Short Ribs Sous Vide

Last post not for you? Not into those middle school love stories? This may be a post for you.

My newest toy,

has been getting lots of use.

Short ribs being one of my favorite foods, I naturally chose to use them as the subject for my experiments. Short Ribs are just plain great, especially now, when I'm cold, even inside my house. Sous vid'ing (verb form of sous vide?) ribs however, would not produce the same effect as a house warming and perfuming braise. In my quest for the best however, I decided to pretend I was smelling the warm, flavorful scent of braised short ribs, as they cooked away slowly and unnoticeably in a warm water bath.

Based on recommendations from different people, and from research, I decided on three times and temperatures that I would try. Disclaimer: As I know from science class, this is not a controlled experiment (for example the 176 cooked rib was cooked with cooked off red wine). Further experimentation must be done to determine a clear winner. But, you know me, I will make my chemistry teacher proud and perform these experiments till I get it right! And then, of course, I will get back to you.

131 for 36 hours

141 for 72 hours

176 for 12 hours

131 was too steak-like. 176 too average. 141 was juuuusssttt right. Call me Goldilocks.

The 131 cooked rib was basically just red and raw and not extremely tender. It would've passed for a flank steak. Essentially, it took away all the things I love about a great braised rib.

The 176 cooked rib was cooked with red wine cooked down with garlic, shallot, thyme and peppercorn. That was a mistake. The red wine overwhelmed the meat. It was way to powerful. That aside, though it was essentially ideal texture, something about it just wasn't special. I would've taken a braised rib over it any day.

The 141 cooked rib was perfect. It was incredibly tender and moist. If the 131 cooked rib was like a flank steak, this was a rib-eye- flavorful, tender, fatty. "Yum," is really the only way to describe it.

Talk the Talk

I've really got to get back into the habit of regular posting. Half the reason I've been slacking is because I wanted to keep my post about voting for me for the weblog awards near the top. Not that I don't want you to vote for me anymore, believe me, I do, but it's time to move on. The other reason is because I must contend with track meets and practices, homework, and oncoming midterms. Perhaps not so ironically, the closer midterms get, the less I am thinking about school and the more I'm thinking about food. Just today in Spanish I came up with this incredible idea (at least I think so) for barbecue peanut butter. I plan to roast peanuts with cumin, paprika, chili powder and the like, then grind them in the food processor with brown sugar. That idea still needs refinement though, "no es finishedo" as I would say in Spanish.

Anyways, it seems that I've picked up a bunch of new readers from the weblog awards, and now I must attempt to keep them intrigued. I'm really not sure how I'm going to go about doing that. I almost feel like the geeky guy in school with no money, no cars, and no looks, who's trying to get the prettiest girl in school. The geek does have personality though. Which reminds me......

What motivated me to take my cooking to the next level.

It was the beginning of the year in 7th grade, you know, when you play all those stupid ice-breaker games. Can't stand those. 2 truths and 1 lie? Come on, I've used the same ones 30 times.

Anyway, for one class we had to talk about ourselves a little bit. Is that not the most awkward game ever? You don't know if you should be drab and tell your birthday and your zodiac sign, or if you should tell about the one time you were mauled my a jaguar in Zimbabwe, and risk being looked at as the weirdo.

Lucky for me, there was a very pretty girl in my class, that for lack of a better name, we will call Bula Nightingale. Now at this point in my life, I wasn't known for cooking. Sure I did a few things here and there, but I was nowhere near as passionate as I am now. At that point I saw the perks of cooking as A) eating your creations, and B) impressing girls.

So I waited patiently as Sally Shoelace and Billy Gumdrop told about their summer vacations in the Andes, and Mexico, and as cynical Sam talked about his dislike for school. Finally it was my turn. I stood up, full of charisma, and professed my love of cooking, stretching the details to extreme proportion. The farther the details stretched, the farther my nose stretched, but Bula Nightingale didn't seem to notice. I looked over and she was listening intently.

I sat down, then realized I had told almost an absolute lie. I had to live up to my talk. The rest is history. Ongoing history, that is.

Note: The story is real but the people and places have been altered, lest they ever read this.

Cinnamon Buns

This was my present to my sisters Christmas morning.

From me, you really can't ask for a better present. Into those little cinnamonny, cream cheesy, rolls of love, went my heart and soul.

I touched on this topic not long ago. If my present to you is food, I care, if you get a Border's gift card, you're chopped liver.

Which can, in fact, be pretty tasty.

Weblog Awards

Serious Eats and Cake Wrecks have a serious lead in the weblog awards, and that's to be expected, but who doesn't wanna see an upset? Go here and vote for me! and I will reward you, uh, somehow.

If you really like me you can even vote once every 24 hours :)

Duck Confit Sous Vide

I think I can be pretty annoying sometimes in the kitchen. I used to ask a former chef at Lacroix all the time, if he would show me how to break down meat and poultry. I think it might have gotten to the point where he purposely did his butchering before I got there. Anyway, one day he was showing me how to break down a chicken. He cut down the side, popping the joint, and taking the legs off. He then removed the wings. He began to separate the breast, then stopped, and told me that he was cutting down along the keel bone that runs between the two breasts.

I asked the same chef two weeks later to once again show me how to break down poultry. He cut down the side, popping the joint and taking the legs off. He then removed the wings. He began to separate the breast, then stopped, and asked me what bone he was cutting along. I couldn't remember. He was disappointed. He told me it was the keel bone, then went along breaking down the bird. He left Lacroix to work at another restaurant not long after.

I recently bought a whole duck from the farmer's market, with full intentions of utilizing the legs for confit. I placed the duck on the cutting board in front of me. I thought back to my lessons with the chef. I cut down the side, popping the joint and taking the legs off. I then removed the wings. I began to separate the breast, then stopped. I wished the chef was there, so I could proudly declare "Right now I'm cutting down along the keel bone" making sure to accentuate the keel. Alas, he wasn't. I was in the kitchen alone with a dead duck, so I just thought it in my head, and continued to cut along the ribs and remove the breast.

I cured the legs in salt, thyme, bay leaf and peppercorn then cooked them for 8 hours at 180 in a plastic bag with some duck fat before crisping up the skin in a hot pan. It came out incredible.

I saved the keel bone, along with the rest of the body, for stock.

Weblog Awards

By means of some higher power, or just luck, I've been selected as a finalist for best food blog! I've got some stiff competition, so vote for me here starting Tuesday. Thanks!

I'm annoyed...

I'm annoyed right now, for reasons inappropriate for a food blog. I'm annoyed and bored. And so I decided to blog. I'm "venting" as some of my friends would say. It's my break from school, and I thought I would take the break off from blogging, but here I am, and there you are.

Christmas went by so fast. The hype builds up, and then it's gone. You almost wish you could encase it in gelatin, and make it last. I would season it, take a few tastes, then make it again. I would take slow bites, and savor it, which is essentially the equivalent of my listening to Christmas carols on New Year's Day, which I am doing, right, now.

Forget that paragraph. I kinda just threw it in for kicks. I would much prefer that you gaze longingly at my very Christmassy baked pannettone French toast. It's topped with apples sauteed in butter, and, what else but powdered sugar.

Or, better yet, look at this chocolate peanut toffee that I made for some very deserving people as a holiday gift.
Maybe you're not quite the sweet tooth, and you'd prefer to admire duck fast roasted potatoes.

Or maybe just plain duck fat soothes your soul.

Wait. Why was I annoyed again?