Damp Squib

Despite a fair amount of Irene-related devastation round and about, up here on the hill we escaped today's hurricane relatively unscathed. A flooded basement and some downed trees were about all we had to show for the storm of the century, which came and went with only a few half-hearted power outages to remind us that Big Things Were Afoot.

The good news is I can now confirm the Wolf works just fine in a blackout, thank you very much. I feel a bit disloyal for ever having doubted the sure-fired sturdiness of my splendid steely stove and have resolved never again to doubt its steadfastness in the face of storms and setbacks.

One problem I am left with, however, is the mountainous supply of non-perishable and hurricane-proof provisions I laid in late last week. The bottled water is no hardship, of course, and the Squid is quite content to live off instant ramen and mac and cheese from a box for as long as needs require. Over time we will happily deplete the chocolate and alcohol inventory and since the fridge was never off for any length of time our perishable items are - as they say - safe as houses.

But I also bought a few cans of sweetened condensed milk for our coffee. I discovered (rather late in the game) that - even in the face of calamity - Sir would rather take his coffee black than pollute it with tinned moo, so I was left with a bit of a conundrum. The milk sat on the kitchen counter all day today, daring me to take some sort of action.

In the time it takes the Coriolis force to develop into a full-blown cyclonic vortex, I had it. Banoffee sauce! You know the stuff: it's the rich, dark, dulce de leche-type substance used as a pie filling with a digestive-biscuit crust, sliced bananas, and mountains of whipped cream. These days traditional pies are off the menu here a chez Fractured Amy, but the sauce has innumerable additional applications. One can make like Jamie Oliver and serve it as a 'mess' with crushed-up meringues, cream and fruit. Top it with bruleed bananas and you've got something really special. Glop it over ice cream or use it as a dipping sauce for apples.

One can even, I believe, it eat straight from the spoon, but I could not possibly confirm such an outrageous rumor. For a gluten freedom-fighter to engage in such greedy behavior would show an utter lack of self-control and disregard for lady-like deportment, wouldn't you agree?

To my knowledge there is only one bona fide way to make banoffee sauce. You take a can of condensed milk and put it on a plate, which you in turn place on the bottom of a big saucepan. You fill the pan with water so the can is completely covered and slap a lid on it. Bring the water to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer it for the rest of the afternoon. Take care not to let the top of the can peek above the water level and in several hours you will be rewarded with fourteen ounces of thick, unctuous caramel goodness.

Oh, I know that some people of an unscientific mien are apt to warn would-be banoffee busters that the can will explode all over the wallpaper if they dare try this time-tested and traditional method. The internet (of course) is full of counterfeit procedures for the over-cautious cook, such as decanting the milk into a water bath for cooking in the oven or even - horrors! - using prepared dulce de leche from a jar.

Stuff and nonsense! I grasped one of the cans firmly and prepared to peel off the label in preparation for its submersion. Guess what met my eye?

Even the manufacturers are climbing aboard the bandwagon of timorousness! How they can justify financially the discouragement of a vital use for their own product I have no idea. I admit, though, to a second of hesitation. Was my luck about to run out, forcing me to scrub molten caramel off kitchen surfaces for all eternity?

I decided to risk it. Since disaster-wise I'd already dodged one bullet this weekend, I resolved boldly to face another and let the banana chips fall where they might. After all, life is just that much more sensational when a bit of danger is thrown into the mix.

Having done the deed, I confess that an hour or so later my confidence waned somewhat. Was it my imagination, or did we all find urgent tasks elsewhere while the pot simmered malevolently on the back burner? I went for two walks to survey damage in town (our local creek will probably burst its banks later tonight, but otherwise the place was quiet this afternoon) and spent a fair amount of time picking up plums and downed branches from the lawn. Sir decided to work upstairs in the farthest reaches of the house and the Kid Squid hid in his room, ostensibly getting himself emotionally prepared for the first day of school (since postponed). Every so often I went to check on the water level in the pot, standing at some distance and tentatively nudging the lid with my longest pair of metal tongs.

But - again! - I need not have worried. At four o'clock I removed the still in-tact can from its bath and, after waiting for it to cool a bit, pulled back its ring tab to survey the elixir within.

Perfection! And with nary a pop or hiss to justify all the scaremongering. We celebrated with great lashings of sauce straight from the spoon.

A practical and family-pleasing use having been found for the condensed milk, I am now left only with my twenty-four hours' worth of surplus butane, which - given its own explosive potential - I would rather not have hanging around the house for too long. Since the cans fit handily on my chef's torch, I foresee a good deal of bruleeing in my future (in addition to the bananas above, there's always traditional creme brulee - now perfected - as well as Modernist Cuisine's recipe for Parmesan Creme Brulee with Onion Sugar, the next egg experiment on my docket).

I suppose I could always take my portable burner camping (there's a first time for everything!) and use the butane in the manner for which it is intended, but that would necessarily require that I venture outdoors.

And haven't you heard?

The weather scares me.

Après moi, le déluge

Campers, you may not have heard - but there's a hurricane headed my way!

I have spent the last 24 hours or so feverishly preparing for every foreseeable circumstance.

The bathtubs are sparkly clean and ready to receive their last-minute fillings of cold water. In addition, twenty gallons of bottled water for drinking and cooking are lined up neatly in the basement. The ice cube maker in the freezer has been going full tilt, preparing chilling fodder for the insulated chests which will harbor milk and other perishables when the electricity goes off, as the weather-prediction panjandrums cheerfully and tirelessly inform us it inevitably will. After the fresh moo runs out, I have a few cans of sweetened condensed milk standing by for our coffee and whatever else strikes our fancy. There are laid in bottles and bottles of alcohol (for medicinal and antiseptic purposes, of course); about six pounds of chocolate and roughly three hundred jars of home-made preserves. The Squid has sufficient personal supplies of iced tea, apple juice, and chocolate chip cookies to last the duration, even if through some freak downdraft or cyclonic inversion he is trapped in his bedroom for several days, unable to make his way downstairs to the kitchen where the more conventional supplies are warehoused.

Although I have no fear of the house blowing or floating away, weighed down as it is by the Wolf (the thing has a mass equivalent to that of a small pickup truck), there is some dispute as to whether my beautiful cooker will function without electricity. Some Folks in the Know assert that it's only the electric starters that stop working, while Others assure me that the supply of gas is automatically cut off as a safety precaution. Since our power fails with some regularity up here on our hill, I am at a loss to explain why I myself am ignorant about the Truth of the Situation.  I shall report on the Wolf's blackout operations in due course, but to be on the safe side I have thoroughly tested the portable shabu-shabu burner and placed it on a convenient countertop together with twelve cans of butane (roughly 24 hours' worth of high heat) ready and willing to do their bit.

In the process of readying the family for the upcoming Apocalypse, however, I have discovered that in the disaster-preparedness arena - as in so many others - gluten freedom-fighters are at a distinct disadvantage.

Take as evidence the imperative to stock the household with three days' worth of food, minimum. Easy as anything for the gluten lovers among us: sandwiches with fresh fillings for as long as they hold out, switching to peanut butter and/or Nutella on the fourth or fifth day; followed in due course by instant ramen, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and tinned soup (many cans of which contain gluten, for shame!). The Boys could live in this manner quite happily, I believe, for months and months - in fact, I believe most college students subsist on such a diet for years with few obvious ill effects.

I, of course, couldn't eat a bowl of instant ramen (not even the tasty gourmet variety from Myojo Foods in sunny Sendagaya, Shibuya-ku) if my life depended upon it. No, my backup rations (apart from the above-mentioned gin, whisky, apricot preserves, and Lindt special recipe) are Kind cranberry and almond bars (all natural! certified gluten free! dairy free! loaded with anti-oxidants! don't taste like packing material!); Heinz baked beans (my favorite under any circumstances and only available from the fancy foreign food aisle at Wegmans); and a good deal of positive thinking.

After all - it might never happen!

Next up: I emerge after the storm to survey the damage and re-boot my computer.

In Praise of Pots and Pans: First Canto

As the year draws to a close, I find myself contemplating my first three-and-a-half months of gluten freedom and the many cooking and eating adventures thereof. Whether triumph or disaster, success or failure, my favorite pots and pans have stood by me and been my constant companions through thick and thin. Some rather neglected items have experienced new-found life as my gluten-free methods evolve whilst others have been daily companions for years. Over the past fifteen weeks all have proved their worth repeatedly and unwaveringly through countless culinary exploits.

The time has come to pay tribute to the dependable tools without which many experiments would not have been possible, much less pleasurable. Without further ado, I present my hall of fame.

Copper saute pan

• Characteristics. Thirteen inches wide and three inches deep with a lid and rounded base (copper cladding over stainless steel).
• Origin. Purchased several years ago at Crate and Barrel with funds from my copper pot account, seeded as a Christmas present by DMR.
• Uses. My favorite pan for things that need slow cooking over low heat, including fruit compote, risotto, curries (when I make them myself), and braises. This is the pan I use almost every day.

Straight-sided frying pan

• Characteristics. Twelve inches wide and three inches deep with lid (copper core sandwiched in aluminum and stainless steel).
• Origin. Given to me almost twenty-five years ago as part of my first cookware set. Probably purchased at Macy's.
• Uses. Excellent for proteins started on the stovetop and finished in the oven. Can comfortably hold a sirloin steak that will feed four hungry people; three pounds of fish fillets; or a good-sized pork loin. Only my copper saute pan is used more often.

Chef's Pan

• Characteristics. Three-quart saucier (stainless steel) with rounded bottom and glass lid.
• Origin. Purchased shortly after our first return from Japan fifteen years ago, following several unsuccessful electric rice-cooker tests in Colorado (where I blamed the altitude for my utter inability to prepare edible rice).
• Uses. The only pan in which I ever, ever cook rice but also handy for choux pastry and other things one doesn't want scorching in corners.

Steamer

• Characteristics. Huge colander/steamer over a five-quart stewing pot (anodized aluminum) with glass lid.
• Origin. Came as a freebie with my Calphalon pot rack, which was purchased during the kitchen renovations four years ago to provide hanging capability when we tore out the (otherwise useless) island previously employed for cookware storage.
• Uses. I'm steaming a lot these days - both fiber-rich vegetables like broccoli and cauliflower and exotic grains like quinoa. The colander is useful for draining potatoes, parsnips, and stocks.

Spaghetti Pots

• Characteristics. The large one holds ten quarts, the small one eight.
• Origin. The large one was purchased at my local restaurant supply store, while the small one came with the above-mentioned Macy's cookware set.
• Uses. In olden times, these pots were used for pasta (and hopefully will be again, one day) but they are also invaluable when making stock and caramels.

Cheesecloth

• Characteristics. Roughly 36 x 36 inches.
• Origin. I have had this piece of cheesecloth since time immemorial. I have to be careful when using it, as it is somewhat frayed at the edges and developing holes in places
• Uses. Fantastic for lining the colander and straining anything that might otherwise go through, like stock or poaching fat. Also useful for steaming tiny little grains (ditto).

And last but not least, my beautiful Wolf cooker, without which none of this would be possible.

Thank you all for your steadfast help and support during these difficult times. Your loyalty will not be forgotten.

Next up: I pay homage to my favorite baking paraphernalia

Wolf's Lair

It should surprise nobody that I love my Wolf cooker.

Yes, yes - Americans call them stoves. But my Wolf is so much more than a stove!

Quite a lot of my self-esteem is bound up in the behemoth that anchors the west wall of the kitchen - that, indeed, anchors one whole end of the house. If a tornado comes roaring up the street, strewing everything in its path like matchsticks and spreading destruction far and wide, I am confident the Wolf will serve as a beacon for first-responders, firmly planted exactly where it was installed, impervious to driving rains and tempestuous winds. 'All-shaking thunder, strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world!' exhorted King Lear. But he never saw my cooker.

A big comforting stove has always been part of my dream kitchen. In England and Scotland, where we lived for many years, I was envious of friends and rels who owned Agas and Rayburns - not that many did, as these cast iron leviathans are fiendishly expensive and mind-bogglingly impractical for all but the largest flagstone-floored farmhouse kitchens. The really awesome ones are fueled with coal and, since they are always fired up, can double as boilers with which to power the central heating. We briefly looked into the possibility of installing a Rayburn when we bought our first house in a Borders village outside Edinburgh. The plumber came to have a look and shook his head sadly. Not only would we have needed to reinforce the floor to take the weight of even the smallest offering but, given the diminutive size of our kitchen, a second (electric) cooker would have been needed in the summer months to avoid the problem of roasting us while we slept upstairs. So a Cooker That Makes a Statement remained a fantasy and nothing more.

Then we moved to the States and our current house, and belatedly discovered the entire kitchen was one big fire-code violation. Our gas stove, it transpired, was in imminent danger of setting the cabinetry alight. We had several choices: go electric (shudder); lower the floor; raise the cabinets (which would have involved ripping out all the soffits together with the wiring and ductwork concealed inside); or create a horizontal gap between the stove and the cabinets to act as a primitive yet effective fire-break. This was easily the most practical solution and we set to work removing the cabinets and counters from one of the kitchen walls, leaving a six-foot void where the old stove and fridge used to be. The question of how to fill such a tempting space arose not long afterwards.

Around the same time, I experienced the jet-engine power of a Garland industrial range, owned and operated by The Crusading Young Lawyer from the Big City in her domestic kitchen. I knew the time had come and started searching for a cosmic cooker to call my own. Reasoning that I had about forty-eight inches to work with, the choice was easy - a natural gas Wolf range, with four huge burners capable of a whopping 16,000 BTUs each (not quite a jet engine, but enough to keep a twelve-quart pot of pasta water on the boil); an infrared grill (just like in Kitchen Stadium!); a griddle (that doubles as a warming plate for delicate sauces and the like) and two ovens (people no longer have to bring their own ovens over for Christmas dinner, which is what used to happen, I kid you not). My life was changed forever.

Of course, it is possible to eat well off a hotplate or a camping stove. There are incredible chefs out there who work miracles on electric ranges half the size of my beast. We have been to fine restaurants du terroir where the entire kitchen had a footprint only slightly larger than the Wolf possesses all on its lonesome. I am the first to admit the Wolf does not make me a better cook, just a happier one.

What is practicality or necessity compared to a dream come true?

Erratum
Thanks to the sharp-eyed reader who called to my attention a flagrant error in my latest discussion of Just Desserts. It was Yigit, not Morgan, who chose as his inspiration Guy Ritchie and Madonna. Morgan chose Reggie Bush and Kim Kardashian. How could I have got this so wrong, when Moleskine clearly recorded that it was KK's bitterness that prompted Morgan's citrus gelee?

In other macaron-related news, I have two new Best in Show nominations, provided by loyal readers: Laduree in Paris (with outposts in Tokyo, Beirut, and London should one happen to be in the neighbourhood); and - on this continent - Patisserie 46 in Minneapolis (a foodie destination of which I am becoming increasingly - and jealously - aware).