OMG POLENTA
Feb. 13th, 2009 07:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snousleA funny coincidence.
Last night, I was reading "Cooking by Hand" by Paul Bertolli. Once again, I have no idea how I ended up with this book on my Amazon "buy later" list. But I finally did buy it. And wow, does this ever speak to me. This is one of the few cookbooks I've ever sat down and really read - much more text than recipes, and some serious, thoughtful wisdom on every page.
An extended section right at the beginning of the first chapter - titled "Cleaning the Fresco" - discusses polenta. Too much to type in now, but basically he says that grinding your own corn is essential. ("Dent corn", whatever that is, which has been dried in the field). I was a little skeptical, but he obviously writes from the heart, earnestly and passionately, and I don't think he allows pretentiousness to color his opinions very much. His cuisine is terribly demanding, but he does seem to mean what he says. So I got thinking about polenta, and how I might obtain the proper raw materials.
Today, a package arrived in the mail from John's sister. Would you believe that it was hand-ground polenta? I shit you not. She made it from green Oaxacan dent corn that she grew herself, and included a package of the seeds it grew from. And her recipe followed the very same principles Bertolli discussed - cook it carefully, at below the boiling point. Her method was to mix it with one cup cold water, pour it into two cups of boiling water, and microwave it a bit. I substituted a double boiler for the microwave.
Have you heard the term "slap your momma cooking"? That's when something is so much better than you thought it could be that you want to go and slap your momma for making it so badly your whole life. It was one of those moments.
Bertolli was way right: every bite of polenta I've had until this moment has been total crap. This is the real deal. This is why Italians ate "mountains of polenta" (his words) with only a little bit of meat and found it very satisfying. Just some salt - it doesn't even need butter - and it's overflowing with flavor. It's rich, nutty, sweet, and carries a curious aroma of nutmeg. It tastes, in short, like corn. Only more so.
I've already been pointed in the "grind your own" direction by other chefs' opinions. John bought a flour mill attachment for the Kitchenaid and I have a bag of buckwheat waiting for some soba experiments, but I haven't gotten around to actually doing it. It is now clear that grinding our own grain is absolutely necessary and not at all optional.
Encountering Bertolli seems to be a turning point in my cooking. His writing makes it clear that I am an Italian chef through and through, this morning's experiments with vegan shui jiao notwithstanding. This man understands the very soul of Italian cooking and everything he says makes perfect sense. It's hard to express how exciting it is to see someone who thinks the same way I do while going so far beyond my own experience. I kiss his feet.
He started a restaurant in Oakland called Oliveto so I guess a trip there is in my future. Not far from the Steamworks, how convenient!
Last night, I was reading "Cooking by Hand" by Paul Bertolli. Once again, I have no idea how I ended up with this book on my Amazon "buy later" list. But I finally did buy it. And wow, does this ever speak to me. This is one of the few cookbooks I've ever sat down and really read - much more text than recipes, and some serious, thoughtful wisdom on every page.
An extended section right at the beginning of the first chapter - titled "Cleaning the Fresco" - discusses polenta. Too much to type in now, but basically he says that grinding your own corn is essential. ("Dent corn", whatever that is, which has been dried in the field). I was a little skeptical, but he obviously writes from the heart, earnestly and passionately, and I don't think he allows pretentiousness to color his opinions very much. His cuisine is terribly demanding, but he does seem to mean what he says. So I got thinking about polenta, and how I might obtain the proper raw materials.
Today, a package arrived in the mail from John's sister. Would you believe that it was hand-ground polenta? I shit you not. She made it from green Oaxacan dent corn that she grew herself, and included a package of the seeds it grew from. And her recipe followed the very same principles Bertolli discussed - cook it carefully, at below the boiling point. Her method was to mix it with one cup cold water, pour it into two cups of boiling water, and microwave it a bit. I substituted a double boiler for the microwave.
Have you heard the term "slap your momma cooking"? That's when something is so much better than you thought it could be that you want to go and slap your momma for making it so badly your whole life. It was one of those moments.
Bertolli was way right: every bite of polenta I've had until this moment has been total crap. This is the real deal. This is why Italians ate "mountains of polenta" (his words) with only a little bit of meat and found it very satisfying. Just some salt - it doesn't even need butter - and it's overflowing with flavor. It's rich, nutty, sweet, and carries a curious aroma of nutmeg. It tastes, in short, like corn. Only more so.
I've already been pointed in the "grind your own" direction by other chefs' opinions. John bought a flour mill attachment for the Kitchenaid and I have a bag of buckwheat waiting for some soba experiments, but I haven't gotten around to actually doing it. It is now clear that grinding our own grain is absolutely necessary and not at all optional.
Encountering Bertolli seems to be a turning point in my cooking. His writing makes it clear that I am an Italian chef through and through, this morning's experiments with vegan shui jiao notwithstanding. This man understands the very soul of Italian cooking and everything he says makes perfect sense. It's hard to express how exciting it is to see someone who thinks the same way I do while going so far beyond my own experience. I kiss his feet.
He started a restaurant in Oakland called Oliveto so I guess a trip there is in my future. Not far from the Steamworks, how convenient!
