Crackle and Brine?

I have a bit of an obsession with roasts and as a result, I am always trying different ways and means to inject flavour and texture into the roasts I make. I discovered the technique of brining about a year ago, and it proved so successful that I now brine all the poultry I roast.

Yesterday, I decided to make a pork roast. I have always found pork a tough one to cook with dry heat, because it tends to dry out easily if overdone, and yet cannot be underdone because of the salmonella risk. The meat when sliced, should be juicy with just a faint pink blush (squemish types might want to cook it longer until there is no pink, but that to me is overcooking). In addition, pork on its own is quite a plain meat (unlike beef or lamb) and so needs heaps of seasoning. Getting that seasoning to permeate deep into a large roast is quite difficult.

I had never tried brining pork before, but on the advice of the chefs at the CIA, I decided to give it a go. I find the loin quite dry (unless it is kurobuta pork!), so I decided to use pork belly instead. I got a well marbled slab of belly with with rind and ribs attached, but sliced the bones off for another use (bbq ribs anyone?). I like my pork roast with the rind on, because I love crunchy pork crackling. I did wonder if the brining would affect the way the skin crackles up, but decided to proceed with my experiment anyway.

I mixed about 700ml of apple cider with 120g of salt, 2 bay leaves, 3 cloves of crushed garlic, one sliced shallot and some fresh sage. I then left the pork in to brine for about 5 hours. After 5 hours, I removed the pork from the brine, scored the rind in 1 1/2 in intervals, and placed the pork on a rack in the sink to drain, then poured boiling water on the rind. This supposedly tightens the rind and exposes the fat underneath, enabling the rind to crackle easier.

I left the pork to dry off for a half hour, then placed it into a 220 deg c oven for about 20 mins, then turned the temperature down to 120 deg c and let it cook for the next hour and a half. (The roast must have weighed around 1.3 kg or so).

I was disappointed that the skin did not crackle properly, and this I attribute (correctly or otherwise) to the brining process. The meat however, was wonderfully flavoured, much better than the other pork roasts I have made in the past, and tenderised just right by the acid in the brine.

I served up the roast on a bed of caramalized onions (deglazed with the same apple cider for consistency), baby asparagus with a shallot-balsamic vinegarette, mashed potatoes, and sauces of pan jus and buttered applesauce. The meal was hearty and delicious.

While I was pretty happy with the results, It would have been even better to be able to get the skin to crackle even with the brining. Back to the drawing board I guess...

Comfort Food

After 5 straight days of eating fine European cuisine, S was starting to have a real hankering for some good old Chinese comfort food. We decided to venture out to Tin Hau, where we had previously, on Kylie Kwong's recommendation, found a very nice modern Chinese place right in the middle of a strip of other restaurants.

We could not quite recall the exact name of the street, so armed with only a vague sense of direction and very basic Cantonese vocabulary, we hopped into a taxi and instructed the cabby to take us to "the street in Tin Hau with lots of good food". Thankfully, the driver knew exactly where we were referring to ("Orrrhh Tsing Fung Gai?!?" he exclaimed) and we soon found ourselves back in front of Kin's Kitchen where we went last time.

We were tempted to go back to Kin's, for it was the classiest place on the strip, and we did have a very satisfying meal last time, but I persuaded S to go for the grottier but just as crowded place next door, just for a change. After all, the picture of the braised fatty pork in the window looked absolutely scrumptious, and in my book, one cannot go wrong with braised fatty pork!!

So this place we ended up at doesn't have an English name nor English menu, is at least as raucous as the loudest bar in Lan Kwai Fong, and looks like it needs a complete furnishing overhaul (think plastic stools and formica tables with bright white flourescent lights). In short, ambience wasn't really a selling point.

But heck, we were here for the food. And excellent food it was. We had that beautiful braised pork, which I initially thought was the southern version braised in soy, but it turned out to be the Shanghainese version braised in Zhejiang vinegar - tangy, sweet, salty and fatty all at once. We also had a very interesting century egg dish which consisted of a whole century egg wrapped in cuttlefish paste and then breaded, deepfried, sliced,and dipped in sweet chilli sauce. Sounds bizarre, but it is a great beer snack. We paired these with a palate-cleansing stir-fried garlic chives.

The most outstanding dish however, was to our great surprise, the frog and mushroom congee. Now we ordered this just as aside "by-the-way" kind of dish, in place of the usual white rice because we just didn't feel like rice today. Cantonese congee is, if you are unfamiliar with the dish, simply rice grains simmered in lots of stock with the said ingredients (pork, chicken, or frog in this case) until the grains break down, release their starch, and turn into a gooey mush. It is usually, as it sounds, quite bland, and most often served to convalescing patients. The congee that we had tonight was none of the above. It was absolutely, incredibly delicious, full-bodied and flavoursome, with the right silky texture that a good congee should have. It came with side helpings of sliced scallions, some minced preserved vegetable (THE secret ingredient i think!!), and crisps. I do actually believe it is the best congee I have had in a long time (possibly the best ever). Even S, who is usually not a big fan of congee, was asking for seconds.

It was a great meal, hearty and delicious, the best comfort Chinese food one can ask for. The best part was, for 4 dishes, 1 huge (1L) can of beer and a bottle of water, the bill came up to only HKD208 (SGD40, USD27)! Who says good food has to be expensive?

Hostess with the Mostest

To me, nothing screams "hostess with the mostest" more than fresh home-baked goodies on stand-by to go with the cup of coffee or tea for the unexpected guest who pops by. I'm not normally a huge fan of biscotti, but I did have some particularly delicious chocolate-dipped ones at the De Young Museum in the Golden Gate Park just last week, so I was inspired to create my own at home.

I did not manage to chocolate dip these ones, but they are nutty and fulfilling nonetheless, and extremely easy to make. This recipe comes from a very old cookbook, Beautiful Baking by Carole Clements.

Italian Almond Biscotti (makes 48)
200g whole unblanched almonds
215g plain flour
100g sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1/8 teaspoon saffron powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2 large eggs
1 egg white, lightly beaten, for glazing


- Preheat a 190 deg c oven. Grease and flour 2 baking sheets

- Spread the almonds in a baking tray and bake until lightly browned, around 10 mins. When cool, grind about a quarter of the almonds until pulverised. Coarsely chop the remaining almonds into 2 or 3 pieces each.

- Combine the flour, sugar, salt, saffron, baking soda and ground almonds into a bowl and mix to blend. Make a well in the centre add the eggs. Stir to form a rough dough. Add the chopped almonds and blend well.

- Divide the dough into 4 parts and shape into logs about 2.5cm in diameter. Place on one of the baking sheets, brush with the egg white, and bake for 20mins. Remove from the oven.

- With a very sharp knife, cut each log at an angle making 1cm thick slices. Return the slices on the sheets to a 140 deg c oven and bake for 25 mins more. Transfer to a rack and cool.

A Tale of 2 Ducks

I now have renewed respect for the humble duck. Or perhaps I have taken the mantra of the CIA chefs to a new extreme: "Waste not, want not". In any case, true to my word (to this blog), I purchased 2 ducks from the local poultry stall on Wednesday to start on my duck stock (in place of veal/beef bones, Chef Mike had suggested that duck bones would work just fine) and duck fat.

So I dutifully butchered the ducks, separated the breast fillets and the legs from the bird, reserved the excess fat, etc etc. I then chopped the bones into small pieces, browned them in the oven, and plopped them into my stock pot to simmer away. I followed most of the instructions in "The Professional Chef" and what resulted after 5 hours was a beautiful, brown stock which I further reduced into a syrupy glaze and froze in an icecube tray. (Obviously I have used a cube, and I have to say it is THE secret to a great pan sauce.)

Moving on to the fat, I cut the pieces of reserved skin and fat into smaller pieces before placing in a pan to render. That done as well, I turned to consider what to do with the rest of the duck.

I decided to marinate the breasts in champagne vinegar, olive oil, honey, shallots, garlic and various herbs (recipe adapted from "The Joy of Cooking") and sauteed them to medium rare - that turned out beautifully - I felt the sweetness of the marinade gave depth and balance to the duck. I tried 2 pan sauces with the duck - poivrade (white wine, peppercorns, butter) and robert (white wine, onions, mustard and butter). Robert was the better suited sauce I felt but of course it did not help that my poivrade sauce broke (pan too hot when butter was put in... DUH).

With the legs, I decided rather ambitously to attempt confit du canard. Now, my best ever encounter with this dish was back in 2004, in a tiny little country bistro in the town of Moret-sur-Loing. I don't even remember the name of the bistro, but all I can say is that the confit was the most delicious, the most melt-in-your-mouth-tender, the absolute BEST confit one can possibly imagine. It was so heartbreakingly good, I have been afraid to order confit ever since at any other restaurant.

Now, in my attempt to commit culinary blasphemy, I culled tips and recipes from "The Joy of Cooking", "The Professional Chef", and Kuidaore. I did not possess the recommended enamelled cast iron cocotte, so I had to make do with with my small glass casserole dish, and work with just 2 legs at a time. After 9 hours of slow poaching in an 80 deg c oven (not the 2 hours called for in both Joy and Pro Chef), the legs emerged tender and flavoursome. They weren't quite Moret-sur-Loing, but they were a decent first attempt I thought.

The flavour of confit supposedly develops in complexity after being stored and matured for 2 weeks, but happily enough, the first batch of legs did not last even the first night - S got home hungry from the day's sporting events and proceeded to demolish the confit in between comments of "sedap!" and "deeelish!".

As an added bonus, the garlic bulb which had been roasted with the legs had turned into into this sweet, sticky, smoky paste - perfect spread on crostinis. Mmmm-hmmmm.

Reflections

The course has come to an end now and I could not be sorrier. After 4 days of doing nothing but eat, sleep, and dream food, I suddenly feel like the bottom has fallen out of my world. I still wake up at 6am with the anticipation of cooking the day's menu, only to realise 2 minutes later that "hang on, there are no classes today - I don't have to be up so early".

Looking back, I just think this has got to be one of the best "vacations" I have ever taken. It was not relaxing - on the contrary, it was exhausting and sometimes stressful, what with the 7am starts and 4 hours on the feet rushing for lunch service. However,I am in my element in the kitchen, and to me, a cohesive team working together like that feels like a well-tuned orchestra giving a recital. I have not been so intellectually challenged and motivated since university, and I can't think of a time that I have ever been happier in my day job.

I took out of the course more than just mere recipes. I acquired techniques and tricks, learnt all about flavour dynamics, and rediscovered just how passionate I feel about food. I made good friends on the course as well - it is just absolutely amazing how that instant connection is established through the one single commonality - the love of making good food.

Where do I go from here? Well, I know now where my heart lies, even if I am unsure whether it is something I want to do for a living. I know I am a more-than-decent cook right now, and I could be really great at this, but I don't know if I could ever be a great chef. I know the restaurant business is hard, and I am under no illusions that the reality is quite different - not just about the food, but really about the entire package that is delivered to the consumer. This dilemma continues to befuddle me.

What I do know is this - the minute I get home, I'm getting started on my demi-glace from duck bones, and with the rest of the duck, I'm going to have fillets to make steak (like magret), legs to make confit, and a 6 month store of home-rendered duck fat. YUM.