Tuesday, May 22, 2018
The Food Names You Need to Know About in 2018
This week, we honored our seventh annual class of Eater Young Guns, our look at up-and-coming food-world talent from across the U.S. Every year we ask our readers to nominate promising talent under the age of 30 or new to the business — they send in thousands. Then we consult our committee of esteemed industry veterans and local city editors. We ask ourselves whether and how this person will make an impact on our world.
I’m really pleased with where we (or, credit where due, our leaders on this project, Sonia Chopra and Katie Abbondanza) landed with the 2018 class. I believe it does a good job representing the diversity of talent out there, not just in terms of the types of people highlighted but the types of paths they’re following.
It feels appropriate that in addition to hyper-talented chefs and bakers and coffee nuts, this year we have someone who throws parties focused on social justice for farmers, food sovereignty, and empowerment. And a conservationist and butcher shop owner who wants you to eat less meat. And a 26-year-old owner of a group of hip Chinese restaurants in New York who exhibits enormous compassion and lack of ego.
Everyone in this year’s class seems to think beyond themselves when considering their careers. They’re considering how can we all work together to create spaces that are more inclusive, more diverse, more thoughtful, safer, smarter.
This group just feels very now to me, and I think it bodes well for the future of this industry.
As a bonus this year, we recruited some of our favorite writers from around the food world to tell you about why these people are so special.
Korsha Wilson writes about how Chelsea Gregoire uses her training as a preacher to inform her work behind the bar. Julia Turshen learns that Caitlin McMillan, the one-woman special-forces operative working under restaurateurs Michael Solomonov and Steve Cook, is focusing on the well-being of workers in the industry. Dayna Evans explains how Daniel Alvarez went from original Cronut fryer to debuting his own cult-classic pastry for Danny Meyer. Mari Uyehara covers a woman who overcame roadblocks aplenty to open her own distillery, Tien Nguyen profiles a star GM out of LA, Rachel Khong spends time with “the talk of Cambodia” in Oakland, and oh so much more. Please check out the full list of winners and keep an eye out for their names and projects over the months and years to come.
Saturday, April 21, 2018
How my summer road trip turned into the Great Vanilla Slice Taste Test
I've started a summer fling with an old love of mine, and it has been utterly delicious. The relationship was rekindled during a long car journey between Canberra and the Adelaide Hills in the small town of Balranald in the Riverina district of New South Wales. My husband Tim was driving, our two small children were in the back seat – and I had in my hands the first vanilla slice I'd bought in years.
From the moment I took it out of its paper bag, I knew this vanilla slice was something special. The pastry was a glorious oven-baked brown, the custard was the sunshine yellow of fresh egg yolks, and it smelled like real vanilla. There were layers of thinly sliced almonds resting snugly between the custard and its protective pastry. This vanilla slice was one of the best I've ever had. I wondered if it could possibly be beaten, and so embarked on what has come to be known as the Great Vanilla Slice Taste Test.
The vanilla slice has changed a lot in the years since I first had one as a child during school holidays at Dad's workshop. To keep me quiet for an extra 15 minutes, Dad always got me a vanilla slice when the smoko truck rocked up with its many delights for workers. Those vanilla slices were bright yellow with pink icing, wrapped together so tightly their square edges became rounded and squished. They were amazing.
Today, just as it was for the smoko van, the vanilla slice is big business. This is especially true for many small towns, which rely on its bakeries to attract travellers to the main street. Many will go out of their way to travel through a town with a great bakery, which is how our family road trip ended up in the agricultural township of Ouyen in the Mallee region of Victoria.
Ouyen's Mallee bakery boasts a bold yellow sign which welcomes you to the “home of the vanilla slice”. The bakery itself is massive, and its range of baked goods would rival any big-city bakery. It was hard not to get distracted by the other delicious-looking treats, but I had come for the vanilla slice.
The custard was so pale it was almost white, and with its thick white icing it looked a bit anaemic. The knife wasn't able to get through the dense pastry without making the custard bulge out the sides. The slice's casing was disappointing, but the custard itself was incredible. It had a superior vanilla bean flavour, which was creamy and delicious. While the colour may have been bland, the flavour was anything but.
I disagree with Lum on that front. I love flaky pastry on a vanilla slice, and chocolate drizzles just make it even tastier. The absolute best vanilla slice of our recent road trip came from Belair in the Adelaide Hills, in a small but bustling bakery that has made it a mecca for vanilla slice pilgrims. The custard is thick and creamy, with a good vanilla taste. The pastry is crisp and has the texture of the lovely end bits of a croissant, a skill the baker learned during his apprenticeship under a French pastry maker.
Jason Spencer, the baker and owner of Banana Boogie, explains that the swirls are called feathering, and they can mean the difference between winning and losing big vanilla slice competitions.
From the moment I took it out of its paper bag, I knew this vanilla slice was something special. The pastry was a glorious oven-baked brown, the custard was the sunshine yellow of fresh egg yolks, and it smelled like real vanilla. There were layers of thinly sliced almonds resting snugly between the custard and its protective pastry. This vanilla slice was one of the best I've ever had. I wondered if it could possibly be beaten, and so embarked on what has come to be known as the Great Vanilla Slice Taste Test.
The vanilla slice has changed a lot in the years since I first had one as a child during school holidays at Dad's workshop. To keep me quiet for an extra 15 minutes, Dad always got me a vanilla slice when the smoko truck rocked up with its many delights for workers. Those vanilla slices were bright yellow with pink icing, wrapped together so tightly their square edges became rounded and squished. They were amazing.
Today, just as it was for the smoko van, the vanilla slice is big business. This is especially true for many small towns, which rely on its bakeries to attract travellers to the main street. Many will go out of their way to travel through a town with a great bakery, which is how our family road trip ended up in the agricultural township of Ouyen in the Mallee region of Victoria.
Ouyen's Mallee bakery boasts a bold yellow sign which welcomes you to the “home of the vanilla slice”. The bakery itself is massive, and its range of baked goods would rival any big-city bakery. It was hard not to get distracted by the other delicious-looking treats, but I had come for the vanilla slice.
The custard was so pale it was almost white, and with its thick white icing it looked a bit anaemic. The knife wasn't able to get through the dense pastry without making the custard bulge out the sides. The slice's casing was disappointing, but the custard itself was incredible. It had a superior vanilla bean flavour, which was creamy and delicious. While the colour may have been bland, the flavour was anything but.
I disagree with Lum on that front. I love flaky pastry on a vanilla slice, and chocolate drizzles just make it even tastier. The absolute best vanilla slice of our recent road trip came from Belair in the Adelaide Hills, in a small but bustling bakery that has made it a mecca for vanilla slice pilgrims. The custard is thick and creamy, with a good vanilla taste. The pastry is crisp and has the texture of the lovely end bits of a croissant, a skill the baker learned during his apprenticeship under a French pastry maker.
Jason Spencer, the baker and owner of Banana Boogie, explains that the swirls are called feathering, and they can mean the difference between winning and losing big vanilla slice competitions.
Thursday, March 15, 2018
How to make the perfect broccoli and stilton soup
So entrenched is broccoli and stilton in my canon of classic soups – well up there with the likes of tomato, minestrone and chicken broth – that I'm slightly taken aback not to find it in Lindsey Bareham's comprehensive collection A Celebration of Soup, or indeed in any of the other books I have on the subject. The vegetable section yields similarly slim pickings, with not even a passing mention in Nigel Slater's Tender, and nary a sniff in Jane Grigson's Vegetable Book, either.
Broccoli and cheddar soup is relatively common in the United States, but I wonder whether the stilton number was popularised by the New Covent Garden Soup Company, which burst on to the market in the late 80s with soup that didn't come in a tin, and certainly not in oxtail flavour. Its broccoli and stilton version made quite an impression on me as a child. Whoever's responsible, it's a stroke of creative genius – the rich, salty cheese bringing out the pleasingly bittersweet flavour of the broccoli – and the perfect final destination for any odds and ends of stilton that might be lingering after Christmas. Vegetable soup is very January.
Vegetables
Nigella Lawson uses “frozen broccoli; actually, frozen organic broccoli, if that makes you feel better. In fact, this is better when made with frozen, and more convenient for an impromptu standby.” As someone with severely limited freezer space, frozen broccoli is a new one on me, and though it does cook more quickly, I don't think the flavour's quite up to scratch. Frozen might pass muster in a supporting role, but here, I'd strongly advise sticking with fresh.
Don't discard the stalk, as chef Sally Abé of the Harwood Arms seems to, but do add it before the florets, as Caroline Hire's recipe for BBC Good Food magazine recommends, so it has the chance to soften properly. It's all going to be pureed, but overcooked florets seem to taste mushy.
Lawson's is the only recipe that doesn't read as if it's been written in a time of severe brassica shortage: you need enough of the stuff to balance the richness of the cheese, so be generous, it's not particularly expensive at this time of year.
Hire also adds celery, leek and potato to her soup, giving it a hearty texture but a more generic vegetable flavour that detracts from the broccoli itself. That said, blue cheese has a natural affinity with the sweetness of alliums, whether shallots, as Abé suggests, spring onions and garlic, as in Lawson's recipe, or plain old yellow onions, as in Hire and Brian Turner's versions, though I'd choose shallots, the sweetest of the bunch, for preference. Whatever you use, soften them slowly in butter to help bring out this quality.
The cheese
This soup would work with just about any blue cheese, though you might need to adjust the quantity to achieve the same effect with milder, creamier varieties. A thrifty friend offers a tip about freezing the ends of blue cheese as one might do with parmesan rinds, then deploying them to add extra flavour (note, she cuts off the rind before consigning them to the freezer, which seems wise), and fishes them out before serving.
The liquid
Lawson makes her soup with vegetable stock; Abé, Turner and Hire use chicken, but I'm intrigued by a leek and stilton recipe of Mary Berry's that has a white sauce base, thinned with a little stock, variety unspecified. However, because – unlike Berry – I'll be pureeing mine. I don't think it needs thickening with flour, or Hire's potato. Milk gives the dish a more neutral base than stock alone, which can, particularly if you use good stuff, be rather rich.
Abé and Turner, with cheffy disregard for waistlines, stir in a large glug of double cream, with the latter whisking in an egg yolk, too – delicious if you're intending to serve this in tiny elegant portions for a dinner party, but it does preclude consumption in the kind of quantities I like with this soup.
Aromatics and garnish
Berry infuses the milk with nutmeg and bay leaf. As with Lawson's thyme, the bay doesn't come through, but a sprinkle of nutmeg – always a good friend to blue cheese – proves an excellent idea for a garnish: better than red chilli or chives, which look prettier than they taste. This is a dish that chooses comfort over style. And sometimes, in the depths of winter, that's just what you need.
Perfect broccoli and stilton soup(Serves 4)
2 tbsp butter
2 shallots or 1 small onion, finely chopped
800ml chicken or vegetable stock
600ml milk
800g broccoli
200g stilton, crumbled
Nutmeg, to garnish
Melt the butter in a large saucepan over a medium-low heat and add the shallots. Fry gently until soft and golden.
Meanwhile, cut the broccoli stalks into smallish chunks, then add to the pan with the softened shallots, fry for a minute, then pour in the stock and milk. Bring to a simmer, then cook until the stalk is beginning to soften (how long will depend on the size). Meanwhile, cut the head into small individual florets.
Once the stalk is almost tender, add the florets to the pan along with most of the Stilton, keeping a little back for garnish. Stir well, bring to a simmer, cover then cook for about 5 minutes, until the cheese has melted and the florets are soft.
Allow to cool slightly, then puree until smooth. Taste and season if necessary, then divide between bowls and top with the remaining cheese and a good grating of nutmeg.
Broccoli and cheddar soup is relatively common in the United States, but I wonder whether the stilton number was popularised by the New Covent Garden Soup Company, which burst on to the market in the late 80s with soup that didn't come in a tin, and certainly not in oxtail flavour. Its broccoli and stilton version made quite an impression on me as a child. Whoever's responsible, it's a stroke of creative genius – the rich, salty cheese bringing out the pleasingly bittersweet flavour of the broccoli – and the perfect final destination for any odds and ends of stilton that might be lingering after Christmas. Vegetable soup is very January.
Vegetables
Nigella Lawson uses “frozen broccoli; actually, frozen organic broccoli, if that makes you feel better. In fact, this is better when made with frozen, and more convenient for an impromptu standby.” As someone with severely limited freezer space, frozen broccoli is a new one on me, and though it does cook more quickly, I don't think the flavour's quite up to scratch. Frozen might pass muster in a supporting role, but here, I'd strongly advise sticking with fresh.
Don't discard the stalk, as chef Sally Abé of the Harwood Arms seems to, but do add it before the florets, as Caroline Hire's recipe for BBC Good Food magazine recommends, so it has the chance to soften properly. It's all going to be pureed, but overcooked florets seem to taste mushy.
Lawson's is the only recipe that doesn't read as if it's been written in a time of severe brassica shortage: you need enough of the stuff to balance the richness of the cheese, so be generous, it's not particularly expensive at this time of year.
Hire also adds celery, leek and potato to her soup, giving it a hearty texture but a more generic vegetable flavour that detracts from the broccoli itself. That said, blue cheese has a natural affinity with the sweetness of alliums, whether shallots, as Abé suggests, spring onions and garlic, as in Lawson's recipe, or plain old yellow onions, as in Hire and Brian Turner's versions, though I'd choose shallots, the sweetest of the bunch, for preference. Whatever you use, soften them slowly in butter to help bring out this quality.
The cheese
This soup would work with just about any blue cheese, though you might need to adjust the quantity to achieve the same effect with milder, creamier varieties. A thrifty friend offers a tip about freezing the ends of blue cheese as one might do with parmesan rinds, then deploying them to add extra flavour (note, she cuts off the rind before consigning them to the freezer, which seems wise), and fishes them out before serving.
The liquid
Lawson makes her soup with vegetable stock; Abé, Turner and Hire use chicken, but I'm intrigued by a leek and stilton recipe of Mary Berry's that has a white sauce base, thinned with a little stock, variety unspecified. However, because – unlike Berry – I'll be pureeing mine. I don't think it needs thickening with flour, or Hire's potato. Milk gives the dish a more neutral base than stock alone, which can, particularly if you use good stuff, be rather rich.
Abé and Turner, with cheffy disregard for waistlines, stir in a large glug of double cream, with the latter whisking in an egg yolk, too – delicious if you're intending to serve this in tiny elegant portions for a dinner party, but it does preclude consumption in the kind of quantities I like with this soup.
Aromatics and garnish
Berry infuses the milk with nutmeg and bay leaf. As with Lawson's thyme, the bay doesn't come through, but a sprinkle of nutmeg – always a good friend to blue cheese – proves an excellent idea for a garnish: better than red chilli or chives, which look prettier than they taste. This is a dish that chooses comfort over style. And sometimes, in the depths of winter, that's just what you need.
Perfect broccoli and stilton soup(Serves 4)
2 tbsp butter
2 shallots or 1 small onion, finely chopped
800ml chicken or vegetable stock
600ml milk
800g broccoli
200g stilton, crumbled
Nutmeg, to garnish
Melt the butter in a large saucepan over a medium-low heat and add the shallots. Fry gently until soft and golden.
Meanwhile, cut the broccoli stalks into smallish chunks, then add to the pan with the softened shallots, fry for a minute, then pour in the stock and milk. Bring to a simmer, then cook until the stalk is beginning to soften (how long will depend on the size). Meanwhile, cut the head into small individual florets.
Once the stalk is almost tender, add the florets to the pan along with most of the Stilton, keeping a little back for garnish. Stir well, bring to a simmer, cover then cook for about 5 minutes, until the cheese has melted and the florets are soft.
Allow to cool slightly, then puree until smooth. Taste and season if necessary, then divide between bowls and top with the remaining cheese and a good grating of nutmeg.
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