Biscuits Become Back To Basics Inspiration

I’ve recently become enchanted with the basics. A firm understanding of cooking fundamentals, I’m convinced, will make me a better cook. Many times I have tried to make simple biscuits. Many times I have been unsuccessful. Sure, I was able to make the dough and cut the dough and bake the dough. Never have I been able to produce anything that would be confused with the soft, flaky, buttery biscuits known by anybody who has had the pleasure of putting such goodness on your tongue. Until now.

Whoa now. I haven’t yet perfected biscuits to the point of Paula Deen but I am approaching that what has been illusory.

It all starts with a basic understanding of flour. Without getting too complicated, flour is made up of carbohydrates and proteins. One of the proteins is gluten. In chewy types of bread, gluten is our friend. In flaky baked goods like puff pastry and biscuits, gluten is our enemy. Fortunately there is a solution to controlling the levels of activated gluten. Kneading, or working the dough, activates the gluten protein. The less you work the dough, the less gluten is activated and the flakier the finished product.

Another way to keep the gluten from becoming a burden is to prevent the protein from forming long chains of chewy chow. One means to this end is to introduce a generous amount of fat solids in the form of either butter or shortening. It’s important to keep the fats in solid form. Folding dough by hand is traditional but these days we have a friend to help us fold, the food processor.

I must admit a certain predilection to the primeval processes of cooking. Few endeavors are more satisfying than assembling something with your hands. That’s not to say we should abandon our gadgets. Especially those that help us perfect a process. The food processor, a modern-day miracle, is just such a gadget.

Initially I was wary of using the processor to mix my biscuit and pie dough. I thought of my mother and her mother and her mother before that. They never used a food processor. They did everything by hand. I wanted to do it by hand too. So I tried it. Last week I took a stab at a tarte tatin. As if peeling, coring, and slicing the apples then cooking the sugar down to caramel wasn’t enough I then had to make the dough by hand. The tarte tatin was okay. It would have been much better had the dough been flakier and not as…um…crunchy. At that point I said “never again.” Bust out the food processor.

Yesterday I threw together a bean soup with some already made (by me) chicken stock and some leftover collard green pot liquor. There was some buttermilk in the fridge so I figured flaky buttermilk biscuits would be a solid accompaniment to the soup. I’ll use my new found friend to make the biscuits.

I’ve learned a few things since the tarte tatin. Don’t let your fat melt. One online chef suggests freezing the butter then grate the butter into the flour. I tried that with pie dough a few days ago. It sounds reasonable enough but the act of holding the butter and running it up and down the grater melts the butter in your hand. This would work great if you were in an igloo. Plus the moisture in the butter binds up the grater. I took the chilled butter, cut it into small squares then put it back into the freezer for a few minutes.

Meanwhile I assembled the food processor. Not the monster Cuisinart but the smaller one that fits atop the blender head. Put the slicer blade in that baby and you’re ready to rock. With the dry ingredients mixed up (flour, salt, baking powder, baking soda, maybe some sugar), I was ready for the butter. Don’t get impatient and just dump all the butter on top of the flour and whirl away. Take a little time to add the butter in stages. Pulse a few times, add more, pulse some more until all the fat is incorporated. It doesn’t take long with the miracle of the food processor.

Some recipes say to then turn the buttery dough out into a bowl and add the cold water or buttermilk by hand. I didn’t. I added the chilled buttermilk to the processor, pulsed, added more, pulsed, until the dough was just about done. I then turned it out onto the counter for one last fold with the remaining buttermilk. Remember, the less kneading the less gluten and the less probability you will melt the fat with the heat of your hands. If you’re going to be obsessive-compulsive, now is the time!

I remember watching Martha Stewart make buttermilk biscuits. She was oh so proud of her biscuits. The problem was, they looked…they looked…like…um…little piles of dog turd. Seriously. Martha’s biscuits looked like turds. There was little uniformity and they looked like they were crunchy and not good. She then showed how she made them and I realized why.

You know how when you get a biscuit and how you break it apart with your hands it separates nearly perfectly? There is a reason for that. The reason is in the preparation of the dough. Think of the divine thin ribbons of puff pastry. It’s made that way by rolling thin sheets of dough then placing them one on top of the other and rolling thin again. When baked they yield the basis for many wonderful culinary delights. A similar technique is necessary to create the perfect biscuit though much less time consuming.

Turn your dough out on the counter or the slab or whatever it is you’re using. Of course the surface is floured. Roll it out or form it out with your hands. I prefer to use a roller. Remember, the colder the better. After rolling out, fold the dough over on itself several times. I like to do it in thirds. Repeat this process several times. What you are doing is building layers of dough separated by a thin dusting of flour.  This is what Martha didn't do.  She just rolled out the dough, cut it and baked it.

In these photos, you can see the various layers of dough.  Regrettably, these biscuits were rolled thin, barely a half-an-inch.  They were also not sufficiently floured when they were folded over to create the layers.  Layering is obvious in these biscuits but in a better formed biscuit, the layers would be much more pronounced.  Each fold should create a tiny little pocket that makes the biscuit light and airy.

When you are finished, roll the dough out to about three-quarters of an inch thickness. Don’t make the mistake of thinking because you need more biscuits you roll them out thinner. If you need more biscuits, make more dough.  With your finger, put a dimple in the middle of the biscuit.  This is an old southern trick that helps to prevent the top being too convex.  It's merely an appearance thing but as you may know, image is everything.  And don't collect up all the scraps, put them together and roll out again to make more biscuits.  That little bit of fussing will toughen your dough.  Just cut the scraps into fun shapes and bake with the rest of the lot.  When you're done with the main dish, put the scraps out for leftovers.  If you did it right, nobody will care about the oddly shaped beautifully flaky, buttery biscuit.  I promise you.
I have seen some recipes call for a brush of butter or egg wash on the top of biscuits. I haven’t found this to be crucial. Even a light egg wash will add unwanted toughness to the outer crust. I have found that a light paint of butter after baking is better than before.

In making a pie crust, you would use water instead of buttermilk.  One tip is to use a cocktail shaker to chill your water.  Put a few cubes in the shaker with the water and do the bartender dance.  Strain the icy water into the dough mix until it's righteous.

Flourless, Luscious, Decadent Chocolate Torte Takes The Cake

So it's Valentine's Day. Yeah, yeah. Kiss me, I'm shitfaced.

For some time now I have wanted to attempt a flourless torte. Last night I did a little research and figured it can't be that difficult. As with most baked goods, attention to detail is important. On my way home from a long, tiring, 24h shift, I decided today would be the day I attempted the famous flourless chocolate torte.

Having looked at a few recipes, I had a general idea of what I needed at the market. With a few trips up-and-down the aisles, my checklist was completed.

At home I grabbed BakeWise: The Hows and Whys of Successful Baking. The author, Shirley Corriher, details her trials trying to find the quintessential torte recipe. Ms. Corriher explains that most traditional recipes, with their reliance on so many eggs, result in a drier than desired product. Egg whites act as a drying agent when baked. They can also be a leavening agent. Combine these two processes and you may well end up with a drier than expected torte.

Ms. Corriher thought substituting cream for the butter might yield a creamier torte. She was right. In fact, it was closer to a pudding than a torte. Ms. Corriher enlightens, “the batter needs to be acidic for the eggs to set well.” While the semi-sweet chocolate provides sufficient acidity with the butterfat, the addition of the heavy cream buffered too much of the acid. It’s a complicated chemical process. That’s why when baking, stick to the recipe unless you want to become a lab technician fiddling with various processes. Or better yet, let somebody do the fussing for you, like Ms. Corriher.

An obvious solution to the lack of acid would be to simply add more acid. I know, that’s what you were thinking. The trouble is, milkfat is a powerful buffer. As it turns out, you couldn’t add enough acid and still allow the other crucial chemical processes to occur.

Back to the drawing board? Not yet. Unwilling to let go of her love of cream, Ms. Corriher decides to compromise. Instead of substituting the cream for the butter one-to-one, she splits the difference. Voila! It worked. Yet she wasn’t done tinkering.

Determined to now reduce the number of eggs (fewer eggs, less drying), Ms. Corriher added a little cream of tartar while removing eggs. She was able to pare the recipe down to four whole eggs and the yolks of two more. The creamy, rich, luscious torte was now more cake than pudding.

With my mise-en-place I was ready to begin.  This is the first recipe I have tried from this book.  I like the way Ms. Corriher organizes and explains the more critical procedures.  She takes the time to add just enough instruction so that the chef du jour has an understanding of what is necessary to achieve perfection with each individual procedure.

One of these processes involves stirring together four whole eggs and two yolks then straining the mixture.  I have never seen a recipe call for straining eggs.  Ms. Corriher again explains that straining "removes more goopy stuff than you might think."  Boy howdy she was right.  I never thought there was that much "goop" in there.  Turns out there are these things called chalazae.  These are the protein chains that act like bungee cords to hold the yolk in the center of the egg.  It would make sense that these would be quite strong and therefore undesireable in such a delicate delight as the chocolate torte.

Though the recipe does not specify this, I had to do this in a couple stages.  I strained about half the egg mixture, noticed the sieve was getting boogered up with the chalazae goop so I cleaned the sieve and strained the second half of the eggs.  When I read the recipe, this step seemed superfluous.  I set out to follow the recipe so I did.  Seeing the beautiful, creamy finished product, I now know the error of my thinking.  The goops gotta go!!

Once the goop was gone it was time to add the sugar.  I had my mise-en-place but I didn't have my head on straight.  It was slightly askew.  I missed the part about beating the sugar and egg for 10 minutes.  Initially I was thinking it was to be beat until blended so I fired up the hand mixer.  It wasn't that big of a deal but I could have been performing other tasks while the stand mixer worked the magic on the mixture.  But I didn't do that.  You should though.

I was smart enough to have melted the butter ahead of time.  The recipe doesn't caution about tossing warm butter into the egg mixture.  I don't think it's a deal breaker but wouldn't want to risk ruining the eggs.  I had also done the same with the chocolate though if done properly, the chocolate should be barely tepid when it's finally melted.  The microwave method worked for me just remember to use 50% power or less.

It's almost time for the royal wedding with the whipped cream!  Gently folding in the chocolate made me think of my next culinary venture, mole.  Stay tuned for that.

With the chocolate blended, it's time to whip the cream and get on with this rodeo.  At the cream whipping stage, Ms. Corriher advises "in a cold bowl with cold beaters...."  I have never seen this in a recipe.  Yes I know it's important to NOT use a warm or even hot bowl or beaters but have never seen it advised to use cold bowls and beaters.

Okay, okay we're almost there.  Pan is prepared with the parchment, oven preheated, bain-marie ready to bain.  Let's do it.  Into the oven you go.  I had a little hiccup on getting the top smooth.  It seemed to be almost impossible with the spatula so I spun the pan and tapped it and did everything except take it for a drive around the block.  Still I had a few small peaks in the batter.  C'est la vie.  One of the recollections I had from my research was that this is supposed to be a rustic treat.  Perfection is something that has been bred into the modern breed of torte.  The rustic version suits me just fine.  I'll be finishing it with a topping of creme fraiche and raspberries anyway.

The not-quite-finished product as she awaits a nice chill and then the coup-de-grace.

The author suggests chilling the final product.  I did that.  Though I'm not sure I would do that again.  It was right around 60 today in SoFla.  I'm thinking a few hours on the countertop would have sufficed.

A couple days ago I made up a creme fraiche.  In a sealable jar, add about three tablespoons of buttermilk to a cup of heavy cream.  Let it rest overnight at around 70 degrees.  The next morning it should be set firm.  Stir gently and place in refrigerator.  For the chocolate raspberry tort I added a couple tablespoons of 10X sugar to about a half cup of creme fraiche.  Dump that on a plate with some pureed framboise, topped with a few freshies and you're done.  Cosmic Eats my friend.

A Real Butcher Is Hard To Find

This is my review of New Deal Kosher Meats in North Miami Beach.  A real butcher is a rarity these days and Heshy delivers.  Shalom to my new friend Heshy.

I've had a hankering to do a roast beef with yorkshire pudding. With the onset of the arctic weather, it has become a much more pressing issue. The problem is, if I do a roast beef, I just can't settle for any ordinary cut of meat. Nope. It's got to be the best, a standing rib roast. Okay no problem. I remember seeing them at Publix last week. Nope. No go. It's a holiday cut. Meaning they don't carry them except at particular times of the year and that time of year was last week.

So I head up the road to my favorite meat counter. Nope. They don't have them either. They can get them but it requires a couple days notice. Dang. But I did score some veal bones for stock. One can never have enough veal stock on hand.

I'm feeling a little blue at the thought of having to settle for a lesser cut. Not one to be denied, I head to a big box store in the area. They have some decent roast cuts but not what I want. I google "butchers" on the phone. Bingo. There's a hit and it's right around the corner, New Deal Kosher Meat.

So I don't get frustrated driving over there I call.

"New Deal"

"Hello good morning, do you by any chance have bone-in rib roasts?"

"Oh yeah, I just got a nice rib in."

"Okay, I'll be right over."

The friendly gentleman asks where I'm coming from and gives me spot on directions. It's right on 163 Street but in a little old NoMiaBeach strip mall that would be easily passed by.

Entering through the front door, there is about twenty feet of display coolers on the left. Of course the scale sits atop the coolers. It's the kind of place that makes you feel like you should be wearing a top coat and fedora with a matching scarf. This is an old school butcher here. Heshy is on the telephone chatting to somebody about an order. He looks up and gives me the "be right with you" nod. From the sound of it, the person on the other end is in need of some poultry but wants some bones too. Probably to make some stock. Heshy assures the caller he will include some bones in the order, "no charge." I like what I'm hearing.

Heshy hangs up and apologizes for being on the phone. I assure him it's fine and also thank him for acknowledging my presence. He then says he must make another quick call and he'll be right with me, "you the guy who called?"

"I sure am. Take care of business."

"I've got a great rib cut I'm sure you'll like."

He makes another quick call to clarify another order. Hangs up and again apologizes. The delivery guy pops in the back door whereupon Heshy gives him some instructions. There is another guy, who I find out is Heshy too, trimming some meat by the back counter.

Heshy, the first one, starts talking about ribs and what a great cut it is for a roast. He opens the door to the walk-in, which sits to the left as well and at the end of the row of display coolers. I glance inside where there are various cuts of meat hanging from a handmade hook arrangement on the walk-in wall. I notice a skinned and gutted rabbit. Note to self!

Heshy comes out with a full rib, 13 bones. I'm hoping he's not expecting me to take all of it. "How much you need." I hesitate and he asks how many I'm feeding. Really it's just for a couple here but a rib roast that small may as well be a thick steak. I'm planning on some yorkshire pudding so I'm gonna need a fair amount of fat. A hearty helping of leftovers is always appropriate so I tell him I need enough for four. He recommends three ribs and he says he'll cut it right at the fourth rib so I get a higher meat to bone ratio. Thanks Heshy. He also recommends taking out the chine and feather bones for ease of carving at the table. This is a real butcher!

Heshy walks over to weigh the roast. I already picked up some veal bones at my other favorite joint around the corner. But like I said, you can never have enough.

"You have any nice veal marrow bones" I ask. Heshy affirms that he does and I explain that I already have some but it's good to know I can get some when I need them. To which he replies, "look, I've got a couple bags in the freezer. Take them now because I don't always have them. No charge." Who can argue with that?

We get into another conversation about how it's difficult to find good butchers these days. Heshy says, "well you can blame this butcher on my father."

We square up the bill and I walked out with my rib roast and even more veal stock bones. I also have a friendly neighborhood butcher (not really my 'hood but it's a small world) who I can call by name...and all is right with the universe.

Aspiring Saucier Sums Up The Splendor Of Stock

Beef stock tastes like Chef-Boy-R-Dee ravioli.

Veal stock is more velvety than actual velvet.

Beef stock is a sweaty, hairy truck driver on the final leg of a cross-country haul, in which he stopped only to sleep, not shower.

Veal stock is like standing naked under a gentle waterfall in the sunlight.

Beef stock makes your house smell like farts.

Veal stock makes your house smell like home.

I'm blaming this on my mother. A couple months ago I was handed a paperback copy of Anthony Bourdain's tome "Kitchen Confidential." Touted as a peak into the underbelly of the foodservice industry in America, the book is really more than that. There are many messages to be gleaned from its pages. As one who has had many different jobs in the restaurant business, I can relate to the sordid sorts described in Bourdain's book. But that's not what I took away from the reading. What I took away was an enhanced appreciation for the men and women who endeavor to provide us, you and me, with a dining experience that is memorable. There is plenty to say about the book but that's not why I'm here today.

Flaco Bourdain touched me several times when he spoke about sauces. I think I was meant to be a saucier. Of course, I have often thought that I was meant to be many things in my life but leave that aside now and just indulge this most recent revelation.

When I worked the graveyard shift as a building engineer (maintenance guy) at the Hyatt Regency Columbus, I would often walk by one of the several big steam kettles in the banquet kitchen. Peering into the pot, I always wondered just what in the hell was going on in there. Many years later I now know exactly what was happening. And I think I like it. No, I know I like it.

I'm talking about stock. Currently I have a love affair going on with veal stock. There are several bags of frozen veal stock in the freezer and I'm working on another batch right now. I think I may need therapy soon.

If you search for veal stock recipes, you'll find many. A quick evaluation of a few will reveal various "recipes." Okay, it's not like we are preparing delicate puff pastries or subtle souffles here. It's stock. Sure, ingredients are important but nobody will notice if you happen to be a little disproportionate in your proportions.

So what's the recipe already? Relax cowboy. There isn't a real recipe here, just guidelines.

Start of with about 10 pounds of veal bones. I know. It sounds like a lot. You can use less if you don't have a large pot. Roughly chop an onion or two. If you're closer to five pounds of bones, one onion will suffice. Whatever quantity of onion you use, roughly chop half that volume of carrots and onions. This is known as the mirepoix or the holy trinity. It's a French thing. Easily enough, if you use one onion, use one carrot and one stalk of celery. I use a little more of each but that's just me.

Put the bones in an oiled roasting pan. roast at 450F until they are a light brown. You may need to turn a little. I don't. There's enough work in this already than to have to worry about an even roast on the bones. When that's done, I toss the mirepoix on top and roast again for another twenty minutes or so. You can always roast the bones and the trinity separately if you like.

Be sure and deglaze the roasting pan with a good bit of red wine and pour that into the pot as well. Don't use a cheap box wine. When you're done you can drink the rest of the bottle.

When all is done, put the bones in the stock pot with about a gallon of water. More water if you have ten pounds of bones. Don't worry about being crazy precise about the water. More is always better than less as you will be reducing and concentrating later.

Bring the water to a medium simmer. I usually cover the pot as that retains more heat and uses less energy. Again, you will be reducing later. At this stage, the more water the better the extraction of all the good bits. Classic recipes call for diligently skimming off the shmeg. I do that from time to time but I'm not religious about it. In the end, I'm straining off all the bits anyway so I don't see a huge need for it. And when I was at the Hyatt Regency, there wasn't anybody standing around skimming.

Now go do some yard work or go for a bike ride or something. Just let it sit there for the about five or six hours while all the good shnizzle gets cooked out of the bones. You can stir and skim if you're obsessive. That's okay. I usually fire this up in the afternoon and let it go all night.

When you've decided that you have had enough. Strain out the bones using whatever convenient method you have. Remember, don't let the liquid go down the drain! I've read recently that some chefs like to do another extraction. I guess it makes sense. The solvent, water, will only extract a finite amount of solute, the tasty stuff. When the solution becomes saturated, the process is done. You can extract more solute by starting with fresh solvent. I'll do that on my next batch.

Use a tea towel or several layers of cheesecloth to strain the liquid. This is where it can get messy. Be careful and preserve as much of the liquid as possible.

At this point I put the raw stock back into the pot, toss in a bouquet garni (that's a fancy French name for some herbs tied up in a cheesecloth satchel) of parsley, thyme, and bay leaf.

Let that simmer and reduce for the better part of the day. At some point you should add about 6 ounces of tomato paste. Be sure it is dissolved well in the liquid otherwise it will sit on the bottom of the pan and burn. Not tasty.

I don't use any salt or pepper in my stocks. When I am ready to use the stock in whatever I decide, at that time I will adjust the seasoning. Remember, you're not after a finished product that is ready for a plate. You are after an intensely flavored base to be used for other preparations. For this reason, I concentrate my stocks by reducing and reducing and reducing.

You will read that a good way to store stock is by putting it in ice cube trays and freezing. That is an abomination. You will end up with frozen, freezer burned chunks of stock. That's not the way to treat something you have pampered for the last two days. If you have a vacuum sealer, use it. Just be sure and clean out the liquid tray otherwise you end up with a stinky mess in a few weeks. Don't ask me why I know. If you don't have a vacuum sealer, use zip top bags and evacuate all the air.

The other day I was in the mood for some onion soup. Easy. Rough chop some onions. Simmer in water for a couple hours. Reduce and add your prepared stock. Place some stale or toasted bread in a steep sided bowl, pour the good stuff over it, grate some gruyere over the top, brown under the broiler and voila, French Onion Soup. And it is righteous.

A brief word on the use of veal vs. beef bones. The purists' comments you can read above. There is a distinct difference in the aroma of roasting veal bones and roasting beef bones. Certainly, I recommend using veal bones when they are available. But don't let availability stop you. Escoffier would scoff at the notion of substitution here. But he died a long time ago so what's the difference anyway. Most traditional recipes for the classic French demi-glace call for using both beef bones and veal bones so I don't see the fuss. Although my preference would be for veal bones only.

Cosmico Appetito