Michael Ruhlman is one of my food world heroes. He won my heart when he subjected himself to the intense life of the Culinary Arts Institute (the top chef school in the country) just so he could write a book about it (The Making of a Chef). He had no plans to become a star chef and make millions. I’m not even sure if he had a book deal before he enrolled. He paid his way through the CIA because he loved to cook and wanted to learn more about cooking for himself and his family.
He then went on to write a bunch more amazing books about chefs and food, including Soul of a Chef, a fast paced, non-fiction page turner about three chefs and how they strive for greatness in the food they prepare. He’s written the prose for celebrity chef cookbooks which contain recipes that would scare off most casual cooks, but he’s also written books that make seemingly impossible to prepare at home techniques, like charcuterie, approachable to anyone who is willing to invest the time to try.
I just got his latest book, Ratio, from the library. It’s all about the ratios that make certain foods what we expect them to be. For example, bread is made with a ratio of 5 parts flour to 3 parts water by weight. Yes, you need to add yeast and a bit of salt, and you’ll have to knead it and let it rise, but as long as the ratio between flour and water is 5:3, you’ll get bread.
For a cook with just a bit of experience, the idea behind ratios is freeing. You don’t need to look up a recipe for every bread you want to make and you don’t need to be tied to specific batch sizes. If you want to make a few rolls for dinner you can weigh out what seems like enough flour and then add the correct ratio of water plus a bit of yeast and salt. Throw in some chopped olives and rosemary towards the end of the kneading process and you’ll have fresh baked bread with just the flavors you were craving.
Ruhlman doesn’t just explain the ratio for bread, he has ratios for every type of dough and batter you can think of plus all the little extra information you’ll need to make the ratio work.
Who knew that you could free yourself from cookbooks by just remembering 1-2-3 or 3-2-1 (the first is for cookie dough (1 part sugar, 2 parts fat, 3 parts flour) and the second is for pie crust (3 parts flour, 2 parts fat, 1 part liquid))? Could it really be that simple?
By the time I got to the second chapter of the book and was reading about pasta dough I had to give it a try. Out came my kitchen scale, a bowl, some flour and a couple of eggs. The dough was ready in a jiffy and rolled out through my pasta machine like a dream. It made amazing ravioli (and because everything was weighed into one bowl, there were hardly any dishes!).
I was beginning to feel untethered from my cookbooks but before I got all crazy and swore off them for good (an idea I’d never even considered when it came to baking), I thought I should try a baking ratio to make sure the pasta wasn’t a fluke.
Does anyone need an excuse to make cookies? I don’t, so out came my scale and mixer. I looked through my cabinets to see what ingredients sounded like they’d enhance my basic 1-2-3 cookie. I immediately got stuck on the idea of pistachios, finely chopped and coating the outside of the cookie. Then I began searching for something I could add to the dough that would go well with pistachios. Orange rind sounded like a good pairing. Ruhlman had gotten my creative juices flowing and I wasn’t concerned whether pistachios and orange zest went together in someone else’s cookies, they were going together in mine.
I put the mixing bowl on the scale and added 2 ounces of sugar and 4 ounces of butter. The weight of the butter was the deciding factor in how big a batch I would make. This was an experiment and I didn’t want to be stuck with dozens of not-so-great cookies. A stick of butter weighs 4 ounces so I went from there.
Once the butter and sugar were creamed together, I grated some orange rind into the bowl and mixed it in. I placed the bowl back on the scale and added 6 ounces of flour (and a splash of cream that needed to be used up). I mixed it all up until it held together and rolled it into 1” balls. I rolled the balls in the chopped pistachios and flattened them onto a baking sheet. After 12 minutes in a 375F oven, they looked just like cookies. And they were delicious; so delicious that I had to physically restrain myself from eating them all.
The dough of the 1-2-3 cookie was a bit dry. Unlike a drop cookie recipe that leans more towards a batter consistency, it required some work to compact it into balls. The results were tender and flaky and not at all chewy.
Ruhlman first gives the basics of how to put the key ingredients together then goes on to tell us how to make all kinds of additions and changes to the ratio and what the results will be. I felt confident that I could turn my shortbread-like cookies into chewy chocolate chip cookies with ease (but managed to control myself from actually making another batch of the tempting little devils).
He also makes it clear what the connections are between the different doughs and batters so you can begin to see the link between each one and how they relate to each other. As he says: “It’s all one thing” and by understanding that you are free to experiment.
I am now officially hooked on ratios and I haven’t even finished reading the book. There are still ratios for custards, stocks, sauces, and sausages to explore. I feel like I’ve been let in on a special secret and it’s liberating and exciting and I can’t wait to get back in my kitchen and cook. Thanks Michael.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Beer Making Nirvana
I’m tired of food. I’m tired of thinking about it. I’m tired of cooking it. And I’m tired of eating it. The holidays, and the plethora of food that surrounds them, will do that to a person (even someone like me, who loves to think about, cook and eat food).
When I thought about what I wanted to write in this column, I got this stuffed, “I ate too much” feeling. I couldn’t think of anything to tempt my palate, and if my palate wasn’t tempted, how could I presume to tempt yours?
One thing I did notice over the holidays, after eating heaps of delicious roast meats and perfectly cooked veggies, after my second helping of some decadently sweet concoction, and when my belt had been loosened just a tad, there was always a little bit of room left for that last sip of good beer.
I never seem to get tired of good micro-brewed beer and lucky for me, we live in a part of the country where micro-breweries are sprouting up like weeds and there are always new and exciting beers to explore.
My husband, Jon, and I enjoy sharing a good beer together almost every night. You could say we’re a bit obsessed with beer. We’ve traveled to Portland for beer festivals (the Winter Ale Fest was amazing) and we look for local breweries in every town and city we visit. We have a beer bottle collection that threatens to take over the house and the growler collection is on the brink of getting out of hand.
For at least a year, and maybe more like three, we’ve been kicking around the idea of making our own beer. We’ve obviously talked about it long enough for Jon’s two sons to get sick of hearing about our dreams of home-brewing and do something about it. They bought us a home-brewing kit for Christmas. We were like two little kids on Christmas Day. All we could talk about was what we would brew first.
The kit included all the equipment we would need to brew our first batch but not the ingredients. For that we needed to make a trip to Jim’s Home Brew Supplies in Spokane. We’d been to Jim’s before to fawn over the beer-making kits and buy unusual and delicious beers from around the world. This time we were slightly out of our element. We knew we wanted ingredients to make something delicious but where to start? We didn’t need to worry. The folks at Jim’s knew what they were doing (they’ve been selling homebrew supplies since 1955) and weren’t afraid to share what they knew. We left with ingredients to make three different batches of beer and big smiles on our faces.
The boxes of ingredients sat on the counter in the kitchen for a few days, filling the room with the smell of hops and tempting us to throw all our chores and family obligations to the wind. In bed at night, we quickly read through the first section of the home-brewing bible, “The Complete Joy of Home Brewing” by Charlie Papazian. By the time we got to the end of the first section, we felt like we were ready to brew our first beers (it didn’t hurt that every other sentence in the book ends with “relax, don’t worry, have a homebrew”)
Last Saturday morning dawned dark and cold and dreary (like so many of the days lately). It was the perfect day to brew. After fueling up with one of Jon’s famous breakfasts, we got out our pot and our carboy and had to make the first big decision of the day. Which of the three types of beer for which we had ingredients would we brew first? We had the makings for a Scottish Ale, an IPA and a Porter. We looked at each other and both said Scottish at the same time. It was decided.
Mr. Papazian is right, brewing beer isn’t that complicated (at least so far). We boiled up all the ingredients in the order and length of time the recipe called for. We sanitized all of our equipment and carefully measured temperatures. We had a great time (even if it was only 11 in the morning and we didn’t succumb to Charlie’s insistent pleas to have a homebrew).
We had to wait a few hours for our wort (the liquid we created that will eventually ferment into, we hope, delectable beer) to cool enough to “pitch the yeast” (basically adding yeast to the wort but we are well on our way to becoming brewing geeks).
Once the yeast is added the magic begins. Who needs TV when you can sit next to your carboy and watch the bubbles rise up through your beer? There was some serious action happening in that big glass bottle. Foam began to escape from the blow out tube. The beer seemed to be speaking to us in this blub, blub, blub voice. It was fascinating.
After three days, the action has died down somewhat. The fermentation lock is still bubbling away but the foam has subsided. Now comes the hardest part of beer making, waiting. It will be at least a week before we can bottle the beer and then at least another week before it is ready to drink. Sure, we can have a little taste to see if it’s turning out okay while we bottle, but we won’t get the full effect until the end of the month. At the moment, that seems like forever.
When I thought about what I wanted to write in this column, I got this stuffed, “I ate too much” feeling. I couldn’t think of anything to tempt my palate, and if my palate wasn’t tempted, how could I presume to tempt yours?
One thing I did notice over the holidays, after eating heaps of delicious roast meats and perfectly cooked veggies, after my second helping of some decadently sweet concoction, and when my belt had been loosened just a tad, there was always a little bit of room left for that last sip of good beer.
I never seem to get tired of good micro-brewed beer and lucky for me, we live in a part of the country where micro-breweries are sprouting up like weeds and there are always new and exciting beers to explore.
My husband, Jon, and I enjoy sharing a good beer together almost every night. You could say we’re a bit obsessed with beer. We’ve traveled to Portland for beer festivals (the Winter Ale Fest was amazing) and we look for local breweries in every town and city we visit. We have a beer bottle collection that threatens to take over the house and the growler collection is on the brink of getting out of hand.
For at least a year, and maybe more like three, we’ve been kicking around the idea of making our own beer. We’ve obviously talked about it long enough for Jon’s two sons to get sick of hearing about our dreams of home-brewing and do something about it. They bought us a home-brewing kit for Christmas. We were like two little kids on Christmas Day. All we could talk about was what we would brew first.
The kit included all the equipment we would need to brew our first batch but not the ingredients. For that we needed to make a trip to Jim’s Home Brew Supplies in Spokane. We’d been to Jim’s before to fawn over the beer-making kits and buy unusual and delicious beers from around the world. This time we were slightly out of our element. We knew we wanted ingredients to make something delicious but where to start? We didn’t need to worry. The folks at Jim’s knew what they were doing (they’ve been selling homebrew supplies since 1955) and weren’t afraid to share what they knew. We left with ingredients to make three different batches of beer and big smiles on our faces.
The boxes of ingredients sat on the counter in the kitchen for a few days, filling the room with the smell of hops and tempting us to throw all our chores and family obligations to the wind. In bed at night, we quickly read through the first section of the home-brewing bible, “The Complete Joy of Home Brewing” by Charlie Papazian. By the time we got to the end of the first section, we felt like we were ready to brew our first beers (it didn’t hurt that every other sentence in the book ends with “relax, don’t worry, have a homebrew”)
Last Saturday morning dawned dark and cold and dreary (like so many of the days lately). It was the perfect day to brew. After fueling up with one of Jon’s famous breakfasts, we got out our pot and our carboy and had to make the first big decision of the day. Which of the three types of beer for which we had ingredients would we brew first? We had the makings for a Scottish Ale, an IPA and a Porter. We looked at each other and both said Scottish at the same time. It was decided.
Mr. Papazian is right, brewing beer isn’t that complicated (at least so far). We boiled up all the ingredients in the order and length of time the recipe called for. We sanitized all of our equipment and carefully measured temperatures. We had a great time (even if it was only 11 in the morning and we didn’t succumb to Charlie’s insistent pleas to have a homebrew).
We had to wait a few hours for our wort (the liquid we created that will eventually ferment into, we hope, delectable beer) to cool enough to “pitch the yeast” (basically adding yeast to the wort but we are well on our way to becoming brewing geeks).
Once the yeast is added the magic begins. Who needs TV when you can sit next to your carboy and watch the bubbles rise up through your beer? There was some serious action happening in that big glass bottle. Foam began to escape from the blow out tube. The beer seemed to be speaking to us in this blub, blub, blub voice. It was fascinating.
After three days, the action has died down somewhat. The fermentation lock is still bubbling away but the foam has subsided. Now comes the hardest part of beer making, waiting. It will be at least a week before we can bottle the beer and then at least another week before it is ready to drink. Sure, we can have a little taste to see if it’s turning out okay while we bottle, but we won’t get the full effect until the end of the month. At the moment, that seems like forever.
Long Lost Socks
I'm knitting squeaky yarn. I'm knitting squeaky yarn on size 1 needles, I'm knitting squeaky yarn that is older than me (I'm 43) and likes to break if you look at it wrong. I'm knitting squeaky yarn as an act of love.
Several months ago, when I was back in New Jersey, my mom and I were looking through her old knitting yarn. She doesn't knit much anymore and when she does she'd rather buy something new and more fashionable. I thought I could use some of her old yarn in my weaving so I snatched them up.
At the bottom of her knitting basket was a beautiful cloisonne tin (well, not real cloisonne but beautiful and cool-looking nonetheless). Inside was one finished green and white sock and the cuff of its mate with the needles still in the unfinished stitches and enough yarn to finish it. Mom informed me that these were an attempt at a pair of socks that my aunt had been making for my dad when he was in college. My aunt was still in high school (and her signature on the bottom of the tin looks like a young girl's writing). This was all a very long time ago. I'm not sure when my aunt gave them to my mom to finish but I'm guessing that tin had been in her basket for a quite some time.
Always game for crazy projects and wanting to finish the socks in memory of my dad (who died more than 20 years ago), I told my mom I'd take them and see what I could do.
She wanted the tin; I told her it was a packaged deal.
Safely back in Idaho with the tin and the half finished socks, I got involved in a bunch of other knitting projects and never found the time to work on the socks. Then just the other day I pondered what to work on next and there was the tin, calling my name.
I sat down next to the wood stove and evaluated what I had gotten myself into. The first few moments were not good. The yarn broke every 5 minutes as I attempted to unknit back to a point where the yarn has some integrity. I also realized why my aunt had quit knitting. Her tension was so tight she must have gotten cramps in her hands from gripping her needles. She had knit on size 2; I needed to get out my size 1s just to come close to the same gauge.
Finally I found a section of yarn that hadn't degraded to nothingness over the years and I was able to knit rows at a time without any breaks. But the damn stuff squeaks. It's like rubbing packing peanuts together. But I'm learning to live with it.
Figuring out the heel without a pattern on a pair of 50 year old socks made me glad I'd gotten an engineering degree. Now that I'm past the heel I envision smooth sailing to the toe. The idea of finishing the pair doesn't seem so crazy anymore. Thinking about my dad and my aunt as I knit drowns out all that squeaking.
The Finished Pair
Several months ago, when I was back in New Jersey, my mom and I were looking through her old knitting yarn. She doesn't knit much anymore and when she does she'd rather buy something new and more fashionable. I thought I could use some of her old yarn in my weaving so I snatched them up.
At the bottom of her knitting basket was a beautiful cloisonne tin (well, not real cloisonne but beautiful and cool-looking nonetheless). Inside was one finished green and white sock and the cuff of its mate with the needles still in the unfinished stitches and enough yarn to finish it. Mom informed me that these were an attempt at a pair of socks that my aunt had been making for my dad when he was in college. My aunt was still in high school (and her signature on the bottom of the tin looks like a young girl's writing). This was all a very long time ago. I'm not sure when my aunt gave them to my mom to finish but I'm guessing that tin had been in her basket for a quite some time.
Always game for crazy projects and wanting to finish the socks in memory of my dad (who died more than 20 years ago), I told my mom I'd take them and see what I could do.
She wanted the tin; I told her it was a packaged deal.
Safely back in Idaho with the tin and the half finished socks, I got involved in a bunch of other knitting projects and never found the time to work on the socks. Then just the other day I pondered what to work on next and there was the tin, calling my name.
I sat down next to the wood stove and evaluated what I had gotten myself into. The first few moments were not good. The yarn broke every 5 minutes as I attempted to unknit back to a point where the yarn has some integrity. I also realized why my aunt had quit knitting. Her tension was so tight she must have gotten cramps in her hands from gripping her needles. She had knit on size 2; I needed to get out my size 1s just to come close to the same gauge.
Finally I found a section of yarn that hadn't degraded to nothingness over the years and I was able to knit rows at a time without any breaks. But the damn stuff squeaks. It's like rubbing packing peanuts together. But I'm learning to live with it.
Figuring out the heel without a pattern on a pair of 50 year old socks made me glad I'd gotten an engineering degree. Now that I'm past the heel I envision smooth sailing to the toe. The idea of finishing the pair doesn't seem so crazy anymore. Thinking about my dad and my aunt as I knit drowns out all that squeaking.
The Finished Pair
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