Chemistry Set

Last Wednesday, whilst pondering gluten-free cooking in general and the Xanthan Conundrum in particular, I recounted how up-to-the-minute chefs have been dropping by the science faculty at Harvard University to teach ignorant undergraduates a thing or two about chemistry and physics via the medium of food science. Over the weekend I was musing about how I would dearly love to go to Harvard and study with Professors Dufresne and Achatz, even though the film 'Social Network' made that venerable educational institution look like a bit of a hell hole, frankly. Suddenly, a eureka moment! I didn't need to go Crimson to experiment with molecular gastronomy - I had the means in my very own kitchen, thanks to Albert and Ferran Adria and the good people at Dean and Deluca.

I am speaking of my chemistry set.

My chemistry set, or more punctiliously, my MiniKit Sferificacion, was purchased some time ago because, living in the hinterlands as I do, I was relatively certain that if I wanted to experience the molecularly gastronomic delights of airs, foams, and spherical comestibles, I was going have to make them myself. History has borne me out on this one: local restaurants have yet to embrace even a modicum of innovation in the kitchen, despite the fact that the craze for freeze-dried mayonnaise and deconstructed sauce Bearnaise has already come and gone everywhere else on the planet. Thankfully, I have now encountered these marvels in more forward-thinking parts of the world, and I suppose that is the reason why the chemistry set has been languishing in a forgotten corner of my Metro shelving, the urgency of experimentation having diminished somewhat. Also, I confess to having been a little bit afraid when I first read the blurb inside the box: what if, like Frankenstein, I let loose forces beyond my control? 

In my new spirit of adventure, unleashed by the gluten-free gods, I decided to give my chemistry set a second look. I dug it out from its hiding place beneath the bread bin and brushed a few of last year's Christmas tree needles off the lid (to get the tree in and out of the house, we have to drag it through the kitchen).  The fact that the MiniKit's promo materials were in Spanish did little to reassure me, although I just about comprehended the stipulation of infinitas posibilidades para ampliar su abanico de elaboraciones. With some hesitation, I opened the jet-black lid.

Imagine my shock/horror when the first thing that caught my eye was a tin of Xanthan gum (known to the Adrias as Xantana). Well, at least it was a familiar ingredient, even if it has been causing me nothing but angst for the last six weeks or so. I delved deeper into the box's inky recesses. I found Algin (vital for producing the edible spheres that made the Adrias a household name - in my household, anyway); Gluco (also for spherification); Agar for gelatins (ho hum) and Lecite for making air (now that's more like it!). I also discovered nifty little lab gadgets, such as a syringe for making caviar out of grape juice or tomato water (or any other substance you can call to mind), a larger round spoon for dosing out marbles (ditto); and a perforated spoon for collecting spherical preparations from their algin baths. What fun!

Suddenly, instead of fear I am overwhelmed with excitement. Molecular gastronomy will be a valuable complement, I believe, to my gluten-free R &D, if only because I will benefit from an enhanced understanding of some of the insane ingredients with which I am compelled to work. Also, I think it will be very, very cool. So, what first? Asparagus spheres with a quail's egg 'yolk'? A fruit salad garnished with muscatel marbles? Perhaps a fillet of salmon with lemon air or shoyu jelly.

Who needs gluten when such delights await?

The MiniKit Sferificacion:
watch this space for exciting developments!