Strange Bedfellows

Chefs train for years to learn all the skills of our trade. Every singe technique, and they are multitudinous, requires endless repetition to master, as with all things, really. Apprentices are given mountains of vegetables to peel and chop and turn and slice, not only because the most menial tasks inevitably fall to the bottom of the hierarchy, but also because when those mountains are finally scaled, one can be assured of a firm grasp of the method. The same is true for all aspects of the cheffing profession; it's near-endless, monotonous repetition which makes us so good at what we do. Would you like to know how to cook a piece of fish like a pro? You can pick up a few tips from the slick, toothy guy behind the pans on your television, sure. However, if you really want to be able to cook a perfect fillet, no matter the species of fish, the oven temperature, the pan, or regardless of a hundred other variables, all you need to do is cook about seven or eight thousand fillets. After that you start to get a feel for it.

By way of allegory, I'm reminded of a book (the name of which escapes me) I read when I was a distance runner in college. One of the main characters in the novel is a world-class runner, who comments on the fact that he has a constant flow of young runners appearing to train with him and dropping off within a week. They don't quit because the training regimen is too hard, though it is, but because every one of them realizes there is no “secret” to be gleaned, no trick to becoming a better athlete, only excruciating training which painstakingly inches towards mastery.

There is no “secret” in cookery either. Rather there is only a seemingly interminable procession of fourteen-hour days, brain-achingly repetitive prep lists, and a finite number of foods to be cooked an infinite number of times. All of this might seem, admittedly, quite soul-destroying. However, I enjoy my job; I'm prepared for the apparent monotony, as it is all in aide of, gently honing skills.

How many braises have I done? I couldn't count. Prime cuts butchered? Thousands. Fish gutted? Tonnes. I know how to prepare, deliciously, more vegetables than most people can even name. I can describe for you the internal structure of several mammals, a handful of fowl, several crustaceans, and nearly a hundred fish. It's nothing special; any decent chef could do the same.



I've also acquired, along the way, the ability, as all chefs do, of identifying what flavors go well together. It's not a skill so much as cross-referenced catalog of individual flavors and how they contrast, complement, overlap, and compare. It is so deeply embedded that much of it feels like instinct; I have a feeling, say, that cardamom will taste good in cinnamon dounghnuts, and it does. While it is always possible to add new flavors to the library, it isn't often that two very familiar flavors one wouldn't normally combine come together to create something surprisingly tasty.

However, this is precisely what happened when I was eating a bowl of cherries the other day. It's the tail end of the season here and the specimens in my possession were, perhaps a bit over-ripe. One cherry in particular was, as I discovered when I bit into it, on the very verge of going off completely. It was bitter, nutty, slightly acrid, and, I slowly realized, tasted very much like a cup of coffee. This, of course, got me thinking...



Cherry and Coffee Crème Brûlée

This makes about 6 crème brûlées. You'll need to get some shallow and wide brûlée dishes, as there should be a high ratio of crisp crust to creamy custard. Also, I'm sure I've mentioned before that the kitchen torches you can buy at cooking stores are only slightly better than a pocket lighter. Go to the hardware store and get a proper torch.

50g coffee beans
600ml cream
100g sugar
4 egg yolks

300g cherries, pitted and stems removed
80g sugar

extra sugar for dusting

Break the coffee beans up in a mortar and pestal; the goal is not to crush them all, rather to crack them. Alternatively you can do this by pulsing in a blender or spice grinder. Combine the cracked beans, the cream, and 50g of the sugar in a small pot on low heat. Heat gently until the cream almost reaches boiling point. Remove from the heat and let cool to room temperature.

Meanwhile, combine the pitted cherries, sugar, and 2 tablespoons of water in a small pot and bring to a simmer. Reduce the heat and cook, uncovered, until the liquid has reduced to a glaze. Remove from heat and cool.

Preheat the oven to 160ºC Whisk the egg yolks and the remaining 50g of sugar together until they begin to become light and fluffy. Whisking constantly, strain the cream (through a fine sieve) into the yolk mixture, pressing any liquid possible out of the beans. Discard the solids.

Place 7 or 8 cherries in the bottom of each brûlée dish spaced evenly. Pour the brûlée mix over the top and place the dishes in a deep-sided tray. Pour hot water into the tray until it reaches about 2/3 the height of the dishes. Bake for 40-50 min, or until the brûlée is set but still quite soft in the middle. Cool to room temp and refrigerate a few hours before serving.

Just before serving, sprinkle an even layer of sugar over the top of each one and caramelize with th torch, making broad sweeping motions to avoid burning.