Recently in Experiments Category

Ever since I fell in love with gin, vodka has fallen far by the wayside. When I taste it, my tongue expects the bite of juniper, the perfume of citrus and spice. The straightforward alcohol hit of vodka just isn't the same. Luckily, that blank flavor makes an excellent solvent for a variety of fruits and vegetables. Unluckily, when fruit meets cocktail, all too often the results have more in common with a sugary punch than a dry martini, hardly an acceptable solution for a gin devotee.

When I've infused vodka in the past, I've stuck to pineapple, but lately I've been playing with making some more complicated infusions that don't taste like Hawaiian Punch. My first endeavor combined sweet strawberries with orange zest and basil for fragrance and depth.

The tricky part with these mixed ingredient formulas is the flavor ratio and deciding how long to infuse. Soft fruits and herbs obviously need less time, woodier fruits or vegetables, chilies, and dry spices take longer. I've given pineapple as long as three weeks and mint as little as a few days. It's important to taste every couple of days, just to see how things are coming along. If you use ripe fruit and rich, fragrant aromatics, you shouldn't need to add sugar. The final product should still be dry and refreshing, not syrupy.

I used eight ounces of sliced strawberries, the zest of one orange peeled off in strips, and two leafy sprigs of basil submerged in about three cups of vodka. Within a few hours, the vodka began to leach the color out of the strawberries, turning a deep pink. When I took off the lid for a taste after five days, the smell of the basil hit first, and I worried the final product might be excessively grassy.

After eight days, it seemed the strawberries had given their all, so I strained and tasted again. I mixed it with tonic water and wedges of lime and was entirely pleased. Tejal and Glyn stopped by before we all went to Aziza (which I swear I will eventually write about), and we all had a strawberry orange basil vodka and tonic, to general praise. The strawberry flavor was predominant, but the orange and basil gave a summery freshness. Next up is cherry and star anise, per Glyn's suggestion that the spice might be the ideal addition to those particular fruits. I can't wait to taste it with a splash of ginger ale.

I want to make excellent salsa, not just chopped or pureed tomatoes and onions in a bowl, but a truly nuanced condiment. I seek that elusive balance of chunk and puree, the perfect level of chili heat that lingers but doesn't overwhelm, the ideal acidity. My results have been mostly good, but I'm not happy yet.

I can't explain why it matters to me so much. Stephen is more or less content with (shudder) Pace extra chunky from a jar. He enjoys and appreciates the good stuff, but he probably wouldn't seek it out. To me, most salsa from a jar tastes mostly like jar. It tends to be either insipidly bland or membrane-searingly spicy, have an either watery or slimy texture, and a processed taste that I just can't stomach. I like the Rick Bayless Frontera Grill salsas, but they're kind of hard to find, to expensive to be a regular purchase, and frankly, a little thin to be ideal.

So I persevere, with my eye focused even more eagerly than usual on tomato season. I'm definitely developing some tricks. Charring (as in the above Roasted Tomatillo and Tomato salsa) under a broiler or in a hot cast iron skillet is helpful, particularly when the tomatoes aren't yet perfect. It also always makes tomatillos and chilies more succulent. I seed the tomatoes then chop them and the tomatillos roughly. Then I drain everything, lightly sprinkled with salt and placed in a strainer, like a mad woman. Getting rid of those excess juices has an almost magical effect on the texture and the intensity of the flavor. Also, I've found that I like to puree 1/2-2/3 of the tomatillos and tomatoes, as well as all of the garlic. I finely chop the remaining tomatos and all of the onion, drain it a little more, and mix everything together. I haven't yet achieved salsa zen, but I'm on my way. If I could only figure out the correct chili to tomato ratio, I'd be almost there.

In conjunction with Becks & Posh and Jam Faced we are celebrating the oft ignored St. George's Day, and thus the nation of England herself, with dessert. Tejal, being both British and a pastry chef, has the credentials; I'm just riding her coattails because, heck, I'm always up for a sweet treat.

And truly, almost nobody loves their treats as sweet and gooey as the English. They've turned syrup and sugar, butter and eggs into an art form. Pudding is serious business. We've pulled together a few of our favorite indulgent ingredients, namely marmalade, custard, caramel, and chocolate to make desserts to honor this proud tradition. As they say in Henry V, "God for Harry, England and St George." And of course, for pud as well.

There are few friends in whose company I can enjoy both a bucket of hot wings and an outrageously involved dinner with all my family . Martha and Stephen are such friends. And I've been lucky enough this year, living just outside of San Francisco, to be able to call them in the afternoon and say, "hey, still wanna come over for dinner?" And luckier still to hear them reply, "oh crap. Was that tonight?" and then, "yes."

We've had many an impromptu gathering this way around a table of food and wine, but it never gets less exciting for me to have them come over. Tonight, we started with tiny quail oeufs en cocottes with garlic panko topping. Glyn made cold sesame soba noodles with cucumber and spicy pork, a dish we had at a Schezwan restaurant months ago that, I think, he made better.

Finally, an experiment after hearing a lot about beet in desserts: chocolate, orange, and beet trifle. I used the chocolate cake recipe from a few days ago but replaced the caster sugar with icing sugar and baked it as a sheet--which worked beautifully. The cake was soft and tender, really moist, but not sticky at all. It cut easily into disks to layer between the orange cream and top with beet jelly. As Martha pointed out, the beet flavour was very subtle, but it worked with the orange and chocolate. Definitely needs more time in the lab before being tested on our favourite guinea pigs again.

Lewis Black said that he watches the Super Bowl, not because he likes football, but because he isn't religious and humans need tradition. Personally, I enjoy all kinds of to-do, and I'll jump on almost any kind of event that allows me to get people together and eat certain things in celebration. Combine that tendancy with my love of sports, and it's hard for me to let a Super Bowl go by without some kind of beer-intensive gathering.

Yesterday I made the food that is to sports and beer as turkey is to Thanksgiving-- buffalo wings. The process was simple, albeit a little messy, as deep frying tends to be if you don't own a splatter guard. The chicken wings get cut up and deep-fried in 350-ish degree oil.

When they're cooked through and crispy, the wings are briefly drained and tossed with spicy buffalo sauce (a straightforward production of Frank's or Louisiana hot sauce, butter, and some extra cayenne if you're a bit of a masochist).

Since I cut up the wings before the game started, the whole frying and tossing part took me about half an hour, meaning it was a perfect distraction from the traditionally lame Half Time Show. I served them up with homemade blue cheese dressing and some carrot and celery sticks. Honestly, they were easy enough that I don't understand why I've had so many terrible, greasy, too-sweet or wierdly sticky wings in restaurants and bars.

Mine were crisp and spicy, delighfully messy, and pleasing in that visceral way that only really tacky food can be. There seems to be something special about the combination of peppery, vinegary sauce cooled off with a slather of blue cheese. Or maybe people just like to eat with their fingers. Either way, they were a perfect fit for this particular to-do.

(Added bonus: Don't Glyn and Stephen look manly eating wings and watching football?)