On Skinning Cats

A great deal of a chef's prowess is directly related to his ability to endlessly manipulate the same ingredients. When you work long enough, in a great variety of professional kitchens, you'll eventually run out of new produce or meats to use. It's possible to introduce novel foodstuffs (read: goji berries) to spice up old dishes, or to add expensive ones (read: truffles) to lend the appearance of opulence, but these tricks are just that: tricks. A good chef, rather than rely on slight-of-hand cookery, can work with several of the same base ingredients to make endless combinations.

Eggs, for example, are so versatile it is not uncommon to eat them, in some form, in every dish of a three course meal. Thomas Keller describes them as the most important ingredient in a professional kitchen. Eggs bind fritters, inflate cakes, thicken custards, clarify consommés, glaze loaves, form emulsions, enrich ice creams, bond quiches. Aside from poaching and scrambling and frying and baking and boiling, they can be cured and whisked and frozen or eaten raw. One diet study I read recently mentioned that the average country French household prepares eggs 50 different ways. That's versatility.

Most foods can't compare with the egg in terms of kitchen usefulness. In order to come anywhere close you have to look to the starches – beans and pasta and rice and roots and grains. Chef's often think of menu dishes in terms of parts: protein, sauce, greens (that's any veg), and starch. As you can imagine, the aforementioned starches get quite a workout on a menu, and it is a constant challenge, often a frustration, for a chef to offer his customers variety.

One starch, however, is a joy to work with: the potato. Someone should write a book about the history of the potato and it's affects on the global social landscape. Irish famine, American accent, French armies, American waistlines. I say “Somebody” because I'm too lazy to do so. I'd read it though, probably.

By way of compromise I offer one quirky historical fact: Famously, Antoine-Augustin Parmentier, French scientist in the 18th century and great champion of the potato, in a bid to drum up public interest in the then maligned tuber, hired armed guards to watch over his potato patch, creating the illusion of value. He then ordered those same guards to accept bribes and to abandon the patch at nightfall, ensuring that the curious public had a chance to sample the goods. Clever PR, for sure, but the point is this: The man knew the culinary value of spuds and fought hard to overcome public mistrust of this New World member of the nightshade family.



And thank the kitchen gods that he did so. Spuds are a delightful ingredient. The varietals alone offer nearly endless choice of texture and flavors: waxy, floury, buttery, earthy. They can be deep fried, roasted, boiled, steamed, baked, poached, confit, and more, and each method yields a different end product. It's no wonder potatoes pair well with so many foods. In the hands of a competent chef they are as near a tabula rasa as one can come by. There are over fifty recipes in both Larousse and James Beard for potatoes, and those are recipes which feature potatoes; the figure doesn't include all the stews and soups and other miscellaneous recipes which call for spuds.

Just the other day, at the restaurant, I put four dishes on the pass to be sent to a table. Each had a potato component: mash for the pie, pomme sarledaise for the confit chicken, gratin for the steak, and pomme fondant for the duck. I'd not really noticed before, and I doubt the customers would. This little tuber is amazing.

I'm equally amazed at the variations possible within the preparation of one potato dish. I suppose the forgiving qualities of the potato allow such deviation. For example, I must make mash potatoes a half dozen ways. At home I boil the potatoes and mix in olive oil, butter and milk. At work I use double cream and kilos of butter. Sometimes I add garlic. If I want extra fluffy mash, I bake the potatoes on trays of rock salt in a very hot oven to both cook them through and dry them out a bit (this allows for more butter to be added.). Sometimes I pass the cooked spuds through a sieve, sometimes a ricer, sometimes I just use a fork. All produce similar, but not identical, results.

Another potato dish that comes to mind, granted with fewer variations, is pomme dauphinoise. Essentially, I cook this classic – also called gratin potatoes - two ways. As so often happens with my cooking, I prepare a rich, presentation version of the dish at work, and a slightly (and I mean slightly) healthier, slightly uglier, but still delicious, version at home. I'll give you the home method (for which there is no real recipe, only rough measurements) and the restaurant version (which is weighed out to the gram). I'm not going to tell you which I like better.



Gratin Potatoes At Home

potatoes, washed (russet or désirée or similar variety)
cream
grated parmesan
1 clove garlic, peeled

Allow one large potato per person. Slice the potatoes as thinly as possible. Cut the garlic clove in half and rub the cut side around the inside of a small baking dish. Arrange one layer of potatoes in the bottom of the dish, lightly salt and pepper, and sprinkle with cheese. Repeat the layering process until the dish is nearly full. Be sure to leave about a half inch of space at the top to prevent it spilling over. Pour in enough cream so that it comes level with the top layer of potatoes. Top with more parmesan, cover with foil, and bake in a hot oven for about an hour. When you can easily pierce the centre of the gratin with a small knife, remove the foil and bake for another 10 minutes, or until the top is golden. Cool slightly before serving.



Pomme Dauphinoise

I'm scaling this recipe down to home-sized portions, but this will easily serve 6 people.

1k peeled désirée potatoes (that's weight after peeling)
250ml cream
50g grated parmesan
50g grated fontina (or other similar cheese)
1 sprig thyme
1 clove garlic, cracked

Heat oven to 210ºC. In a pot large enough to hold all the ingredients, bring the cream, garlic, and thyme to a simmer. Slice the potatoes as thinly as possible. Do not slice them into water (this is often done to prevent discoloration) as this rinses the starch away, and we want to use that starch to hold the finished product together. Remove the garlic and thyme from the cream and add the sliced potatoes. Season generously. Cook over medium heat, stirring often, until the starch from the potatoes thickens the cream to the consistency of glue. Stir in the cheese and remove from heat.

In the meantime, line a baking dish just large enough to hold all the ingredients with baking paper. Tip the potato mixture into the prepared baking dish. Smooth them with the back of a wooden spoon, cover the top with another sheet of baking paper, cover the lot with foil and bake for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Remove the foil and cook for another 15 minuets.

Remove the gratin from the oven and allow to cool. Place a small tray or a plate on top of the gratin (the surface of the potatoes, not resting on the sides of the roasting tray) and press with a bit of weight. A couple of soup cans or so is about right. Transfer the pressing gratin to the fridge and store over night.

Next day, turn the gratin onto a board. The bottom should be a lovely golden color. This will be the “presentation side,” that is: the side which will be facing up on the plate. Trim the edges away (these are usually a bit dry) and cut into portions. In the restaurant we usually to squares or long rectangles since these shapes generally yield little or no wastage.

Preheat your oven to it's highest setting. Place the potato cakes, presentation side down, on a tray lined with baking paper. Bake for 8-10 minutes, or until hot, sizzling, and deeply golden. Serve with your favorite roasted meats.