boils. It seems to have a corroding effect. I don’t know why this is, but I have heard of other people’s similar experiences.
What are some good ways to add flavor to vegetarian dishes?
J.S., NYC
That’s pretty broad, but two words come immediately to mind: salt is one. Stock is the other.
Unless your heart is close to beating its last, or your blood pressure is just stratospheric, you probably don’t need to worry about salt intake. So go ahead and use it. Just try an experiment: the next time you have a dish you’ve cooked that tastes kind of bland, sprinkle a little kosher or sea salt over it. I bet you a shiny nickel you’ll notice the difference in a big way. Take that lesson to heart (no pun intended). Use salt when you cook. Notice the “when” part of that sentence. Use the salt while you’re doing the actual cooking; you’ll probably use less and get better, more dramatic, overall results.
And about stock: On one night in a class, we were doing some vegetarian cooking. My team was making risotto. Every risotto I’ve ever made has used chicken stock, but since we were cooking for that strange, non-meat eating variety of person, chicken stock was out. But the results we got from using vegetable stock were pretty astounding: I was hard pressed to believe how good it tasted. And all credit goes to the stock. The stock and the parmesan, probably, but the vegetable stock was definitely the evening’s MVP.
You’ll want a gallon of water and 3 pounds of non-starchy vegetables (no potatoes, in other words). The night we made it was the last night before a long weekend, and the refrigerators needed to be emptied. We were tossing everything we could get our hands on in the stock: cabbage, parsnips, parsley, turnips, rutabaga, mushrooms, etc. And the classic trio for any stock: onions, carrots, and celery. Bring it all to a boil, drop it to a simmer, and let it go for an hour. When it tastes good and strong (but might not taste tremendously appealing on its own), strain it. Use it for a risotto, or in a vegetable stir-fry, or as a substitute any time a recipe calls for a broth or stock.
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