Flavor

A few of my friends have thrown out ideas about what I should write about here. I have been playing with our Thanksgiving menu (it's coming up, people!) and my friend Alex commented, "That all sounds like it tastes so good!" I replied that I find that people who think they can't cook often find their food lacks pizazz because it's under-seasoned. It's not as simple as too little salt and pepper. Under-seasoning is an under-appreciation for the power of simple elements of flavor to come together to do something amazing to the base ingredient.

More after the jump...


Last night, my inspiration was New York strip steaks that were on sale at Harris Teeter. Beef is one of my favorite proteins, but there is not a lot to write home about when it comes to a pan-grilled grocery store steak. Generously dusted in kosher salt and coarsely cracked pepper, however, it starts to really taste like something. You remember the flaky salt and the heat of the pepper. The crunchy texture is really unusual in a world of canned black pepper and Morton's salt shakers. When you drizzle on a little sweet from balsamic vinegar, not to mention the tang and crunch of pomegranate seeds, it's no longer just hot meat with decent marbling.

I often take a basic ingredient, such as whipped cream, and make it more powerful with a teaspoon of vanilla and some cinnamon. A dollop of that on top of black coffee and a shot of Jameson's Irish Whiskey and you'll forget you didn't make dessert.

I have learned through trial and error that some of the best (and worst) flavor combinations are the result of experiments. You'll never know if you don't try. Some things clearly won't work together, but so many others harmonize beautifully and unexpectedly. Combine some of your favorite things and edit and tweak until you've developed something delicious. Someone had to discover that salt and pepper work well together. You may stumble on the next big thing. If you do, let me know.

In order to really make your food "pop," I think you have to go beyond the limits of your culinary comfort a bit. Throw a teaspoon of siracha chili sauce in that crab cake mixture. Don't be afraid to split a head of garlic in half, wrap in foil, throw it in the oven for an hour, and spread the resulting deliciousness on toasted bread. Invite friends over to taste your food. Learn what you like. Learn what they like. Taste everything you can possibly stomach.

Science tells us that the four basic flavors are salty, sweet, sour, and bitter. The Japanese have given us a term, "umami," for a fifth flavor sensation that blends and transcends the other four. The Kikkoman commercials say, "Umami means delicious," and it does. Once you learn what umami is, you'll work very hard to bring it out in all you make. I say "bring it out," because it's something that must be drawn from excellent ingredients, not sprinkled on at the last minute.

If something goes wrong, make it again. You'll figure out your mistake. Have your friends taste what you make. They'll be honest with you, if you let them, about bitter sauces, lumpy gravy, or overcooked salmon. Use the best ingredients you can find and afford. If you love something at a restaurant, try to recreate it at home. If something looks good in a cookbook (or on this blog!) and you're missing that tablespoon or this or that, make it anyway!

Finally, you must understand what techniques are conducive to the flavors (and textures) you are attempting to elicit. If you want a smoky note to your shrimp, I'd recommend against poaching them. If you want your scallops to be light and delicate, avoid the batter and the deep fryer. All you really need to know how to do is sautee, boil, and roast. Everything else is generally some version or iteration of those techniques. Unless you're from the South, like me, in which case I'd recommend learning to fry, as well.

You sautee when you want a nice crusty outside. You develop a "caramelization" on the outside of the ingredient when you properly sautee and that "umami" is indispensable in so many dishes. Caramelization is really only relevant with the ingredients have natural or added sugars, but many television chefs like to use the term to refer to any seared crust on a protein, like a steak, just because the term sounds fancy and they really don't know what they're doing. They know who they are.

You boil when you like something to be tender, like pasta. Slightly below a boil is a "poach," which is common for eggs at brunch and salmon at supper. It's been the inspiration for the most basic of food shows, such as, "How to Boil Water," of early-2000's Food Network fame. It doesn't get simpler than boiling, but don't be deceived that it's fool proof. Anyone who's ever had pasta from Dupont Italian Kitchen (gag) or any "steamed" vegetables from chain restaurants will agree.

Roasting is by far my favorite "instant flavor" cooking technique. I take ingredients that one doesn't usually put in the oven and by virtue of a high heat roasting, create a concentrated flavor that steaming or sauteeing cannot. I roast everything from chickens, rib roasts, broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, onions, garlic, and sometimes even the top of my hand if I'm being too careless. You keep all the nutrients, add very little fat, and create a really new flavor experience for most of your guests. I have used the same recipe for roasting vegetables that I learned when I prepared dinner for 50-100 college students every week. Here it is...

Roasted Vegetables
Serves as many as you wish... just buy the right amount of veggies.
Prep time: 5 minutes, less as you learn how to chop more efficiently
Cooking time: 20-30 minutes

Vegetables (as much as you need) 
Olive Oil (see above) 
A few cloves of garlic, finely minced
Salt and Pepper to taste

Pre-heat your oven to 425 degrees.

Chop vegetables, if necessary.

Toss with minced garlic, olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Spread in a single layer evenly over a sheet pan.

Roast until toasted and tender, but not burned. Keep an eye on them.

Some people are averse to the possible "burnt" taste of the garlic. If you're one of those people, feel free to omit the garlic. If you use enough oil, the garlic won't really burn unless you've chopped it too coarsely and doesn't coat the vegetables.

If I could give any of you homework to do over the course of this week, it would be to taste things that don't obviously go together. Why do we love chocolate covered strawberries? Who thought that wasabi would make the fatty toro tuna come alive in your mouth with just a few drops of soy sauce? Order something on a menu that makes you wonder, "Does that really go together?" It could add a new classic to your list of favorite things to eat.

I hope this wildly erratic stream of culinary consciousness has shed some light on how I approach flavor and the means by which it is created, augmented, edited, and executed. If, not, please be kind in the comments. It's very late right now and I'm just getting started. These will get better as I write more of them, I promise.