Cheese, Fruit, Random Thoughts, Salad, Science, Vegetables

Brilliant disguise.

There is something inherently fascinating about things that are not what they appear to be. Throughout history, people have engaged in masquerades, discarding their true identities in favor of new ones, even if only temporarily. Insects and reptiles and sea creatures assume other colors and forms to deceive predators; in a sophisticated double ruse, the viceroy and monarch butterflies resemble each other, with each posing as its distasteful counterpart. Objects sometimes even pose as other objects. The National Palace Museum in Taipei maintains on permanent display two pieces of sculpture – one, a slab of jasper, the “Meat-Shaped Stone,” rendered as red-cooked pork belly; the other, a chunk of jadeite carved into a head of Chinese cabbage – that perfectly mimic pieces of food, so perfectly one cannot help but circle the display case, nose to the glass, squinting at the detail, marveling at the success of the deception. The Meat-Shaped Stone in particular is uncanny, having wholly abandoned the hard qualities of rock and in favor of the wobbly, fatty qualities of braised pork, down to the tiny follicle pores on the glazed rind.

Meat-Shaped Stone

Even actual food sometimes masquerades as other food, or even as inedible matter. There’s a certain fetish in modernist cuisine for trompe l’oeil cooking, things that fool the eye. Faux “caviar” tasting nothing like fish eggs is probably the most common deception, but you also will encounter near-perfect facsimiles of garden topsoil made from dried chicory, roots, and tubers at restaurants like Manresa and Noma, or kaolin-shelled potatoes resembling hot stones at Mugaritz. This fascination with culinary mimicry extends to more quotidian foods like cake, which appears in the guise of whole jack o’lanterns, Barbies, and the revolting “kitty litter cake,” in which Tootsie Rolls stand in for cat feces and serving the cake in a genuine cat litter box is considered the pièce de résistance of presentation. I’ve never been able to understand how someone could eat anything designed to look like someone took a shit in a box, but judging from the online popularity of the cake I seem to be in the minority. The height of bacon-sausage gonzo-ness a few years ago yielded grandiose projects like entire football stadiums crafted from summer sausage, blocks of cheese, and crackers. Now, Wisconsin girls love to party with sausage and dairy products, but there’s a point at which fashioning snacks into architectural wonders starts to take on a clown college quality.

A philosophical inquiry into the nature of mimicry deserves its own discussion, but for now, let’s focus on the food. For example, the flesh of a tomato looks like raw ahi. And a mozzarella ball is the same shape as a tomato. Can the tomato become a convincing ahi tartare? Can the mozzarella ball become a tomato?

Caprese salad

The inspiration for this dish is Heston Blumenthal’s “meat fruit,” one of the most famous trompe l’oeil foods and an homage to the medieval craft of disguising meat-based items as realistic-looking fruit. Blumenthal fashions foie gras mousse into a sphere and dips it in a mandarin gel, yielding an eerily realistic facsimile of a mandarin orange, down to the orange-peel texture. Rather than coating a meat base with the tomato gel, I thought mozzarella would be a better pairing. Taking it one step further, burrata is even more delicious and is soft enough to accommodate an injection of basil pesto. The resulting dish looks like a small tomato, but tastes like a caprese salad.

IMG_8030On the left, the real thing. On the right, the impostor.

A note: store-bought burrata is notoriously expensive and never nearly as fresh as it should be, so make your own if you can or don’t bother spending the extra money on burrata. Just buy fresh mozzarella instead. Due to the presence of rennet, burrata will continue to firm up over time as the enzyme sets the dairy proteins in the cream filling. There is nothing you can do to stop this process short of eating the burrata before it totally sets.


I don’t recall where I learned this recipe, but it’s a pretty bog-standard recipe for burrata. Temperature control is pretty important to a good finished product so be sure to use an accurate digital thermometer.

1000 ml whole milk
1/4 tsp calcium chloride
2 tsp citric acid
1/4 tsp liquid rennet
1 tsp salt
60 ml heavy cream

Combine the calcium chloride and the milk; whisk thoroughly to dissolve. Then dissolve the citric acid in about 1/4 c cold water and whisk into the milk over low heat. Bring to 88F-90F, stirring constantly.

Mix the rennet with a couple tablespoons of water (precise quantities are not terribly important) and add to the warmed milk. Stir several turns around the pot with a wooden spoon, and then let stand for about 10-15 minutes until the milk has set and pulls away slightly from the edge of the pot. Do not agitate or disturb at all during the setting process or your mozzarella will not form.

Once set, slice into 1″ cubes with a sharp knife. Bring the pot back up to 105F-108F, stirring gently with a silicone spatula to even out the temperature as the liquid heats. The curds should mostly lump together and fall to the bottom of the pot; some bits, ricotta curd-like, will float on top. Once the pot reaches that temperature, turn off the heat and let it sit for about 15 minutes, continuing to stir gently from time to time.


Strain out the curd, as much as you can, with a skimmer, into a fine mesh strainer. Strain out the remaining bits through another mesh strainer and add to the rest of the curd. Remove about 25% of the curd to a small bowl and combine with 1/4 tsp salt and the heavy cream. Set aside.


Divide the curd into eight equal portions. Perform the following steps on each portion, start to finish, before moving on to the next one. Place in a microwave-safe bowl, microwave on high for about 45 seconds, and, using a wooden spoon, press against the side of the bowl to squeeze out as much liquid as possible. Sprinkle salt on the curd and knead on a ceramic plate, folding over itself and kneading as you would bread, until it is smooth.

Press into a circle with slightly thinner edges; add 1/8 of the creamed curd and gather up like a purse. Place in a square of clingfilm and twist to tie. Set in a muffin/cupcake tin to maintain the shape. Repeat until all the curd and filling are used.


Pesto alla Farina

I can’t take credit for this pesto method; it’s my guess at the delicious pesto alla genovese I enjoyed at Farina in San Francisco a few years ago. Whereas a traditional basil pesto is made by pounding basil leaves to a paste with oil before incorporating cheese and pine nuts, in this case the pine nuts and olive oil are emulsified first with blanched garlic to form a thick, creamy base; the basil is then spun into the mix until it yields a bright green, smooth paste.

2 garlic cloves
100g pine nuts
125 ml extra virgin olive oil, preferably Ligurian (grassy but not peppery)
1 c grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or pecorino romano
3 c basil
Sea salt

Blanch the garlic in simmering water for one minute. Drain.

Combine the pine nuts and olive oil in a blender and process until smooth. Add the blanched garlic and cheese and process again. Then add the basil; process until smooth. Season with salt as necessary.


Tomato gel

This is a simple gel based on gelatin, which melts in the mouth. If using the tomato leaves freaks you out, you don’t need them. They just add a little bit of fresh tomato taste to the gel (and are not poisonous in the amounts you would typically use). The beetroot powder helps deepen the color intensity of the tomato gel but, again, is not essential.

1 kg ripe red tomatoes
2 tbsp tomato paste (double concentrated)
4 tomato leaves
1/4 tsp beetroot powder
20g gelatin leaves

Blanch the tomatoes in boiling water for 15 seconds and drain. Peel.

Halve the tomatoes and remove the pulp and interior flesh. Place the pulp and any accumulated juice in a strainer and allow the juice to drip out. Blend the juice with the flesh in a vitaprep and set aside for an hour to allow the solids to float up. Skim them off. This will not be a totally clear liquid as one would obtain through agar or gelatin clarification, but rather a more turbid juice; too clear, and it will not be opaque enough for the finished dish.

Soften the gelatin leaves in cold water and squeeze out. Measure out 250g of the juice and combine with the beetroot powder, tomato paste, and hydrated gelatin. Heat until well blended and then cool to about 50F. The gel should be somewhat thick but not set.

To assemble:

Unwrap a burrata sphere and inject the center, through the top, with the pesto. Fill the grooves with pesto as well and place in the freezer on a wax-paper lined plate or sheet pan for 15 minutes, with a skewer vertically through the center.



Dip the spheres in the tomato gel, holding by the skewer. Return to the wax paper and re-freeze. Repeat twice (you probably will need three or four dips in the gel to achieve the right appearance). If the dipped cheese sticks to the wax paper, use a spoon to lift it off the paper so the tomato gel doesn’t come loose.


Serve with bread and olive oil; refrigerate “tomatoes” if not using immediately.



Tomato tartare

Tuna tartare, usually made with ahi, has become somewhat cliché. It’s always formed in a ring mold with mimosa eggs or raw quail egg yolk, “Asian-ized” with sesame oil, soy, and some kind of citrus, or tossed with avocado and served on pita chips. Guy Fieri serves it in tacos at the same Times Square restaurant Pete Wells reviewed, in a blistering takedown, two years ago. Guy Fieri. I rest my case.

It’s more interesting to make a tomato salad that looks like a tuna tartare. A spherified yellow tomato purée stands in for a raw egg yolk; the compressed tomato is a dead ringer for diced tuna, punctuated with onion, mustard, and herbs. When you pierce the sphere, it will run, just like the yolk. If you don’t want to make the spherified tomato, just skip it. Capers or diced pickled vegetables are also perfectly cromulent additions to this salad.


500g large yellow tomatoes
500g large red tomatoes
1 tbsp shiro shoyu (white soy)
1 1/2 tsp sherry vinegar
sodium alginate .8%
calcium chloride .5%
small white onion
small bunch chives
smal bunch tarragon
2 tsp dijon mustard (I used an espelette mustard)
2 tbsp olive oil
black pepper
edible flowers and additional herbs if desired
piment d’espelette

Blanch the tomatoes in boiling water for 15 seconds and drain. Peel.

Halve the tomatoes and remove the pulp and interior flesh, leaving only the exterior flesh. Reserve the pulp, interior flesh, and any accumulated juice.

Combine the vinegar and shoyu. Pack the trimmed red tomato flesh in a vacuum bag, in a single layer, and add the vinegar mixture. Vacuum. Set aside. Note: if you do not have the means to vacuum pack your tomato dice, the tomato will not firm up, as it would under vacuum, and the dice will not remain very distinct. If you do have access to calcium chloride, you can set the tomato halves in a .1% solution for 30 minutes and then dice as specified below.


Place the trimmed yellow tomato, plus any juice drained from the pulp and interior flesh, in a container and weigh out 250g into a blender. Add 2g alginate, 1/2 tsp salt, and blitz until fully dispersed. Set aside for at least 30 minutes to hydrate.

Blend together the calcium chloride and water (5g per 1000g water; scale down if you like). Drop the alginate/tomato blend by a small scoop or dosing spoon into the calcium bath and set for about 30-45 seconds, until the exterior skin has formed but the spheres are still wobbly. Drain with a perforated spoon and place in a plain water bath.

Finely dice the vacuum packed red tomato. Finely dice the white onion. Whisk together the mustard, oil, and 1 tbsp each minced tarragon and chive. Stir in the tomato and onion dice. Note: again, if you do not have access to the means to vacuum your tomatoes, you can try leaving the dice in a fine mesh strainer over a bowl for about an hour. The liquid will drip out. This will not substantially improve the firmness of the tomatoes but it will make them less liquid.

Plate the tomato mixture and add the yellow tomato “yolk.” Garnish with herbs, flowers, and espelette.


Note: This post was brought to you by the Creative Cooking Crew:


Pork Products, Random Thoughts


Sometimes things aren’t what they appear to be. When I was a child one of my favorite things was the safekeeping box, made to hold jewelry and other valuables, that looks like a book. In the National Palace Museum in Taipei resides a slab of jasper – brownish red and layered like meat – that presents an uncanny resemblance to a chunk of soy sauce-braised pork. Once, I stayed in a Barcelona hotel whose ceiling and walls were painted to resemble the sky. Imitation – to amuse or deceive – has been practiced throughout history. This also is true of food. Heston Blumenthal’s bag of tricks includes an homage to the medieval British practice of rendering meat into fruitlike shapes. In the forgotten ancient technique, pork mince, for example, might be rolled in saffron-tinted breadcrumbs to resemble an orange, though it does not taste of orange. Unlike the original, Blumenthal’s trompe l’oeil meat fruit bears an uncanny resemblance to the fruit in question, and incorporates its flavors as well.

For Thanksgiving, I largely ceded kitchen control to my husband who, as you know, enjoys making the turkey. Because I can’t help myself, though, I insisted on making the sausage for his chestnut-sausage dressing. I bought a pork shoulder and began breaking it down, taking it off the bone and cubing it to freeze briefly before grinding. As I sliced and cubed the meat, I noticed something interesting. The slab of pork in my hand – a two inch-thick chunk including the surface fat – looked almost exactly like pork belly, down to the layers, only not quite as fatty.

Is it belly? Or is it not?

How strange, I thought. I will have to do something about that.

I finished cubing the remainder of the meat for the sausage and spread it on a sheet pan to freeze. Then I turned my attention to the chunk of shoulder on the cutting board. Some time, if I’m in a position to do so, I’m going to have a few words with the people who establish meat butchery guidelines for Whole Foods. I suspect they think they’re giving their customers a nicely-trimmed piece of pork with less waste (and fewer scary parts), but they slice all the fun right out of the pig when they trim off all the fat. One of the reasons for home cooks to buy pork at Whole Foods rather than, say, Safeway is to take advantage of the better quality Niman Ranch goods and avoid the scary, hyper-mass-farmed Smithfield product. Better pig-raising conditions, better meat quality. Sadly, Whole Foods takes care to trim every last scrap of fat off the pork, taking with it all the flavor and texture. Not only that, but you can’t get the good parts of the pig half the time – no belly, no leg, no cheek or jowl, rarely a bone-in butt or a fresh ham. It’s as though they didn’t get the memo that the Other White Meat slogan is passé.

Back to the cutting board. This shoulder slab could pass for belly, which, if you were just reading my tirade against Whole Foods, is not easy to find at retail outside Asian markets. I would have had a larger chunk if I’d noticed earlier, but the portion I had would have to do. I cured the pork under weights as though it were belly – in a dry brine of salt and sugar – and laid it atop thyme branches and bay. After a few days, I sealed and cooked it, sous vide, at 144F/62C, for 36 hours. The resulting product was tender and a little fatty, not quite as rich as fresh belly, but similar. Its texture and flavor was quite like braised bacon, which I make from my own house-cured pork.

False belly

To butcher the false belly, remove the bone from a pork shoulder (picnic). The butt end does not usually present the right type of fat striation for this preparation. Do not trim the surface fat. If you have a skin-on shoulder and plan to cook the meat sous vide, remove the skin using a very sharp knife but leave as much fat as you can. Look for the portion along the skin side where the fat and meat are layered. Lay the pork shoulder flat on that skin side and slice a little more than two inches above and parallel to the skin. The portion on the board is your false belly. Trim it into 2″ x 2″ cubes or long, two inch-wide, strips. The remaining pork is perfect for sausage or cubed for a pork stew.

Cure the belly:

Per 500g (1.1 lbs) meat:

25g (1 1/2 tbsp) salt (not iodized)
25g (1 1/2 tbsp) sugar
thyme branches
bay leaf

Combine the salt and sugar. Distribute evenly on the meat. Arrange meat-side down in a nonreactive pan (stainless, ceramic, or lexan) atop thyme branches and bay, tightly together. Cover and weight. Cure under refrigeration for not fewer than 24 hours but not more than four days.

Remove from cure and rinse; pat dry. Season with a pinch of espelette pepper and seal with 50g butter/500g pork in foodsafe plastic. Vacuum pack.

Top side.

Bottom side.

Place in an immersion circulator or sous vide supreme for 36 hours at 140F/60C [note – I prepared it at 144F/62C but, if I had to do it again, I would lower the temperature slightly]. The meat will be cooked to medium. Alternatively, oven braise at 220F in chicken stock with bay leaf, thyme, garlic, and one piece of rock sugar for about 4 hours. Be sure the top layer of fat remains above the liquid. Use a parchment lid as well as the pot’s lid.

Remove from the circulator and unpack. If you have time, wrap the pork in plastic wrap and place it in a container, cover with another flat container and weight. Refrigerate for at least 4 hours and then square off.

300F oven.

Before serving, score the top layer of fat. Place a skillet over medium heat and, when hot, add duck fat, pork fat, or clarified butter. Heat the false belly, meat side-down, for a minute; turn over to skin side-down and place in the oven. Heat through. Serve with accompaniments of choice, such as bitter greens. As depicted below, the false belly is served with duck confit, judion beans braised in pork stock, fried breadcrumb, and “cassoulet” flavors.

pork belly, duck confit, judion, breadcrumb.

False belly, closer in.

Below is a photo of braised house-cured belly I prepared this summer, when our fennel was in bloom. Can you see the difference? The fat layers are thicker and more distinct. But if you’re looking to substitute for belly – either because you can’t find it, or because you want something a little less fatty – this false cut may serve your purposes nicely.

True pork belly, apricot fluid gel, fennel blossom.