The family became quite excited about this last one, which required the stretching of fresh formaggio over the nozzle of a culinary siphon and squirting the thing full of cream filling, such that the cook was rewarded with something like a big squishy burrata. That was the theory, anyway, but I was unable to test it due to my kitchen's egregious lack of gaseous infrastructure.
Further perusal of MC's section on Foams confirmed this dismaying deficit. Recipes for citrus air, seawater foam, corn froth, and barbecued eel with whipped caramel would forever remain tantalizingly out of reach unless some remedy could be found. For months, froth-creation remained nothing but a girlish fantasy.
So when in early December DMR asked me what I wanted for Christmas, without hesitation I replied, 'A one-pint cream whipper, please.' Roughly three weeks later I had a sleek and steely dairy dispenser to call my own.
Yesterday, needing a pick-me-up after the desultory labor of taking down the Christmas decorations and wanting to get rid of the remaining holiday eggs-and-cream stash, I felt the time was right to try out my long-awaited treasure. Reasoning that the cream whipper would provide no great challenge, I nonetheless decided that mushroom and bacon cappuccino would have to wait and I would start simply with a straightforward recipe for chilled zabaglione thoughtfully provided by my new toy's manufacturers.
The contents of the box proved to be delightfully engineery, all but demanding they be disassembled and inspected from every angle. I spread the bits out on the dining room table in an attempt to catalogue the myriad components. The destructions to which I referred labelled the diagrams with part numbers instead of useful descriptors, but by process of elimination I was eventually able to identify various head gaskets, valves, and transportation locks. I deemed the ten N2O chargers would be more than sufficient for my needs and noted with satisfaction that I had two decorative nozzles from which to choose.
I was eager to get cracking and managed to get the thing together in less than half an hour. Its splendid pressure vessel was positively blinding in the bright winter sunshine!
Although I was tempted to call it a day and rest on my laurels, I had of course won only half the battle. I still had zabaglione to make! I hastily whisked together in my favorite deep-sided mixing bowl four egg yolks (unpasteurized, but I figured the alcohol would neutralize any unwanted bugs); 7 oz heavy cream; 5 oz Marsala (my dairy instantly curdled - ick! - at this point); and 6 tblsp powdered sugar. The result looked and smelled like extremely boozy tan-colored egg nog.
I consulted the destructions to find out what I had to do next. I discovered at this juncture that the manufacturer had seen fit to distribute key information across three different users' guides, requiring that I play hide-and-seek to find the necessary info. I do not claim to be an expert on technical writing, but wouldn't it make sense to have what is (after all) a fairly linear process laid out in some sort of numerically logical fashion? I found hints and tips for success littered randomly about, punctuated with lots of achtungs (did I mention my siphon was German-engineered?) warning of dire consequences should the pressure inside the thermos approach critical levels.
Undaunted, I persevered. I filled the bottle with my mixture, screwed on an N2O charger, and heard it discharge its contents into my soon-to-be zabaglione.
At this point, the destructions became very German indeed. Needing to shake vigorously the apparatus in order to distribute the fat-soluble gas into my soupy sauce, I was ordered to agitate the bottle 3-6 times, depending on the fat content of my cream. A carton-check revealed I had the 36% variety (anything less than 28% won't do the job, don't you know), and after a few more achtungs alerting me to the perils of both over and under-agitation, I concluded that four shimmies would do the trick.
I removed the charger, screwed on the protective cap, aimed the nozzle downwards (Achtung! Anything other that strict verticality will result in loss of pressure!), and let 'er rip.
The result was not encouraging. What came out of the dispenser amidst a good deal of spitting and burping was undeniably foamy and delicious, but hardly the photo op for which I had been hoping:
I consulted the trouble-shooting guide, which explained that I had either shaken my foam too much or too little. Achtung! Either extreme can lead to disaster and woe, but the symptoms are identical! Concluding that if it was over-shaken there was no remedy but that I had nothing to lose by shaking it some more, I gave it a really good workout and tried again. I thought I perceived some attractive surface swirling, but my dessert still resembled a big khaki-colored splat:
I began frantically to leaf through the many how-to booklets in mounting alarm. The device's hissing and belching might have been a sign that the nozzle was clogged with a microscopic mote of undissolved powdered sugar. The only way to clean it was to disassemble the entire thing. I discharged the pressure (Achtung! Keep away from your eyes, pets, and small children!), gave everything a good wipe-and-stir and started over with a fresh N2O cartridge, trying not to think about the damage I was doing to the ozone layer in pursuit of dessert perfection.
A definite improvement (no obscene noises this time) but my mixture was still too loose:
It was now getting late in the day and I was losing heart. Because N2O is bacteriostatic, I knew my project would be safe in the fridge until I could come up with a new strategy. I released the pressure again and placed the bottle on the bottom shelf of my chill chest while I pondered my foam fabrication failings, desperately seeking an answer in my pitiless pile of documentation. I finally found it, hidden towards the end in a discussion of gelatin and warm mixtures: Achtung! The whipper and mixture must be chilled in the refrigerator for several hours before use!
Oh, for crying out loud. Why didn't they say so in the first place?
When I returned home from work today, I retrieved the glaciated vessel from the fridge, clapped on N2O charger #3, exercised the lot with a good 5-second mambo, and had at it.
Success at last!
Of course, I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I'd thought to consult MC, which has a stupefyingly complete guide to siphon use, including a fabulous photographic cross section on p. 261 of Vol. 4. Myhrvold et al play down the importance of the exact number of shakes, while stressing the vital role of temperature. Indeed, they recommend giving dairy the hot-cold treatment, whereby cream that is destined for frothy glory is heated to 86 deg F, held at temperature for 30 minutes, then chilled to 41 deg F before action. This process anneals and modifies the crystal structure of the fat droplets in much the same way that tempering does for chocolate.
Carp and cauliflower cappuccino might be within my grasp after all.
But first, I'll need to order several hundred more N2O chargers.
No comments:
Post a Comment