When I first arrived at Chapter One I was a little disappointed and even a bit scandalized at the variety of exotic imports I saw lurking on produce shelves and dry storage racks. But I must be a quick convert because here I am, one week later, about to write a glowing entry on “the exotic flavors of a Michelin starred restaurant.” It is important to clarify that these imports don’t really compromise the integrity of Chapter One’s local ethic, because they are never the centerpiece of a plate. They play supporting roles or, in the case of the Terrine of Foi Gras on our charcuterie trolley, they make a “cameo” appearance. So, for example, our favorite Ardsdallagh goat cheese is served alongside a thin crouton of homemade onion bread and a Basques sauce made from red peppers roasted in-house and packed in oil for the winter. Dancing between the little towers of warm goat’s cheese and puddles of Basques, is a fine dark line of “olive oil.” We make this jet black oil ourselves from imported Moroccan olives we pit, dry out for days in a 200 degree oven, puree, and then pass through a fine mesh chinios. It is absolutely lovely – slightly tart, a punch of salt, sweet nut notes like the finish of a cashew – and it ties the whole plate together.
I have discovered that doing simple kitchen tasks is the best way to encounter all the “exotics.” So far, I have been in the right place at the right time to ….
I have discovered that doing simple kitchen tasks is the best way to encounter all the “exotics.” So far, I have been in the right place at the right time to ….
Slice Iberco Ham for garnishing a pheasant breast dish. Iberco is a regional Spanish ham, dry cured and aged like Prosciutto in Italy. It is renowned for its delicate ribbons of marbleized fat. Regional pork purveyors slave over every raising condition to ensure the fat marble is perfect. Swiping extra little twizzles of Iberco, my taste buds prickled with each wave of salt -- imagine licking air off of the sea – and swooned with the sweet fat that melted over my tongue.
Pound out hand-churned butter from France. We import this butter in wood barrels so that the butter is still molded in its churn shape. Less than 2% of the butter is water content – this makes it perfect for laminated dough, or “puff pastry,” applications. The churn shape makes it easy to slice in large rounds for easy pounding (part of preparing it for the dough). If you’ve ever made ice cream at home, this butter tastes just like the bits of sweet, over-churned, semi-frozen
Zest Bergamot oranges. Most people know this exotic citrus more from its aroma than its taste. Bergamots are often used in French and Italian perfumes. This week we were sent a crate of Bergamot oranges as a gift and Ross decided to zest and juice them for longer and better storage. The Pastry cooks were giddy with ideas for sorbets, jellies, and tarts. I don’t blame them. I did most of my zesting with a small slice of Bergamot wedged between my teeth, convinced I was in some sunny Mediterranean land. Bergamot juice puckers tartly as it hits your tongue, reminds one of lemon pepper in the middle and swallows toasty sweet like a salted caramel. I’ve honestly never tasted anything like it.
I could go on for hours describing the hand-pressed hazelnut oil we drop into truffle nougat; the softened goose lard we use in our enriched yeast rolls, the parsley roots Ross’s neighbor brought by or the Muscatelle vinegar distilled from Muscatine grapes. A culinary novice, I’m happy to leave my locality every once and again to enjoy such inspiring tastes!
Oh gosh, after reading this post my mouth is watering,my stomach is growling, and my head is spinning... Especially from the description of the Moroccan olive oil process and the Bergamot orange zesting. Some day you'll introduce me to these new friends of yours, Katy.
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