Kitchen Experiments: Perfectly Im-PEAR-ed

When you set forth to make a dish for the first time, there is an established process we food people have. Usually, I rely on similar dishes I've been successful with [insert calls to my mother here for her version and advice], and scan a recipe or two for the general ground rules. I've even dug back into some culinary disasters for what not to do. And then there's the adventure of attempting a dish for the first time—from scratch—with no recipe. I turn it into a personal little contest to see if I can pull it off or not. It's fun, and hell, why not just see what you can come up with, right? However, I don't usually do this when cooking for or with someone, for the sole reason there is no recipe. It's a huge gamble on the "garaunteed edible at the end."

But I actually found myself the other day challenged to take on a dish I'd never made before, sans recipe. My challenger had suggested a dessert. And rather than heed the advice of an easily accessible recipe, we agreed to display a blatant dismissal of conventionality, and engage in some serious culinary lawlessness. What form did our anarchy take? Poached Pairs in a Sweet Wine Reduction. The suggestion was perfect, actually: totally doable, and totally destroyable at the same time. I almost smirked at the moment—it was as capricous as us challengers, inspired by a free-wheeling, total disregard for responsibility or reality that can sometimes happen when tempted by a difficult culinary adventure with a like-minded seeker.

Diaglogue was blithe with a dash of audacity: How much poaching liquid? Who cares! What kind of wine? The Muscato, clearly. One vanilla bean or two? Suprise me. Nutmeg, cinnamon, freshly ground pepper? Hell, throw them all in. Did it need something sour? A dash of raspberry vinegar, perhaps? Are you grossed out yet? Never! It smells too spicy...I dare you to drink the poaching liquid... Why don't we just add some sugar instead? Brilliant!

And the success of the dish wavered constantly—between moments of faith it would end up a genuis creation, and moments where there is nothing but extreme certainty it's headed for the trash. But you can't have any expectations when discarding the recipe—like I said, there's no garauntee it's edible at the end. The case in point is that the pears were a bit overdone and the reduction destroyed by a microwave attempt to reheat it. But I'm not one to give up easily. And that's where you remember to improvise. Because served a la mode, the nuanced hint of sweet spiciness that had infused into the pears was startling delicious. Well-worth a future attempt with a few adjustments. So given the right circumstance, I highly recommend trying a new dish and challenging yourself beyond the recipe. Because sometimes NOT following the rules can be unpredicatbly yummy. Not to mention, entertaining.

For a sure-fire recipe I love for Poached Pears, Click Here

E.V.B.O. Part II

This is the follow up installment to E.V.B.O Part I, click here to read.


So I arrived for the Extreme Vanilla Bake-Off with ingredients, champagne and an electric mixer. [Note: for future culinary experiment/dates, hold them in your own kitchen. You’ll have your own equipment on-hand (e.g.: artisan mixer) and you’ll effortlessly know your way around, decreasing any disorientation that will crush your culinary adeptness and hold you victim to flirtatious nerves.] The experiment began well. We opted for the standard recipe, but decided on the mini-cookie version to facilitate smaller tasting sizes. After all, I wouldn’t want to get sick from too many cookies and have to go home, right? When it came time to add the vanilla, we split the dough into two batches, and our experiment immediately became a contest. I went to measure out the first addition of vanilla. Full disclosure, I was totally distracted by where the measuring spoons were, where the vanilla was—the fact that I really wanted to kiss this guy who was making me laugh and standing just close enough to drive me crazy—and so, of course, the extract went everywhere but the measuring spoon. (See note re: date location above). I stammered out something about the consistency of the vanilla and tried to find paper towels to mop up the now vanilla-y range. He, deservedly, laughed at me. Ok, back to the task at hand. We quadrupled the amount of vanilla in my batch; his was the control. I quipped about his ability to drop teaspoons of dough evenly onto a cookie sheet, and tried not to drink my champagne too fast. The cookie dough tasted amazing (mine considerably stronger on the vanilla—a good sign); we each got one beater to lick clean, and I realized things must be going well considering we were completely comfortable acting like sugar-crazed five-year olds in front of each other, licking spoonfuls of dough and, well, forgetting to check on the cookies. I smelled something burning, and my stomach sank. Wasn’t the timer supposed to go off? I pulled both trays from the oven. A minute more and they would have been scorched to a black crisp. Though not unbearable, the cookies were burnt enough to erase the subtle detection of any vanilla variation. My grand visions of vanilla conclusions began fading fast. What had happened? That’s when I was told the oven hadn’t really been working properly. (See note re: date location above). We still strained our taste buds to test the vanilla, but to no avail. I immediately suggested E.V.B.O. take two in MY kitchen. We did have fun, after all. And even though the extreme vanilla threshold remains unknown, I did discover a direct correlation between the level of cookie dough consumption and the brazen lack of self-control for a crush.

Extreme Vanilla Bake Off 2007

So I have this vanilla obsession that started when I was about six years old. I loved baking cookies and my favorite part was adding the vanilla extract.
My mom would turn around and I'd secretly swipe the bottle and pour in an extra teaspoon or two. There was something so alluring about that little bottle, which never disappointed me in turning out the intoxicating aroma of extreme vanilla. While my obsession is now grounded in more age-appropriate products: PERFUME, STOLI and VANILLE (a fabulous online home/gift boutique), I still like to sprinkle in extra vanilla to my cookie dough just for kicks. And apparently, I'm not the only one. Enter cute crush of mine, whom, much to my delight, revealed yesterday that he also has a penchant for adding extra vanilla to cookie dough. Five minutes after exchanging this small detail, the Extreme Vanilla Bake-Off experiment was born: just how much of that rich, 35%-proof deliciousness could the cookie dough handle, we wanted to know? Perhaps my current read, The Biography of Julia Child (which I highly recommend!), had me in a scientific state of mind; perhaps I'm really just a sucker for a good challenge. Either way, the EVBO experiment is set for Saturday night, and I'm not sure what I'm more excited about: determining the vanilla threshold or my lab partner…

Homework: click here for extreme vanilla product and follow up next week for the science report.