My Main Man Maillard, and Poor People Food

We owe so much to Louis-Camille Maillard. He's the guy who explained why, as so many have said, "Brown food tastes good." Nathan Myhrvold is a good explainer, so I'll let him handle the science of how the Maillard reaction works.

If you look at the cumulative posts here, you might notice a pattern.  There's bread and bacon, so far, and today, beef. All browned, ideally. 

With that in mind, let us consider the shoulder. In pork the cut is called a Boston butt (apparently because the barrels into which they were packed for shipment were called butts, and the meat was particularly popular in Boston, of all places), and in beef it is chuck. In quadrupeds these muscles are quite active, as the pigs and cows in question make their way from place to place. Like brown food, hard-working muscles taste good. Their flavor has something to do with intramuscular collagen, which is to say, connective tissue. We've used the word "unctuous" before, and there's nothing quite so unctuous as melted collagen. It is what makes classic Jell-O jiggle, and gravy coat the soon and palate. 

3.5# chuck roast

One very good reason to eat shoulder meat is economy. Once again, it's poor people food that wins the flavor derby. The phrase "high on the hog" came from the fact that the wealthier folks preferred meat from the parts of the animals that is furthest from where the work gets done (from trotters/hoofs to shoulders, tails, and hips). Most of the time, anyway. As the culinary world has revealed that there is flavor in the off-cuts, things like short ribs and oxtails have become significantly more expensive. Even bones are priced differently than even a few years ago.

Here we have a piece of chuck roast that cost about US$8.00 (US$2.49 per pound) last week. It has been salted and peppered and is being browned on all sides (this is important) in a cast-iron skillet.
As M. Maillard noted, getting all those proteins cooked makes such a difference in flavor. 



One important thing to note, however, is that we are only interested in surface cooking. It's important not to heat the college to hot to fast, or it will become rubbery. (This is more of a risk when smoking meat, since maintaining an even temperature is more of a challenge with live fire than an indoor oven.)

A balancing act

Taking the time to brown all sides is worth the effort. Since we won't be serving this meal on the day we begin cooking, the extra five or ten minutes that this step takes is time well spent.

While the meat is browning, prepare the mirepoix. This classical mix of carrots, celery, and onions adds depth of flavor to the meat and comes in handy later. (My mirepoix tends not to be quite so orthodox, having never taken the time to ensure the proper ratio. Oh well.)  After the meat has been thoroughly and beautifully browned on all sides, place it on its beautiful bed of mirepoix.

Deglaze for fond

As it rests, add a couple of ounces of liquid (I used water) to the pan and deglaze it, using the solvent powers of liquid to release the fond. Pour the results over the meat. (In other contexts, the deglazing is part of making a pan sauce. We're going to make gravy, later, so this step is only part of that.)

After the pan juice, add liquid enough to cover the mirepoix and about half of the meat, then cover with foil and put into an oven at 225°F for the rest of the day. Really, the time is immaterial. All that is important is that the internal temperature exceeds 180°F for a few hours. This is low enough that the collagen will melt and not become rubbery.

A while before bedtime I turned off the heat and let everything cool down, then I took the whole thing to a shelf in the garage (it being winter, and all) overnight.  The next day I peeled off the cooled fat and then put the pan back in the oven at 225° all day.

Before dinner, I put on a pot of water for egg noodles and set up the steamer for asparagus, then took the pan out of the oven and set the meat on a plate to rest. 

The final product looked like this:

(I'm sorry, I don't know what happened to the rest...)

The Bread

It began with a really bad loaf. poorly executed, dense, and pale, but made from a recipe in a reputable cookbook. What could possibly have gone wrong? It's bread! What happened?

Then there began a journey with a lot of wasted flour, the beginning of a business (but not a boulangerie), and a way of approaching the world that is slower and more generous.

Here's the way I make my bread now. It's a boule, but I do make baguettes from time-to-time. Even though I got my first KitchenAid mixer because I didn't enjoy hand-kneading, I don't even use it for my bread anymore. Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity.  There is only one thing that I think is absolutely necessary, an even that could probably be foregone by a master. I am not a master, so I use a scale to measure my ingredients.

The Equipment

• The Scale. Ideally digital, and measures in grams. Precision makes a significant difference.
• Rising bucket.  We're going to mix some gloppy dough, and need something that we can cover and put into the fridge for a while. How big depends on how much bread you want to make at a time.
• Baking vessel(s). I use a couple of different ones, because those are the ones I have. All we need is something that has a lid and can be preheated. Terra cotta and cast iron are good. I use one of each. At various times I've used flower pots and trays with great success, but didn't have any large enough for the loaves I'm making, and the bread often stuck to the pots unless I sprayed the interior, so I stopped using them for now. I think the configuration using an Azalea Pot might be better. In any case, I use a Doufeu and La Cloche on a terra cotta plant tray (since the original base for it broke). But it doesn't matter, as long as it has a removable lid and holds heat.

The Ingredients

• Baking water. Ordinarily, I refuse to purchase water, but we live in the country and have very heavily mineral-laden water, and even after it goes through the processing equipment the yeast and other microorganisms that make the bread work don't like it. I buy spring water. Not "drinking water." Before you buy water, however, test what comes from your tap. It might be fine.
• Flour. Due to the nature of my business, I have occasion to purchase 50 pound bags of flour, and usually get one of bread flour and one of all purpose. My favorite flour isn't available in large quantities, and I'm not sufficiently artisanal to need to have my flour custom-milled. I also use about 20% whole wheat flour in my house bread.
• Salt. We keep a wide variety of salts in the house, but only one is for baking. It's an uniodized fine grain sea salt. There's no reason to use table salt in your baked goods (or at all, for that matter, since there is already plenty of iodized salt used in the processed foods we eat, so you're not going to get a goiter). Same for kosher salt. Pick a salt you like and stick with it.
• Added grains. I get whatever they have at Costco. Currently my repertoire includes quinoa, chia, a hemp/flax blend, and ground flax.
• Yeast. Once again, it's basic active dry yeast from Costco. I open the vacuum bag and put the yeast in a container that I keep in the freezer. For bread I never proof it, just add it with the drys, and it never lets me down.
• Corn meal. This is more equipment than ingredient, but important nonetheless. Corn meal is used to insulate/lubricate the bottom of the baking vessel to keep the bread from adhering as it bakes. Doesn't usually add any flavor.
• Bonus flavors. My first artisan bread experience was a local bakery's kalamata olive bread, and I've never looked back. Homemade roasted garlic cloves are easy and good for you. The variety is limited only by our imagination. De gustibus non est disputandum is all you need to know. 

The Technique

Much has been written about the revolutionary no-kneed bread. Thank you Mark Bittman and Jim Lahey. Without their beacons I would still be wandering. Here's how I put things together now.

• Mix the drys. I use baker's percentages, so with my bread flour (or all-purpose if I'm out) as 100%, I add 25% whole-wheat, 0.5% yeast and 2% salt, 90% water, and that is the basic bread. Lately I've been adding other dry things (see above, "added grains), and adjust the water up accordingly. (Note:  the only tool I use to mix this stuff is at the end of my arm. I do use a spoon to scrape off wet dough, though.)

• Add the water. This is the surprising part for anyone who is accustomed to mixing with a mixer. This gets really wet, approaching batter in texture. It is tremendously important to be sure there are no pockets of dry ingredients left. Get squishy with it.
  

• Put a lid on it and walk away. For best flavor, stash it in the fridge overnight or longer. 

• This is what it looks like after a night in the fridge.

• The day you want to bake, bring the bucket out of the fridge and put it on the counter to come to room temperature before the next step.

• Dump the dough (batter) onto a floured surface. (I have a good countertop I can work on.) Get as much as you can out of the bucket, and then put the empty bucket on the scale and set it to zero. Put the dough in and find out what your total mass is. Since I have two baking vessels, I use this number to determine how much half will be. If you're only making one loaf, don't bother.

• Fold the dough onto itself to get all the exterior dry, and the boule to be more-or-less shaped. Flip it seam-side down onto a well-floured surface (we don't want any sticky) and sprinkle flour on the top, then cover with a lint-free cloth.

• This is also the time to be sure the baking vessels are in the oven. Preheat it to 475F for an hour, while the bread rests.

• At the end of the hour, the bread will look happy and rested. Take whatever you're going to bake in from the oven and remove the lid. Sprinkle corn meal in the bottom, once again, to avoid sticking.

• Fold the bread in on itself one more time, pinching the seam and making sure you have a nice dry exterior, and pop it seam-side down onto the baking dish, then slash the top with a razor blade or lamé to give the bread room to expand when the water turns to steam. (Find your own pattern.)

• Put the cover(s) on and put the baking vesssel(s) into the 475F oven for 30 minutes.

• After the first 30 minutes, remove the cover(s) and close the door quickly. You dump a lot of heat when the door gets opened, so don't open it any longer than absolutely necessary. The bread will look pretty good now. But it will look better later.

• The timing of the next step is based on how heavy the bread is, especially how much water is inside. For example, when I started adding seeds I boosted the water content, and that needs to bake out or your loaves will be too moist. A longer baking time without the lid on makes for even more beautiful loves. FWIW. I started with 20 minutes, and now do 30.

• When the breads come out, put them on a rack to cool. Don't be tempted to cut into warm bread. Wait an hour, or more. If you want warm bread then, put it into a warming oven before service. The first hour, however, lets the proteins set, and that's important because if it isn't done, you could be disappointed.

• One of my favorite new tools is my slicing guide. I got along for many years without it, but now that I've found it I don't have to have uneven slices any more. (This is a big deal when making sandwiches, especially on the panini press.)  

• Now go forth and make your own bread, and give a lot of it away. But don't get all Portland/Brooklyn about it.

Let's Talk about Bacon

There isn't much to say that is negative about good bacon.

Note the qualifier there. Not all bacon is good bacon. (And artificial bacon, whether made of turkey, soy, or into Bac~Os, is not bacon at all.)

As with many things in life, moderation is key. The bacon tray at the buffet (the one full of rashers and tongs with which to grab as much as you like of the dry, crumbly stuff that was baked long ago and far away and only recently reheated in the hotel kitchen) is really tempting, but it isn't worth it. It might leave a bacony taste in your mouth, but don't.
Just don't.

Perhaps it is best if we consider bacon a flavor, an ingredient, rather than a food. Let the bacon raise the flavor profile. Think of all the elements that come to the plate with this one ingredient:  salt, smoke, fat, umami, crunch, unctuous goodness. (Sorry Huffington Post, there's no other word that gets there.)

With that in mind, let us begin at the beginning.

When we begin with bacon, is is good to find the best source. Stop there for a moment, and bow in the direction of Madisonville, TN. Alan Benton makes the best bacon in America that I know about. There are others, of course, including Dakin Farm in Ferrisburgh, VT, but they source their meat from away, which means that it's probably grown on factory farms and shipped to them where they smoke it. That's what I use, though, since it is right around the corner.

This is how it works here. Since rashers are off-menu, there isn't any need to buy strips if we don't need strips. Fortunately, Dakin Farm offers an alternative that makes our objective slightly more affordable. Ends and pieces. We never know what we're going to get, but that's OK, it balances out over time. Here's what was in that package.

If we were to lay that out on the sheet tray and bake it (which is what we are going to do) as is, our product would be as randomized as, well, Ends an Pieces. That's why we chop. I believe the term is "matchstick." Wrangle a few pieces that might be cuttable together and cut across to make bits that look like this.

Into a 350F oven for 15 minutes, then mix and flip with a spatula, spin and back in for another 15 and this is what we get. Pour off the fat into the handy bacon fat jar and then portion into vacuum-sealed bags. Since we use plenty of bacon around here, our portions are 250g, and frozen.

We also keep a container in the fridge at all times (that gets refilled from the aforementioned bags). These little strips of goodness are ever so useful.

Oh, bacon, how do we love thee? Let us count the ways. Start with "healthy." A few bits on a salad is nice. Avocado toast? Absolutely! With lettuce and tomato on a toast with a bit of mayo is good, too. See, all of those are more or less healthy.

From there the possibilities become nearly limitless. Fabled in story and song and Oscar®-winning film, as well. As in, "Liberty Bell, if you put one more Bac~O on that potato I'm gonna kick your little monkey butt." (We will, however, acknowledge that Bac~Os, made by the Betty Crocker company, contain no bacon at all.)

Put bacon on your potatoes, yes, but also on your maple donuts, in your scrambled eggs, and where you will, but for the love of all that is holy to you, use good bacon.

B2G1 (Bake Two, Give One)

Baking bread is important to me. I have a couple of techniques that I'll write about when I have the time, but this topic is something I can get to now.

For much of the last  year our family has been living through a set of circumstances that makes some things difficult. No need to go into details here, suffice it to say that it's expensive and challenging and elicits sympathy from a lot of folks, and many people have been remarkably generous with us.

I find this particularly humbling. In many aspects of our lives we have been exceptionally blessed over the years. Good jobs with good benefits, a nice living situation, and the opportunity to work with  a wonderful cadre of people both professionally and in community theatre.  

Practicing random acts of kindness and senseless beauty has always seemed like a good idea to me. I've paid the toll of the car behind me a few times, and when I was learning to cook there were several friends who were the recipients of baked goods that were crafted with varying degrees of success.

Of late, however, I have achieved a degree of proficiency that I'm moderately comfortable with, and have developed a habit of sharing whenever I bake. My oven fits two baking vessels, so I usually bake two loaves at a time. If you visit us on a baking day or the day after, chances are that you'll leave with a loaf (or a half a loaf, if we're already into it). If nobody comes to visit we tend to pop the second loaf into a bag the next time we leave the house and bring it along to give away. That's just how we do things. It comes from a family tradition:  anybody in the house when my grandmother was preparing a meal was welcome to share. There was alway plenty, even when things were lean. 

I guess the soundtrack for this post is Jon Svetkey's song "A Way of Praying."

By Way of Introduction

“For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much—the wheel, New York, wars and so on—whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man—for precisely the same reasons.”

- Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

I have a dolphin tattoo on my right bicep, put there in 1993 to remind me, every time I shave, to have more fun and spend more time mucking about in the water.

A few years ago I decided to get a manatee inscribed on the other shoulder, to remind me to slow down and eat more salads. I haven't got that one yet, but I will.

For whatever reason, I also cook. Thus, this blog. I will comment and attempt to instruct (and, perhaps, from time to time, edify) with regard to food and the myriad related things, keeping in mind the Latin maxim, “De gustibus non est disputandum.”

I look forward to writing here, and intend to confine my work in this context to three aspects of the kitchen: tools, techniques, and ingredients. Tools, because the right tool makes the difference (keeping in mind what Art Mitchell said to me long ago when I showed him my first good camera: "Remember, it's not the gun, but the gunner."). Techniques, because the Zen proverb says, "It's not where you're going, it's how you're going." And Ingredients, because Ingredients are our medium.

Our lives are complicated, and here we will look for opportunities to find stillness in the maelstrom.