Want To Make The Kitchen Less Stressful? Follow Anthony Bourdain's “Religion”

A Place For Everything.......

I hear it all the time: “Why don't you open a restaurant?” My answer is usually along the lines of  “been there, done that” and besides, I like to cook. Nothing will spoil a love of cooking faster than running a restaurant. I'll bet I didn't want to go near a stove for six months after the last place I got out of. No, I'm perfectly happy with the occasional work I get as a personal chef and doing some small time catering here and there. But even at that I hear, “I just don't know how you do it. I could never deal with all that pressure.” Or, “Cooking is so stressful!” And for those who feel that way, I suppose it is. But the reason they feel cooking is such a stressful, pressure-ridden chore is because they are such a hopelessly disorganized mess. I've seen some of these people in action in the kitchen and it stresses me out just to watch them. But it doesn't have to be that way. The secret to calm, confident, efficient, and fun cooking is organization. The pros call it “mise en place.”

Mise en place (me-zahn-plahs) is one of those fancy French terms you learn in culinary school. The term literally translates to “setting in place” or “putting in place,” and the concept itself is ridiculously simple: everything has a place and you just need to get organized before you start. Mise en place is a method or a state of mind that, when properly and consistently applied in any kitchen, results in a smooth-flowing, time saving cooking process, thus enabling even a beginning home cook to efficiently produce delicious, quality meals. No pressure, no stress. The late chef Anthony Bourdain often referred to mise en place as his "religion."

Let's prepare some spaghetti sauce, okay? And we're gonna do it right; we're not gonna open a jar, were gonna make the sauce from scratch. “Oh, no!,” I hear you wail. “That's such a mess!” Nah-h-h. Not if you do it right.

First and most importantly, you need to read your recipe. All of it. All the way through. Ingredients and procedure. If you don't, you're setting yourself up for potential problems and stress.

Here's a sauce recipe of Rocco DiSpirito's that I particularly like:

3 cloves garlic, crushed

1/2 yellow onion, peeled and chopped fine

3 tbsp olive oil

2 (28-ounce) cans tomato puree

1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes

1 tbsp tomato paste

1 tsp sugar

1 cup chicken stock

Red pepper flakes to taste

Salt to taste

In a large saucepan, cook the garlic and onion in the olive oil over medium-low heat for about 10 minutes or until the garlic is tender and the onions are translucent, not brown. Add the red pepper flakes to taste.

Add all the tomato products. Pour the chicken stock into one of the 28-oz cans. Fill it the rest of the way with water and add that and the sugar to the pot. Stir and bring to a simmer. Taste and season with salt and cover. Simmer the sauce for about 1 hour. The sauce should be fairly thin, but not watery and very smooth. Uncover and simmer for 3 minutes if it is too thin for your taste; add a little water if it seems thick.

Okay, did you read all that? If you did, you found out you're going to need ten ingredients, five of which are canned, jarred, or bottled and two of which will require cutting and/or chopping. So you'll need a can opener, a knife, and a cutting surface, right? A couple of things need to be measured, so that means measuring cups and spoons. You need a saucepan with a cover and a couple of spoons, one to stir with and one to use for tasting. And you need to allow about an hour for cooking. And don't forget to include some additional time up front for all the prep work.

Now, I know a lot of folks who would look at that recipe and proceed like this: they would start by going to the shelf or cupboard for a saucepan. Then they walk over to the stove and place it on a burner. Then they go over to the pantry and find some olive oil and carry it back to the stove. Next, they hunt for some measuring spoons and then head back to the stove to measure in the oil. Now it's back to the pantry again to get some garlic and then a search for a knife or a garlic press. The knife is easy: that's in the drawer with the silverware. But where in the world is that garlic press? Oh, yeah. It's under the cabinet with the aluminum foil and the cereal. Once the garlic is crushed, it's back to the pantry for an onion. Then they locate a cutting board somewhere and go back to the counter where they left the knife. After they chop the onion, they go back to the stove and turn on the burner. Now they add in the garlic and onion and then they look for a wooden spoon with which to stir it. Then it's back to the pantry for the tomato products, moving quickly so the garlic and onions don't burn. Find the can opener in the same cabinet where the garlic press was and open all the cans of tomato product. Ooops! Forgot the red pepper flakes! Back to the pantry. Guess what? No red pepper flakes. Too late now. We'll just have to leave them out. So, now the tomato products are in. Back to the pantry for the chicken stock. Locate the can opener again and open the can. Find a measuring cup – it's in the drawer with the dish towels – and measure out the stock. Over to the sink to get some water then back to the pantry for the sugar. Find the measuring spoons again and measure out the sugar, then go back over to the sink and get the can with the stock and the water. Then over to the stove to dump it all in the pan and stir it up. Go get the salt shaker off the dining room table and then go back to the stove to add the salt to the sauce. Go over to the silverware drawer and get a spoon, then step back over to the stove to taste the sauce. Now, just figure out which lid fits the pan, cover it and the hard part is done! Whew!

That was way harder than it needed to be. And if that's anywhere near your method, no wonder you hate to cook.

Have you ever watched a cooking show on TV and noticed that the chef had all the pots, pans and tools right at hand and all the ingredients neatly laid out in little bowls so they could just dump the prepared contents of the bowls into the waiting pans and create perfect dishes? That's the way the big time TV chefs do it, baby. You don't see them running back to the fridge for a carrot, now do you? Nope. A whole bunch of people in the prep kitchen make sure that everything is laid out and ready before the host chef ever smiles at the camera. That's why it looks so easy on TV. Emeril might be the one to “bam!” his way through the recipe, but there's a lot of folks working off camera to make sure that his mise en place is set up the way he needs it. Well, in your kitchen, you're the prep cook.

Here's the way it should go: after you've read the recipe, clear the decks. Prepare your work area. Get rid of junk and clutter that will only get in your way as you try to work. Clean off counters and work spaces and clean up any dirty dishes you've got lying around. If you start work in a dirty, cluttered, disorganized kitchen, you're just ratcheting up the stress level.

Now set about gathering your ingredients and your equipment. Most kitchen disasters happen when you get halfway through preparing a dish only to discover that you don't have a necessary ingredient. It's those "Darn! I thought I had some of that" surprises that can ruin a cooking experience. To say nothing of a dish.

After you've got your ingredient ducks in a row, work on your equipment. Any necessary pots or pans as well as measuring cups, spoons, mixing bowls, blenders, choppers, spatulas, etc. Get them all together in one place so you're not running all over the kitchen after them.

Open all the cans, measure out all the liquid and dry ingredients and place them in handy prep bowls or containers. You know what works well for me? I love the little plastic cups from individual serving fruits or applesauce. You know, the kind you pack in lunches. I've got stacks of 'em and they make great prep cups. Chop up the vegetables and put them in prep bowls or containers. This is called making things "cooking ready." If you have ingredients that are going to be cooked at the same time, such as in a mirepoix or soffrito, it's okay to combine them at this stage. Now, you just assemble all the prepared ingredients into the prepared cookware and you're done with the hard part, except it wasn't nearly as hard because you were organized from the start.

Running all over the kitchen looking for the salt or a baking pan or a wooden spoon after you've started your recipe wastes time and energy. Preparing ahead of time allows you to cook without having to stop and assemble items, important in recipes with time constraints. Mise en place also allows you to cook in an orderly fashion. Let's face it, trying to chop the carrots while the onions are sauteing is a good way to foul up both. Poor preparation usually leads to poor outcomes. And mise en place is particularly beneficial if you are preparing more than one recipe or one with multiple steps. For instance, if my wife is baking an Italian cream cake, I'll set up her “mise” for her so that all the ingredients for the cake are laid out in one area, the stuff for the chocolate ganache is set up in another area, and the ingredients for the frosting are prepped and waiting in another spot. Having everything laid out in advance enables her to move efficiently from one preparation step to the next, just like those TV chefs!

Another huge and often overlooked aspect of mise en place involves clean up. Since mise en place starts and ends with everything in its place, an essential part of the process is cleaning up as you go. Don't let dishes stack up and accumulate as you're cooking. Clean them up and put them away as you use them. Mess equals stress. Clean as you go. That way, when you're finished cooking, instead of a daunting pile of dirty dishes and cookware, you have a complete meal, a clean kitchen and a low stress level. Win, win! And your kitchen is ready for the next round.

Honestly, I cannot fathom how some people function in kitchens that are disorganized to begin with with and wind up looking like war zones by the time they finish cooking a meal. I am acquainted with several people who just throw things into drawers and cabinets without regard to what goes with what. Mixing bowls live with canned goods, plastic wrap resides with frying pans, silverware inhabits two or three separate drawers. Yeesh! People, the department stores are full of nifty organizers to help you put your kitchen together more efficiently. If I had to go on safari every time I needed a measuring spoon, I'd probably get sick of cooking, too.

And then there are the people who employ every dish in the kitchen in the preparation of a meal and just stack all the used cookware in tremendous piles. I kid you not, I once knew a woman who stacked her dirty dishes on the floor when she ran out of sink and counter space. I don't have to tell you how nasty that is, do I? And then these people survey the nightmare they've created in the simple preparation of a pot of spaghetti and wail about what a chore cooking is! Please!

My drawers, cabinets, and countertops are neat and organized and I know where everything is. I don't have baked on messes on my cooktop because if something spills or boils over while I'm cooking, I clean it up on the spot. I keep a sink full of hot, soapy water on hand as I'm preparing dishes and as I use a pan or a bowl or a utensil, I wash it and put it away. The stand mixer and the food processor get cleaned and put back in their corners as soon as I'm through with them. When I finish preparing a four-course meal, my sink, countertops, and stovetop don't look much different than when I started. A place for everything and everything in its place.

Admittedly, on the surface mise en place sounds like a lot of extra time, extra work, and extra dishes. But it's really not and it's also the best route to less stressful cooking. Proper preparation will make any cooking experience a more efficient, productive, and enjoyable one. And the confidence you gain from being more efficient and productive may lead you to try more ambitious and more flavorful recipes, making you an all around better cook. And one who's considerably less stressed.

Mise en place – “set in place.” If, like Anthony Bourdain, you make it your “religion” in the kitchen, cooking will never again seem like such a stressful chore.

Buon appetito!

Sold On Sous Vide

Darn Close To Foolproof

I've often said that my home kitchen is ridiculously over-equipped. I've got stuff at home a lot of restaurants don't have. But I am definitely not a “gadget guru.” I'm not prone to the useless geegaws you see on TV commercials. You won't find a stick butter cutter or a banana slicer or a twirling spaghetti fork taking up valuable space in my kitchen. For one thing, even if I wanted such things, my wife wouldn't let me have them. You know how some guys tell their wives if they want a new pair of shoes, they have to get rid of an old pair? That's kind of the way my wife is with me in the kitchen.

So my wife was rather dubious when I told her I wanted an immersion circulator. I had been hearing wonderful things about the sous vide method of cooking for a long time, but the necessary equipment was prohibitively expensive. However, in the last couple of years the prices have come down to the point where you can buy such stuff at Walmart. As a matter of fact, that's where I got mine.

“Wait a minute,” I hear you say. “Immersion which? Sous what? What language are you speaking? French?” Actually, yes. “Sous vide” is French for “under vacuum,” and a vacuum sealer one of the pieces of equipment it's handy to have in order to cook something sous vide. The other more essential piece of hardware is an immersion circulator. And whereas once such arcane and esoteric things were only available at specialty suppliers at costs approaching the ridiculous, nowadays you can buy them, as I said, at places like Walmart for a couple hundred bucks or less, thus moving a fancy French technique once reserved for expensive high-end kitchens into the home kitchen for an affordable price.

In a nutshell, “sous vide” refers to the process of vacuum-sealing food and cooking it in a temperature controlled water bath. Or a bain-marie, if you want to be painfully French about the whole thing. This allows food to be cooked to a very precise temperature while retaining maximum moisture and flavor and with almost no chance of over or under cooking. And no shrinkage either: if you start out with a 10 ounce steak, you'll wind up with a 10 ounce steak.

There are three characteristics of sous vide cooking: containerized cooking that separates the food from its heating environment, pressurized enclosure using full or partial vacuum, and low temperature slow cooking. Each of these techniques developed separately at different points in time. They were all brought together as a distinct cooking method by a combination of engineers and chefs in the late 1960s and early '70s.

Now, you need to understand that this is a low and slow method of cooking. If you've only got ten minutes to bust out a steak for dinner, forget sous vide and break out the old frying pan. A sous vide steak is going to take at least an hour. BUT, that said, it's going to be a perfect steak when it's done. The way the fancy restaurants work around this time issue is that they cook up a bunch of steaks via sous vide in advance and stick them in a refrigerator. Then when an order comes in, they take out a pre-cooked steak, slap the steak in a hot pan, sear it off for a couple of minutes, and viola!, they can deliver a perfect steak in no time. And you can do that at home, too.

And it's not just for steak. So far, besides steaks, I've sous vide cooked ribs, chicken breasts, potatoes, and asparagus. And they all turned out perfectly with no more effort than it took me to prep them. And cleanup was a breeze: I emptied the water out of the pot and threw away the plastic bags.

Here's how it works. You take a big pot, something tall like a stock pot, and you attached the immersion circulator to the side of the pot. My circulator has a big clamp for that purpose. Then you fill the pot with water to the appropriate level. There's a “MIN” and “MAX” line etched on mine. Using hot or warm tap water will speed up the process because the machine will take less time to bring the water to temperature.

Next, you bring your vacuum sealer out. Prep and season whatever you're cooking and place it in a bag you can seal up with the sealer. You can buy premade bags or make them yourself from specially designed rolls of plastic material. You can even bypass the vacuum sealer altogether and use heavy-duty zip-top plastic bags. Since you're never going to heat anything to anywhere close to the boiling point, regular heavy-duty bags will work. Just make sure you get all the air out of them. There are a couple of ways to do this: you can leave a small opening at one corner, stick a straw in there, and suck out the air. Or you can use the water immersion method wherein you slowly submerge the bag in water until the outside water pressure forces all the inside air up and out the top of the bag. Either way works – but a vacuum sealer works better.

Once you've got your food seasoned and sealed, immerse the bag in the pot to which you have attached the circulator and turn the device on, setting the time and temperature required for whatever you're cooking. It's a good idea to secure the bag to the side of the pot so it doesn't go floating around as the water circulates. I use a binder clip. I've heard clothespins work, too. Or a small clamp. Anything that holds the bag in place. The circulator will heat the water until it reaches the desired temperature. Then the circulating motor will kick in and start moving the water. The combination of the heat and the circulation will cook your food in the preset time. Like I said, a steak takes about an hour at 135 degrees Farenheit and asparagus cooks in about twelve minutes at 175 degrees.

You simply cannot under or overcook your food because the machine keeps the water at a precise temperature for a precise length of time. You couldn't “burn” something if you tried. The temperature of the food cannot exceed the temperature of the water in which it's being cooked. And because it's vacuum sealed, there's no loss of moisture, flavor, color, texture, or aroma.

When the process is complete, you just take the bag out of the water, open the bag, remove the cooked contents, and do whatever you need to do to finish the dish. In the case of a steak, that might include tossing the steak in a hot pan for a couple of minutes to give it a nice sear. I have one of those “George Foreman” type electric grill things and it did a perfect job finishing the last steak I cooked sous vide, right down to giving it beautiful grill marks in about a minute. And no smoky kitchen full of dirty pans afterward. I emptied the water out of the stock pot and wiped down the grill surface and I was done. And there was a tender, moist, flavorful mid-rare steak with a gorgeous crust and grill marks sitting there on a plate looking delicious.

In case you couldn't tell, I'm sold on sous vide. I've always thought it was a great if somewhat expensive concept in theory, but now that it's economical enough to be practical......well, I may just go out and buy another one of the things.

There's an old aphorism that says “anything said to be 'foolproof' fails to account for the ingenuity of fools.” And I have found this to be generally true. Somebody could probably screw up a sous vide if they tried hard enough. But so far I haven't been ingenious – or foolish – enough to figure out how.

Vacuum sealers are everywhere these days and you can get a good one for a hundred dollars or less. However, even though they've become vastly more affordable, immersion circulators aren't falling out of trees. You'll have to hunt for one. Mine came from Walmart, but my local store had them on clearance. Largely because, I suspect, the average Walmart shopper didn't know what the hell the thing was and hence they didn't sell many. You can still get one at Walmart.com. Target has them, too. And you can find them at higher end stores like Williams-Sonoma, but expect to pay higher end prices: the same unit I bought at Wallyworld for sixty bucks sells for $160 at Williams-Sonoma. Bed, Bath & Beyond has one similar to mine for a hundred dollars. And, of course, there's always Amazon.

Have I piqued your interest? I hope so. Sous vide is a really great idea for both professional and home cooks. So go out and acquire the equipment and start cooking. Who knows? Your significant other may be so impressed by your new gadget that she or he will even let you keep your banana slicer or your twirling spaghetti fork.

Are You Confused By Cooking Terms?

People Get Glassy-Eyed When You Start Talking “Saute” And “Braise”

I was in a restaurant kitchen the other day talking with a group of cooks. We were discussing techniques and ingredients and generally speaking a lot of “kitchen-ese.” Two of the guys involved in the discussion were seasoned pros who had been around a kitchen or two. The third fellow was a young guy, still in high school, getting his first taste of “the life.” And he was pretty lost.

It occurred to me later that, while cooking and cooking terms are second nature to some of us, there are a lot of people out there for whom the very cooking process is daunting enough and the associated language is confusing and foreign. Those of us who have been reading recipes for decades tend to overlook the fact that there are people who get glassy-eyed when you start talking “saute” and “braise” and “mince” and “dice.” And those are just common, everyday terms. When it comes to “julienne” and “brunoise” and “chiffonade,” you might as well be speaking French. Well.....you are, but you know what I mean.

Let's say you've come across Grandma's biscuit recipe and it calls for a “dash” of this and a “pinch” of that. Because I have a ridiculously over-equipped kitchen, I actually own a set of measuring spoons that measures dashes and pinches. Smidgens, too. Not that I ever use the silly things: like most cooks, I literally pinch a “pinch” with my fingers. You learn over time how much a two-finger pinch is and how much you pick up in a three-finger pinch. And, of course, since hands and fingers vary in size, so do pinches. It's not very precise, but it's such a small amount it doesn't really have to be. If, however, you really want to know, a dash is 1/8 teaspoon, a pinch is 1/16 teaspoon, and a smidgen is 1/32 teaspoon. (By actual measurement, my own two-finger pinch equals a smidgen while my three-finger pinch is a generous dash.)

While we're on the topic of measurement, some recipes will refer to “dry measure.” That's because there's a difference between measuring dry ingredients, like flour or sugar, and wet ingredients, like milk or water. (Technically, due to its hygroscopic nature, sugar is classified as a “wet” ingredient, but I'm just not going to go there in this discussion. For now, let's considerate it to be dry.) The measuring cups themselves are different. Measuring liquid is done in a cup that is meant to not be filled to the very top. The measurement lines stop a little ways down from the rim and there's usually a spout of some sort to help avoid spills. Dry measures, on the other hand, are supposed to be filled to the top and leveled off. Now, nearly everybody dumps flour in a “wet” cup and tries to pour water from a “dry” cup. Including yours truly. Not such a grievous offense for cooking purposes, but it can really screw up your baking measurements, so you really should use the right tool for the right task.

Okay. Back to general confusion. The first thing you get drilled into your head in culinary school is knife cuts. And there are a bunch of them. Most home cooks will never in their lives “tourne” a potato. (It's a football-shaped cut with seven equal sides and flat ends, if you should want to try it.) Nor will they ever “rondelle”or “paysanne” any vegetable. But to the beginning cook, the more common “chop,” “dice,” and “mince” can be just as confusing. In really simple terms “chopped” refers to larger chunks, roughly cut. “Diced” is smaller than “chopped” and more uniform in size while “minced” produces the smallest cut you can make with a knife. In technical terms, there are large dice (3/4-inch), medium dice (1/2-inch), small dice (1/4-inch), brunoise (1/8-inch), and fine brunoise (1/16-inch), but I'm trying not to get technical here. That's why I won't mention strip cuts like the batonnet (¼ x ¼ x 2 inches),which is also the starting point for the small dice, or the julienne or “matchstick” cut (1/8 x 1/8x 1 inch) that is the basis for the brunoise. I just won't mention that.

“Slicing” factors in here, too but it's pretty straightforward: you take a knife and cut down vertically on whatever it is you're wanting to slice. The only variant would be the thickness of the slice.

Why do you do all this slicing and dicing and chopping and mincing? Because size matters. And shape does, too. The size and shape of the food being cooked affects the cooking time as well as the flavor and the texture of the finished product. If a recipe calls for an onion to be minced and you just whack it into big chunks and toss it in the pot, you're going to get very different – and usually undesirable – results.

Then there's “shredded” versus “grated.” This one's pretty easy. If you have a box grater, you can do both on the same implement. “Shred” a carrot or a chunk of cheese with the large holes and “grate” it using the small ones. Shredding produces long, even strips while grating makes tiny, irregular fragments. Owing to their size and shape, grated ingredients cook or melt faster than shredded ones. And, as in the preceding discussion, the two are not generally interchangeable.

Another confusing “this vs that” cooking term involves sautéing and frying. They're similar but different. You use a pan for both, although technically there is a difference between a frying pan and a sauté pan. The former has sloped sides and the latter has straight sides. Most home cooks don't know the difference and use both interchangeably. Both processes are considered “dry heat” methods. Both use oil. (Yeah, I know oil is wet, but it doesn't contain water, so that....makes it....dry. Just trust me.) Both employ direct heat. Now, the heat's a little hotter in the sauté, which derives from the French for “to jump.” And the food being sautéed is usually cut into smaller pieces. Sautéing involves food in motion. Cheffy types can literally make food “jump” in a pan by tossing it in the air. More mundane home cooks just use a spoon or spatula to stir it and keep it moving. Frying or pan frying (or shallow frying as opposed to deep frying) employs lower heat and utilizes bigger pieces of food, like chicken breasts or pork chops. And you usually leave them pretty much alone as they cook. You don't flip and toss and stir. You put the food in the pan, cook it until one side is done, turn it over and repeat the process.

Let's let that simmer while we go over “simmer” versus “boil.” You run into these terms all the time and it's important to know the difference. If you remember General Science from your high school days, you should recall that water boils at 212° F. (That's assuming you're approximately at sea level. The boiling point goes down as the altitude goes up.) Boiling requires you to crank your burner to “high” and let 'er rip until whatever you're attempting to boil – usually water, sometimes soup, occasionally sauce – starts to bubble and roll vigorously. Boiling occurs when heat agitates water molecules, causing them to release a gas that rushes to the surface in the form of bubbles. Many recipes call for a “rolling boil.” Once in awhile, you'll run across “low boil” or “gentle boil.” And there ain't no such thing. Boil = 212° F. It won't get any hotter no matter how high you crank it or how long you leave it. Boil = 212° F. Period. And anything less than that is some variation of a “simmer.” You want to boil stuff for fairly quick results. Vegetables, pasta, really tough chunks of meat. Boiling renders things soft and tender in a relatively short time.

“Simmering” accomplishes much the same result, only over a longer period of time and with less destructive results than can sometimes accompany boiling. All that bubbling and rolling can tear up delicate foods quickly – and pretty much any food given enough time. When something “simmers,” there is not quite enough heat applied to create big bubbles. The surface tension of the water/liquid is enough to keep the bubbles in check so they don't roil and roll. To “simmer,” you bring your liquid just up to the boiling point and then quickly reduce the heat so that the liquid barely bubbles. Little bitty bubbles around the edges. Maybe no bubbles at all other than the occasional “blurp” that sends tomato sauce flying all over your stove. Somewhere between 190° F and 200° F.

Finally, we'll look at “baking,” “roasting,” and “broiling.” And maybe throw in “braising” while we're at it.

Most home ovens give you two choices: bake and broil. (Okay, “self-clean” doesn't count.) The most basic difference is that when you set the oven to “bake,” you engage all the heating elements and when you turn it to “broil,” you're only using the top elements. But that's really basic. You need to know the difference or you'll wind up with lots of burned food.

When you bake something, you use a gentle, even heat that surrounds the food on all sides. Baking is an example of using the convection method of heat transfer. Broiling is more like using a flamethrower. Think of it as an upside-down grill. The heat is intense and directed. Broiling is an example of heat transfer through radiation; in this case infrared. Most baking is done in a fairly moderate oven at temperatures between 350°F and 450°F. A broiler really cranks out the heat, with an average temperature around 550°. Some broilers are adjustable, with “Lo” and “Hi” settings, but most are either “On” or “Off.” Like a small child, if you leave one unattended for a few seconds, you're courting disaster. Baking is done over a long period of time; twenty, thirty, forty minutes or more. Broiling is a quick process; five to ten minutes at the most.

The difference between baking and roasting is a little harder to define. Basically, there isn't one. The cooking process is the same. The terminology applies more to the food itself than to the process. When you put a cake in the oven, you're not “roasting” it, you're “baking” it. When you put a roast in the oven, you're “roasting” it rather than “baking” it. And the lines can get a little blurry: you can “bake” or “roast” a chicken, for example, but although you generally “bake” a ham, you seldom “roast” one. In any case, it's all a matter of heat transference through convection, which is defined as the movement of air, liquid, or steam around the food.

“Braising” begins with the third method of heat transference, conduction. (Bet you didn't know you were going to get a science lesson today, did you?) You can braise just about anything, but the term usually applies to meat. You generally begin by searing the surface in a pan on the stovetop. Listen carefully; in spite of what any TV chef says, this is not called “caramelization.” It is simply “browning,” a process that occurs through the effects of the Maillard reaction. (Cooks like Michael Symon who “caramelize” everything because they think it sounds “cheffy-er” drive me absolutely nuts.) Then you transfer the meat to a cooking vessel and add a liquid. You don't completely submerge it; you just want it covered about two-thirds of the way. Then it's cooked low and slow for an extended period of time. Braising is an economical cooking method because it allows you to use tough and/or inexpensive cuts. It's also efficient because you can often prepare everything in one pot. After the stovetop work is done, you cover the pot and stick it in a low oven (about 325°F) and let it go until tenderness results.

And if you weren't already confused, how 'bout we throw in “stewing?” It's essentially the same as braising except braising uses whole pieces of meat whereas you cut the meat into small pieces for a stew.

There are dozens of other arcane cooking terms waiting to confuse and confound the novice cook. “Zest,” for instance. Isn't that some kind of soap? But there's only so much demystification one can disseminate within the confines of time and space. Stay tuned for more.

“Caramelize”: An Annoying Culinary Buzzword

What's Wrong With Plain Ol' “Brown”?

To my increasing annoyance, I notice that a lot of people cooking on TV these days appear to be educated beyond their intelligence. It's a common failing among those who feel compelled to demonstrate a higher level of erudition than they actually posses. The most common example of this compulsion is the employment of “big words.” I'm sure you're familiar with the phenomenon. Everybody knows somebody who tries to impress with excessive grandiloquence. As one who frequently uses “ten dollar words” when fifty-cent ones will do, I am quite familiar with the practice. The difference, however, is that I know what the big words mean and I use them appropriately. I would much rather sound supercilious than stupid.

The particular focus of my ire today is the ubiquitous culinary buzzword “caramelize.” “Caramelize” is a great word. When pronounced properly, it has four syllables rather than three and it means one of two things: either to change sugar into caramel by cooking it, or to cook something containing sugar slowly until it becomes brown and sweet. It is not, however, simply a synonym for “brown.” And anybody who has ever opened a textbook at a culinary school should know that.

For example, here is a quote from Cooking at Home, a book published by one of those culinary schools, the Culinary Institute of America: “The first step in many braises or stews is to brown the surface of the meat or poultry quickly in fat over high heat.” Later in the paragraph; “Brown the meat in batches without overcrowding.” Still more; “After the meat is browned, remove it from the pot and sauté a mixture of aromatics in the same fat.” “Brown” and “browned,” not “caramelize” and “caramelized.” Did you catch that, CIA graduate and rampant caramelizer Michael Symon?

The only way one can “caramelize” meat is if the meat has been glazed or coated in something containing sugar. Only then can the surface of the meat “caramelize.” Otherwise, it browns through the Maillard reaction. I refer to the well-respected Harold McGee, whose exhaustive work On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen is almost an industry Bible. On page 688, McGee states, “Caramelization is the cooking of plain sugar syrup until it turns brown and aromatic. It is similar to the browning or Maillard reactions that give color and aroma to roasted meats, baked goods, and other complex foods, but unlike the browning reactions it proceeds in the absence of amino acids and proteins. It requires higher temperatures than the browning reactions, and produces a different mixture of aromatic compounds and therefore a different flavor. Cooks have spoken of “caramelized” or “carmelized” meats for better than a century, but this is not really correct.”

Are you listening, Rachael Ray, Lidia Bastianich, and a host of other caramelizing TV cooks? Maybe this will bring home the point: On page 299 of his excellent book, What Einstein Kept Under His Hat, food scientist and former Washington Post food columnist, Robert L Wolke, writes: “Much confusion exists between Maillard browning and sugar browning or caramelization. Both a sugar molecule's carbonyl group and a protein molecule's amino group must be present if Maillard browning, also known as sugar-amine browning, is to take place. Heat accelerates the Maillard browning reactions, but they can take place at temperatures as low as 122° F (50°C). The reactions can even proceed slowly at room temperature, such as when foods turn brown from age. In contradistinction, the browning of pure sugar or other carbohydrates at temperatures higher than about 250°F (120°C) – in the absence of an amino acid or other nitrogen-containing compound – takes place by a completely different set of complex chemical reactions, called caramelization. Many chefs seem to love the word caramelize, and use it indiscriminately to describe any food that turns brown upon being cooked. But meat, poultry, fish, vegetables, and other protein-containing foods do not caramelize. They simply brown. Not as fancy a word, perhaps, but accurate.”

Let me reiterate that last line: “meat, poultry, fish, vegetables, and other protein-containing foods do not caramelize. They simply brown. Not as fancy a word, perhaps, but accurate.”

And therein lies the crux of the issue, the education beyond intelligence to which I alluded earlier. “Caramelization” is a “fancy” word. “Brown” is not. So in order to sound more erudite and brainy and perhaps more authoritative, TV cooks toss “caramelization” around at every turn of a spatula, even though by any and all standards it is quite incorrect. And once one TV cook starts doing it, they all jump on the bandwagon because nobody wants to sound dumber than the next guy. And that's how a perfectly legitimate cooking term becomes a meaningless buzzword.

I will promise you this: in 99% of professional kitchens, you will find chefs “browning” meat. They graduated from the same schools that some of the TV cooks attended, but they are not out there trying to impress people sitting in a studio or in front of a TV with their extensive vocabulary. I deliberately laid on some big words throughout this piece because I wanted to illustrate a great old philosophy that says, “If you can't dazzle 'em with brilliance, baffle 'em with bullshit.” And that's just what many of these TV cooks are trying to do. You're just a little ignorant home cook. You should be impressed by them because they “caramelize,” while you merely “brown.” Don't be intimidated. Just because you don't make duck confit as a regular thing doesn't mean you are any less than the TV whiz kids. When it comes down to it, we're all just cooks. “Chef” and “star” have become almost meaningless. And if you need proof, just look at any of the "chefs" competing on “Food Network Star.”

You just keep on browning, home cooks. Brown long, brown loud, and brown proud! Because you're entirely right and those caramelizing kooks on the boob tube are completely wrong.

Food Words Even Chefs Mispronounce

If You Can't Pronounce It, Don't Cook, Serve, or Order It

There are three shows left on Food Network about which I actually care a fig. I was watching one of them, “Beat Bobby Flay,” the other night and really got my Posties toasted by one of the chefs trying to best Bobby. I don't remember her name and I don't really care because I'll never eat anything she cooks anyway after she violated one of my cardinal rules. Some people have a rule that says “if you can't pronounce it, don't eat it.” Mine's a little different: “If you can't pronounce it, don't cook, serve, or order it.” 

The average person can be forgiven for not saying “croissant” with a perfect French accent when they order one. As long as you don't say “krus-ANT” you get points for trying. But that same latitude never applies to the people making the darn things. People who, theoretically at least, have studied the dishes they are preparing and who know all about them. Especially how to pronounce them! This loser – and she did lose to Bobby – set me climbing the walls and throwing things at the television with her pronunciation of her so-called “signature dish.” It was a croque monsieur, which she BUTCHERED as “crock muh-shur.” 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!! 

And after slaughtering the pronunciation, she proceeded to plop fried eggs on top, thereby turning the dish into a croque madame rather than a croque monsieur. I would scream “aaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhhh” again, but you get the idea. Way to inspire confidence, babe. Not only can you not pronounce your "signature" dish properly, you can't make it properly either.

The next night, I was watching some other foodie show – “Chopped,” I think – and cringed at the chef describing his “vinegar-ette.” It's "vihn-ah-GRET", you moron, not "vinegar-ette.” And more stuff went flying at the TV. AAAARRRR.......well, you know what comes next.

Honest to Pete, what are they teaching at culinary school these days? I guess it's because of the decades I spent onstage and behind a microphone, but, dammit, correct pronunciation is important. It doesn't matter how bright you might be otherwise, there is nothing that will make you sound stupider faster than mispronouncing words. Especially words you should know something about. Doctors and nurses speak fluent “medical-ese.” If you're a mechanic, you know how to pronounce every thingamajig and whatchamacallit, right? Shouldn't the same principle apply to being a cook? C'mon!

Now, I'm not going to get into mispronounced Italian food words here – not much, anyway. I've written reams on the subject elsewhere and besides, it just aggravates me too much. No, I'll stick with a few more common examples, words I've heard both cooks and eaters incorrectly employ.

Like the word “anise.” Okay, I get it that some of you may think the proper pronunciation treads too closely to the word for the ol' excretory orifice, but the word, nevertheless, is “AN-iss.” It is not pronounced like the female offspring of your sibling, “a niece.”

Some people call turmeric “the poor man's saffron” because it's very cheap and very, very yellow. Unfortunately, they also call it “TOOM-er-ick.” No. Pronounce the first “r”. “TER-mer-ick.” Even “TER-muh-rick” is okay. Phonetically, sounding a “u” as “oo” is perfectly good Italian. But unfortunately, “turmeric” is “curcuma” in Italian, so that doesn't wash either.

Ah, those fun-loving French! They don't really eat French fries, you know. Well, they sorta do, but they call them “pommes frites.” And if you call them “pohm-FREET” without pronouncing either final “s”, you won't be laughed at down some pointy Gallic nose.

And “bouillon?” Those little cubes of flavoring you use in soups and such? “Boo-YAWN” or “BOO-yawn.” Never “BULL-yun.”

This one will blow your mind. You know that mild Dutch cheese that everybody – especially my wife – likes so much? If you've been pronouncing “Gouda” as “GOO-dah” all these years, guess what? It's actually “HOW-dah.” How da ya like that?

Spanish/Mexican words get their share of horrible pronunciations. “Jalapeño” is often screwed up to be “ha-lah-PEE-noh” or worse. The little accent over the “n” means something; it means the letter has an “ny” sound, so the word is properly “hah-lah-PEH-nyoh.” And I'm just assuming you know the “j” sounds like an “h” in Spanish, right? Please don't tell me you've ever said “jallapeeno.” 

And if you're among the sayers of “chee-POLE-tay” (chipotle) when you should be saying “chee-POHT-lay,” well.....now you know better.

I would like to tell you that pronouncing “guacamole” as “gwahk-ah-MOLE-ee” rather than “hwak-ah-MOH-lay” is okay, but then I'd have to tell you that rendering “bruschetta” as “broo-SHET-uh” instead of “broo-SKEHT-tah” is okay, too, and it most definitely is not.

I know I said I wasn't going to dwell on bad Italian, but I lied. There's no “zone” to get in when you're pronouncing “calzone,” “provolone,” or “mascarpone.” None of those words end in an “own” sound. They all end as “OH-nay.” And, for the love of whatever deity you love, there is no frickin' “r” before the “s” in “mascarpone.” It is emphatically NOT “MARS-kuh-pone.” It is “mahs-kar-POH-nay.” 

And while we're on the topic of extraneous consonants, please take the “x” out of “espresso.” No matter how fast you might want it, it will never be “expresso.”

Gnocchi, tagliatelle, agnolotti, and any other word that has a “gl” or a “gn” in it will confuse the hell out of most non-Italians. That's why the English-speaking world is constantly assailing our ears with “NOH-kee,” “tag-lee-uh-TEL-ee,” and “ag-nuh-LOT-ee.” When the goose bumps go down, I'll explain that “gn” in Italian sounds like the “ny” in the English word “canyon.” So it's “NYOHK-kee” and “ah-nyah-LOHT-tee.” When it comes to the “gli” combination, the “g” is for all intents silent and you just hit the “li”; “tah-lee-ah-TEHL-leh.”

Be advised, there is no second “r” in “sherbet.” Do you see one there? No. So it's “SHUR-bet,” not “SHUR-bert.”

There is, however, a second “a” in “caramel” and it's meant to be used. “KAR-ah-mel” or “KEHR-ah-mel” are both okay. “KAR-mull” is not. And not only is a growing legion of TV chefs trying to sound trendy by using the term “caramelize” for foods it is chemically impossible to caramelize, they are also saying it wrong. They should know better on both counts.

I'm surprised more Greeks haven't throttled people who order “JIE-rohs.” “Gyro” is pronounced “YEE-roh” or even “HEE-roh,” but not “JIE-roh” or, heaven forbid, “GUY-roh.” And not “JEER-oh” either.

I know “salmon” is confusing. I mean, the “l” is right there in the middle of the word. But you don't use it. Throw it away! Pretend it's not there! “SAM-uhn,” not “SAL-munh.” Unless your last name is “Rushdie.”

This one kills me every time. I could just stand back and sell tickets to a performance of people trying to say “Worcestershire.” It's really not that hard. There's a place in Massachusetts (and in England) called “Worcester.” And they pronounce it “Wooster.” And, unlike hobbits, English people do not live in shires – pronounced “shy-ers.” When tacked on at the end of something, they pronounce “shire” as “shur.” So take “Wooster” and combine it with “shur” and – ta-dah – you have “Wooster-shur.” See, wasn't that easy?

The Vietnamese noodle concoction “pho” is really popular in some areas. So it stands to reason that people who cook it, serve it, or eat it should be able to say it, no? It doesn't rhyme with “no.” It's not “foe.” Think of a vulgar four-letter word that starts with “f” and ends in “c-k.” The leave off the “c-k” and you've got the proper pronunciation of “pho.”

Speaking of Asian food, you know that hot sauce that's really hot nowadays? Sriracha? It's really not a noble substance, so it probably shouldn't be called “Sir Racha.” You know the little island nation that used to be Ceylon back when I was in school? Now it's Sri Lanka, and the first part is pronounced “shree.” Apply that principle to the hot sauce and you get “shree-RAH-cha.” Cool, huh?

Next time you order a sundae or a cocktail, ask for a “mah-rah-SKEEN-oh” (maraschino) cherry instead of a “mare-uh-SHEE-noh.” You might get funny looks, but you'll be pronouncing it properly.

I'll throw in “endive” as a trick question. If you say “EN-dive” you are correct – as long as you are talking about the leafy, curly version. If you are faced with the tightly packed, rather torpedo-looking veggie of Belgian origin, then it's an “on-DEEV.”

Oh, and as far as “croissant” goes, it's “kwah-SAHN.”

The problem with all this correctness, of course, is that stupid.......er......less correct people will think you are a pompous ass putting on airs. But, hey, I'll take the approbation of intelligent people over the opprobrium of intellectually insufficient ones any day. There's a reason they call things that are right “right” and things that are wrong “wrong” and as Anatole France once said, “If fifty million people say a foolish thing, it is still a foolish thing.” That's my stock answer to those who proclaim, “Well, that's the way I was taught to say it,” or “Well, that's how we say it in America.” With apologies to your teachers and to Old Glory, it is still WRONG! And despite what some would have you believe, “common usage” doesn't make it right. To paraphrase Anatole, “if fifty million people say something wrong, it is still wrong.”

Knowledge is power and now you know. You can thank me later for empowering you. I'm easy to find; I'm the one standing on the soapbox labeled “proper pronunciation” putting on airs in my pompous ass costume.

Bad News for “Au Jus Sauce” Lovers

Say "No" to "Au"

I've got bad news for you folks who love those French Dip sandwiches with au jus sauce. There's no such thing.

I wrote a piece awhile back about TV chefs who inappropriately overuse the word “caramelize” when they actually mean “brown." I don't care how many famous cooks say it, you can't “caramelize” meat. Read the article here: http://ronjamesitaliankitchen.blogspot.com/2013/02/brown-dont-caramelize.html

An anonymous commenter on that post wrote the following: “THANK YOU!! I yell at the TV every time some “celebrity chef” says they are caramelizing meat, chicken, even seafood. Rachael said once that scallops are “just so full of sugar, they get that great caramelization on them.” But can we discuss “au jus?' Every time I hear a TV chef say, “now we'll make the au jus,” or “dip it in the au jus.” Aaaargh! It's JUS. Au jus means “with juice” (from the meat.) You cannot make a “with juice.” But you can serve something with juice “au jus.”

Thank YOU, Anonymous Commenter. I'm glad to know I'm not a lone voice crying in the culinary wilderness.

Anonymous is quite correct: you can serve a dish “au jus” – as in beef au jus – but you absolutely cannot serve a dish WITH au jus. If you order beef with au jus, you are not asking for beef with juice, you are asking for beef with with juice. And that's just silly. As silly as dipping your sandwich in a little cup of “with juice sauce.” It's like instead of ordering shrimp en brochette – literally, shrimp on a skewer – you were to go to a nice French restaurant and order up shrimp with en brochette. They'd probably bring you a shrimp and a stick. After they stopped laughing at your ignorance.

Let's face it, the only real difference between a “celebrity chef” and the person who cooks at your favorite local eatery is the “celebrity” part. (If you doubt this, check out Food Network's "Next Food Network Star.) They both do the same thing: they cook. Just because a good cook gets a lucky break and lands on the tube doesn't automatically make him/her infallible. There are a lot of celebs out there who barely made it through high school – if they made it through at all. They may be superior cooks, but don't look to them to be gifted linguists and educators.

And that's really the sad part because so many people do look to them for instruction and education. After all, if they're on TV, they must know what they're doing, right? That's why it drives me positively batso when they say things like “caramelize” instead of “brown” or “au jus” instead of just “jus.” Some home cook watching TV says, “Oooo. Rachael Ray says the scallops are caramelized, so I guess it must be so.” Then she turns to her husband and says, “Hey, honey, what do you think of the way I caramelized the scallops tonight?” And the error repeats and gets bigger and bigger.

Listen carefully when you're watching “Chopped” or “Top Chef” or some of the other shows that showcase cooks and chefs who don't have agents and handlers and publicists. “I basted the meat in jus,” or “I browned the beef and I'm serving it with a side of jus.” These are the people who paid attention in culinary school.

Alas, I'm afraid Anonymous and I are destined to be frustrated. “Au jus” has become ubiquitous through common (mis)usage. You'll find a hundred recipes for it online and you'll see packaged “au jus” mixes in the grocery store. But it's still not right. Just because a bunch of people – even “celebrities” on TV – say that one plus one equals three, that doesn't mean that one plus one actually does equal three, now does it? Repeating something wrong doesn't make it right and it only makes the person doing it sound – how can I say this politely? – stupid to people who know better.

“Jus” is a noun that means juice. It's pronounced “zhoo.” Kind of like “shoe” with a “z.” Or even “jew” is acceptable if you can't make your lips and your tongue and your sinuses do weird things like the French do. “Au” is a masculine singular contraction. It literally means “to” or “to the,” but it is most frequently used to connect other words. Kind of like “di” in Italian. “Di” can mean “of,” “to,” “by,” “for,” “from,” “in,” or – you guessed it – “with” depending on the circumstances. So, in French, “au” is frequently used as “with.” And it's pronounced “oh.” When you say “jus,” you're saying “juice.” When you say “au jus,” you're saying “with juice.” Thinking of it in English will make a lot more sense because you know better that to say, “I'd like me some of that there with juice sauce.” Don't you?

Or maybe you're one of those people who call an ATM (Automatic Teller Machine) an “ATM machine” for which you need a PIN (Personal Identification Number), which you refer to as a “PIN number.”

To quote my new best friend, Anonymous, “AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!)

Okay. I will now cease flagellating the expired equine. I think I'll just go brown some meat and make a nice, well-seasoned juice to go with it.

It's "al Dente", Not "al Dante"

I once heard Mario Batali joke about people who asked for things to be prepared “al dante.” He laughed that Dante has been dead for nearly seven hundred years and so food prepared “al Dante” would probably not be very tasty. He suggests people should ask for “al dente” instead and leave poor dead Dante alone. Another chef I know believes that “Al Dante” might be the old Italian guy who lives down the street. Either way, I always thought these guys were kidding. I mean, nobody really says “al dante,” do they. Turns out, they do.

I was channel surfing and came across a cooking show where the “chef,” one P. Allen Smith, was preparing something that looked pretty good. I watched until I actually heard him say, “you want this to have a little tooth; to be al dante.” I rewound and listened again. Yep. He said “al dante.” Click! There went his credibility. Come to find out he's a designer and gardener from Tennessee, so he didn't have much cooking cred to begin with. Although he has published a cookbook, which just goes to show you anybody can do it.

Isolated incident, right? Nobody else uses “al dante," right? Wrong. Check out this recipe instruction for “Rigatoni alla Fontina” from the website www.cookingindex.com : “Cook the rigatoni in 5 to 6 quarts salted boiling water until extra al dante....” Or, same site, different recipe (Rigatoni with Three Cheeses); “Cook until super al dante as they are going into the oven....”

And over at the “busy cooks” section of About.com I found a really nice, helpful lady named Linda Larsen telling people that “al dente” is pronounced “all DAN tay” and that “Al Dante” is just an alternate spelling.

Okay, so maybe there are doofi (the proper plural of “doofus”) who say “al dante” instead of “al dente.” But what does it all mean?

“Dente” is Italian for “tooth.” Adding “al” makes it “to the tooth.” It is sometimes also translated as “to the bite,” meaning you have to use your “bite” to chew the food. It shouldn't be overcooked or mushy. The term refers to a proper degree of doneness, especially as it relates to pasta, although it is often applied to certain vegetables, as well. The texture of a food that is considered to be “al dente” should be tender but still slightly firm. There should be a resistance at the center of ”al dente” pasta. When you bite through it, you should see a firm, white core. Vegetables cooked “al dente” should be at the “tender crisp” stage.

Dante was not noted to be a great cook. But since he is often called “The Father of the Italian Language,” he would really want you to know this. And I'm sure if you read between the lines of his great work, he probably has a place in hell designated for those who use “dante” instead of “dente.” Maybe in the Sixth Circle with the rest of the heretics, I don't know. But I wouldn't take any chances if I were you.

"Brown," Don't "Caramelize"

Here we go again.

I like Michael Symon. I really do. He's a talented chef, he's fun to watch, and he seems like a genuinely nice guy. But if he “caramelizes” one more piece of meat, I swear I'm going to stop watching “The Chew,” Iron Chef America,” and anything else he's on because it just raises my blood pressure.

Seriously, Michael. You went to the Culinary Institute, an establishment that I know for a fact teaches the difference between “caramelizing” and “browning.” Were you absent that day, or what?

To be sure, Michael is not the only TV chef to perpetuate this misnomer. Rachael Ray is bad about it, too. But I can be more forgiving since her culinary education came through the candy counter at Macy's. Formally trained chefs are another matter, though, and Michael is certainly among the most consistent and flagrant abusers. I mean, really; does he have a problem with the word “brown?” I wouldn't be surprised one of these days to hear him address his “Iron Chef” coworker as “Alton Caramelize.” Or maybe to call his beloved football team the Cleveland “Caramelizers.”

Certain people in certain professions adopt arcane vocabularies relevant to those professions. They basically stop speaking English because it somehow feels too common. Instead, they rely on words and phrases that they believe give them more gravitas or credibility or something. Cops are really bad for this. “The suspected perpetrator was apprehended while in the commission of a felonious act.” Translation: “The bad guy got caught.” But that doesn't sound officious enough, does it? Hence the excessive verbiage.

Now, I wouldn't be so peeved if Michael Symon, et. al. were merely overusing the term “caramelization.” But not only are they overusing it, it's the wrong term. Wrong, Michael, wrong! As in “not right.” As in “incorrect.” As in “inaccurate, erroneous, mistaken, sbagliato, erroneo.” (Thought maybe a little Italian would help.)

You do not, you cannot “caramelize” meat. It is scientifically impossible. Meat browns through a chemical process called the “Maillard reaction.” I guess “caramelize” just sounds more “cheffy.” After all, “caramelization” has five syllables – or six, depending on your pronunciation – while poor lowly “browning” has only two. So obviously “caramelization” is the better word because it's bigger, right? Never mind that it's wrong.

To illustrate, here's a quote from a book published by Michael's alma mater, the Culinary Institute of America; “The first step in many braises or stews is to brown the surface of the meat or poultry quickly in fat over high heat.” Later in the paragraph; “Brown the meat in batches without overcrowding.” Still more; “After the meat is browned, remove it from the pot and sauté a mixture of aromatics in the same fat.” “Brown” and “browned,” not “caramelize” and “caramelized.”

On page 299 of his excellent book, What Einstein Kept Under His Hat, food scientist and former Washington Post food columnist, Robert L Wolke, writes: “Much confusion exists between Maillard browning and sugar browning or caramelization. Both a sugar molecule's carbonyl group and a protein molecule's amino group must be present if Maillard browning, also known as sugar-amine browning, is to take place. Heat accelerates the Maillard browning reactions, but they can take place at temperatures as low as 122° F (50°C). The reactions can even proceed slowly at room temperature, such as when foods turn brown from age. In contradistinction, the browning of pure sugar or other carbohydrates at temperatures higher than about 250°F (120°C) – in the absence of an amino acid or other nitrogen-containing compound – takes place by a completely different set of complex chemical reactions, called caramelization. Many chefs seem to love the word caramelize, and use it indiscriminately to describe any food that turns brown upon being cooked. But meat, poultry, fish, vegetables, and other protein-containing foods do not caramelize. They simply brown. Not as fancy a word, perhaps, but accurate.”

And to further reinforce my point, I refer to the well-respected Harold McGee, whose exhaustive work On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen is almost an industry Bible. On page 688, McGee states, “Caramelization is the cooking of plain sugar syrup until it turns brown and aromatic. It is similar to the browning or Maillard reactions that give color and aroma to roasted meats, baked goods, and other complex foods, but unlike the browning reactions it proceeds in the absence of amino acids and proteins. It requires higher temperatures than the browning reactions, and produces a different mixture of aromatic compounds and therefore a different flavor. Cooks have spoken of 'caramelized' or 'carmelized' meats for better than a century, but this is not really correct.”

What's the big deal, you ask? Just this. Michael Symon and his colleagues are respected experts in their field. And they are public figures, exposed to millions of viewers on a daily basis. They are teachers. People trust them to be knowledgeable. So when Michael says the word “caramelize” fifty times in a single segment as he browns a piece of meat, millions of trusting viewers accept it as the proper term. They then begin to use it themselves, resulting in millions of people walking around ignorantly using an incorrect cooking term because they assumed their teacher knew what he was talking about. And that's just sad.

And lest you should think that I am but a lone annoying voice crying in the culinary wilderness, here's a comment I received on my food blog following a previous post on the subject: “Yay, thank you! I went looking for someone on the web to explain this correctly. I'm SO SICK of Rachel [sic] Ray using 'carmelize' interchangeably with 'brown.' I'm also sick of people like Sandra Lee pronouncing mascarpone as 'marscapone.' These are highly paid 'professionals'???”

I feel your pain, friend. And I've written at length on the subject of properly pronouncing food words and terms. What many of these TV chefs apparently don't realize is the fact that although some viewers tune in to these programs solely to be entertained, a lot more watch in order to gain some degree of education. And what kind of education are they getting when their instructors are ignorant?

As an example, my sixth-grade teacher. It was a small Indiana town and this man's country accent was so thick he could barely be said to be speaking English, much less teaching it. And when it came time for a unit on mythology, the things this ignoramus did to Roman and Greek names would have been laughable were it not so pathetic. He “taught” an entire generation of Hoosier kids that “AY-thens” was the capital of Greece and that the goddess of wisdom was called “ay-THEE-nee-uh.” He had no business being an educator.

Please, Michael, Rachael, and the rest of you meat caramelizers. If you went to culinary school, you know better. And even if you didn't, experience should have taught you the difference by now. I guess it doesn't matter what you call it in the confines of your kitchens, but when you move out into the larger world of food television, a place wherein you take up the mantle of instructor, you really need to properly represent your craft. Keep the good food and the great recipes coming, but be aware of what you're teaching your audience.

Sweet Potatoes vs Yams

I Yam What I Yam!

You know, you would think “Iron Chefs” would really be on top of things when it comes to food, especially proper culinary terminology. Alas, such is not always the case. Take, for instance, “Iron Chef” Michael Symon. I swear, if I hear him refer to the browning of meat as “caramelizing” one more time, I'm going to throw something at the TV. Meat browns through the Maillard reaction. It does not “caramelize.” It's like he's afraid “browning” doesn't sound “cheffy” enough, so he uses the “fancy word” instead. And he's wrong. If you put a glaze of some sort on a piece of meat, something that contains sugars, and then throw that glazed meat in a pan, the sugars in the glaze will “caramelize.” Otherwise, the meat itself simply “browns.”

And I recently heard “Iron Chef” Marc Forgione, when referring to a standard Thanksgiving dish, utter the phrase, “candied yams, also known as sweet potatoes.” I can only guess he must have been absent the day they discussed yams and sweet potatoes at culinary school. Ooops, that's right......he didn't go to culinary school. But with a Michelin star to his credit, you'd think he'd know the difference, right? And there is a big difference. Here's the skinny.

The Covington Sweet Potato
(North Carolina Sweet Potato Commission)

The so-called “sweet potato,” or Ipomoea batatas” for you Latin-loving scientific types, is a member of the Morning Glory family. It's a dicotyledon, meaning its seeds have two embryonic leaves. Although widely grown in the United States, with North Carolina and Louisiana leading the sweet potato producing pack, the plant originated in the tropical regions of the Americas, around Peru and Ecuador, before migrating north, where it was being grown by natives on the Eastern coastal plain of North America when Columbus came to town.

African Yam

Yams, on the other hand, were imported to the New World from West Africa. Scientifically, they are of the Dioscorea species and occupy a plant family all their own. A yam is a monocotyledon, having only one embryonic leaf, making it more closely related to a grass than to a broad-leaf plant. And they still don't hail from these parts; their tropical growth requirements mean that the rare yams you encounter in your neighborhood specialty market probably came from somewhere in the Caribbean.

One has only to look at the two side by side to see the difference. Sweet potatoes are smooth skinned and are kind of short and round with tapered ends. They look very much like really big potatoes. Yams are downright ugly by comparison, being long and cylindrical with rough, scaly skins and funky little protuberances or “toes” all over them. And yams can grow up to eight feet in length and weigh in at a hundred pounds. Sweet potatoes weigh about a pound and top out around a foot in length. You'll know the difference in your mouth, as well. Sweet potatoes are.....well......sweet, and very moist, too. Yams are dry and starchy.

There's also a significant nutritional difference. Sweet potatoes are rich in numerous vitamins, minerals, fiber, complex carbohydrates, and of course, the beta carotene that gives them their distinct coloring. Yams are a good source of starch and not much else.


The O'Henry Sweet Potato
(North Carolina Sweet Potato Commission)

So why all the confusion between the two? It's pretty obvious they're nothing alike, right? Some people trace the muddle back to the days when African slaves worked the fields and called the root vegetable they encountered by the name they applied to the tuber with which they were most familiar; “nyami,” a word quickly Anglicized to “yam.” But it took the government to really screw things up. See, the “original” sweet potato, the one traditionally grown on the East coast, is white or whitish-yellow in color. You sometimes see them in stores labeled as “white sweet potatoes.” The orange variety now commonly associated with the name didn't actually come to prominence until some Louisiana growers popularized them in the mid-20^th century. A bad cotton crop in the 1930s turned a lot of Louisiana farmers into sweet potato producers. They wanted their product to be clearly distinguished from the plain old East coast variety, so they started calling them “yams” and petitioned the USDA to sanction that label, which it promptly did. Although, if you look at the fine print on the can, you'll find that “yams” labeled as such still have to contain the words “sweet potato” somewhere in the description. But, thanks in part to successful marketing, the orange variety soon overtook the culinary world and the terms “yam” and “sweet potato” became interchangeable in cookbooks and recipes. Nowadays, the traditional “white” sweet potato is looked upon as the odd duck in the flock – unless you're in sweet potato loving North Carolina, where it's just one among the pantheon of varieties designated as the official state vegetable of The Old North State. (The varieties include Beauregard, Covington, Carolina Rose, Carolina Ruby, Cordner, Hernandez, Jewel, O'Henry and NC Porto Rico 198. The O'Henry is the only white one in the bunch.)

White sweet potatoes are generally sweeter than the orange variety, although they are also perceived to have a milder flavor. Some people consider the whites to be drier and “mealier” than the orange. This is especially true among marketing people from Louisiana. The white potato has a softer skin than the orange, which also has a firmer, denser texture. You can tell them apart at a glance; “white” sweet potatoes have lighter skins, “orange” sweet potatoes are darker. Both are very nutritious, but the orange variety obviously has more beta carotene.

All that said, neither white nor orange sweet potatoes are truly “yams.” So if you think you've been serving candied yams at Thanksgiving all these years, you really haven't. Thanks to brilliant marketing out of Baton Rouge, they've actually been candied sweet potatoes. And an “Iron Chef” should really know the difference. I'm only a lowly “Aluminum Foil Cook” and I know. And now so do you.

Hey, Michael Symon! You Can't "Caramelize" Meat!

Up front, I like celebrity chef Michael Symon. I think he's fun to watch and he has some fabulous food ideas. But I heard him say it again the other day. He referred to the “caramelization” on a piece of meat he was preparing. He's done it before. And he's wrong. And he's not alone. I've heard other chefs say it, too.

I'm sure – or at least I hope – that a trained chef knows the definition of “carmelization.” A non-enzymatic, or oxidative, process, caramelization is a chemical reaction – pyrolysis – in food that produces a nutty flavor and a brown color. BUT it is a reaction solely related to non-reducing sugars in certain foods.

There are two principal non-enzymatic browning processes. These are chemical reactions that turn foods brown without the activity of enzymes. By contrast, an apple turns brown when you cut it because of enzymatic activity in the presence of oxygen. The non-enzymatic processes are caramelization and the Maillard (MAH-yar) reaction.

I really don't want to go into page after boring page detailing disaccharides and monosaccharides and oligosaccharides and polysaccharides and closed ring structures and aldehydes and ketones and other stuff that blurs the vision and boggles the brain. So let's keep it simple.

Caramelization occurs when the aforementioned non-reducing sugars react to heat. Sucrose – common table sugar – is a non-reducing sugar. It begins to caramelize at 320°. The rate of caramelization is affected by pH balance, with the lowest rate occurring near neutral (pH7) levels and increasing as you go more acidic – for example pH3 – or more basic, like pH9. But there we go with all that mind-numbing scientific stuff again.

The Maillard reaction, named for a French chemist who first demonstrated it in 1910, occurs in the presence of amino acids. Sugars are involved, but they are what is known as “reducing sugars.” The carbonyl group of said sugar reacts with the amino group of the amino acid to produce browning and flavor changes. This process occurs when low moisture levels are present and temperatures reach around 310°. Different amino acids produce different levels of browning.

Still struggling to keep it simple, sugars are involved in both processes, but they are different sugars, or carbohydrates – a word everybody knows these days. The sugars that can caramelize are those that form simple carbohydrates, such as those found in fruits and vegetables. The sugars involved in the Maillard reaction are those that form the complex carbohydrates found in meats and grains. The nice brown color you see in toast, for instance, is not due to caramelization. It is a Maillard reaction.

In short – and simple – terms, there is no such thing as “caramelizing” meat. When you apply heat you “caramelize” fruits and vegetables to achieve changes in flavor and color, but those changes in meat are due to an entirely different chemical process. Since I've never heard anybody refer to “Maillard-izing” a cut of meat, let's just call it “browning,” shall we?

And a seasoned chef should know the difference. I sometimes think it's a matter of a person trying to sound educated beyond his or her intelligence or vice-versa. Given the choice between “caramelizing” and “browning,” which word sounds more “cheffy?” Never mind the people like me who sit and shout at the TV screen, “Idiota! You can't “caramelize” meat!” (Said people have to like to scream things in Italian.) “Caramelize” is a nice cheffy-sounding word that gets tossed around on TV a lot. But is it the correct word for all occasions? No. And with so many “Iron Chef” wannabes watching TV to gain or improve their culinary skills, the people imparting information on TV have to be especially careful to impart correct information, lest we turn out millions of home cooks who try to impress their friends and families by talking about how well “caramelized” the roast is.

Love ya, Michael, et.al., but it really is okay to just “brown” something.