Super Natural Every Day (30 page)
Read Super Natural Every Day Online
Authors: Heidi Swanson
 | I’ve tried many egg-poaching techniques over the years, with varying degrees of success. That being said, I’ve been loyal to one technique for the better part of a year, so I’m including it here. It’s a bit fussy, with more steps than you’re probably used to, but I find that it delivers one beautiful poached egg after another. And for that I’m (now) loyal. I should mention that I don’t like the idea of poaching eggs in silicone molds or plastic wrap in boiling water; it seems like a good way to get chemicals to leach into your food. |
Allow me to back up and explain what I’m after in a poached egg. I strive for a perfect quenelle of egg, fly-aways swirled into a neat top seam. A tight, smooth egg that requires minimal post-poach trimming is my objective. I like the whites firm and opaque, the yolks vibrant, the texture of butter on a warm day. The yolks should be threatening to set, but not quite there yet. | |
As far as technique is concerned, I abandoned using vinegar for a while—the idea is that vinegar helps the egg whites set up more quickly, in turn, reducing fly-aways. Creating a vortex is another common approach I wasn’t using for a while. This is where a cracked egg is dropped into a whirlpool of simmering water. Instead, I was quickly straining each egg in a fine sieve, allowing the runniest of the egg white—the flyaway culprits—to fall through into the compost container. Now I use a combination of the three techniques. | |
When I want to make more than one poached egg, I use a two-pan approach. One pan is used to create the vortex of simmering water and achieve the initial set of the egg. Once this is achieved, each egg is then transferred to a second pan of simmering water where they can finish cooking. This allows me to work through eggs rather quickly, and still achieve a nice shape to each egg. I am including separate instructions for poaching two or more eggs. |
2 tablespoons white wine vinegar
1 large egg
Fill a deep saucepan (the deeper the better), with 1.5 litres water. Bring to a gentle simmer.
In the meantime, gently crack the egg into a ramekin, carefully slip it into a fine sieve over your sink or compost, and allow some of the white to run through and strain off (if the mesh is too fine, you won’t get the desired effect). This minimises the flyaway whites you normally get. Now, carefully slide the egg back into the ramekin.
Stir the vinegar into the simmering water. Take a spoon and gently stir to create a vortex. Count to five to let the vortex slow a bit; it should be a mellow, not violent, whirlpool. Move the ramekin close to the water and slide the egg into the centre of the vortex. Let it simmer there for a few minutes, past the point when the whites have become opaque. After about 3 minutes, carefully lift the egg from the water with a slotted spoon and poke at it a bit with your finger; you can best get a sense of the doneness of the yolk this way. If it’s still a bit jiggly and you like a firmer yolk, like I do, with minimal chance of runny whites, return the egg to the pan for 2–3 more minutes. Remove the egg with a slotted spoon and place on a plate.
Bring two deep saucepans, each filled with 1.5 litres water to a gentle simmer. Follow the instructions for Poached Egg for One, but after a couple of minutes of simmering, at the point where the egg can hold its shape and be safely removed, carefully transfer it to the second pan of simmering water to finish poaching, as above. Repeat with as many eggs as you need.
| I think of butter as the quick-change artist of cooking fats. As far as flavour is concerned, there really is no substitute. Straight from the box, butter is perfect for baking. Clarified, it is wonderful for higher-temperature sautés and stir-fries. And browned, it adds a deep and rich signature nuttiness to everything from madeleines to farro salads. I tend to use less of it than you might find in traditional recipes, but I try to do so without sacrificing the spirit or flavour of the preparation at hand. |
450 g unsalted butter
Clarified butter is unsalted butter that has had the milk solids removed. (The milk solids are the components that will eventually burn or break down at high heat.)The end product is a pure, glorious butterfat with a smoking point of about 190°C (Gas Mark 5).
To make clarified butter, gently melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium–low heat. The butter will separate into three layers. This should only take a few minutes. Foam will appear on the surface of the butter, the milk solids will migrate to the base of the pan, and the clarified butter will float between the two. Skim the foamy layer off with a spoon and discard. Next, carefully pour the golden middle layer into a glass jar, leaving the milk solids at the base. (Discard the solids, too.)
Clarified butter will keep for a month or two at room temperature and 3 months or more when refrigerated.
MAKES 300 G
To make brown butter or
beurre noisette
(translated from the French as “hazelnut butter”), you start the same way you would to make clarified butter. You just let things go a little longer. You can control the nuttiness and overall intensity of the brown butter by varying how long you cook the butter before removing it from the milk solids. The solids will become aromatic and toasty and will impart a beautiful hazelnut colour to the butter. I often whip up small batches of brown butter (just a tablespoon or two at a time) to drizzle as a finish on porridge, over pasta, or on tarts. Or, you can make more and keep it refrigerated until needed.
You can introduce new flavours into your cooking by incorporating butters with various chillies (both dried and fresh), herbs, spices, or sweeteners. I typically use melted compound butters as a finishing touch on grain-based salads, savoury muffins, breads, and scones.
To make compound butter, bring as much butter as you want to make to room temperature in a small bowl. Stir in the flavourings of choice and refrigerate. The compound butter will keep for about 1 week in the refrigerator or up to 1 month, well wrapped, in the freezer.
| There are few things I love more than a dollop of thoughtfully placed crème fraîche. I love its rich mouthfeel and glossy sheen, its unapologetic decadence, the understated tang coupled with a hint of buttery nuttiness. Sweetened, it’s hard not to appreciate a little dollop alongside ripe berries or a just-baked cookie. Slightly salted, it’s the perfect finishing touch to many a soup or stew, or alongside a fluffy omelette. I even dip salted pretzels into it on occasion. |
I prefer to make my own crème fraîche, and it couldn’t be easier. | |
Start with this basic recipe, then experiment by adding various herbs, spices, mustards, and zest if you like. I use the best-quality cream I can find here, and avoid the ultra-pasteurised brands. |
240 ml double (thick) cream
2 teaspoons buttermilk
Combine the cream and buttermilk in a saucepan and heat until lukewarm. Use a thermometer to be sure to pull the cream from the heat before it exceeds 32°C. Pour the mixture into a clean glass jar, cover partially (leaving a bit of a vent for any steam to escape), and leave to stand at room temperature overnight, or up to 24 hours, until it has thickened. The ideal room temperature here is 20°C or so. Keeping that in mind, I try to make crème fraîche when there is a warm place in the kitchen for it to sit—when the oven is on or when there is a bright spot of sunlight on a bench.
Stir, cover, and refrigerate at least overnight again before using it; this allows the flavour to develop and the crème fraîche to thicken further. It will keep in the refrigerator for about a week. When you’re ready to make more, substitute a tablespoon of the crème fraîche for the buttermilk. Alternatively, you can start out with a tablespoon of your favourite store-bought crème fraîche.
MAKES 225 G
| There are a few things to know about making whipped cream. First off, buy good-quality cream. And, although it can be tough to find, reach for one that hasn’t been ultra-pasteurised, if possible. The flavour of pasteurised (versus ultra-pasteurised) cream is better—brighter, with fewer “cooked” notes. |
I use an electric stand mixer with the whisk attachment most often, but if you’re ready for a bit of a workout and have a balloon whisk, you can certainly whip your cream by hand. |
240 ml double (thick) cream, chilled
To make basic whipped cream, pour the cold cream into a cold mixing bowl. Whisk until the cream doubles in volume and holds loose, floppy peaks. The cream should be billowy and cloudlike. Go too far and you’ll end up with Styrofoam-textured cream that will eventually break.
I make little tweaks and additions depending on what the whipped cream will accompany. A drizzle of syrup (maple or other) can sweeten the cream enough to go alongside a bowl of berries or a fruit tart. A splash of something boozy—amaretto, brandy, or whiskey, say, is fun as well. Amaretto whipped cream works nicely with an almond-flecked tart; whiskey goes nicely with chocolate cake. A couple pinches of salt and a goodsized dollop of crème fraîche can be whipped with the cream into a billowy swirl for certain soups (
green lentil soup
comes to mind), so don’t limit yourself to thinking about whipped cream in the sweet sense.
MAKES ABOUT 185 G
| It might seem a bit of a shame to take a basket of the season’s sweetest, most fragrant strawberries and roast them. But I have to tell you, when I’ve had my fill of fresh berries, this is an alternative I love. There are few things better slathered on a flaky buttered scone (see |
When it comes to roasting these strawberries, you know you’re on the right track when the juices from the roasting berries seep out onto the baking tray and combine with the maple syrup to form a thick and sticky, just-sweetenough syrup. At the same time, the flavour of the berries cooks down and concentrates. The port adds a surprise hint of booziness, and the balsamic delivers a dark base note. The recipe can easily be doubled or tripled. |
