There have been a few times in my life when I have come up with an idea that I must immodestly say is so brilliant, that I should really win some sort of award. I know I will never win an award, however, because my ideas aren't really going to do anything to solve world hunger, cure cancer, or promote world peace. They are ideas that help solve some frivolous domestic problem I am having.
Like many people, I have thrown away many glass candle holders just because I didn't want to bother with cleaning the used wax out of them. I had tried all the usual methods -- scraping away chip by chip, swirling hot water into the holder, putting it in the freezer, etc.
A couple of days ago, I came up with my method, and I am very excited about it. And it's the first instance I can think of in which my degree in science has equipped me to solving a practical problem.
Here are the directions:
1. Fill the candle holder with water
2. Microwave this until the water is boiling vigorously and the wax has completely melted. I microwaved the candle holder pictured below for 4 minutes. It normally takes about 1 minute to boil a mug of water in my microwave, but I had to microwave the candle holder below for about 4 minutes. Midway through, you may want to stir it a bit to loosen the wax at the bottom of the candle holder. You want the wax to be in a liquid state. I know there's that rule of not microwaving metal, and there is a bit of metal at the bottom of the wick. It's such a small piece though, that I wasn't afraid to microwave it, and there were no sparks or fires when I did this step. If you don't believe me or are too frightened, don't use this method.
3. Remove the candle holder from the microwave and give it one last stir to loosen any wax bits on the bottom and sides that haven't already floated.
4. Leave undisturbed for a few hours or overnight. The wax, being less dense than the water, will float to the top. Once the wax cools and hardens completely, you can just pop it out.
Here are some pictures of what the process looks like. PLEASE be cautious when handling the hot candle holder with the hot wax/water.
Here is what it looks like after I took it out of the microwave. As you can see, the wax has floated to the top. This was is rather dark, so it's easy to see. When I tried this method with white candle wax, it's difficult to see the wax floating to the top. Don't worry -- it'll be there.
Here it is after I let it sit overnight.
Now you can pop the wax right out! Easy as pie.
Yes. You'll still need to wash the candle holder, but it's not so bad. I just rub some canola oil in there to bind with the wax, and then wash it with soap which will bind to the oil-wax.
Cool fall evenings often call for rich, hearty foods that comfort and warm you. Unfortunately, I often overindulge when eating these foods and in such cases, a digestif is a perfect way to finish the meal. What follows is a recipe for a drink made from ginger, cinnamon, and persimmons based on the Korean sujeonggwa which I have seen translated as persimmon tea or persimmon punch. Sugeonggwa is served as a dessert or digestif at special occasions. Ginger's ability to settle the stomach and relieve nausea are well documented, and the cinnamon beautifully highlights the echo of warm spice aroma in dried persimmons.
Recipe:
about a 2 inch knob of fresh ginger, peeled and sliced
4 cinnamon sticks
4 cups water
2-3 dried persimmons (aka hoshigaki)
Simmer the ginger and cinnamon in water for about 1 hour, replenishing water as necessary to maintain about 4 cups (evaporation caused about 1-2 cups of my water to evaporate while it was simmering)
With my persimmon tree producing another bounty this year, I decided to make my version of hoshigaki or dried persimmon. My pilot experiment included just a few to see how they'd turn out. I dried some in an oven a 130 degree oven for 3 days. I massaged them a few times during the process as that's part of the artisinal hoshigaki-making process. I also tried drying one by hanging it in my closet. After a few days, it had a beautiful sugar bloom on the outside, but unfortunately also got a little moldy so I threw it away.
I love the flavor of these dried persimmons. I didn't dry mine out completely, so there is a an array of flavors and textures. The outside of the dried persimmon is chewy, sweet and pleasantly leathery while the inside has a firmish-custardy texture, subtly sweet, with a slight cinnamon aroma.
Here are the pictures of my pilot persimmon project:
My experience with eating, buying, and talking about chocolate has lead me to notice an interesting phenomenon. Maybe you’ve noticed it too – there appears to be a chocolate hierarchy in which dark chocolate is at the top, milk chocolate is in the middle, and white chocolate is at the bottom. I try to refrain from this type of hierarchical thinking for the case of chocolate (and a few other cases too) because I believe it’s erroneous to believe something is better just because of its color.
Please don’t think that I’m a subjectivist when it comes to chocolate. I do think there are objective standards and it’s not just about “Whatever’s good for you is good, dude.” Hierarchies can be very appropriate depending on the context. For example, an appropriate chocolate hierarchy would involve high quality delicious chocolates at the top, and disgusting low quality chocolates at the bottom. But segregation should occur based on the merits of the chocolate, and not strictly on its color.
I love white chocolate, and I’m very tired of having people look down their nose at me when I admit it like it’s supposed to be some shameful secret amongst people who proclaim to love chocolate. I would like to discuss and refute some of the objections I’ve heard about white chocolate. As you can probably tell from the title of my post, this is not the definitive post on my defense of white chocolate. I will be adding more in the future. I will also eventually post an Ode to White Chocolate.
Objection 1. “It’s technically not real chocolate”(ITNRC)
If you want to see FDA’s definitions for white chocolate, check out 21 CFR 163.124.
For something to be considered chocolate by FDA, the product must contain chocolate liquor. Chocolate liquor is what results from grinding cacao nibs. That means that chocolate liquor consists of cocoa solids and cocoa fats. Without one of these components, the item is not considered chocolate. The issue with white chocolate is that it does not have cocoa solids, and therefore, people say is not “real” chocolate.
Personally, I find all the focus on cocoa solids to be a red herring that takes our focus away from cocoa butter – the beautiful, unique, gorgeous fat that comes from cacao nibs. As long as the public is focused on and up in arms about protecting cocoa solids, companies that mass-produce low quality chocolate can lobby FDA to allow for the substitution of cheap vegetable fats for the cocoa butter. Substituting vegetable fats for cocoa butter allows these companies to sell the cocoa butter to cosmetic companies. This means they can make money from selling cocoa butter to cosmetic companies AND they can increase their profit margin by substitution a cheaper fat for the cocoa butter. This focus on the cocoa solids at the expense of cocoa butter also allows people to think things like “Well, all the important qualities of chocolate are in the cocoa solids, so it doesn’t matter what fat we use.” (Sorry for my digression into conspiracy theories. . . )
One objection I have to the “it’s not real chocolate” statement is “Who cares what FDA thinks?” FDA does not define food products by how good they taste, how well they were made, and how much care was put into their development – all factors that I think are far more important than the stale definition that FDA came up with. If you were to use FDA to guide you then that waxy, bitter, and sour chocolate -- Hershey’s Special Dark is “real chocolate” while the beautifully balanced, fragrant, flowery but not perfume-y Amedei White is “not real chocolate.” Does FDA really dictate to you what you consider a food or drug? Is St. John’s Wort an herbal supplement or a drug? FDA officially considers it an herbal supplement, but it could qualify as a drug based on FDA’s definition. Practically speaking, St. John’s Wort has many potentially dangerous side effects especially if consumed with certain food items. This does not make it “bad” – it just means that it, like any drug, can potentially be very dangerous. Is Revitalash a cosmetic or a drug? Does FDA consider shampoo to be a cosmetic or soap? Often the answers to these types of questions has little to do with the ingredients and more to do with the marketing and labeling.
Also, “chocolate” is a culinary term. It is not jargon of the legal or scientific community, so why take all the fun out of chocolate by attempting to be pedantic and overly-technical? There seems to be a lot of pointless debate of what something “really” is – like in the case of tomatoes. Some courts have ruled that the tomato is a fruit; some have ruled that it is a vegetable. Botanists say it’s a fruit, but botanists also have no jurisdiction over the term “vegetable.” So why can’t they be both vegetable and fruit? How about they’re
“fruit” when used in a tomato cake (like what David Kinch did for his Tomato Modernista dinner in 2006) and “vegetable” when used in a savory sauce? In any case, even if all the lawyers, lawmakers, chefs and scientists were to one day officially agree that the tomato is a fruit, would that really change anything important? Are we going to make the Campbell Soup Company stop selling V8 as vegetable juice just because there are tomatoes in it?
When people say “white chocolate isn’t real chocolate” nothing has been elucidated other than their desire to recite some piece of trivia about cocoa liquor, cocoa solids and cocoa butter. Usually they haven’t even stopped to consider why cocoa solids are required for something to be considered chocolate by FDA, what role cocoa butter plays, and where cocoa liquor fits into everything. In fact, I suspect the real reason why they bring this up at all is to confuse and alienate people so they can arrogantly look down their nose at how little other people know. Now, I don’t necessarily mind arrogance. I think it can be one element of a very charismatic personality. However, this works ONLY IF you have a good reason to be arrogant, e.g., you’re a renowned expert in your field, you’re highly-accomplished in something, etc. But if the source of your arrogance comes from the fact that you happened to hear a sound bite about “real chocolate” on The View, your arrogance in this subject is not justified.
My other major objection to ITNRC is more philosophical. Philosophically, it can be debated that words don’t actually denote real classes that exist in the noumenal world. These words were invented by human beings to take them out of their solipsistic existence and allow them to relate to other human beings and the world around them. Therefore, the focus of chocolate shouldn’t be whether not it’s “really chocolate” because it really doesn’t matter. Quibbling over this word and its definitions is pointless. The focus should be more about whether it tastes good, how it can be used in recipes, how it can be enjoyed with family and friends, etc. In contrast, pickiness when it comes to words like “fermentation” and “oxidation” is okay because they are more meaningful in that they actually denote very different processes and there is a practical advantage to not misusing these words because it clarifies to others that you’re talking about one natural process and not the other.
My other philosophical objection to ITNRC has to do with pragmatism. Does it really make a difference in your world whether or not white chocolate is “real chocolate?” I alluded to this concept when I spoke about chocolate being a culinary term. If, one day, the powers-that-be decided that the confection formerly known as “white chocolate” will forevermore be called “bianca-beans” it really wouldn’t change anything. You will like or not like the flavor of this product based more on your perception and taste rather than what it’s called. Therefore, if your objection to white chocolate is that you don’t like the way it tastes, then you don’t like the way it tastes. You can’t possibly not like white chocolate just because it isn’t “real chocolate” – that doesn’t really make any sense. If it were true, does it mean that you also don’t like eggs because they’re not “real chocolate?” How about peanut butter? That’s not real chocolate either.
I don’t expect everyone to like white chocolate (I am a bit perplexed by the notion though – I suspect those who don’t like white chocolate either have never eaten a worthy specimen or they’re just saying they don’t like it so they can fit in better with the snobs. Just kidding! I’m sure there are some people who just don’t like white chocolate just as there are people who don’t like butter, tomatoes, and meat). In any case, I don't think that there are no good reasons to not like white chocolate. I know many who just don't enjoy the flavor, texture, smell, whatever. These reasons are valid enough. My objections are to those who "don't like white chocolate" for reasons that are guided by politics and principles rather than flavor, taste, and enjoyment.
While snooty chocolate connoisseurs insist that we all convert to eating only single-origin bars, I really disagree. I think as more people became interested in good chocolate, a backlash among chocolate snobs resulted in fads like single-origin bars, organic chocolate, fair-trade chocolate and a disdain for milk and white chocolate. At the point where the fads dictate taste, people will mindlessly consume terrible-tasting single-origin bars just because somebody told them that they're "better" than blends.
The blending of cacao beans is a wonderful thing. In fact, I tend not to enjoy single-origin bars as much as a good blend. Blending is done to balance flavor profiles of different beans. Different beans lend different characteristics to the flavor of a finished bar. A particular bean variety may have fantastic fruity flavors but fall short on the finish. Some beans are quite acidic and wouldn't be pleasant on their own, but provide balance to other beans that may be short on acidity. Generally, I tend to find single-origin bars interesting to taste, but not quite pleasurable to eat. Having said that, there are some fantastic single-origin bars. One of these is the the Amedei Chuao-- I think Chuao beans are so interesting. I'm always amazed when I eat this bar how balanced the flavor profile can be given that it consists of only one type of bean. It starts off with bitter coffee flavors that are perfectly balanced by acidity. Toward the middle I get dark cherry flavors and blueberries, and at the very end I taste earthy enoki mushrooms.
While Chuao beans are considered by many to be the best beans in the world, the Amedei Chuao bar is not my favorite. My absolute favorite bar ever is the Amedei 9 bar. The 9 bar is the bar that got me obsessed with chocolate. It's the bar that inspired me to spend the money I work so hard for on other $15 chocolate bars in hopes of finding another gem, drive an hour away from my home to a famous chocolate shop where parking costs $20, and bore my friends by talking way too much about chocolate. The scent is complex -- dark, rich, with the subtle "cat pee" aroma of sauvignon blanc but not as bright or acidic. It's a blend of beans from 9 different plantations. I'm not familiar with any of the plantations, but there is definitely the enoki mushroom flavor of Chuao beans that I enjoy in there somewhere along with blueberries, and chili pepper. Beyond these flavor notes, my tasting notes for this bar are rather vague and metaphorical, and I won't bore you all with poetic raptures that cannot be empirically verified. I've tried to sit down and taste the Amedei 9 bar and take systematic notes, but I've never been successful. I enjoy the experience of eating the Amedei 9 too much to intellectualize it.
Last week I invited a friend of mine over for a chocolate tasting . She said yes, but didn't seem as enthusiastic as I had wanted her to be. Thinking that she must not have understood how much fun this would be, I decided to take out my chocolate collection and lay it out in a relatively pleasing way and took a picture to send to her for the e-vite. I love chocolate, and I compulsively buy different ones the way many women buy clothing, shoes and bags. I've spent a lot of money on chocolate in the last few years. What you see here wasn't everything -- it's just the stuff I haven't eaten yet. So yes, it is getting more and more similar to the many women who compulsively shop and end up with a bunch of shoes that they've never worn.
Anyway, my friend saw the picture and confirmed her attendance with a lot more enthusiasm.
I know it's not a good idea to have all the chocolate just sitting out like this, but it looks so pretty and enticing. Tomorrow, after the tasting, I will put the chocolate all away again. . .::sigh:: Ideally, someday I'll have a nice big temperature-controlled box to display my chocolates in so that I can visually enjoy them without exposing them to the varying temperatures of my room.
I made these green onion pancakes using Cecilia Chang's recipe from The Seventh Daughter: My Culinary Journey From Beijing to San Francisco.
The recipe called for sesame oil, which gives it a wonderful flavor that is distinctly Asian. I think next time, though, I will adapt this recipe and use a technique from Vietnamese cuisine and make green-onion oil. Green onion oil is a mixture of sliced green onions mixed with a neutral oil (I usually use canola). After mixing the two together, I use the back of a spoon to "mash" some of the green onion pieces against the side of the bowl to release their flavor.
These green onion pancakes were yummy. Its pleasant oiliness went well with oolong tea.
About a year ago I came across one of the most infamous posts on the food website Chowhound.com
Joe H. posted the "Absolute Best Risotto You Will Ever Eat" -- a toasted pistachio and gorgonzola dolce risotto recipe that had won him $10,000 and a trip to Italy. While some people commented that the risotto was too heavy, I have never had any issue eating extremely rich food and was intrigued to try the recipe for myself.
The opportunity came on a visit to Cambridge where my friend and I visited the famed Formaggio Kitchen, an amazing grocery store that Julia Child used to frequent. I figured they would be the perfect source for the ingredients Joe H. listed in his prized recipe. Joe H. says this recipe will serve 8-12 people, and although there were only 3 of us eating, Joe H. did not want people to experiment the first time we made this recipe. I've tried another Joe H recipe, have read many of his posts, and trust him. So we ended up with a lot of risotto.
Among the ingredients I got from Formaggio Kitchen:
From the label:
"Vialone Nano is the preferred rice in the kitchens of Venice and the Veneto region of Northern Ialy. This grain is shorter and rounder than all other types of Superfino rice. Riso Vialone Nano absorbs more liquid and plumps up beautifully when cooked.
"Principato de Lucedio is one of Italys finest rice growing estates. Located in the heart of the Piemonte region, the 800-year-old farm is home to Contessa Rosetta Clara Cavalli d'Olivola. The Contessa's father bought the historic estate in 1937, with its 12th century Cisternic abbey.
"The rice of Lucedio is grown in the flood plains surrounding the estate and is harvested once a year in September. After a few months of drying and storage, the grains are husked only when orders are received to ensure its freshness. The Contessa is proud to bring to your table an Italian rice with no equal."
Joe H. called for grated Parmigiano Reggiano from the "best and most moist brick you can find." There were several choices for Parmigiano Reggiano from Formaggio Kitchen. I thought this would be good enough. Joe H. spends about $13/pound for his Parmigiano Reggiano, so I didn't feel compelled to splurge for the $25/pound Parmigiano Reggiano they had.
Joe H. was adamant about using gorgonzola dolce. No other gorgonzola would do. This was such a beautiful cheese that I almost didn't want to go through with putting it in the risotto lest I ruin it. This cow-milk cheese came from the Piedmont region of Italy and is aged for 3 months. The texture was softer than other gorgonzola's I've had, the aroma little funkier, and the flavor sweeter and milder.
Formaggio Kitchen gave us three choices for butter: Cabot, Plugra, and this one. I think my friend and I were bewitched by the French writing, the circular shape, and the paper wrapping. It was pale yellow and very mild in flavor. Without a doubt, I would have been much happier using the Cabot or Plugra and I'll know next time that this recipe is not the proper venue for trying out an unfamiliar butter.
We also got a bottle of wine from Formaggio Kitchen which was recommended to us by a staff member. I remember it being a bit oak-y, with notes of ripe apple. It was nice to drink, but I wish that it had had more acidity to balance all the rich ingredients in this recipe. I've always had trouble picking out wine because it can be so personal. There are way too many varieties and brands, and you can't really tell if a wine is going to be acidic enough until you've bought the bottle, opened it, and tasted it. In the end, we sprinkled in lemon juice even though Joe H.'s recipe didn't call for it. (I'm sorry for modifying the recipe, Joe. But I really felt like my risotto needed it.)
Joe H. notes that we need a 1/2 cup of toasted pistachios that we shell ourselves. We picked out exactly 1/2 a cup of unshelled, unsalted pistachios from Formaggio Kitchen that were quite tasty. Unfortunately, I didn't take into account how many pistachios I would eat as I shelled them and not all of them made it to the final product.
Joe H. called for real chicken stock. Being unfamiliar with this area of the country, I didn't know where to go for good chicken to make the stock. We ended up stopping by a "regular" grocery store and picking up chicken drumsticks to make the chicken stock. I simmered the stock for over 24 hours, and there was hardly any flavor in the stock at all. I was so ashamed -- I pride myself on making great stock. I should have known better -- I remembered afterwards that my mother had told me once that drumsticks don't make for good broth. I think this ultimately really hurt the outcome of this dish. The next time I make this, I will be sure to be more careful about the source and types of chicken scraps I use.
It's a great recipe, I was overall pleased with the results, and I learned some things to be mindful of for next time: I will use Cabot or Plugra butter, use a wine with higher acidity, make sure my chicken stock is perfect, and make sure I buy enough pistachios to munch on. Delicious!
Joe H. mentions that this dish doesn't re-heat up very well. While I found this to be true, I enjoyed the risotto reheated anyway. It was also delicious cold. I frequently stopped by the refrigerator to carve out pieces to snack on. For some reason, I also felt like this would be comforting to eat cold as a hangover cure, but I was not going to get a hangover on purpose just to test this.
Thank you, Joe H, for being so generous with us and sharing your recipe.
I first tasted macarons when my mom came back from her first trip to Paris. Amid the scarves, skirts, and sweaters she brought back, she also brought back a box of cookies that resembled baby hamburgers. I was intrigued by these French cookies, which I had never seen or heard of before. They were beautiful to look at, and the flavors were exotic to me at the time -- rose, pistachio, almond. Before seeing these macarons, I had always considered a cookie without chocolate not worthy of eating.
I recently re-discovered macarons after a phase of eating them quite frequently at Fleur de Cocoa in Los Gatos, CA. The crust was thin and shattered when I bit into it, leading to a chewy merengue interior. The flavors were nuanced, subtle, and sophisticated. Inspired, I decided to try my hand at making macarons for myself.
Based on suggestions from others, I left the egg whites out uncovered for about 4 hours to age them and then beat them by hand to shiny white soft peaks. I know they should be whipped to stiff peaks, but my arms couldn't take much more.
I made chocolate macarons by adapting Davod Lebovitz's recipe. Instead of his chocolate/prune filling, I made a chocolate/peanut butter filling (Michel Cluizel chocolate, Trader Joe's Valencia peanut butter, and Cabot butter, mixed in proportions until it tasted good to me).
My first batch of macarons don't look as refined as other macarons I've seen. They were not slim, posh, or glossy. The drab brown color and gloppy filling make them look absolutely frumpy as far as cookies go.
Despite their dowdy appearence, I was proud of them. While the flavor combination of peanut butter and chocolate can be considered unsophisticated, I found it to be delicious and comforting. I was also quite pleased with the texture of my macarons -- the chewy interior served as a foil to the delicate crust that shattered as I bit into it. The best part was being able to indulge in them with a gluttonous zeal that I had always refrained from doing when they looked too pretty to eat.
I dream of one day having a little alcove of my home devoted to beverages -- an apothecary of mismatched bottles of home-made alcoholic infusions, custom tisane blends, and unique glassware. With this dream in mind, one of my summer projects this year was making nocino, a green-walnut liqueur.
I was quite pleased with the results -- it has a dark medicinal flavor highlighted by a sublte pine-ness that gently brightens up the flavor. It reminds me of some combination of Moxie, root beer, and cola. The recipe I used is an amalgamation of my research of nocino recipes. Next year I may tweak it a bit. Enjoy.
Recipe
30 green walnuts (I picked them around July 6) split in half or in quarters
5 cloves
2 cinnamon sticks (about 3 inches each)
zest from one lemon
1 L Absolut Vodka
1 star anise
about 2 inches of a juniper branch
2.5 cups real maple syrup (i.e., NOT Mrs. Butterworth)
I mixed everything except the maple syrup and let it sit in a glass jar for about a month, shaking it every couple of days. After about 1 week, I removed the star anise (its flavor was starting to dominate too much). I secured a layer of paper towel instead of a lid because I read somewhere that this mixture needs oxygen. After about a month, I strained out the walnuts and spices. At this point, the liquid was very bitter. I added the maple syrup to balance out the bitterness.
By mid-August, the bitterness of the liqueur has mellowed, and I feared the maple syrup was overpowering everything when I tasted it at room temperature. But served with ice, it was perfect.
For April Fool's Day this year, a coworker brought three different types of cupcakes to work: "peas and carrots," "corn on the cob," and "spaghetti and meatballs."
They were absolutely darling, and I kept going into the break room just to look at them.
"Peas and carrots" cupcakes were made from green M&M's peas and Starburst carrots
"Corn on the cob" cupcakes were made using Jelly-Belly corn kernels and Starburst butter
"Spaghetti and meatball" cupcakes were made using icing noodles, jam sauce, and Ferrero Rocher meatballs.
On my trip to Boston this year, I had the pleasure of eating at Alive and Kicking Lobster. This no-fuss "restaurant" looks like the proprietors converted their home garage into a business. I tend to like the no-fuss approach because when restaurants are a little too posh-looking, I start to become suspicious that the flavor of the food is not a priority.
My sandwich was great. The lobster was fresh and sweet, and the varying textures of the meat was delightful. Tail meat is chewy and substantial; claw meat is tender and delicate. The mixture was simple -- just enough mayonnaise to hold it together and lots of black pepper. The generously buttered toasty bread complemented the the filling perfectly. I only wished there was a wedge of lemon -- lemon and lobster are friends.
After lunch, I bought some live lobsters from them to take home for dinner with my friends. The woman who helped me was wonderful. She took her time to engage me in conversation about the best size lobsters to get and the best way to cook them.
Her traditional method was to boil some water, put the lobsters in tail-first, and let the water come to a second boil before putting the timer. She let me in on a secret though -- the real pros cook their lobsters in the microwave! You put two in a heavy-ish plastic produce bag facing in opposite directions. You don't need to add water -- the lobster will cook in its own reserves.
I'm sorry for not being more specific about cooking times. The notes I feverishly took as she dictated them to me have since been lost.
