I'm Just Here for the Food (28 page)

Add the rice and stir to coat. Stir off and on until the rice begins to smell slightly of nuts. Continue to stir, and pour in the boiling liquid (there will be some sputtering and steam). This will be the last time a spoon ever touches the rice until serving.

Cover the sauce pot tightly and place in the oven for 17 minutes. Remove the pot from the oven and remove the lid. Do not touch the rice in any way for one minute. Then fluff with the fork, and serve.

Yield: 4½ cups

Note:
I simmer my pilaf at this higher temperature because of the amount of energy required to continuously convert the water involved into steam. The type of starch present in rice really needs that heat.

Software:

1 teaspoon kosher salt
4 cups liquid (water, stock, wine, or
any combination thereof)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
½ cup diced onion
2 tablespoons minced garlic
2 cups white rice

Hardware:

Kettle (I prefer electric ones)
Sauce pot with tight-fitting lid (if
the fit is questionable, seal the
pot opening with aluminum foil,
then push on the lid)
Wooden spoon
Large fork

Boiling

Master Profile: Boiling

Heat type:
wet

Mode of transmission:
70:30 percent ratio of conduction to convection

Rate of transmission:
high

Common transmitters:
any liquid

Temperature range:
212° F at sea level

Target food characteristics:

• Pasta

• Eggs in the shell

• British food

• Foods that can stand up to fierce convection currents (see
Blanching
)

Non-culinary application:
sterilizing stuff

OIL AND PASTA

I have received angry letters on this one from hardened pastaholics, but I can find zero science to back up the claim that adding oil to pasta cooking water keeps pasta from sticking. It’s as simple as this: pasta is dehydrated, so it wants to be around water, especially hot water, which due to added molecular motion penetrates faster than cold. So you’ve got a lot of water and a lot of pasta, then you add a tablespoon or two of oil. Considering how oil and water feel about each other, I’d say that Butch and Sundance had a better chance of making it out of that Bolivian bank than that oil has of getting to first base with the pasta. What about during the draining, you say? By the time you get to the sink, most of the oil’s back at the surface, so it’s the first thing down the drain. If you want oily noodles, drain them thoroughly, then put oil on them.

And yet, further testing has convinced me that a tablespoon of oil in the pasta water can help to prevent boil-overs by changing the surface tension at the surface of the water. If you use a really big pot, this isn’t much of an issue, but in certain circumstances the oil could be the difference between a clean cook and a starchy mess.

Boiling is also a position from which the cook retreats, as in “bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer”

A temperature of 212° F at sea level is the point at which water converts to a vapor state, characterized by turbulence, bubbles, and steam production. No matter how heat is applied, once water reaches this point its temperature cannot increase. However, since it conducts heat well, it can heat things very quickly—and heat is heat, regardless of whether it’s wet or dry. Heat is also pressure and pressure squeezes juice out of meat via tissue contraction. To make matters worse, you can’t look at a piece of meat in boiling water (or in steam, for that matter) and “see” that it’s overcooking, because there’s no browning. This can work to our advantage. Corned beef, for instance, is traditionally boiled, and most people would say that done properly it’s not dried out. In reality, it’s boiled to the point that the individual meat fibers break away from each other and thus become tender to the tooth—but they’re still dry. Besides, corned beef has been corned, and that changes everything (see
Have a Soak
).

Once reached, the boiling point is constant, so it’s a no-brainer to maintain. Because of its density, fluidity, and constancy of movement, boiling water delivers heat to food faster than any other method. It’s also a great way to deliver salt into some foods. And in great enough volumes, boiling water can flush excess starch from foods like pasta.

A rolling boil matters when cooking pasta because it will wash away excess surface starches; heat and agitation are required for the rehydration and gelatinization of starch; and the convection keeps pasta in motion, which keeps it from sticking and helps speed cooking.

In all the cases of boiling, having a large pot and a large volume of freshly drawn, seasoned water is the key. No matter how few servings of pasta I’m cooking, I get out the big pot. It’s one of the few aluminum pans I own, and I only use it for processing canning jars and cooking pasta. I need a big pot because I never cook fewer than four servings of pasta and I never cook it in anything less than a gallon of heavily salted water. Dry pasta gets cooked until done (I always pull mine just before I think it’s perfect), then drained, and immediately sauced without rinsing. I do not add oil to the water—ever (see Oil and Pasta).

BOILING POINT

The “boiling point” is considered the North Star of the kitchen world, unwavering and loyal at 212° F. Sure, if you live within a thousand feet of sea level you can count on 212°, but as atmospheric pressure rises due to a high-pressure weather system or a physical drop in altitude, the boiling point rises to the tune of 2° F per 1000 feet. As the barometer goes down and/or the altitude increases, the boiling point drops 2° F per 1000 feet. This means it takes pasta twice as long to cook in Potosí, Bolivia, as it does in Kaliya, on the shores of the Dead Sea (13,290 feet above and 1,312 below sea level, respectively).

The boiling point of water changes a degree (Fahrenheit) for every change of 540 feet in altitude. So, on Pike’s Peak, which tops out at 14,000 feet, water boils at 187° F (I’ve checked it personally). At 15 psi, the operating pressure of the average pressure cooker, the water boils at close to 250° F. To reach an equivalent temperature in an open pot, you’d have to go to a location at sea level and dig a hole 20,520 feet deep. That’s 3.886 miles.

Pumpkin Seed Brittle

Just about every candy recipe out there specifies stirring the syrup with a wooden spoon. This is not so that we appear quant and grandmotherly at the range. It’s because metal is a very good conductor of heat. As soon as you go stirring with a big ole metal spoon, the heat right next to the metal will be absorbed by it. As it runs up to burn your hand, the temperature of the solution on the surface of the spoon will be reduced. That plus the physical agitation you’re providing is all the coaxing the sugar would need to begin crystallizing. That crystallization could rapidly move throughout the pan. Now you don’t have brittle, you have pralines. Should that happen, get the goo out immediately and deposit into small rounds on the Silpat. Once they cool, someone will eat them.

Application: Boiling

Place the 1 teaspoon of vegetable oil into a 10-inch sauté pan and place over medium heat. Add the pumpkin seeds and toast, keeping them in constant motion until they turn golden brown and begin to pop. If you stop shaking the pan, they’ll burn. Remove from heat, add the cinnamon, cayenne, and salt, and stir to combine. Set aside.

Lightly rub the sides of the saucier with vegetable oil. Add the sugar and water and set over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the sugar has dissolved. Cover and cook for 5 minutes undisturbed. After 5 minutes, remove the lid and continue cooking until the mixture turns an amber-brown color, approximately 15 to 25 minutes depending on your stovetop. Once the sugar is amber-brown, remove the pan from the heat and gently stir in all of the seeds with a wooden spoon. This will greatly reduce the temperature of the sugar so work quickly. As quickly as you can pour the mixture onto a sheet pan lined with a Silpat, spreading the mixture thin. Cool completely and then break into pieces.

A silicone impregnated fiberglass mat. It’s the most unsticky thing on the planet. If you don’t have one, try heavily greased parchment paper, but not wax paper (unless you like the flavor of crayons).

Yield: 4 cups brittle

Note:
When sugar syrups turn brown it’s a sign that they have moved from hot, through searing, beyond lava-like, into the realm of napalm. So be careful.

Software:

1 teaspoon vegetable oil, plus
extra for the saucier
1½ cups hulled pumpkin seeds
(these are the green ones)
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
½ teaspoon kosher salt
3 cups sugar

Hardware:

10-inch sauté pan
3 to 4 quart saucier with lid
Kitchen timer
Paper towel
Half sheet pan
Silpat to fit half sheet pan
Wooden spoon

Sugar Snap Peas with Spicy Lemon Dipping Sauce

Application: Blanching

First the peas.
Bring 2 quarts of water and the salt to a boil in a 4-quart saucepan, covered, over high heat. Add the peas and cook uncovered for 2½ to 3 minutes. Drain the peas and immediately plunge into ice water. Drain and set aside. The actual time of course will depend on the peas. These aren’t big ole green beans, and few things are as awful as limp sugar snaps. So stay right with them as they cook.

Liquids in covered pans really do come to a boil much Faster than liquids that don’t.

Beans in covered pans really do brown quickly because of the buildup of assorted chemicals, such as acids that although released from the beans, can turn them drab as well.

Then the dip.
In a medium mixing bowl whisk together the mayonnaise, sour cream, lemon zest, lemon juice, red pepper flakes and tarragon. Taste and add salt and pepper as desired.

Even if the dip is perfect and the peas are dead on, the dish will fail if the peas are wet. Once they’ve chilled down, dry them well or the dip just won’t stick…and that would be sad.

Yield: Appetizer for 6 to 8 people. (Personally, I can finish off a whole batch by myself.)

Software:

For the peas:

Heavy pinch kosher salt
12 ounces sugar snap peas,
trimmed and rinsed
(approximately 4 cups)

For the sauce:

⅔ cup mayonnaise
¾ cup sour cream
Zest from one lemon, chopped fine
1 tablespoon freshly squeezed
lemon juice
1 teaspoon red chili flakes
1 teaspoon dried tarragon
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Hardware:

4-quart saucepan
Microplane or other fine texture
grater
Cutting board
Chef’s knife
Colander
Ice
Large metal mixing bowl
Medium mixing bowl
Whisk

Blanching

Boiling water is at the heart of this technique, but since it’s the most powerful tool we have in the war against mushy, olive-drab, nasty-tasting vegetables, blanching deserves its own section here. Blanching is the process by which foods (usually fruits and firm green vegetables) are par-boiled briefly in salted water then quickly moved to ice water to halt the cooking process. (Blanching is often followed by another quick-cooking method such as sautéing.) Why bother with all this? Because vegetables are merciless time bombs just waiting to go off and ruin dinner. Don’t believe me? Grab a razor blade, a spear of asparagus, and a really big microscope.

Take a thin slice of the asparagus and look at it under the scope. It looks kind of like a box of Christmas ornaments. There are neat, enclosed cells containing various substances and mechanisms. Chlorophyll production here, food stores there, digestive enzymes in another, reproductive information in yet another. All kept safe and sound by cell walls, which are made out of a kind of plant cement, which is then reinforced with fibers (cellulose) just like concrete walls are reinforced with steel rods. The outer walls are encased in a waxy cuticle that keeps the whole thing air- and watertight. All is well, all is raw . . . all is unpalatable.