Kitchen Guy

I’m not sure exactly what motivated me to choose taking German over Spanish in high school. It’s a complex language with an extremely complex grammar (although nowhere near as burdensome as French).

And I didn’t know it then, but at the same time a few high school kids who would become very brilliant marketers in the future must have been taking German in high school, too.

This got me to wondering what drives people to buy food and beverage products that have funny sounding names or funny looking alphabetics on the labels? Does anyone honestly believe that Häagen Dasz ice cream comes from a European country whose language uses umlauts? Lest you be mislead, it was created and manufactured in the Bronx and is now owned by Pillsbury.

I’ve seen it with bottled water (the claims about the source of these various brands of water is fodder for another column) and yogurt, among other things. And don’t you just love the brand that spells it yøgürt? (That o with a diagonal line through it is the Danish equivalent of the umlaut. And if you pronounced it they way you’re supposed to, then it would sound like you were saying yeh-geert. Eew.)

Snob appeal is a time-honored marketing technique. How about all of these hair care products commercials on television voiced by people with the most elitist British accents? It took me the full 30 seconds to realize that when the woman said hay-uh she meant hair.

So is this stuff any better than brands without accent marks and other diacritical anomalies?

Well, it depends. In the world of ice cream, the higher the butterfat content, the richer the ice cream tastes. It’s the reason you’ll see lines down the block and then doubled back at frozen custard stands. The aforementioned Häagen Dasz began a trend that its competitors had no choice but to follow. Increase the butterfat and find exotic flavors and flavor combinations. Bless you anyway, Ben and Jerry.

There’s nothing wrong with this. I’m a died-in-the-wool capitalist. But when it comes to food, I’m also a deconstructionist. That’s the way I made my reputation in the television food business – showing folks that restaurant food can be made in almost any home kitchen, with not that many exceptions.

So let’s call an umlaut an umlaut and read the ingredients on the packaging. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts that brands without the funny looking letters match the fancy brands calorie for calorie, fat gram for fat gram.

Taste, of course, is subjective, which I suppose makes it somewhat akin to golf – it’s all in your head.

(So maybe if my golf balls had brand names with umlauts I could keep them in the fairway.)

Nevertheless, go ahead and buy what you want. But if you’ve got one of those home ice cream making contraptions and you can whip up Crème Anglaise, then you’ve got the makings of French Vanilla Ice Cream that I’d put up against any umlaut brand any day of the week.

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Crème Anglaise
(Vanilla Custard Sauce)

6 large egg yolks
2/3 cup sugar
2 cups half and half
1 vanilla bean, split*

Whisk egg yolks and 2/3 cup sugar in medium bowl to blend. Place 2 cups half and half in heavy medium saucepan. Scrape in seeds from vanilla bean; add bean. Bring mixture to simmer over medium heat. Remove from heat. Gradually whisk hot half and half mixture into egg yolk mixture. Return mixture to saucepan. Stir over medium-low heat until custard thickens slightly and leaves path on back of spoon when finger is drawn across, about 12 minutes (do not boil). Discard vanilla bean. Cover and refrigerate until cold. (Can be prepared 1 day ahead; keep refrigerated.)

* You may substitute 2 tsp. vanilla extract, but add it just before whisking in the egg yolk mixture.

There’s no business like show business and sometimes that includes appearing at county fairs.

Three shows a day for a couple of days, cooking live (as opposed to my video taped gigs where the editing room frequently saves my bacon, so to speak).

At this particular fair there were no big name bands, no country crooners, no music revival groups. No — just the diving dogs, the racing pigs – and me. Yessirree — show business is my life.

If you’ve ever watched chefs cook live on television you’ve probably witnessed the bizarre phenomenon of people applauding for the addition of garlic or cayenne pepper to a recipe. I’ve never really understood that.

I love garlic as much as the next guy and I use it in many of my recipes. But applauding for it? Well, applaud they did and I must confess, it’s addictive. I then began to wonder: What else can I do to elicit more applause?

When you’re a so-called “celebrity chef,” there are only two kinds of people you encounter: People who know who you are and people who haven’t a clue.

So as much as I enjoyed getting applause for adding garlic to one of the three pans I had going, there were those who attended the fair who thought I was just another food vendor and they wanted to know what kind of cold beer I had for sale.

And then there was this: A little girl – probably no more than nine or 10 years old – saw one of my demonstrations and then saw me having lunch that I purchased from one of the food concessions. So she asked a very legitimate question: “If you’re a chef, how come you didn’t make your own lunch?”

I have a stock answer, because it’s not the first time I’ve been asked. Quite honestly, one of my favorite things is when someone else cooks for me. But I digress. Back to the fair.

This is what I learned: Some people came to see me cook – my foodie groupies. Some came out of curiosity – about a guy they sometimes see on TV. Some were there because there was an available chair (walking a fair can be exhausting). And some came because they thought there would be free food.

But the county health department foiled their plan. One of my other favorite things – the food police – said you can look but you can’t taste.

You Paid How Much For That Meal?

I recently celebrated a milestone birthday that included some very expensive meals at some high end restaurants in California.

As a working chef, the price of food is always foremost in my mind. When you’re in business you have to make a profit, otherwise you’re not in business. So I got to thinking about the prices of restaurant food.

Make no mistake: I like cooking for money. That’s how I earn my way in this world. But I don’t have the same overhead that a big restaurant does, because I don’t own a restaurant. But does the boneless rib eye steak (choice grade) that I buy for $7.99 a pound and that I cook to perfection really differ that much from the $75 steak (same cut, but graded prime) in the trendy ultra-hip steakhouse?

Prime beef is generally available only to restaurants and because so much of it is exported, it’s pretty hard to find. It is rarely available at the retail level. Most of us buy choice grade as do most restaurants. If I were to buy that same rib eye at retail, and the grade was prime, the price would be at least double if not more.

Don’t even get me started about Wagyu – the American version of Kobe beef – because if you think prime beef is expensive, you’ll burst a gasket when you see the prices for Wagyu.

I had my first taste of authentic Kobe beef about 15 years ago and even then, the meat sold for $90 a pound. A year or so ago, a well-known chef in New York created a $1,000 hamburger using Kobe beef. And the aforementioned hip restaurant where I had my birthday dinner offered a Kobe beef corn dog (!) for $26. If you pay that much for a hamburger or a hot dog, then you have too much money.

So how do you gauge what restaurant food is worth? How much are you willing to pay for “atmosphere” and other non-tangibles? Does one chef’s prime steak outweigh another’s perfectly cooked choice steak?

First of all, as far as I’m concerned, I always love it when someone else cooks for me. And if that someone else happens to be a talented, creative and innovative chef, that’s great. I perceive value in that. I hope that my clients perceive of me likewise.

I have to draw the line at these cookie-cutter steakhouses where everything is a la carte. After ordering a piece of beef that’s north of 50 bucks, I refuse to pay $12 for creamed spinach or any vegetable side dish. Similarly, potatoes no matter how they’re prepared are just not worth $15. At those prices, the plate should come with something more than the beef and a sprig of parsley.

There are exceptions. Foie gras or white truffles could influence my decision. You’ll never convince me, however, that high prices could ever have anything to do with quality.

But, hey, it’s your money. You spend it the way you want.

If you’re a foodie and you have foodie friends – and if you’re looking to have an argument, start an argument or perpetuate an argument – then try to decide which movie about food is the best.

Okay, I’ll start.

I really like Big Night, with Tony Shalhoub and Stanley Tucci. It’s the story of two brothers struggling to make it in their neighborhood Italian restaurant in the 1950s. At this point, some of you are saying, “No! No! Kitchen Guy! Chocolat was better! Eat Drink Man Woman rocked!”

And still others will add Like Water for Chocolate, or Tortilla Soup, or Babette’s Feast.

They were good, too. And I really enjoy them all, as each has a place in my permanent DVD collection.

But few works of cinematic fiction delve into the actual technique of making beautiful food the way Big Night does. It was easy to see that the writer and director had the greatest respect for fine food expertly prepared and disdain for run-of-the-mill cliché Italian food.

Without going into scene by scene detail or explaining the whole movie, the premise is that the brothers’ fiercest competitor recognizes the superiority of their food and in a devious plot schemes to put them out of business by having them create a sumptuous feast for the supposed visit of Louis Prima, one of the biggest stars of the day.

Louis Prima never arrives, of course, but the food – course after course of extraordinary creations, lovingly prepared by Tony Shalhoub’s character, keeps coming to the table as the invited guests gorge themselves in this special feast.

Why, you may be asking yourself at this point, do I wax rhapsodic about this particular food movie? Yes, I loved the story. Yes, I loved the food. Yes, I loved the overall feel of the picture.

But what I liked best was the fact that these food masterpieces were created by a cook with no formal training in any culinary school. These were recipes and techniques handed down in his family from father to son, from mother to daughter. Furthermore, there was respect for the ingredients and almost a sense of reverence for the end product.

As food prices skyrocket; as reports of food contamination increase; and as the costs for food commodities fall prey to speculators’ greed, we ought to be reverting to the attitudes we had about food in the 50s. For sure there were far fewer preservatives in use and more of us used fresh ingredients in preparing our daily meals. There were almost no “fast food” places churning out transfat-laden junk food. You really had to work at becoming obese.

So dig out Great-Grandma’s recipe file that you inherited or that old and tattered Betty Crocker cookbook that Mom used to use and find something retro to make for dinner tonight. How about my recipe for this throwback dish from the 50s with a little modern tweak?

Salisbury Steaks with Mushroom Madeira Sauce

4 slices bacon, diced
2 slices white bread, crusts removed
1/4 cup whole milk
1 3/4 pounds lean ground beef
1 teaspoon salt
1 dash pepper
3 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce 2 tablespoons butter
1/2 pound mushroom, sliced
5 teaspoons flour
1 cup beef broth
3 tablespoons Madeira wine
2 tablespoons chives, minced

Dice the bacon strips and cook until crisp. Drain on paper towels.
Soak the bread in milk until soft. Squeeze out excess milk. Lightly mix the bread, the ground beef, salt, pepper and 2/3 of the Worcestershire sauce, until thoroughly combined. Shape into 4 oval patties about 1 to 1 1/2 inches thick.
Preheat the broiler and grease the broiler pan. Broil patties approximately 4 minutes on each side for rare; 5 minutes for medium rare; 6 minutes for medium.
For the sauce, melt the butter in a skillet over medium high heat. Add the mushrooms and sauté about 3 minutes. Blend in flour and cook one minute longer. Slowly add broth and cook until thickened. Add the Madeira and remaining Worcestershire. Pour over the steaks, and then sprinkle on chives and bacon bits.

A reader wants to know if marinating chicken breasts before baking them in the oven would keep them from drying out.

            The answer is that while marinating can enhance flavor, it can actually promote drying. The best way to ensure a juicy result is by brining the meat. That may seem counterintuitive, given that the main ingredient of any brining solution is salt.

            Brining is the process of soaking meat in a salt solution. It causes the meat to absorb liquid and also seasons the meat because it absorbs the brine. So right away, using a brine will flavor and tenderize the meat as well as keep it juicy.

            The basic formula for a brine is one cup of coarse (kosher) salt and half cup of sugar to each gallon of water. Adding herbs and spices is the way to introduce flavor to the meat through the brining solution.

            I highly recommend brining for cooking whole turkeys, too. Your Thanksgiving bird will be memorable and no part of the bird will ever come out dry.

            These days, most folks are buying boneless skinless chicken breasts.  There is little or no fat, which promotes juiciness, and without skin and bone, the meat goes into the oven, grill or pan without protection. So the absence of skin and bone promotes drying. And so does overcooking. Here are additional solutions for preventing your boneless skinless chicken breasts from drying:

            Use a pastry brush and lightly “paint” the chicken breasts with olive oil or canola oil before cooking. Broil, rather than bake, the chicken breasts until they just begin to brown, about 10 to 15 minutes. Chefs use touch to test for doneness. Just open your hand and spread your fingers so there is about a quarter inch between them. Now feel the skin below your thumb. That’s the way the meat should feel. Chefs also use carry-over cooking time (that means the meat continues to cook even after you pull it from the heat) to reach the ideal temperature. (More on the importance of meat thermometers in a future column.)

            Here’s a basic brine recipe that’ll work for chicken, turkey and pork:

1 gallon spring water

1 cup kosher salt

½ cup sugar

4 garlic cloves, cut in half

2 tsp. dried oregano

2 tsp. dried thyme

2 tsp. ground coriander

12 whole black peppercorns

            Bring water, salt and sugar to a boil, stirring until sugar and salt are completely dissolved. Remove from heat and stir in remaining ingredients. Cool to room temperature, then chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours.

            Place meat in a Zip-Loc® bag, add brine, seal and refrigerate for at least two hours or overnight.

            Pat the meat dry (this is important), brush with oil and sauté, broil or bake.

Having worked in and run a few restaurant kitchens, I can tell you that the language is every bit as salty as you may have witnessed on food-based reality shows on television. I can also tell you that many of the characters that work in restaurant kitchens are not exactly the most elegantly raised individuals.

But I find it truly hard to swallow the contention that the cast of characters currently competing for the job of executive chef of Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant on “Hell’s Kitchen” are culinary professionals worthy of consideration for any restaurant job.

As a creature of television myself, I understand completely the producers’ needs to inject excitement, drama, mystery and entertainment into their programs. But someone claiming to be a chef at any level that cannot prepare a piece of prime beef or properly seared scallops – I’m wondering how they qualified to be on this show? Based on some of their other broadcast escapades, Fox set the bar rather low for what is acceptable television.

And if this crop of miscreants is the cream of the applicants, I cannot possibly imagine the caliber of rejects.

As for Chef Ramsay’s demeanor, I can tell you that he is a throwback to an era of authoritarianism in the culinary world, a leftover from the time in Europe when the only way to work your way up in a kitchen was to begin as an apprentice and take all the crap the chef could shove your way.

An executive chef or his or her immediate deputy must be in firm command of the kitchen, a point that Chef Ramsay continually drives home. In my opinion, though, debasing your staff usually is not the best way to get the best food from them. When cooks make mistakes during service, nothing gets solved and no one gets served if the chef/tyrant is screaming expletives. In my kitchen, someone on the line steps in to correct the problem. Then we move on and complete the service.

Mistakes generally are a result of the chef’s failure to teach the way he wants his recipe made. Furthermore, no one goes on the line until they have a complete understanding of the menu and all of the component parts of every dish on that menu. In better restaurants, the same is true for the wait staff.

I conclude that “Hell’s Kitchen” is not reality. It is a fantasy. And whoever the winner may be – I don’t think I want to eat in a restaurant they’re cooking in.

I once freaked out a food writer for a major metropolitan newspaper by including peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on my “last meal on death row” menu. My answer to this macabre question became the stuff of legend in that city because of my reputation for preparing high-end, very pricey meals.

According to my mother, peanut butter and jelly is about the only thing I ate until I was 14 years old (along with a packaged snack called Tasty-Kake Butterscotch Krimpets, mass-produced at the Tasty-Baking Company in Philadelphia).

After all these years I have not lost my taste for peanut butter and I have been known to use it in some of my recipes. In fact, many chefs around the world use it to make peanut sauces for Chinese and Thai dishes. I’ll show you how at the end of this piece.

As I love peanut butter, there are cultures that abhor the taste – even the thought – of peanut butter. I spent some time in Sweden in my youth and found that Swedish kids (at least the ones I hung out with) actually gagged at the mere mention of peanut butter. In return, I used to feel the same way about one of the things that made their mouths water: eel.

The rest of this column will not be about which name brand peanut butter is the best. Frankly, the one you make yourself in your food processor is pretty darn good. It has exactly one ingredient. But you have to eat it rather quickly since it has no preservatives.

I truly regret that people who are allergic to peanuts cannot eat one of the most perfect foods there is. The oil from the peanut is naturally polyunsaturated. It’s one of the best fats to cook with because it has a higher smoke point than most other fats, so it doesn’t burn as easily. It also can impart a special quality of flavor and crispness to foods fried in it.

Why have I used my precious 350 words this week to write about peanut butter? Because every chef worth his or her salt loves perfection.