In the kitchen with my sous chef, Bentley Danger, age 2

For two weeks I’ve been staring at these words: what defines you as a food blogger and why should you be the next food blog star? I’ve tried staring at the words at 6 am whilst catching the sunrise and slamming back a glass of freshly-juiced Chioggia beets. I’ve tried making sense of the words at midnight, port-goggles in full effect. I’ve allowed the words to ruminate in my head during long jogs by the lake. Today, finally, I decided to use the Dictaphone feature on the iPhone and answer the question in different ways out loud while driving from Pike Place Market (for leeks, bresaola & duck eggs) to my favorite butcher shop (for a rabbit) to a baking supply (for molecular gastronomy chemicals) to an art supply (for an X-acto knife and acetate- yes, for use in the kitchen).

Here are a few of the things worth painfully transcribing from my dictations (I feel like a Mad Men secretary right now- someone get me bourbon and a bullet bra- stat!).

Mad Men Birthday, Draper-Style (image links to post)

I’ve been asking myself who I am for 32 years. The answer to that question remains ephemeral. Right now, I’m a mother, wife, eater, cook, former expat and desperate-misser of La Bella Italia, creative writing graduate who hates to be defined by the word “creative,” molecular gastronomist-in-training, early-adopter of cooking en sous vide, former Stiletto Ninja who swapped nun chucks for an apron to become the Foodie Fashionista.

Stiletto Ninja, day before her wedding in Rapallo, Italy transitions to Foodie Fashionista

I make bacon at home, cure meat, make salt from scratch, extrude bucatini, and use syringes and pipettes in my kitchen. In the words of the (in)famous folks over at ShutUp Foodies, I am a “kitschy madwoman.”

Freshly-Extruded Pasta

A year ago I loved my life, my child, my cuisine, and my husband, but I knew there was something missing.  I started a food blog. Now, I am a food blogger, part of a community of food bloggers. Within the last year, I have had the opportunity to communicate with and in many cases meet IRL some of the most talented people on the continent. I also learned that IRL means In Real Life, LOL means Laugh Out Loud, and (learned the hard way) that NSFW means Not Safe For Work. I dislike these acronyms, though I thought I should use one to prove I’m really a part of the digital world.  Food bloggers are the unsung (I know, right?) heroes of modern culture, and it’s time they got their due. They are an opinionated, strong-willed cadre, though they’re quick to support one of their own should the need arise, as was the case with Ivory Hut recently. In some ways, being a food blogger defines me more than the sum total of the other parts, because it is the sum total of the other parts. As with many of you, this is my respite- the place I can 100% say whatever the hell I want to say, and be proud to own those words.

The dish that landed me on MasterChef: Duck Confit 3 Ways (image links to post)

I work really hard at this. I’m not ashamed to admit that I cannot knock out a blog post in an hour like I know some über-talented people can. It takes me many hours of focused work from concept inception to edited completion of every post I gently nestle onto my site. Even after it’s there, I want to rip it down and make a nip here, a tuck there, though I resist that urge. Blogs are like people- more beautiful if left to age naturally. That is not to say they shouldn’t be eating well, getting adequate sleep and exercising along the way, however, hence the good food, days of rest, and frequent practice.

BLT Ice Cream Sandwich (image links to post)

Right now, I’m lingering on every word the culinary mad scientist Grant Achatz (Alinea) utters. A particularly echoing bit of wisdom I recently gleaned from him is this: creativity is primarily the result of hard work and study. I look back on my most-resonant posts- I made a BLT from ice cream, gelato and sorbet, I admitted to the world I was far from perfect given how eviscerated I felt after leaving MasterChef, or when I made a meal for my mother’s 69^th birthday using thoroughly modern cooking techniques like spherification and sous vide- and the uniting thread recurrent in all of them is just what Achatz notes- hard work and study. Any old genius off the street might have come up with the theory of relativity, but it took a hard-working, studied one to actually do it. Since I begrudgingly admit that I have no genius-level proclivities, I must content myself to toil along making mozzarella balloons and poaching duck egg yolks in clarified butter until a really good idea turns into a really good taste, then a really good recipe, and finally- I hope- a really good blog post.

Spherification in action

What I’m saying is that I should be the next food blog star because I’m willing to put in the effort and devotion, but I promise we will have a wild ride together along the way. I’ve only been blogging for just over one year, (crap- went back to look at the date of my first post and I realize I missed my blog-o-versary, damn, damn, must open champagne… there, that’s better) but I’m on my way toward proving I’ve got what it takes to stick around like a splatter of Bolognese on a white Valentino shirt. I look at these challenges as a way to test my mettle. I look at Project Food Blog as a way for Foodbuzz to nurture one of us (relative) newbies toward the status of full-blown Bloggin’ Gaga. That’s right, the victor of Project Food Blog deserves the accolades and fame (in the blogosphere at least) of the Great Gaga because s/he squeezed a lot of lemons, minced a ton of shallots and pureed a passel of potatoes to get there.  I promise, if it’s me, I’ll wear a meat dress to accept my crown.  (There’s a crown, right?)

This is how crazy I go on Halloween. See, I'll wear a meat dress, no problem.

I’m thankful for the opportunity to have written this post regardless of the outcome of this challenge because it’s given me a platform to say some things I’ve been meaning to say for awhile to all my lovely readers.  Every day something new happens that humbles me in the face of all your greatness, generosity and underlying human spirit.  All of you have helped immeasurably to make the last year one of the best I’ve ever lived, so grazie mille. (Now look at me- big ol’ tears are inching down my cheeks- must be that champagne you made me open!)  I’m just a girl teetering in topsy turvy heels on the precipice of something positively cavernous, and I desperately want for you all to jump in with me.

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.

When I was younger I would regularly attend Grateful Dead shows, The Glastonbury Fest, Lollapalooza, the Oregon Country Faire, and the like (this was pre-Burning Man). At the end of each of these festivals, I would head back to reality wiping away tears, sweat and grime, stunned by the thundering display of humanity and spirit present during the gathering of so many souls. Speaking generally, a fair bit of mood-heightening substances would likely have been consumed over the course of several days, which helps to splay the psyche and let crude emotions come pouring in.  Rejoining with reality felt like spluttering through the stratosphere then crashing into the atmosphere without a parachute. No amount of arm-flapping could protect me from the splintered thwack of contact with unyielding earth. The International Food Bloggers Conference was much the same, but without the drugs and rock and roll. (There was plenty of sex. Food bloggers have DIRTY minds, as you’ll see if you follow the #IFBC hashtag running commentary of the conference on twitter.)

Jason Stratton, best new chef, finishes a Spinasse dish

I am trying to cull my thoughts into a cohesive stream of information that might be useful for my readers, but I feel like a saturated band-aid has been ripped off a still-seeping gash. There was so much information to parse, my brain is spinning like a cpu looking for various nooks and crannies in which to store chestnuts of data. The best part about the conference was not the speakers. It was not the questionable temperature control, the wrapped mints and urine cakes in the glamified porta-potties, it was not even the food. The single-most powerful thing about attending IFBC was the glorious mind-meld that inevitably takes place when over 300 (aspiring and actualized) industry leaders from a burgeoning field come together to eat, drink and be merry. The sum of every individual was raised to the highest common denominator of our parts. We were all able to surreptitiously bask in the “picture-making” sepia glow of what it might be like to be Penny De Los Santos, if only for a too-brief, visually orgasmic slide presentation. We all felt the collective heave of wrenching back what is right from The Man when Robin Goldstein successfully wrestled the ethical golden ticket away from Robert Schroeder of the Federal Trade Commission with only the use of his skillful silver tongue and the cerebral heft behind his words. After so many displays of awesome talent, I am left nearly bereft of words, and those are the things I always have in abundance. Five second pacts over tamales and Kilt-lifter cemented friendships for life, leaving me simultaneously gnashing at the bit to make a masterpiece with my words, lens, hands, and high heels, and also just a little bit verklempt- overcome by the utterly-endowed group of brilliant individuals.

Vignettes. Shauna from Gluten Free Girl made everyone feel extra special when she invited the lot of us to sample a berry crumble she had made along with her husband from berries gathered outside their Vashon doorstep on a dewy, late-summer morning. Chef John from Food Wishes let me in on a brilliant upcoming post idea he has involving twitter streams-of-consciousness, whilst we drank sherry after sherry from cups we stacked end to end as though we were at a keg party. I played hookie with some cool kids like Michael Natkin and Georgia Pellegrini during lunch, wherein we traipsed over to the bar-formerly-known-as-The-Triangle and downed drinks brought to us by none other than Captain Jack Sparrow.  A speaker took the stage at the first moment they started to project the live twitter stream for all to see in the front of the room. The first tweet to hit the screen: This speaker moonlights as a phone-sex operator. Written by Yours Truly, projected by accident, prompting gales of laughter much to the confusion of the speaker, totally unbeknownst to me that it would be there for all to see. I sheepishly hunkered down in my seat, and they quickly removed the feed. Nathan Myhrvold, author of the upcoming, controversial, exhaustive tome, Modernist Cuisine, won my heart as he completely geeked out during his presentation on all things sous vide, foam, gel, and Maillard. He showed us how he cuts things like Le Creuset dutch ovens and Weber Grills in half to get his remarkable images, as well as throwing in some gratuitious shots of slo-mo popcorn popping and wine glass shattering. Incidentally, the price of the book (which oscillates from the high $400 to the mid $600 range on Amazon) does not seem outlandish to me considering that the Oxford English Dictionary sells frequently and historically for $1000, and with that you don’t get images or recipes.

The sheer strength of social media and the realization that I am entrenched in that- a little fava in a big pod- brought out an unparalleled evocative emotional response in me. Collectively, we have the power to incite food revolutions, get generations back in the kitchen, and knock-back an impressive amount of wine while we’re doing it. I cracked jokes and made light of issues with the best of them (I’m looking at you, Seattle Food Geek and Chef Reinvented) but inside, a little ember of surging possibility kept me warm with a surefire, confident knowledge that the future is indeed, very bright.