I am interrupting my European travel journal this week to interject a few words about the best darn chickens I have ever tasted. Now many of you might naively believe, as I once did, that all chickens are created equal and that they all taste the same, but you must trust me when I say that you are dead wrong. I first stumbled upon Soul Food Farm last year when I bought a dozen of their eggs at my neighborhood farmer’s market. I had never seen nor tasted eggs like this before. They were simply stunning in their box, their hues ranging from pinkish-brown to turquoise blue.

Their true beauty was revealed, however, upon cracking open their granite hard shells and watching as the eggs slid into the bowl. The whites were perfectly translucent, like viscous water. The yolks fluoresced like day glow and stood so tall, they resembled ping pong balls the color of the rising sun bobbing in the bowl. The taste was rich and luscious, completely satisfying and full of flavor — scrambling, poaching, hard boiling, soft boiling, it didn’t matter, these eggs were the nonpareil.

When I heard recently that Soul Food Farms was starting a monthly CSA in San Francisco, where they would provide eggs, chickens and more, I jumped at the opportunity to join. Upon placing my first order last month I was a bit wary. Chickens cost $6.50 a pound, eggs $6.50 a dozen. Could I justify buying $25.00 chickens or eggs that cost more than twice those that you buy at the grocery store? When I did the math and realized that breakfast made from a couple of eggs costs about $1.00 (or less than I lose down the black hole in my couch every day) I had no problem with this. It was the pricey chickens that concerned me, though. From an ethical standpoint I felt justified in spending the money. Soul Food Farm chickens are pasture raised, eating grass and bugs as chickens are supposed to and roaming freely on one of the most beautiful landscapes imaginable. Cheesy as it sounds, these chickens seemed happy and they are not pumped up with drugs or hormones, nor crammed into tight, dark spaces like so many factory farmed chickens.

Then, last month, I tasted one of these divine birds for the first time. I wanted to prepare it as simply as possible so as not to mask its natural flavor. I patted it dry, generously seasoned it with salt and pepper and threw it into a hot oven with a skeptical snicker, “OK $25.00 chicken, show me what you’ve got!” An hour later that bird had me silenced. Never had I tasted a chicken so succulent, so moist, so incredibly delicious. It’s like I had never truly tasted chicken before. Tonight I made my second Soul Food chicken and I have to say, it was better than the first. It’s hard to imagine that something so typically bland, neutral and uninteresting could taste this way. This is a bird that requires no sauce, no fancy preparations, no adornment of any kind. In fact, to do anything more to these chickens than a quick showering of salt and pepper would be blasphemous and wasteful.

But don’t just take my word for it. If you are ever lucky enough to have the opportunity to try such a chicken let me tell you unequivocally that it is worth every penny. Not only for the peace of mind you get knowing that your chicken lived a good life, or because it is important to contribute to the livelihood of small farmers who put forth the time and the love to do this in the right way, but also because you have simply never tasted real chicken until you taste one like this.

The mention of macaroons in the U.S. usually brings to mind a dense, coconut packed, knob shaped cookie. This isn’t the case in France, however. Their version of the macaroon (or macaron, as they spell it) is a delicate, crispy-chewy sandwich cookie that nestles a thin layer of creamy filling, usually made from ganache, buttercream or jam.

The origin of the macaroon, in any form, is a bit sketchy, but the most common story describes a cookie made from whipped egg whites, sugar and bitter almonds that was invented by Italian monks in the 16th century. This cookie made its way to France, so the stories goes, via Catherine de Medici’s chefs and was transformed into what is today recognized as the French macaron. Somewhere along this timeline, it is also believed, Italian Jews developed their own version of this cookie using coconut, instead of almonds. The coconut version is still popular in the Jewish culture today and is, as mentioned, what most Americans envision when discussing macaroons.

Most macaroon lovers care less about its origin, however, and more about how it tastes. Coconut diehards argue in favor of that version, lavishing in the simplicity of its flavor which is sometimes enhanced by a dip in rich chocolate. French macarons have perhaps an even larger following, though, and in Paris there is stiff competition among the top pastry chefs to create the most delicious, perfectly formed and uniquely flavored versions. French macaron flavors run the gamut from basic chocolate with chocolate filling to the more inventive rose-raspberry-litchi or caramel with salted butter. The most creative flavor I’ve ever heard of is one with a black truffle cookie and a foie gras mousse filling. Although it strays sharply from traditional combinations, this version sounds worthy of a sample to me.

While I am a professed lover of all macaroons, and coconut is at the top of my short list of all time favorite ingredients, I have to admit that my preference is for the French version. I love the flaky-pillowy exterior, the creamy, smooth filling and the contrasting and complementary flavors. Not surprisingly, my recent trip to Paris offered me a flurry of tasting opportunities, and I excitedly bounced between legendary pastry shops such as Pierre Herme, Laduree and Lenotre trying to decide whose I liked best. Lenotre won hands down, but that’s just me. For those of you interested in making them yourself, here are recipes that I’ve made with success for both coconut macaroons and French macarons. For added inspiration, check out this amazing blog post that shows a macaron making class in Paris taught by a Lenotre pastry chef, with step by step photos included. I’ll be booking one of these classes on my next trip for sure.

British food has a pretty dismal reputation — bland meat pies, greasy fish and chips, unfamiliar animal parts — but let me assure you that this is no longer the case. The second part of my European travels landed me in London, a city whose food scene I had high hopes for, but entered into with a bit of wariness nonetheless.

I quickly learned upon arriving in London, that my wariness was premature and that, in fact, the food culture here is alive and thriving and quite possibly the most exciting of any in the world at the moment. This being my first trip to the U.K., I wanted to get a good sampling of both traditional English food and its modern counterparts. Thanks to the recommendations of local friends, who sent me everywhere from pubs that have been in existence since the 14th century to restaurants that have only been around a short while, I think I managed to taste the spectrum of old and new. I have to say that, overall, my tour of London eateries left me quite impressed, particularly in terms of the variety of foods offered and by the conscientiousness of so many of the local food producers.

My traditional dining fare started in an obvious location — with perfect, crispy fish and chips at The Rock & Sole Plaice in the Covent Garden neighborhood. The thick pieces of cod were moist and flaky on the inside while the crust retained its crunch and remained miraculously greaseless throughout the meal. The chips were fat and thick, much meatier and dense than most American fries, and utterly addicting, particularly when doused in good malt vinegar. Other traditional dishes I sampled included a steak and ale pie (eaten at an ancient, village pub) that was filled with tender strips of beef, a deep rich broth and a flaky, airy crust that practically dissolved without any chewing. Matched with a good, local ale, this dish could not have been more traditional, nor more satisfying. Then there was the creamy fish pie, loaded with chunks of fresh haddock, tender leeks and a golden, mashed potato crust that was packed with flavor. This dish was definitely on the rich side, but still somehow managed to not be overwhelmingly heavy. What I found most surprising about each of these dishes, all samplings of old English tradition, was how flavorful and delicious they all were– nothing like I expected and certainly much different than the preconceived ideas that I had brought across the pond with me.

The modern, or at least less traditional, food that I ate in London is what really thrilled me on this trip, however. A rainy afternoon at the Borough food market brought on a variety of delights ranging from fresh, briny Irish oysters to West African chicken curry, humongous scallops quickly roasted in their shell with bacon and butter, a rainbow of organic produce, incomparable sharp, crumbly English cheeses, sausages made from every animal conceivable and a chorizo, arugula and pequillo pepper sandwich on a crispy-tender roll that was the epitome of simple perfection.

The two more formal meals I had, both decadent, extended lunches, couldn’t be more different from each other, nor could they be more different from anything I’ve encountered in the U.S. The first of these was at the legendary restaurant, The Fat Duck, in Bray, just outside of London. A meal deserving of a blog post all it’s own, I’ll just offer a little teaser here in saying that never has there been a more wholly conceived, whimsically playful and delicious meal. From edible gold watches to bacon and egg ice cream, this was a meal that stands alone.

The second amazing lunch I had in London was at a haute-Polish restaurant called Baltic. To think of Eastern European food as something fresh and exciting seems an oxymoron, but the food at Baltic is just that. Remaining true to tradition, the menu features standards such as pickled herring, beet borscht and meat or potato pierogies, but each was an updated version of their classic counterpart, unexpectedly light and full of flavor and depth. It was a far cry from what one might expect from this type of cuisine. My favorites in this meal were the herring on a vinegary potato and pea salad, the miniscule, meltingly tender veal and pork dumplings and the bison grass vodka that was smooth and aromatic and unlike anything I’ve ever tasted.

Overall, I’d have to say that my culinary adventures in England strongly surpassed those I had in Paris. While the food in Paris was delicious and satisfying, it did not exceed my expectations. On the other hand, the food in London was far better than I could have ever anticipated and it surprised and delighted me to no end. I am already planning a trip back to London so that I can explore its diverse food scene in much more depth.

We have been making our own fresh apple cider for years but this is the first time I have documented the process and wish to share it with all of you.

We have a bunch of different varietals in the orchard including: Mackintosh, Red Barons, Sweet Sixteens, and Northern Spys.
I will also purchase a bushel or tow to help even out the flavor.
This year I purchased Paula Reds and Jon-a-Golds for their sweetness.

We have a wooden hand cranked cider press. There is a hopper in which to place the apples. They in turn then go through a shredder and into a porous bag lined receptacle. A large weighted plunger goes over the top and a screw rod pushes on the plunger to squeeze the juice. The juice runs down on to a bottom plate with a hole in it. A pail collects the juice.
I filter the juice for sand and pieces and fill empty milk cartons with the heavenly nectar. Here’s some pictures:

I arrived in Paris a week ago and have been in a state of culinary bliss since the minute I stepped off the plane. I am staying in the apartment of some friends while they are away on their own vacation, and I must say that this is the only way to do Paris. Sure I have to make my own bed and open my own doors, but in exchange I have a kitchen to cook in and a place to store all of the delicacies that I accumulate throughout each day. This also means that, unlike most tourists, I am not limited to dining only in restaurants and that the gorgeous plump figs, perfectly ripened cheeses and vast incarnations of foie gras that scream out to me as I walk past, can find their way home with me to be delighted upon for days to follow. The problem is that I am starting to find my miniscule, Parisian fridge difficult to close as I keep cramming it with more and more.

Every neighborhood in Paris is lined with small food shops. In the few blocks that I walk each day from my flat to the nearest metro station I pass two patisseries, a cheese shop, a produce shop, a butcher and charcuterie, a shop featuring caviar and smoked and pickled fish, a foie gras shop and a candy shop. The temptation is overwhelming and the quality of ingredients is so high here, that it’s tough to restrain myself. Soon I’ll return to the States, though, where the patisserie and cheese shops will be replaced by 7-11’s and KFC’s and I know I’d better take advantage of what’s around me while I can.

As I mentioned in last week’s entry, I spent a number of months early in my career as a bread baker. While baking bread on a large, restaurant scale bored me, baking bread at home is one of my favorite things to do. To this day I find few things as gratifying as the simple act of mixing flour, water and yeast together and watching as it transforms from a lumpy mass to a smooth ball and, ultimately, to a delicious soft or crusty loaf.

While most people I know share my love and enthusiasm for fresh baked bread, few are willing to venture into such an undertaking at home. I think that this is mostly due to fear of failure, which is understandable since a big part of making bread requires some knowledge of what the dough is supposed to look and feel like and sometimes the slightest of errors– such as too much or too little water or over or under kneading– can lead to less than desirable results.

Well now there is a new book that takes all of the fear and mystery out of bread baking leaving you without an excuse for not doing so. The technique presented in this book is beyond simple and the result is one of the best homemade breads you’ll ever taste. The book is called My Bread and was written by Jim Lahey, the owner of The Sullivan Street Bakery in New York.

Here’s basically how it works: First you mix flour, water and yeast together by hand (no mixer or dough hooks needed.) The mixture is very wet so it does not require much muscle or time to get the ingredients combined. Once mixed, you cover the bowl, set it aside in a warm place and leave it alone for 12-18 hours. Afterwards, you pour the dough out onto a countertop or cutting board, tuck the edges under to make it round, place it in a preheated pot and bake it for about an hour. The result is a crusty, chewy, impossibly delicious artisanal style bread. There is no endless kneading, no huge mess to clean up and it is so simple that anybody can do it.

The book contains a number of other bread recipes, made in basically the same way, but with the addition of different flavorings or ingredients. My favorites so far are the coconut-chocolate bread and the Olive Bread.

There are also recipes for things like pizzas, focaccias and other quicker breads that only take a couple of hours to complete.

I highly recommend this book to anyone and everyone who loves fresh baked bread, but especially to those who have previously been too intimidated to attempt bread baking on their own. You will be thrilled with how easy a skill this is to master and even more thrilled by how delicious the bread tastes!

Safe Tables was kind enough to invite us to attend a teleconference discussing the Senate FDA Reform Bill this Wednesday night at 8:30 pm ET.  Senator Dick Durbin (D-Il) and the FDA’s Mike Taylor will answer questions from the Safe Tables community about the proposed legislation and how it will improve food safety.  Please follow us @Chef2Chef as we live tweet the conference call.

For more information about the proposed legislation, you can visit Safe Tables, and OpenCongress for a detailed examination of the bill’s contents.

The thing I am asked the most by people I’ve just met (other than where I work or my favorite restaurant) is my favorite thing to cook. This question, to me, is like asking a mother her favorite child or a composer his favorite chord. Cooking is less a specific study for me than it is a progressive journey and focusing on one area might mean missing out on many others, so I tend not to limit myself. I’m not sure if it’s extreme curiosity or just a short attention span that motivates me, but I’ve always had more interest in dabbling than putting all of my eggs in one omelette (or however that saying goes.)

In my early days in the restaurant business I worked as a ‘tournant’ or ’roundsman’, a cook who assists in whichever area of the kitchen they are most needed. This allowed me to see the inner workings of a professional kitchen from every angle, giving me the chance to start thinking about what I did and didn’t like doing.

While a student at the Culinary Institute of America in the early 90’s, I did my externship at Spago Hollywood, Wolfgang Puck’s legendary, and sadly now defunct, flagship restaurant. Although I had worked in restaurants for years prior to cooking school, the Spago kitchen was like nothing I had previously experienced and I absorbed more in my 6 months there than ever before.

I started in the pastry department working nights in the back kitchen, far away from the action, turning and rolling puff pastry dough, and making multi-gallon batches of things such as vanilla ice cream, creme brulee and lemon curd. Admittedly, I was a little bored by the bulk and repetition of the job and, not having much of a sweet tooth, didn’t care much about tasting the desserts.  I am grateful for that experience, however, because so much of what I learned from making pastries applies to other areas of cooking. Today, whether I’m playing around with a savory puff pastry tart, or making a curd for key lime pie, I am comfortable in what I’m doing because those skills have stuck with me ever since.

Bread baking, another craft that I learned while working at Spago, is also one that I continue to reap the benefits of today. I hated waking up at 3:30 in the morning so that I could get to the restaurant before everyone else to bake hundreds of loaves of bread. It was tedious and back breaking work and, frankly, all of that flour made me sneeze. I knew immediately that I would not become a professional baker, but have no regrets about putting in my time in the baking department. Today, thanks to everything I learned many years ago, I bake crusty breads, pizza doughs and brioche with confidence, just on a much smaller scale and a bit later in the day.

In addition to my pastry and baking introductions, I also worked the pantry station, the wood burning oven, the charcoal grill and the pasta and saute stations — each experience was beneficial and definitely contributed to the interest I hold today in so many different aspects of cooking.

It is not my intention to bore you with my biography, but rather to show those of you who are just starting out in this business, perhaps feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of your choices, that the more broad your experience now the better prepared you’ll be for making career decisions down the line. You may end up like me, a ‘Jill of all trades’ who is perpetually exploring, or you may be just the opposite, wanting to home in on something specific. The only way to be sure is to sample as much as you can now so that you can make better informed choices later.

As the autumn air gets crisp and the leaves start to change color, my thoughts inevitably turn to pie and suddenly I start to picture everything before me swathed in a flaky crust. So you can imagine my excitement when I opened my front door this morning to find that my neighbor had left me about 20 pounds of freshly picked apples from his tree. I knew that a pie was in my very near future.

The problem is that a regular sized 9 inch pie often requires too big of a commitment and can lead to over-indulgence or waste, two things I try to make a habit of avoiding.

Luckily there is an easy solution to this problem, which is a free form pie that can be made to whatever size suits you. This rustic, Italian version is called a ‘crostata,’ and, while it incorporates the same basic ingredients as a standard pie, it is actually quite a bit easier to make.

Crostatas are made by taking a simple pie dough and rolling it out, filling it with fresh fruit and then folding the edges of the dough over, leaving an opening at the top through which some of the fruit peeks out. Once formed, the crostatas are then placed in the oven, baked for about 30-45 minutes (depending on their size), and voila, they are ready to eat.

What I particularly like about this dessert is its versatility. Whether you want to make a small pie, enough for just a few servings, a larger pie without the hassle of cutting and crimping the dough to fit a pie plate or individual portion sized pies that can go from the oven right onto separate plates with no messy cutting or scooping, the crostata does it all.

Here is a simple recipe for an apple crostata,similar to the one that I threw together this afternoon. The only real difference is that I bake mine in a hotter oven (425 degrees) for about 30 minutes. Today I made a full batch of dough, used about 1/3 of it for my crostata sized perfectly for two, and froze the remainder so that when the spontaneous, pie making urge hits me again, I’ll be fully prepared with dough on hand.

I am convinced that white chocolate, the once eschewed, ugly step-sister to the more popular and desirable dark chocolate, is about to kiss the frog, bite the apple or have some other fairy tale-like transcendence out of the dungeon and into the limelight.

Most chocolate lovers maintain that white chocolate is not “real” chocolate and certainly is not worthy of mention in the same breath as other chocolates, but the fact is that true white chocolate is made from cocoa butter, which comes from cocoa beans, the same beans that are the foundation of dark chocolate. So if it’s not real chocolate, which technically it isn’t, it is a close relative (or at the very least a step-sibling.) The distinction is that white chocolate is pure cocoa butter while dark and milk chocolates are derived from a mixture of  cocoa butter, chocolate liquor (which also comes from cocoa beans,) and other ingredients such as sugar and vanilla. For a more detailed explanation of white chocolate have a look here.

I’m not here to discuss technicalities or semantics, however, but simply to try and show that I am not the only one who sees the potential in white chocolate and to prove by example that it is finally starting to get the street cred that it deserves.

A recent blog posting by pastry chef and blogger extraordinaire, David Lebovitz, includes a recipe for Caramelized White Chocolate that he acquired in a chocolate making class at one of the top pastry schools in Paris. I made the recipe myself a few months back and found it to be so delicious, versatile and full of complexity, that it convinced me to look into what else was being done with white chocolate.

One of my findings was a new candy bar made by Divine Chocolate, a fair trade company that makes some of the best chocolate on the market today. Their White Chocolate With Strawberries bar features crispy dried strawberry tidbits dispersed throughout the creamy, thin white slab adding a new element of flavor and texture to an already familiar background.

While white chocolate, is typically only associated with sweet recipes, it should not be overlooked when thinking about savory applications. A salad recipe by Sandra Lee features an Orange-White Chocolate Vinaigrette while another recipe, conceptualized by Heston Blumenthal, features White Chocolate With Caviar. As gross as that combination might sound, it reminds me of a sublime morsel I had while dining at El Bulli many years ago. It was a wafer thin white chocolate slice dotted with chewy, salty-bitter pieces of dry cured olives. I was so struck by how well the flavors played off of each other that even today, 11 years after that meal, I can still taste it. Apparently I am not the only person who feels that Ferran Adria was onto something as Vosges Chocolates, known for their unusual combinations, has put out a version of their own.

I hope that this convinces you that white chocolate is deserving of a closer look.