Michael Laiskonis

Sweet Heat

Unknowingly about to dodge the six inches of snow that would fall upon New York City, I set out last week for the warmer climes of Grand Cayman: sun, clear blue waters, and a fairly constant 85 degrees. Though a welcome respite from the Northeast winter, the weather was merely incidental to my real purpose. This was no vacation; I was here to work. Open just over two years, Blue, Eric Ripert's first of ongoing collaborations with the Ritz Carlton, is the signature dining outlet in the company's 400 room resort situated on the island's Seven Mile Beach. Responsible for the restaurant's dessert menu from the beginning, I typically travel twice a year to not only tweak and troubleshoot the current offerings, but to introduce new menu items as well. This time around, a complete menu overhaul was my goal: six to eight new desserts in three days.

Perhaps the consulting project that most resembles Le Bernardin (though by no means an exact replica), Blue maintains a casual elegance, a relaxed atmosphere reflective of it's surroundings; luxury and fine dining meets Caribbean tranquility. The kitchen is run by our former sous chef Richard Brower, who is supported by a young, international cast of cooks: American, French, Moroccan, Peruvian, South African, local Caymanians, and other nationalities have all been represented in the kitchen there, which always makes for an exciting cultural exchange and a few foreign language lessons. But then, come to think of it, the kitchens of New York City are no different! But the focus of the restaurant from the beginning has been to take advantage of what is available locally. With an obvious interest in the surrounding waters, Richard sources from local fisherman wahoo, ocean yellow tail, queen snapper, conch, and huge spiny lobster, among others. And though just barely twice the size of Manhattan, Grand Cayman also offers some interesting fruit and vegetables. Wanting to take advantage of such produce, I knew before setting out that my new menu would incorporate a unique little pepper to spice things up a bit.

A Caribbean staple known as a mutton, or simply, "seasoning" pepper, this diminutive flavor bomb is a close cousin of the fiery Scotch Bonnet, or habanero. Possessing far fewer Scoville units, these seasoning peppers reveal all of the sweet complexities often overshadowed by its larger relative's heat.Tame enough to be eaten raw, they also release a layer of sweet heat to cooked dishes as well. While I had a fairly good idea of the menu changes to be made, I always try to leave myself open to spontaneity. So within an hour of arriving at the hotel, I found myself first checking out the kitchen's stash of seasoning peppers, and then other ingredients, surveying possible ways to introduce them into a dessert befitting the tropical vibe I was instantly succumbing to.

Infusing desserts with heat is nothing new. Most decent traditional hot chocolate contains some form of smoky dried chiles. And as children we all enjoyed the red-tongued, painful pleasure of consuming too many "red hot" candies or jaw breaking "fireballs"; I especially loved those chewy Hot Tamales- a peek at the official website shows that they are still trying to fire up the original, created in the 1950s. Years ago, I stumbled upon a combination of cinnamon and jalapeno that closely replicated that flavor, and set to work at the time infusing that flavor into winter squash to accompany a chocolate dessert. Cory Barrett, my successor at Tribute now gaining recognition at Cleveland's Lola, had toyed with the concept of a "fruit kimchee", a garnish of lightly salted and pickled fruit, amped up with requisite spice. And more recently, a trip to Puerto Rico introduced my mainland palate to the wonders of the condiment pique, often a home-brewed concoction combining peppers, pineapple rinds, vinegar, and a myriad of spices; some of the best (and scariest) are those cloudy liquids sold in old rum bottles among the stalls of old San Juan's plaza del mercado. Anyway, I had this kind of fresh and fiery approach in mind as I gathered some seasoning peppers, pineapples, mangoes, and limes.

I thought an infusion would be a good starting point, so I combined roughly chopped pineapple with the sliced peppers, sugar, and water. Giving those flavors a simmer and a few hours to co-mingle, I diced more pineapple along with mango, and another more intense fire-engine red cherry pepper. I then spied water apples in the walk-in refrigerator. Water apples, or Malay apples are usually associated with Indonesia and Southeast Asia, but a Caribbean strain is also popular, often referred to as Jamaica or Otaheite apples. Their crisp and juicy flesh are not unlike jicama or Asian pears. Diced water apple would add a bit of refreshing texture to my developing fruit salad. Just as I set to work on the water apples, I noticed one of the nearby garde manger cooks going to town on a gargantuan green papaya, which would have been another interesting addition, but I figured I'd file that away for another time, another experiment.

Adjusting the sugar and acid of my pepper "dressing", I then looked for both contrast and compliment to best show off my fruit salad, now also garnished with micro cilantro. Lime and coconut answered in the form of a basic lime curd and coconut sorbet. The simple composition shown here eventually grew into a proper plated dessert including a creamy lime-vanilla parfait and crisp meringue. Building upon my enthusiasm for locally enhanced classics, I paired simple profiteroles with chocolate and a coriander-pink peppercorn spiked mango coulis, and a riff on lemon and meringue, using ginger and maracuja, or passion fruit. Creating three other plated desserts and a handful of petit fours rounded out my busy week.

Given my short time and ambitious goals, I could only take mental note of other sources of inspiration that came from immersing myself in a few days of Cayman culture. Tamarind, fresh sugar cane, young coconut, sweet sorrel, and several varieties of pumpkins and sweet potatoes will all be on my agenda when I visit next. As a bonus, I returned to New York with a bagful of Peruvian ingredients to play with, courtesy of Guiliana, Blue's pastry cook who will be executing all of the new desserts. I now can add to my pantry dried purple corn (used to produce a sweet soft drink in Peru) and both dried and pureed lucuma (best described as being similar to sapote), as well as a powdered quinoa reminiscent of malted milk powder.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love my job?

Download coconut_lime_recipe.pdf

For general notes on the recipes posted here, please read About the Recipes. And for hard to find ingredients or equipment, please refer to Resources.

Found Objects

I've often considered that one of the most interesting contributions to 20th century art was the use of the "found object" as a medium. Perhaps it started with the Dadaists, who simply took discarded everyday objects, or "readymades", with minimal or no alteration, and placed them in a new context, making both ironic, irreverent jokes and political statements. The use of found materials continued with early Cubist exercises- often in a cut-and-paste collage form. The idea of pop culture as high art reached its peak with Warhol, Lichtenstein, et al., and their aptly named Pop Art, reflecting both the graphics of advertising but also the iconic imagery of the increasing media saturation of the 50s and 60s . For the Pop artists, such material was often treated as an homage. In sculpture, too, the found object, for example discarded machinery and scrap metal, makes certain statements about post-industrial society. Sampling in music is yet another form of this idea. In addition to a simple change in context, there is also merit in the mere manipulation of the source material itself.

We're seeing a similar increasing use of the found object in cooking, usually in the form of mass market prepared foods. It's not a new phenomenon; we've all seen the flimsy ring-bound junior league cookbooks that offered cakes made with Coke and mayonnaise, pies made with Ritz crackers, and any number of Jello based nightmares. But in haute cuisine we find the use of such ingredients as playful and ironic, with a healthy dash of nostalgia. Ferran Adria famously used ground cough drops as a soup garnish, and his brother Albert made delicate decor from crushed Oreos. Fellow bloggers Alex and Aki at Ideas in Food seem to be obsessed with Dr. Pepper, among other things. Last year my friend Paul Connors, former pastry chef at Boston's Radius and now working in Minneapolis, prepared a dessert that found Krispy Kreme doughnuts pureed into a pancake batter and served with his signature candy cap mushroom ice cream. Graham Elliot Bowles, on the verge of opening his eponymous restaurant in Chicago, recently wrote a piece in Plate about his foie gras and pop rock dish, describing his fascination with pairing the luxurious with the humble and familiar, while also alluding to a the DIY punk aesthetic of culinary "cut-and-paste". Prankster Michel Richard constructed tiny croquembouches from Cocoa Puffs cereal. There are almost too many examples to mention.

It's also worth noting that presently, a lot of what gets dubbed "molecular" was born from the mining of the processed food industry's mechanization and chemical ingredients. And don't get me wrong, I have a foot in this trend too, but it's important to recognize that ingredients that are now hip once scared people when read from the ingredient label of packaged food. Again, its all about context.

With our last consulting project, Westend Bistro in Washington D.C., up and running, our attention is now firmly fixed on our next, a similar casual concept in Philadelphia's Ritz Carlton. Menu development for all of our various projects begins months in advance; this fluid process takes into account price point, kitchen logistics, staffing, seasonality, and location. Such primary planning of our consulting projects is coordinated by Michelle, a former Le Bernardin sous chef. She recently approached me, quite enthusiastically, about an idea for the new restaurant's dessert menu: the Tastykake. I think my reaction was accompanied by a blank stare. What the hell is a Tastykake?

A Pennsylvania native, Michelle explained that Tastykake is a much adored regional snack, a source of local pride right alongside the cheese steak. I understand such nostalgia; I think every region of the country has similar products that form an association with our childhood and where we grew up. But the Tastykake phenomenon was confirmed by another Philly girl and one of my own assistants, Monica, who dutifully delivered the goods to the pastry kitchen. It turns out there are several varieties, and everyone familiar with them has a personal favorite.

In need of some light-hearted play after an especially busy week- an appearance on the Martha Stewart Show, final photo shoots for our upcoming book, the production of almost 1000 extra pieces of chocolate for Valentine's Day- I finally turned yesterday to the Tastykake challenge. I didn't think that it would be terribly interesting to simply replicate one of these spongy, cream-stuffed treats. Ditto on "deconstructing" its elements into a plated dessert. Instead, I sought to use these snacks as actual ingredients in the spirit of all found object art, to transform them into something new. For these experiments, I chose two different varieties: the Vanilla Cream Kake, and the slightly more "refined" Kandy Kake, a sponge with peanut butter filling and a chocolate coating.

About five years ago, while still chef at Trio outside Chicago, Grant Achatz had invited me to collaborate on a special menu that would challenge our associations of savory and sweet; several ingredients were chosen at random, and we each began to plot dishes with these ingredients in a kind of call-and-response manner. Coconut was one of these ingredients, and for some reason I became fixated on creating a parody of the Twinkie; how that thought progressed from one to the other is now lost to time! In the end, the dinner had to be canceled. But looking at this white frosted, cream-filled yellow cake, I saw a perfect opportunity to revisit this old idea.

To start, these cakes seem to beg for a go in the blender; I added a touch of milk to aid their transformation into a liquid. I was looking to use this base as a flavoring for yet another cream, but its consistency right out of the blender reminded me of a tuile batter. Why not? I added a small amount of egg white to aid in the drying process, and applied this "batter" onto a Silpat for a quick bake. I now had some texture, so I returned to the cream. The puree was added to a sort of creme anglaise base, with the addition of gelatin, more vanilla, and lemon zest, which I would lighten with whipped cream before filling cylinder molds. Frozen, unmolded, and cut into thirds, this cream sits upon my own "yellow cake" base, flavored with citrus. Coconut appears as a sorbet, and it seemed logical to introduce pineapple, in the form of a vanilla and star anise infused juice. "Croutons" cut from the original Tastykake bring the dessert full circle.

In the past, I've had great success with a few "bread" flavored ice creams: cinnamon toast, pain d'epice, even banana bread. The solid material is blended into milk and allowed to infuse, then this milk goes into the base of the ice cream. I decided to use the peanut butter-chocolate Tastykake in this same fashion, accented with milk chocolate, malt powder, and rum. As an element in a simple dessert, two quenelles of the finished ice cream are topped with a plaque of tempered dark chocolate and peanut butter powder- peanut butter, roasted peanut oil, and maltodextrin. I love the way the powder and chocolate combine to evoke another mass market product, the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Maldon salt and lemon confit, as well as simple chocolate and caramel sauces, complete the composed dessert.

Both desserts taste pretty good, and the unique raw materials do add their identity to the finished product. I would definitely argue that they are more pleasing than the original. And given more time, I could probably find a few more ways to manipulate Philly's favorite sweet snack. The question remains: Will Tastykakes find their way onto the menu this summer?

Hmmm.

We'll see what happens.

Download Pineapple Coconut Tastykake Recipe.pdf

Download Malted Peanut Tastykake Recipe.pdf

 

For general notes on the recipes posted here, please read About the Recipes. And for hard to find ingredients or equipment, please refer to Resources.

Color Is Flavor

For generations, countless chefs have uttered the phrase, "color is flavor" to reinforce proper cooking techniques. This aphorism is really the basis of all culinary endeavor: heat applied to raw food. Likely discovered by happy accident, food suddenly tasted better when browned by fire. And realizing he could control the effects of heat, early man began to cook. With this harnessing of fire, and the soon-to-come development of agriculture, civilization took a huge leap.

We've certainly refined our cooking techniques since then, and science has been able to explain exactly what changes in our food, and why it subsequently tastes better. We are now able to differentiate simple caramelization (of sugars) from the Maillard reaction, a more complex chemical transformation between amino acids and sugars responsible for an array of flavor compounds. I'd have to say that one of my favorite examples- in both sweet and savory dishes- is the reaction created when enough heat is applied to milk sugars (lactose) and its neighboring proteins... brown butter.

The French cut right to the heart of the matter, referring to this amber liquid gold as beurre noisette. The classic financier shows off its complex nutty aroma the best. A simple cake comprised of brown butter, almonds, sugar, flour, and egg whites, I love it so much that I think I've always kept it in my repertoire so that I can have one at any time! I'll never forget an early pre-dawn walk some ten years ago in Paris, when passing by one of my favorite boulangeries, Jean-Luc Poujauran; I could smell the unmistakable evidence of freshly baked financiers from a block away. I've long been obsessed with brown butter and I'm always thinking of new ways to use it.

For years I've been making a brown butter ice cream (it's on the menu now, actually). It started with a recipe from Michel Bras that I've continued to adapt over time; the butter is browned and incorporated into a base of milk (no cream), sugar, egg yolks, dry milk, corn starch and stabilizer. The use of starch does help stabilize all of that added fat, but it is still a delicate preparation- when spinning in a conventional ice cream machine, a few minutes too long results in a grainy mess. I've since seen other versions where brown butter is infused in a milk or cream base (the butterfat removed after chilling), but I've always stuck with the original for its richer texture and more intense flavor. But what about other applications? How can we best take advantage of what brown butter has to offer without all of that fat?

One possible answer was right under my nose. I tend to purchase interesting products even if I don't have a particular use for them at the time. My reasoning is that someday I'll need it. I recently remembered that I had some spray-dried butterfat lying around. It sounded simple: gently toast the powder in a low oven and, bingo, I'd have a versatile "brown butter" flavoring I could add to just about anything. It worked quite well in theory, but it just didn't taste like anything, let alone the real thing. At least I tried. And then I returned to a technique I had been shown some 7 or 8 years ago by a guest chef in our kitchen at Tribute. He demonstrated how a high yield of intensely flavored browned milk solids can be achieved by simply reducing heavy cream to the point where it separates into clarified butter and the sought after solids; the only component lost is the water. It is a long process- gently cooking down a quart of cream while stirring occasionally can take upwards of an hour- and it does require your full attention as it approaches that breaking point. But just before that point, one begins to ponder dulce de leche, or cajeta, or even some of the reduced milk-based desserts of India. I'll eventually look into those traditions sometime in the near future.

This method is certainly more efficient than browning butter itself, at least for applications where the excess fat isn't desirable. Yesterday, with a fresh batch of solids on hand, I set out to create a spontaneous dish with various components among our daily mise en place. A staple of mine, something we call "vanilla emulsion", is a kind of cream that lies somewhere between a sauce and a mousse. Essentially, we start out with a concentrated creme anglaise, and lighten this base with an equal amount of whipped cream. I worked some of the browned milk solids into the base before adding the cream, and the result was beautifully light, and full of the characteristic nutty flavor. To this, I added an apple cider caramel, sweet potato pearls, pistachio powder, and vanilla salt. I hope to flesh this out further in the days and weeks ahead, as well!

With Valentine's Day looming, we're about to ramp up our chocolate production. Wanting to produce a brown butter ganache, and to impart the flavor yet maintain a smooth and balanced texture, I look to the infusion method mentioned above. And I feel the caramel and malt flavors of milk chocolate, the Amedei Toscano Brown in particular, will perfectly harmonize with the brown butter. Given its affinity with banana and rum, I'll also apply this method to infuse a white chocolate-based ganache we use to fill molded bonbons; if anything the white chocolate should act as a fairly neutral platform for the brown butter.

Download financier_recipe.pdf

Download brown_butter_cream_recipe.pdf

Download milk_chocolate_brown_butter_ganache_recipe.pdf

For general notes on the recipes posted here, please read About the Recipes. And for hard to find ingredients or equipment, please refer to Resources.

On Food and Architecture

I've been thinking a lot about architecture lately. It's a closet interest of mine, though I have to admit that my passion is limited to "I don't know much about architecture, but I know what I like." And for me, one of the benefits of urban living is being surrounded by so much of it. I'm also fascinated by the juxtaposition of various styles, shapes, and sizes, sometimes even more than the individual buildings themselves. Certainly more chaotic than say, the many carefully planned vistas of Paris, a glance down any street or avenue in Manhattan can be just as beautiful.

You may think you know where I'm going with this: "architectural" desserts, or "tall" food of years past. Of course, presentation will always be an important factor in fine dining, and such trends come and go; in the last ten years or so, for instance, our food has slowly retreated to the surface of the plate, often appearing as if randomly scattered, sometimes even ignoring the conventional boundary of the rim. Thinking about it a little more figuratively, I think the true "architecture" of a dish is less about looks or its visual construction, and more about an "architecture of taste"- how the blending of its elements creates an appealing framework of flavor and texture.

Without too much stretching, I think there are some great analogies to be made between cooking and architecture. Both are seen by some as lofty art and by others as humble craft. Both provide a vehicle for trendy fashion and practical function. Both reflect their immediate environment and in turn give that place a sense of unique identity. Occasionally, both incite controversy. As two of the three necessities of life, food and shelter both hold a certain sociological importance that even spawn whole philosophies. This was revealed to me some years ago by my friend Warren, who happens to be not only an architect with projects planted all over the world, but also an ambitious amateur cook. He noticed that many of the conceptual discussions happening in chef circles mirrored the current debates among architects. This was during the initial explosion of creativity in Spain led by Adria, and followed elsewhere, too, courtesy of Heston Blumenthal, Grant Achatz and others. Suddenly, there was a surge of chefs questioning the entire nature of food, its forms, its tradition, its politics, its physiological properties and psychological associations. This most "modern" of cooking seems to be a precise intersection of engineering and philosophy. At the time, Warren told me about a construction project in Switzerland that perfectly reflected this discussion, the Blur Building, the goal of which was to create an indeterminate "structure" of water vapor. On the same metaphysical level, my friend Asbel once pondered how to make food float in mid air. I do think it is interesting and important for both disciplines to question themselves in such a way. Is a building without walls still a building? Is that just dinner that I ate?

That said, at the end of the day, food is just food. And even though I pay way too much rent, I need a solid room in which to rest. And from both I ultimately seek comfort and pleasure. What concerns me as a chef, is how the various elements of a dish- taste, texture, temperature- are all engineered and arranged to provide the maximum impact. We achieve this through compliment (classic flavor pairings, as well as the unconventional) and contrast (sweet against tart, smooth against crunchy, hot against cold, etc.). Attention is also given to the structure itself, as "how" we eat and experience a dish, the order and proportion of these elements results in the form and presentation of the dish. One caveat I learned early on: no matter how well two or more elements might "go well" together, each must also be able to stand alone.

The dish presented here is an old one, but reflects this idea perfectly. An interpretation of the mille fueille or napoleon, this dessert shows off both the individual qualities of each layer- riffs on the classic combination of hazelnut and  milk chocolate- and how they play off of each other in just the right measure. Its overt architectural presentation is really just a bonus!

The image below appeared in New York Sweets, a beautiful book photographed and produced by New York photographer Battman (aka Alan Batt). For more information about this and other books, including another dessert book in the works, visit Battman Studios. The above details are of images also shot by Battman in 2006- they were created for a project I was a part of in conjunction with the National Peanut Board and CIA Greystone.

Download mille_feuille_recipe.pdf

For general notes on the recipes posted here, please read About the Recipes. And for hard to find ingredients or equipment, please refer to Resources.