Foodbuzz 24×24: Molecular Gastronomy 69th Birthday

Molecular Gastronomy. It’s one of the most hotly-debated concepts in modern cuisine. The term was originated in the early 1990’s by an enterprising group of scientists who were looking for a name for a series of conferences they held in Erice, Italy commingling the culinary and scientific disciplines. It has taken on a life all its own in the last twenty years, inspiring a new breed of chefs like Wylie Dufresne and Ferran Adrià to constantly push the (gelatin) envelope. The actual definition of molecular gastronomy is somewhat ephemeral. One could argue that all of gastronomy is molecular since most great chefs understand that cooking is based on science. There are buzzwords like “foam,”  “air,” “spherification” and the like. These words have been maligned by members of a more rustic culinary community, instead proffering scathing alternatives such as “skid marks,”  “smegma,” and “space food.” In fact, even great proponents (Adria, Blumenthal) of the movement have begun to distance themselves from the term “molecular gastronomy” to describe their style. I have combed over the stunning website for soon-to-be-released culinary bible Modernist Cuisine, and can find no mention of molecular gastronomy, despite the fact that these guys (Nathan Myrhvold spearheading the efforts) couldn’t be truer molecular gastronomists given their scientific credentials, space-age kitchen/laboratory and propensity toward cooking with centrifuges. Not even Wylie Dufresne of WD50 considers himself a molecular gastronomist, despite his restaurant being one of the most-famed in the nation as a shining example of the trend. Dufresne recently defended foam and ripped farm-to-table a new arse-hole in this little diatribe; it was a shot heard round the culinary world!

By virtue of the fact that I’m writing so lustily on the subject, you can probably ascertain that I harbor no ill-will toward molecular gastronomy. I’m no accomplished practitioner, but I believe in experimenting with anything that will make me a better cook. I’m not going to hate a movement on principle just because it diverges from the way I’ve existed previously. My iPhone and I are joined at the ear, and I check my email countless times a day despite the fact that the first twenty years of my life were spent unaware of such conveniences. In addition to checking my email, I spent an hour composing and mailing hand-written cards today. Using that logic I think there’s room in the kitchen for hand-rolled pasta (which I make regularly) and sous vide quail eggs (a trend which many consider to be firmly ensconced in the realm of molecular gastronomy).  If you hate it because you’ve tried it and you don’t like it, fine, but if you hate it because you didn’t learn it from your Nonna, you’d better toss out your Kitchenaid, pasta machine, blender, coffee-maker and food processor, because the hypocrisy police are comin’ a knockin’. Even if the smoke and mirrors get relegated to this bygone chapter of culinary history, the fact will remain: the true legacy of molecular gastronomy is that it has encouraged cooks and chefs around the world to understand that cooking is, in fact, a science. I could take that a step farther and liken the anti-gastronomists to creationists unwilling to accept evolution to really make my point, but then, there’s no reason to get nasty.

I have had a fair bit of exposure to sous vide cooking in the past year; in fact Sous Vide Supreme recently made me their Blog Ambassador (that title is almost as hokey as the recent Czar trend cropping up left and right, I know, forgive me).  On a recent trip to Los Angeles, I had the kegel-clenching pleasure of eating at Jose Andres’, The Bazaar. It was there that I developed an unquenchable longing to add the spherification notch to my belt. The barrier to entry on a molecular gastronomy chemical and tool kit isn’t exactly cheap, so I considered it cosmic intervention when I got an email from Foodbuzz requesting submissions for their monthly 24×24 posts. The day of the post, September 4^th, aligned perfectly with my mother’s 69^th birthday dinner, and I’d already had visions of making her a feast beyond her wildest imaginings. Along with proposal acceptance comes $250 to spend creating the meal, so that is how I was able to justify purchasing some great tools, hydrocolloids and food with which to prepare the meal for my mama. The especially great thing about posting this month is that Foodbuzz plans to donate an additional $250 for each post to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund, something I’ve helped raise awareness for before, and a cause which is personally near to my heart.

We started the evening with spherified pea “gnocchi” served with homemade bacon and sweet and sour caramelized shallots. I made the “gnocchi” by dropping pea puree mixed with sodium alginate into a calcium chloride water bath by the spoonful. Upon hitting the bath, the puree forms a tiny sphere and develops a thin exterior membrane that keeps the liquid pea contained inside. They are delicate little suckers, and getting the technique down without breaking the shells was no small task.

Next, I served my own rendition of the perfectly cooked 63 degree Celsius egg. If you refer to the egg matrix shown (courtesy of Douglas Baldwin), you will see that 63 degrees is the temperature at which you achieve the right balance of solidification in both the egg and the white while still maintaining a custard-like consistency.

Many chefs have versions of the egg, but I wanted to do something different. Borrowing a page from Andres’ playbook, I glued the bottom of the cooked egg to a plate so it would stand upright, then topped the egg, scooped out a tiny bit, and filled it with butter-fried Grape Nuts. I served it with citrus crème fraiche and Paddlefish caviar. I thought long and hard about what starch might go well with the egg, discounting panko for its softness, but wanting something along those lines. It may seem strange to use something as commonplace as Grape Nuts, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything better for the texture I was after. The caviar and citrus crème fraiche probably don’t need any justification- they complemented the dish like a tramp stamp does a sorority girl’s backside.

For the main course, I did not adhere to the strict tenets of molecular gastronomy, however I did follow a Bolognese recipe written by gastronomy granddaddy Heston Blumenthal, of Fat Duck fame.  It was a 12-hour Bolognese complete with star anise, oxtails and oaky chardonnay (about the only use I can see for chardonnay is to muddle it into a stew, so this worked out great). While the three-part Bolognese simmered away in separate pans, I extruded some spaghetti noodles with which to soak in the heady sauce. For good measure, I tossed in some of my home-cured pancetta for its inaugural debut. It added the final touch of elusive umami to the sauce and the good news is I must have cured it correctly since none of us have keeled over as of this writing.

My mother is a chocophile, so I knew said substance needed to be the mainstay of dessert. I opted for a Mexican chocolate espresso pot de crème prepared sous vide. A sous vide water bath is the perfect way to prepare pot de crème- the mouthfeel of the custard is wildly sensuous to the point that its almost like you’re eating air, it’s so smooth. I have been playing with just the right temperature to get the egg yolks to set, but not so firm that it goes beyond pudding consistency into flourless cake territory. Roughly 80° Celsius has been my favorite so far. I decided to incorporate ovarian cancer research into the dessert by garnishing with miniaturized versions of female anatomical parts. Strange, I know, but it gave me the opportunity to further hone my spherification talents. I made little ovaries and fallopian tubes out of tomato water using the sodium alginate, calcium chloride solutions. I candied them so they would have a hint of sweetness, but not to the cloying extent- kind of like a really cool chick. Surprisingly, the sweet/tart application of tomato worked very well alongside the chocolate and did a lot to balance the dish. The birthday girl was especially happy with this course, although I’m sure the wine helped.

Before the dinner my somewhat conservative mother peppered me with questions all week about what I was making. I didn’t want to reveal too much, knowing she would judge things by the way they sounded rather than how they tasted. She is a well-done steak, scrambled eggs kind of gal, so in years past I’ve always obligingly roasted a prime rib and set forth chocolate cake for her birthday. It struck me to do something utterly innovative this year both to breathe new life into staid traditions, and to see if someone from my mother’s generation would be amenable enough to the taste-not the idea, but the taste- of so-called modernist cuisine. Her honest opinion of the meal came forth in an email she sent me the morning after: You really put your heart and soul into the dinner you cooked tonight. It was outstanding! I have to say you are now arriving! Great work. If she grasped the fact that I extracted the rivulets of my soul and poured them into the dinner, can it really be so far removed from what we think of as “real food” as people say? Molecular gastronomy is just another tool in the belt; it’s not something to be feared, or overly-revered. To use it when another technique would do better just for the sake of showmanship is amiss, but in the chef’s endless quest for the essence of texture, molecular gastronomy is the Visa Black Card in your Hermes wallet.

Sous Vide Mexican Chocolate Pot de Creme

• 3 oz bittersweet chocolate, chopped ( I use minimum 70%)
• 3.1 oz tablet Mexican Chocolate, crushed (I use Ibarra)
• 1 c heavy cream
• 1 c whole milk
• 1.2 tsp salt
• 1 tsp espresso powder or 1 short shot espresso
• 6 egg yolks
• 2 tbsp sugar

Heat the sous vide machine to 80° celsius and either place a rack inside it so that all eight ramekins (or do two batches of four) will fit on with the water level coming halfway up on each one, or lower the water level so you can place them all on the bottom. Add the chopped chocolates to a medium mixing bowl. Heat the cream, milk, salt and espresso in a saucepan until barely simmering. Whisk the eggs and sugar in a separate medium mixing bowl. Add the hot cream mixture to the chocolate and whisk until the chocolate is dissolved. Pour the chocolate mixture over the eggs in a steady stream, whisking constantly. Once the chocolate is completely incorporated into the eggs, pour into eight ramekins (4-5oz). Cover each ramekin tightly with cling film and gently place in the water bath. The custard will set in 2-2.5 hours, depending on where your water line hits the top of the ramekins. You can test if the custard is set by gently removing a ramekin and jiggling it from side to side. Do not leave in the water bath for much longer than the set time or you will end up with overly-firm pots de creme. After you remove them from the water bath, let cool to room temperature then chill completely in fridge. Garnish with whipped cream, spherified tomatoes, or even crushed up candy of your choice, such as malted milk balls.