Mission: Cook! (19 page)

O
KAY…FAT. CONTROVERSIAL? YES. INDISPENSABLE? UNQUESTIONABLY
. More has been written attacking and defending fat in foods and cooking than any one person could read in a lifetime. But the lipid is a brilliant little molecule in all of its forms and functions, and I say this with little fear of contradiction from other food professionals: fat is flavor. The role of fat in really good cooking is wide reaching and profound. The body reacts to the presence of fat in some wonderful ways. It aids the digestion and the absorption of essential vitamins. A little bit can give you a sense of fullness. But if fat is your idea of a culinary bad guy, I would refer you to the injunction of Michael Corleone in
The Godfather:
“Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.”

Fat is one of the best friends you will ever have in your quest for maximum flavor. As a medium for binding, blossoming, and imparting flavor, it has no equal, save perhaps salt. The glory of the roast; the beauty of browning, sautéing, and searing; the creation of the perfect
fond;
the glisten and sheen of incredible stews and sauces; the exquisite flavor of well-roasted root vegetables cooked in goose fat; duck confit; the hamburger, guacamolé, gravies, sausages, pâtés, cookies, doughnuts, cakes, puddings, creamed
anything,
fried
anything,
even a nice bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, for goodness' sake; they are all
lost
without the incorporation and skillful control of a source of fat. Cherish fat, celebrate it, but do not abuse its favors.

To
make the glaze, in a small saucepan, combine the syrup, vinegar, orange juice, garlic, and mustard over medium heat. Reduce by half to intensify the flavors and to thicken, and let cool.

Heat the grill. Season the pork chops with salt and pepper. Grill for 5 minutes on each side. Whilst cooking, brush the glaze on the pork chops.

To make the hash, in a sauté pan, melt the butter and sauté the onions until tender. Add the potatoes and sauté for a few minutes. Add the stock. Simmer until the potatoes are tender. Season with salt and pepper. Fold in the oregano, scallions, and bacon.

PRESENTATION

Place the potatoes in the middle of each plate and place a pork chop over the potatoes. Drizzle balsamic glaze over the chops.

O
LFACTION IS A FUNNY WORD, BUT IT DESCRIBES OUR ABILITY TO TAKE IN
and savor the delectable smells associated with food whilst it is being prepared, during the time we are eating it, and in our memories long after. Our sense of smell goes beyond the mere physical process. You have probably heard of the classroom experiment wherein the test subject is blindfolded and given an apple slice to smell as he hungrily bites into a slice of raw onion. The olfactory sense can be temporarily baffled, but in the big picture it is one of the biggest appreciators of good food. The use of aromatics in cooking is foundational. The infusion of fresh aromatic herbs and spices into stocks and sauces, rubs and broths, is near and dear to the heart of any chef. Aroma can be the entire marketing strategy of a good bakery.

I was working on a dinner for Her Majesty, the Queen, and the bill of fare included a rolled Dover sole and a chicken main course. This was at Royal Navel Air Station (RNAS) Culdrose when the Prince of Wales was in residence, and his mother had decided to pay him a visit. I was working directly with Petty Officer Cook “Taffy” Jones, a Welsh guy. I was still a kid, wet behind the ears, and had a healthy respect for a man like him, who obviously knew his way around a kitchen, had a healthy appetite for drink (after hours), was in possession of a fiery Welsh temper, and had easy access to sharp implements. I liked to see him happy.

We had prepped all day, and gotten well ahead of ourselves. Nearly five hours to the seven p.m. dinner, and all that we had left to do was to fillet the fish. My final assignment was simple: to take the bones and skin and add them to the fish stock simmering on the stove. I did so and settled in the back for a leisurely cup of coffee.

I remember it being so peaceful and quiet that I might have nodded off if a great shadow hadn't suddenly descended over me. There stood Taffy, towering, muscles bunched, breathing heavily, eyes filled with a murderous rage. I could read in an instant his desire to bludgeon me to death. I scrambled to my feet, eager to at least double the distance, the critical killing zone, between us. In the loudest possible terms, casting vile aspersions on my intelligence, ancestry, and very Christian soul (which I will respectfully keep out of print for the fainthearted), he chased me back to the stoves to show me what I had done to so incur this deadly wrath. I peered into the pot he indicated, and realized immediately what had set him off. Tragically, foolishly, I had inadvertently dumped my
fish
remnants into the pot where had simmered his meticulously constructed
chicken
stock. It was ruined.

In an earlier, less civilized age, the lash would have fallen. The good old man managed to choke out instructions to me to re-create his chicken stock. With just over four hours left ‘til dinner, I had to scramble to get a fresh stock together, but managed it without further incident and in the nick of time. I might like to say at this juncture that I believed that the stock I made was superior even to his, but that might smack of overconfidence, which is probably what got me into trouble in the first place. Not a word was spoken between us for the rest of service and cleanup that night. The silence was deafening.

Before reporting for duty the next day, I took the sensible precaution of downing three beers in rapid succession to steel myself for the abuse that lay ahead. Once inside, I approached Mr. Jones humbly and apologized for my actions of the previous day. To my surprise, he was now in an avuncular mood, the new day having dawned. He addressed me in a kind and soothing voice. Placid and in control, he now appeared every inch the statesman and mentor, a Socrates to my Aristotle.

"Did you
learn
anything from what happened yesterday?” he said. The words “my child” were implied in his tone.

In a rare victory of my mind over my mouth, I suppressed the wise-guy reply "Not really,” and instead gave the correct response: “I've got to watch what I'm doing.”

"Right. Good. Now go and make me another stock.” Go in peace.

I wandered off to do so, gently thanking whatever gods of yeast, hops, and grain had soothed his angry heart the previous night, and took this valuable lesson with me, which has served me well in the kitchen ever since: Follow your nose.

I
KNOW SOMEONE WHO CAN WAX POETIC ABOUT MICROCLIMATES AND THE
cultivational requirements of each herb. The eastern exposure in her yard allows her to grow copious amounts of thyme, oregano, sage, and mint. She came up with an inventive idea to have a co-op of sorts with her neighbors, who trade for her herbs with the bergamot and chamomile growing in their southwestern exposure and which she loves to have handy for brewing tea. Rinse a handful of herbs and toss them into your roasting pan to fill your kitchen with an incredible olfactory treat. Fresh herbs, ideally just picked from your garden, are among my favorite primary ingredients. I especially love to use infusions of fresh herbs, as in the following recipe for Lemon Thyme—Infused Chicken.

PREPARATION AND COOKING TIME (ESTIMATES)

To
make the chicken, take the sprigs of fresh thyme and, with your fingers, strip the leaves from each sprig into a mixing bowl, dropping the stems of the thyme into the bowl as well. Add half of the olive oil, the lime juice, and the salt and pepper, and mix together. Pour over the chicken and let marinate refrigerated for 4 hours.

Before embarking on the actual cooking of the chicken, bring two pots of salted water to a boil to begin cooking the salad ingredients. Mix the dressing for the salad, and then proceed with the cooking of the chicken. See the instructions on making the salad.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Heat the remaining olive oil in a nonstick oven-safe pan. Remove the marinated chicken to the heated pan (make sure you remove the thyme stems) and over medium-high heat, cook for 3 to 4 minutes per side until golden brown, and transfer the pan (covered with a lid or foil) to the oven until the chicken reaches an internal temperature of 160 degrees. Remember to use an oven mitt when removing the pan from the oven, since the handle will be hot.

To make the salad, bring two medium pots of salted water to a boil. Add the potatoes to one pot and cook for 15 to 20 minutes. Simultaneously, cook the asparagus and leeks in the other saucepan for 3 to 5 minutes.

To make the salad dressing, whisk the mustards with the vinegar in a large bowl. Then, whisking constantly, pour the oil into the bowl in a thin stream until the ingredients are integrated. Season with salt and pepper and briefly set aside.

Drain the potatoes as well as the asparagus and leeks and pat dry whilst still hot; add to the dressing. Add half of the chives, then season with salt and pepper. (Remember, this salad is served warm.)

PRESENTATION

Place the warm potato salad in the center of each plate with the breast of chicken on top, and sprinkle with the remaining chopped chives.

T
ASTE MEMORY IS VERY, VERY STRONG IN HUMANS. THOUGH I HAVE NEVER
managed the time to read it, I understand that the central conceit of Marcel Proust's epic work
Remembrance of Things Past
is a magnificent series of reveries and recollections that are triggered by a cup of tea and a bite of a petite madeleine pastry. I cannot count the number of times a mother's cherished recipe for meat loaf has been described to me in hopes that I can recapture, if just for the span of a dinnertime, feelings and memories from a long-past childhood. I clearly recall one time when I managed to so accurately re-create a green bean dish that a female patron's mother used to make, that it caused her to burst into tears. Our sense of smell can seemingly imprint flavors straight into our neural network, and a deep, resonant response to the flavors of food is in our genes.

I think that is part of the reason that Italians have such a deep emotional attachment to food and to life in the kitchen: it lies in the tradition of passing recipes from grandmother to mother to son or daughter. In Italian culture, food is fresh and flavorful enough to begin with, but the flavors are reinforced by the nurturance and emotional connection that comes from being integrally involved in the preparation and serving of the family meal from the earliest ages. When the smell of Mamma's red gravy permeates the house, it's not just the fragrance of tomatoes in every room, it's love. When creating new dishes and recipes, I rely a lot on memories of flavor. My mother used to make a carrot and rutabaga smash with lots of butter and fresh ground pepper, and I need only close my eyes and think for a moment to almost taste it. Your taste buds are amazing processing devices, and they store their information in a very real and immediate way that is accessible to you when you are cooking, with just a little concentration and imagination.