Hungry In Hogtown

SHF #27: the el Bulli sampler

There's nothing like entering a quality chocolate shop.  Whoosh!  Open the door and, without even having to cross the threshold, an alluring panoply of scents reaches out to envelop you.  I always focus on that moment, inhaling every roasted, spicy, and sweet note I can before the sheer volume of sensation leaves me numb.

Cacao Sampaka is like that.  A short walk from the Plaça de Catalunya in Barcelona, Cacao Sampaka is the brainchild of Albert Adria, Ferran's brother and the pastry chef at el Bulli.  Minimally decorated in shades that echo its product, Cacao Sampaka shows off its wares in display cases that call to mind a visit to Tiffany's or the Museum of Natural History rather than a chocolate shop.

SHF #26: El Bulli's frozen chocolate air

It's here!  It's finally here!

After countless delays, El Bulli 2003-2004, the latest English language cookbook from the Catalan masters of molecular gastronomy is finally available in North America.  And what a marvel it is.  Ferran Adria and his acolytes continue to push the boundaries of food, adapting new techniques to new flavours.  This edition is notable for the advent of liquid nitrogen, liquid ravioli, dehydration, and the star ingredient in frozen chocolate air, soy lecithin.

If you're wondering what soy lecithin is, you're not alone.  Lecithin, regardless of its origin, is a powerful emulsifier.  If you love the rich texture of salad dressing, mayonnaise, or even Nutella, you owe a debt of gratitude to lecithin, the magic ingredient that stabilizes and thickens them.

SHF #21: El Bulli's watermelon iced lollies and frozen watermelon shots

Watermelon does not generally inspire.  TS Elliot's famous line was not "Do I dare to eat a watermelon?" and the love-sick poet of the Song of Songs did not wish to be comforted by watermelon.  Need I remind you we're talking about a fruit that derives its name from the fact that it's mainly water?  The most exotic watermelon dish I've ever heard of is Nigella Lawson's watermelon, feta, and black olive salad.  Other than that, I see only a melonscape of refreshing blandness.

And yet it's a summer staple for many of us, including me, particularly on wretchedly hot days when sweat clings to skin and an ice-cold slice offers a moment's refuge from the unrelenting heat.  There's something keenly refreshing about watermelons, peaches, and other "chin-dribbling" summer fruits that I find irresistible.

That's why, when I saw the announcement for Sugar High Friday #21, Ice Ice Baby, hosted by The Delicious Life, I immediately thought of two frozen watermelon preparations I saw in my El Bulli cookbooks.  At last, a chance to have some fun with the humble watermelon.

Bitty Spears: El Bulli's deconstructed asparagus

From a distance of a couple of decades, it seems to hard to believe I once disliked asparagus.  In my defense, I never reserved the same degree of violent contempt for it as boiled spinach -- I like to think my grandmother is no longer angry about the time I actually threw up boiled spinach back on my dinner plate, but I don't really bring it up that often ("Grandma, do you remember that time I 'made' deconstructed spinach?").  Asparagus never inspired the same reaction, I just found it too strong and bitter for my juvenile palate.

I've grown since then, as both a person and an eater: I now delight in all dishes asparagus, and I maintain a strict rule limiting dinner table regurgitation to brussels sprouts (my wife's a lucky woman, eh?).  Now that asparagus season has arrived, Rachel and I have made a point of preparing a number of dishes that revolve around this spring delight.

None seems more appropriate than our first dish from El Bulli: 1994-1997, deconstructed asparagus.  As I mentioned in our previous post, I was so taken by this dish when I first read about it that I made it almost as soon as Ontario asparagus arrived at the market.

The dish is far more intricate than it looks.  Underneath the coil of lightly steamed, paper-thin mandolined asparagus stalks is a sorbet made with pure asparagus juice.  Accompanying the asparagus is a yogourt-lemon sauce and a viscous asparagus jelly composed of asparagus juice with a touch of gelatin.  The asparagus tip is dressed with a hint of black truffle oil.

It is a common misconception that molecular gastronomy is all about odd flavour pairings, like white chocolate and caviar; this is not so.  Just as often, chefs like Adria develop dishes that try to nurture and expand on a single flavour or ingredient, often by exposing the eater to textures, temperatures, and preparations they had never thought to associate with that ingredient.

This is one of those dishes.  Don't be fooled by the complexity of the preparation, this dish tastes like asparagus, intensely so.  Asparagus sorbet is not a treat worthy of your local ice cream parlour, but it tastes like asparagus and, as a textural contrast, adds value.  The yogourt-lemon sauce is an especially good match for deconstructed asparagus -- to my mind it turns deconstructed asparagus into deconstructed asparagus and hollandaise, a truly delightful combination.

As an adult, I now have the taste buds to eat all the vegetables my grandmother can serve.  I'd even be willing to give boiled spinach another try.  Of course, I'd appreciate it if she tried something different.  You know, El Bulli: 1994-1997 includes a recipe for deconstructed Catalan spinach.

Contraband cookbook: El Bulli: 1994-1997

This is going to sound odd, but this particular cookbook can't legally be sold in North America.  It's a complicated situation, but the crux of the matter is that Harper Collins' Ecco imprint, which owns the English language rights to the El Bulli cookbooks in North America, hasn't yet gotten around to publishing El Bulli: 1994-1997 on this side of the Atlantic.

So how do I own a copy?  I bought it in Europe, of course.  Sort of.  I could tell you more, but then I'd have to kill you.

I wish I could say I had some sympathy for Ecco, but, quite frankly, they do a miserable job as El Bulli's North American publisher.  Currently, the only English-language El Bulli cookbook available to North American consumers is El Bulli: 1998-2002.  This is the edition from which I've prepared all the El Bulli dishes I've made so far.  Now consider the fact that there are already five published El Bulli volumes covering the years from 1983 until 2005, though only two of those are available in English.  Translate and publish them already!

I now own both, and I'm thrilled to say that the 1994-1997 volume is every bit as wondrous as its 1998-2002 counterpart.  I often grab the book, flip it open to a random page, and find a dish that provides equal parts inspiration and intimidation.  The mid-90s were a period of tremendous evolution at El Bulli: these four years witnessed not only the dawn of foams and the integration of the sweet and the savoury, but also the first inklings of "new pastas" (a process which would lead, eventually, to creations like liquid pea ravioli), all of which became hallmarks of El Bulli's singular style.

During this time, deconstruction also appeared at El Bulli, giving birth to a dish so intriguing it's the first preparation I made from this book, as well as the subject of our next post....

SHF #19: Enter the twi-rhizome with El Bulli's pineapple and ginger kebab

Those of you who read Hungry In Hogtown regularly may have noticed that I have a particular affinity for wordplay.  Every time we write a post, I rack my brain for a title more inspired than, say, SHF #15: El Bulli's pineapple and ginger kebabs.  I gauge the quality of the pun by Rachel's reaction to it.  If she cackles with delight, it's a winner.  If she rolls her eyes, smiles, and says something like, "You're such a child," then the pun is also up to snuff.

Sometimes the pun demands a degree of knowledge about food, culture, or history.  This post's title, for example, requires a familiarity with The Twilight Zone, and the knowledge that ginger, the theme for this month's Sugar High Friday, hosted by Ruth from Once Upon a Feast, is not really a root, but a rhizome.  Every so often, the title requires nothing more than a willingness to think like a teenage boy.  If you don't believe me, get a load of our post on Julia Child's coq au vin, "Hot for coq."

What does all this have to do with El Bulli's pineapple and ginger kebabs?  Not much, but writing an in-depth post about a snack that both of us liked but found uninspiring is a bit difficult. The kebabs are easy, simply thread cubes of raw pineapple and sliced crystallized ginger onto a skewer, dip it into a meringue, then allow the meringue to air dry for a few hours.  The crystallized ginger was new to us and it was a revelation, especially beloved by Rachel who adores anything gingery (this might be a hereditary trait, as her mother so enjoys ginger she's been known to eat the pickled variety by the handful).  For more proof of Rachel's love of ginger (and my love of wordplay), check out our post on homemade ginger ale, "Schwepped Away."

We expected this dish to be something like a punchier version of lemon meringue, but it failed to deliver.  Perhaps the pineapple, a golden variety that is the default type available in most of our local grocery stores, was too sweet to properly offset the meringue. 

Or maybe I'm not an ex-spear-ienced enough kebab maker.

Technorati tags: SHF #19 + SHF + sugar high friday + ginger

The blog that laid El Bulli's golden egg

I'm a little ambivalent about eating gold.  Let's face it, gold, like curly parsley, is just a garnish.  But unlike curly parsley, which costs next to nothing, gold sells for about USD$700 per ounce.  Gram for gram, that makes gold more expensive than truffles, and I know I'd much rather eat a truffle.

My apprehension runs even deeper than that, actually.  Think about it.  Garnishing food with gold isn't just obscenely conspicous consumption, it is the literal consumption of wealth, the pinnacle of waste.  I think David Cross, a comedian you might recognize as Dr. Tobias Fünke from Arrested Development, hits the nail on the head in his stand-up album, It's Not Funny, when he describes the eating of "tasteless, odourless" gold as "the ultimate f*%# you to poor people."  I kind of agree.

Still, I made the golden eggs from El Bulli: 1998-2002.

Reflections on rifaclis: El Bulli's mango rifaclis

Would someone, anyone, please tell me what a rifacli is?

I've searched high and low, and I'm still in the dark.  Sometimes I think it might be a cookie, other times I think it might be a pastry company.  I just don't know.

Right now, I feel like a person who knows the punch line to a joke, but doesn't know the joke itself.  Why?  Well, I'm sure these mango rifaclis are a clever twist on a typical Catalan sweet.  I am haunted, in fact, by visions of Catalan diners at El Bulli amusing themselves at my ignorance.  "What an incredible interpretation of one of our native pastries," they'll utter to each other, barely containing their joy and amusement at the sheer creativity of the bite they hold in their hands.  "The best part is that the joke is entirely ours.  Sure, some Canadian half-wit might adore the taste and texture, but he'll never truly understand it, will he?  Ha ha ha!"

Whatever they are, mango rifaclis are nothing if not tasty.  They are made by shaving half-millimetre thick slices off a barely ripe mango.  These slices are then dehydrated in a warm oven, and subsequently rehydrated in a forty percent sugar syrup before being returned briefly to a hot oven.  While still warm, the mango is then salted and shaped into the spirals you see above.  The result has a hint of the saltiness and all of the crunch of a potato chip, but the flavour of mango is clear and unmistakable.

And that, I think, is what really counts.  Sure, I might not have the foggiest clue what exactly a rifacli is, but I've learned a new way to enjoy one of my favourite fruits.  So who's laughing now?

Will warka for food: El Bulli's parmesan cornets

"That's freakin' awesome," my mother-in-law exclaimed after popping a parmesan cornet into her mouth.  "I never thought lemon and parmesan went well together," she added, "but that's really good."

She's right.

These tiny cornets burst with flavour and texture.  Each one is filled with a grind of black pepper and a lemon jam.  The jam is made by simmering a brunoised lemon with sugar equaling sixty percent of its weight for five minutes.  As italophiles, we were already well aware of the brilliance of parmigiano, rightly (and often) described by Mario Batali as "the undisputed king of cheeses."  The more I think about it, though, the more I recognize that this cornet is not about any one of the ingredients, it's about the harmony of the five basic flavours: salty and umami from the parmesan, sour and sweet from the lemon jam, and hot from the pepper.

Going postal: El Bulli's chocolate with wasabi

There's something special about getting a package in the mail, don't you think?  In our age of instant communication and gratification, we have forgotten what a thrill it can be to wait, to anticipate.  That's why I love receiving packages in the mail, especially when the package contains a cookbook, kitchenware, or food.

The pattern never varies: I'm always at work when Canada Post attempts delivery, so every once in a while I come home to a delivery notification card.  If I'm really lucky, it tells me I can pick up the package after 5:00 PM that day.  If I'm unlucky, I'm stuck waiting until the next afternoon.  The wait is unbearable.

Package in hand, I often play a little game with myself: how long can I wait to open it?  I always fight the urge to open it in the middle of the post office.  With a little discipline, I usually make it back to my office desk.  I don't know that I've ever left a package sealed until I returned home.