Wild Garlic

I went to the woods yesterday hoping to find morels, whose season, given the recent weather, has almost certainly begun in this part of Illinois.  Alas, there were no morchella to be found.  I was compensated, however, by a bounty of wild garlic, whose shoots spread widely over a large embankment beside a brook.  Chicagua is not named Chicagua for nothing.  A small portion of these were duly harvested by trowel and by hand, with bulbs attached and without.  You can see the small bulbs and rootlets attached to some shoots on the left of the picture.  I also collected several ramps, one of which is pictured in my hand.  There were some more to be had, but between a degree of uncertainty as to their identification and the abundance of garlic nearby, they were foolishly left behind.

The garlic shoots are probably most similar to chives, very fresh tasting, but a little sharper and more garlicky.  The ramps, which are well known in gourmet circles, but which I have never tasted, are very interesting.  I think their flavor is usually described as some mixture of onion, garlic and leek, which is fair, but not really that helpful if you ask me.  I would say they are delicious and unique.

Hopefully there will be some morels to post in the very near future.  I am told that the clay-rich soil we saw yesterday, though ideal for garlic, is not conducive to the growth of morels (or probably any kind of mushroom).  For the time being, I will be in search of sand and elm.

KB

STOP THE PRESSES

In what will certainly be listed as a day of infamy and send tremors through the "culinary endeavours and gastronomique" megaverse, King Boletus is not a proper scientific term but a conflation.

Researchers at the National University of Singapore (NUS) have determined that the Porcini mushroom, the so-called namesake of this weblog, is known as King Bolete to the layman and Boletus edulis on the Linnaean classification system. So, is King Boletus a common or scientific name? The answer, sad to say, is no. 

BUT do not despair! This is a conflation, an amalgamation, a synthesis and dare-I-say lovechild of the two common and scientific terms. Like the finest of cooking, synthesis of styles yields delightful results (see the breakfast burrito). In a melding of the common man's and the common nerd's name for this fine mushroom, King Boletus represents this blog's dueling Apolline/Dionysian, endeavours/tourismes, creation/consumption disparities. But is this a duel?!? I say thee nay! This is not a duel but a dialectic.

For those keeping score at home, King Boletus is a proper name of this blog and should be treated as such. 

Copenhagen

The Danes are a delightful Nordic people, austere in style and blonde in coiffe. Their love of bikes is paralleled only by the thickness of their pancakes, which, I must say, are remarkably cake-like. I traveled to Copenhagen to do business among the finest Eurocrats in the land but it was the food (and Freetown Christiania) which captivated my senses.

I arrived in Denmark after a long flight and was conveyed immediately to my meeting, where I was greeted by a lunch of Danish meatloaf, lingonberry preserves, and a fine array of soft cheeses, including the mild Danish blue for which Denmark is famous. While I have no pictures of the welcoming feast, I did snap a few of my dinner that evening, eaten at a fine purveyor of haute Danish cuisine.

To start, an amuse of smoked ham and soft cheese, delicately balanced on a toasted crostini, and presented to me on an almost hilariously austere piece of slate. I wish I had gotten an image before I greedily devoured this exercise in Danish restraint.

I dutifully captured the first course, however. A piece of delicately fried plaice arrived at my table, surrounded  by the mathematic perfection of romanesco cabbage, dill sauce (forest green) , two other unidentified sauces (yellow, red), a mound of caramelized cabbage puree (beige), and a triumphant dill garnish. This dish was well executed, with the mild place holding its own amidst the rich puree and panoply of herby/acidic/sweet sauces. The romanesco cabbage, while beautiful, did not have quite the crunch needed to balance out the texture of the rest of the plate, which a toothless geriatric would have otherwise relished.

After this foray in surf, I was granted a brief respite in the form of a sorbet course (such extravagance in a man so young). The sorbet had a touch of lemon liquor, which did the palate right. The turf came shortly thereafter: rack of lamb, salted almonds, tomato relish, fried turnip, more dill. The lamb was expertly cooked, and the various sauces excited the palate. I was particularly partial to this combination of meat and nut, with the slight gaminess of the meat well tempered by the subtle sweet/salty/crunch or the almond. This was a dish well suited for a frigid North Sea winter: rich and warming in all respects.

Throughout this two course adventure, I managed to take down the slightly piquant brown bread with which I was provided, all of it slathered with what I believe was a homemade aioli. The combination put me into an immediate catatonic state.

(The Danish rainbow consists of three colors: black, white, brown)

The rest of my trip I spent biking the city, eating the occasional smørrebrød, and contemplating the possibility of becoming a purveyor of fine Danish smoked salmon. 

Fried Pork Cheek

Yeah, well, long time no post. But when you are jostling with the global south for communal kitchen space the product slips. Anyways, I'm going to Basque country tomorrow but decided to post a few pics from when my sister was here.

The first two were from Great Queen Street which is a nice "gastro-pub".

Fried Pork Cheek with Horseradish and Red Cabbage

crispy,unctuous, delish

smoked trout w. beets

 Grilled Raclette and Red Onion Sandwich (from Borough Market)

Raclette under a heater: you can have them melt it on top of roasted new potatoes. 

Bonus, the view from Borough Market across the Thames.

Bonus2: Sharing the rock

on to the pinxtos.

Brussels Sprout and Mascarpone Pizza

I hadn't made pizza in a while, but turned out a few great pies this week.  The key was getting the oven and pizza stone as hot as possible then turning the broiler on high right after putting the pizza in.

I'm still using an approximation of Alton Brown's dough recipe, although I consulted an Alice Waters recipe too this time.  This dough spent a few weeks in the freezer before getting used, which I don't think I'd ever done.  The flavor didn't suffer, but it was a little less pliable than usual.

For toppings, we had canned San Marzano tomatoes seasoned with salt, pepper, oregano and fresh parsley, sliced garlic, mozzarella, mascarpone and brussels sprouts tossed in some olive oil.  The pies were finished with parmesan.  The chunks of brussels sprout were blanched; loose leaves were raw.  Next time I might roast the chunks for a few minutes alone to get some more char.

In

And out.

And again

Before the shaved parmesan

Yes

The Goat of Angora: King of the Mountain

Rich, unctuous, tangy: cheese. It can take so many forms, and yet at its core, cheese has the power to put one into a state of rapture worthy of some of our most potent psychotropics. Not content to experience merely the end product, we recently endeavored to make our own variety of cheese. The end result was a rich but smooth goats milk cheese, laced with garlic and a make-shift Herbes de Provence.

The process is really quite simple. You start with one quart of goats milk, gently simmered until it reaches 180 degrees Fahrenheit.

Once the milk has reached temperature, turn off the heat and add 1/2 cup lemon juice. Let sit for about 15 minutes as the curds magically separate from the whey. Oh my!

After about 15 minutes, pour the slurry into a colander lined with cheese cloth. The whey will drip off, leaving the curds from which the cheese genesis can begin. If you'd like, reserve the whey by placing the colander/cheesecloth combo over a pot. Then, use the whey to whip up some ricotta. I, unfortunately, contaminated the whey with dish soap. My b.

Expectant cheese makers doing work. 

After a good bit of the whey has drained off, cinch the cheese cloth into a ball, tie it off, and hang it over the sink (or your whey pot, if you please).

After about two hours of watching Big Love, return to your ball and become mesmerized by its metamorphisis from humble milk to a subtle chevre.

Ultimately, we mixed this Manna with a mixture of thyme, lavender, basil, garlic, and sea salt. The result was sublime, whether spread on a baguette or dolloped liberally onto some fresh made gnocchi, as we opted to do. The end result was a an intensely creamy but well balanced sauce, perfect to complement the delicate potato dumplings.

This midday feast, made possible by the generosity of my culinarily inclined friends, was a welcome respite from the 2 feet of snow that had bound us to our humble abode.

More Pickles!

I pickled a pound of crimini mushrooms yesterday with a few porcinis, sage, thyme, parsley, tarragon, garlic, balsamic, olive oil and salt.  I don't have pictures though, so I'll post on those when they're ready to eat in a week or so.

Tonight I finally got around to making pickle pickles, dill pickles as it were.  Except I couldn't get dill heads, or even dill seeds, so really they are imitation kosher pickles, with tarragon standing in (adequately I hope) for the herbiness of the dill.

Here is the whole spread before assembly:

We have:

3 pounds pickling cucumbers, blossom ends removed
4 sprigs of tarragon
8 cloves of garlic, sliced
3 de arbol chiles, split lengthwise
1 tablespoon allspice
2 tablespoons yellow mustard seeds
2 tablespoons coriander seeds
1.5 teaspoons black peppercorns

Close up of the spices:

Assemble the ingredients in layers, kind of like this:

Finally, dissolve 1/2 cup (uniodized) salt in 3 quarts of water and pour the brine until the cucumbers are covered.  Fill a ziploc freezer bag with leftover brine and push the cucumbers down so they are all completely submerged.

Apparently they will be ready in about 2 weeks.  I will update on their progress before then.

I also pickled some more pears, this time of the Seckel variety, which is the traditional pickling pear in America.

One

Two

Three

I used the same recipe as last time, halving the quantities once again.  Really, this is a better size pear to pickle, although peeling them is a bitch.