#katy andersen

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Curator, Lot18

Swirl, smell, slurp, swallow. Ever been to an olive oil tasting? It’s like wine tasting – except you don’t spit. And qualities like a grassy nose or a peppery finish aren’t inferior – they’re enviable.

If drinking the spicy oil isn’t enough of a sensorial experience, try starting at 8am. It’s not everyone’s proverbial cup of tea, and hardly the choice replacement for a morning espresso. 

But there I was, seated in front of six pale emerald 1-ounce shots. Surrounded by at least 100 other olive oil enthusiasts at the early morning tasting in San Francisco, I silently thought, “Cheers: To a liquid breakfast!” 

I had forgone both sleep and coffee that morning for two very important reasons. The tasting was a chance to hear top olive growers in the US, Italy, Argentina and Australia present their prize extra-virgin olive oils and taste alongside these experts. And moderating this impressive panel was none other than author and New Yorker contributor Tom Mueller.

Mueller has become something of a spokesperson in the world of extra-virgin olive oil after publishing a fascinating expose of fraud in the global market in the New Yorker in 2007. He recently released a longer form as “Extra Virginity: The Sublime and Scandalous World of Olive Oil,” a book that inspired me to take olive oil a lot more seriously.

So what’s the big deal? Here’s a good example: In his book, Mueller cites that four out of 10 bottles labeled Italian olive oil aren’t. Aren’t what? Aren’t Italian, and aren’t necessarily olive oil. 

This fraud is driven by several factors, aside from greed. True extra-virgin olive oil is expensive and hard to make. And as seasons become drier and hotter, olive yields increase. As oil becomes more commoditized, downward price pressure increases. Cost-cutting measures and economies of scale only go so far, and eventually something has to give: in this case, the product itself. 

What are these Italian olive oils, if not what their labels say? The olives may have been grown in Spain, Turkey or North Africa, and pressed there before transported by tanker to Italy. And in a higher level of fraud, producers may mix olive with hazelnut oil or sunflower-seed oil, further degrading the substance in ways that would send Roman ancestors rolling in their graves.

As Mueller notably quotes in the New Yorker, the profits of adulterators, as told to him by one E.U. anti-fraud investigator, have at times been “comparable to cocaine trafficking, with none of the risks.”

Tasting with Mueller and the olive farmers on that early morning, I wasn’t worried about fraud – I was excited. There are still farmers whose oils are pure, and truly top quality extra-virgin. By buying oils bottled directly on the farm or tasted for annual certification by an independent organization such as the COOC, you can be sure the oils you get are pure, from their stated origin, and have those enticing spicy or fruity qualities that an extra-virgin oil should.

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Curator, Lot18

Native Americans figured out the secret of tapping the maple tree long before settlers arrived. Even today, nothing beats drenching a stack of fluffy pancakes with real maple syrup. But this simple pleasure isn’t so simple to make; it takes hard work to produce – days of it, in fact. 

Maple syrup starts with the maple tree – four different species to be exact. These trees store starch in their trunks and roots as fuel to survive the winter. By the first thaw, they have converted it to sugar. This sap runs through the trees until the first spring buds burst into leaf, and once harvested and heated for hours, it becomes liquid gold. 

But in the end, maple syrup boils down to simple mathematics. The average tree yields at least a liter per day of sap, depending on its age and the number of taps. In one season, which lasts between six and eight weeks, a tree will produce between 5 to 15 gallons of sap, roughly 10 percent of the tree’s entire sugar stores, according to Harold McGee in On Food and Cooking.

With all the sap, let the bubble, toil and trouble begin. It takes 40 gallons of sap to make 1 gallon of syrup – no small forest. The longer the sap has to boil, the darker and more concentrated the maple syrup becomes.

At artisanal sugarhouses such as Mead & Mead’s, sap is boiled down in small batches from single trees. These micro-batches are important: Sap harvested earlier in the year contains more sucrose than at the end of the season, so it boils down to pure syrup faster. Thus early-season syrup is lighter and more delicate in flavor, and is typically graded A. The darker and more concentrated the flavor, the lower the grade. 

The days of work it takes to extract and simmer this nectar is reason enough to appreciate each syrup-soaked bite for more than just its incredible flavor. With small-batch producers like Mead & Mead’s, the payoff from all that work has never been so pure.

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Curator, Lot18

When was the last time you worried about the price of salt?

Meat or milk, maybe. But we take salt for granted. After all, some of us even spread it on our roads and sidewalks in the winter. But it hasn’t always been an underappreciated ingredient, and it was once one of the most valuable minerals. How did salt change from currency to commodity?

Salt’s value lies in two food-related properties. It suppresses the sensation of bitterness, making foods such as olives or salad greens more palatable. Its use in ancient kitchens gave rise to words like sauce, salad and sausage, all foods whose names are derived from this key ingredient. And salt draws water out of foods, discouraging growth of spoilage bacteria. That salt prevents decay was a critical factor before the advent of refrigerators or even ice boxes.

Ancient civilizations depended on salt. Its ability to make some foods edible and preserve others kept people alive. 

Olives may be one of the first foods that salt saved. The Egyptians realized that the tree fruit was inedible unless soaked in brine, rendering olives soft and delicious. Today, we know that salt helps to remove the bitter-inducing glucides known as oleuropeina, according to Mark Kurlansky in his seminal Salt: A World History. Back then, they just knew that the olives tasted better.

Salt also preserved food in the absence of refrigeration. Cod was salted for baccalao. The eggs of the mullet, the most prized fish in Roman history, were salted and dried to make bottarga. Celtic warriors preserved legs of wild boar in salt, creating the first salt-cured hams. And it was the town of Salsomaggiore near Parma whose underground brine springs provided the salt needed to produce the famous Prosciutto di Parma. When citizens figured out that adding it to the local cheese prevented spoilage and allowed it to age, the world-renowned Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese was born. 

Long ago, humans hadn’t figured out how to extract this vital ingredient from both land and sea as efficiently as we do today. With limited supply and seemingly unlimited demand, the price of salt soared. 

But today, we know how to evaporate sea water and mine rock salt. 51 percent of American salt is used for deicing roads, according to Kurlansky. It’s more than just the mainspring of a meal.  

There’s irony in this development. Despite refrigeration and the advancement of our food supply, the modern food system still relies on salt. Why? For the very same reasons our ancestors used it: to preserve food. As food becomes more processed, conglomerates rely on it to accentuate flavors, prolong shelf stability, disguise bitterness and hide chemical aftertastes. Even Coca-Cola has salt in it – 80 mg per can. So, while we need about 1 gram of salt per day to balance the plasma around cells, the average intake in the US is at least 10 times that. 

Fortunately, despite this bastardization of an invaluable ingredient, we’re seeing a return to valuing salts – specialty ones. As flaky Maldon sea salt graces tables and restaurants dole out black Hawaiian salt, there’s hope for a return to treasuring this ancient mineral. And with this appreciation, moderation should follow. 

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Curator, Lot18

A funny thing happens when coffee roasts: It pops. The beans don’t explode like popcorn, but they do let out a loud snap. It’s this “first crack” that roasters have listened for over the centuries, and the sound I waited to hear during a coffee-roasting lesson at Brooklyn Roasting Co.

Brooklyn Roasting Co. is steeped in coffee-roasting history. The roaster sits on the foundation of Arbuckle’s, the first commercially successful coffee roaster in this country. And inside lie coffee-roasting equipment and the answers to all my coffee-roasting questions, answered by Michael Pollack, the roaster himself.

To appreciate the efficiency of the modern process that turns green coffee beans into their recognizable chocolate-colored hues, a short roasting history illustrates the improvements.

Back in the late 1800s, coffee was fire-roasted in tiny batches using machines like the Jabez Burns, where four perforated barrels rotated over an open flame as beans heated inside. San Francisco cult coffee roaster Four Barrel pays homage to coffee roasting’s history with its name. 

The German company Probat entered the coffee scene in the early 1900s to add scale and consistency to the process. By introducing a much larger solid metal drum that roasted coffee through conduction, not an open flame, coffee roasted more evenly. Probat still thrives today: both Sightglass Coffee and Ritual Coffee, two other revered coffee roasters in San Francisco, roast on a Probat.

The latest roasting improvements come from Loring, a company in Santa Rosa, Calif., whose modern roaster sits in the back of Brooklyn Roasting Co. The Loring is essentially a convection oven, where 40-pound batches of beans rotate in a piping-hot drum, shaking like a baby’s rattle as the drum heats up and then cools. 

It’s the roasting process that drives different flavor profiles of coffee as much as the terroir of the beans itself. As the beans heat up, they lose moisture. Aromas of wet hay and then yeast, like baking bread, waft through the room. The steam begins to turn to smoke as the beans brown, and roasters listen for the “first crack” (SNAP!).

At this point, the beans take on a soft brown hue, with toffee aromas signaling a light roast profile. As they continue to heat, just before the “second crack” (CRACKLE!), the beans take on the milk-chocolate undertones of a medium-roast profile as their sugars start to caramelize. And after the second crack, if the beans continue to roast, they take on the crisper deep-brown color and intense, pure “coffee” aromas of a traditional dark or “Italian” roast.

It takes a certain fanaticism with coffee roasting – an interest in the old and an obsession with the new – to get the perfect cup. And with a snap, maybe a crackle, and at some point, a full stop, coffee beans hit that perfect roast level for a flavorful sip.

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Curator, Lot18

Filet mignon. These two words grace the menus of desirable dinner spots and the boards of most seasoned butchers, and they’re a pleasing sight – except for the price tag. So lean and tender a cut, you might think that matters of taste alone are what drive up the price. But the truth is, like most rare or desirable foods, quantity matters, too. And this particular cut comes from one of the smallest muscles on a steer. 

To understand the filet mignon – why it’s so delicious yet not so plentiful – requires a short lesson in beef butchery, or rather, bovine anatomy. Beneath the backbone of an animal, where the ribs meet the vertebrae toward its rear, lies the tenderloin. There are two on each animal, but only the choicest part makes up the delicious medallions of filet mignon. Hidden beneath its bones, the animal rarely – if ever – uses this muscle, and an underworked muscle means a tender steak.  The tenderloin never bears the 1,000+ pounds of a steer's weight, and we reap the tender results on our plates. 

Its remarkable leanness is a good thing for both ascetic and indulgent gourmets. Filet mignon is tender without heavy marbling, but it also invites richer foods to its side. The French dish Tournedos Rossini defines the world of filet mignon marriages: a piece of the loin, pan-fried in butter and topped with a heart-racing addition of seared foie gras atop the tender cut. Wrapped in buttery puff pastry or, in a newer twist, bacon, filet mignon invites all sorts of rich additions to its lean sides  The delicious results are the stuff of special occasions around the world – and happily so.

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Curator, Lot18

Whether you take inspiration from Julia Child or from Peter Luger, it’s hard to deny the pleasure of a great steak. But buying a fresh cut of meat to take home to the kitchen, Julia-style, is a different experience from ordering the same bloody chop at an acclaimed steakhouse. Don’t let a gorgeous steak daunt you at the stove. There is pleasure in wrestling a colossal cut and winning, or so I found with this bone-in rib steak. At nearly two pounds of meat on the bone, this cut is called “côte de boeuf” in France, or “side of meat.” To counterbalance the richly marbled beef, I decided to prepare a simple red wine reduction, based on the principles of bordelaise sauce, a French recipe from the Bordeaux region. While more traditional recipes incorporate butter and bone marrow, I took a peasant-style approach adding meat stock, garlic and shallots to the wine. As the adage goes, “I cook with wine. Sometimes, I even put it in the food!”

Côte de boeuf à la bordelaise

IngredientsFor the meat

Rib chop, bone-in (approx. 28 ounces) Sea salt Olive oil For the sauce Red wine (approx. 2 cups) Veal stock (approx 2 cups) Shallots (3 small or 1 large, thinly sliced) Garlic (4 cloves, crushed) Herbs (rosemary, thyme, sage – ¼ cup of the mix, chopped) Cracked pepper

Preheat oven to 350.

For the meat Rub the meat with a light layer of sea salt.

Heat a glug of oil in a deep skillet on medium-high heat until the oil is hot but not smoking. Place the meat on the skillet and let each side sear until golden brown, at least 5 minutes each. Place the meat on a baking sheet in the oven. Let it continue to cook for about 15 – 20 minutes for rare meat, or longer for a pinker middle. More precise cooks would probably use a meat thermometer, but I was happy to err on the side of bloody.

For the sauce Without cleaning the skillet, add the shallots, garlic and herbs to the pan over medium heat, with an additional glug of oil if they stick. Let them cook until the shallots are translucent, and then add the veal stock and red wine. Turn the heat up to medium-high, and let it reduce in the pan. As it begins to thicken, stir every couple minutes to avoid sticking. 

Be sure to taste and adjust the sauce. Full confession, I used a particularly tannic red wine, and the sauce needed a little attention after it was mostly reduced. I added two tablespoons of crystallized honey that reduced the tannin and acidity while boosting flavor. Unorthodox, but delicious nonetheless! When it takes on a bisque-like consistency, remove from heat and strain out and discard the vegetables. Add a crack of pepper to serve. To serve Once removing the meat from the oven, let it rest for at least 10 minutes before carving so it can relax. I chose to serve it with some roasted sweet potato spears and a dash of the bordelaise sauce, but creamy sweet potatoes or celeriac mash would also complement the flavors well. Share some of the steak-induced pleasure -- a dog underfoot wouldn’t mind gnawing on the leftover bone!

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Food Specialist, Lot18

A quiet revolution has swept through this country’s coffee culture. This isn’t news to top roasters, or their loyal local followers. But for the average coffee drinker, the new morning cup can be infinitely better than it was ten years ago. Beans are better for one major reason: more roasters travel to coffee-producing countries to cup and select specific varieties of beans straight from the source. Just as there is less saccharine-sweet generic white Zinfandel on the market as we learn to appreciate oaky, single-vineyard Cabernet, coffee drinkers are slowly converting from French Vanilla Folgers to single-country, or even single-estate coffees whose flavors introduce a new level of aromatic complexity.

Does the same revolution hold true for decaf coffee? After all, people who drink decaf arguably appreciate flavor the most: they must be drinking coffee for its distinctive flavor since they’re not drinking it for the caffeine. And ironically, decaffeinated coffee has historically been the poorest quality and least complex due to harsh bean treatments in the decaffeination process.

Yes, decaf coffee is getting better, but not just because roasters source better beans. When I spoke with coffee buyer Steve Ford at Ritual Coffee, the renowned coffee house in San Francisco, he noted that patrons often prefer Ritual’s house decaf to their other cups. And they don’t even know it’s decaf. What changed?

Classic decaf coffee is made using the “MC (methylene chloride) method,” the same chemical as in paint stripper. The solvent strips out the caffeine, but also almost everything else. Bitter notes and bland flavor are common, not to mention the fact that beans come in contact with a harsh chemical.

The MC method compromises the coffee. Even the cellular structure of the coffee bean is changed, and with it, the flavor. Enter a surprising solution: sugar cane. Sugar cane contains a naturally-occurring solvent called Ethyl Acetate, which is a gentler treatment for decaffeination used for coffees like today’s Ritual duo. Ethyl Acetate is even found in green coffee, as well as various fruits, and it is the most common ester in wine. In the EA method, coffee is soaked alongside sugar cane for a very short time, which leads to a touch of sweet residual flavor in the cup that complements the coffee. The method preserves the complexities of the origin in the bean. The resulting coffee is intensely sweet and fruited both in aroma and flavor.

Katy Andersen, Gourmet Food Specialist, Lot18

Saturday lunch is a tradition at our family farm, where I spend most weekends. Parents, grandparents, siblings, even out-of-town friends join the feast around our kitchen table, with happy dogs underfoot, waiting for tasty meat scraps.

I never cook the same thing twice, which doubles the pressure to decide new dishes but also doubles the fun. Last week, I threw together juicy, cider-glazed pork chops with fresh apple cider from our local farmers’ market and apple balsamic vinegar. This twist on the traditional apple and pork pairing was so simple, and produced such a luscious agrodolce flavor, that I had to share this secret of effortless cooking. 

Cider-glazed Pork Chops with Caramelized Onions 

Serves 4, 20 – 30 minutes total 

Ingredients:

4 Pork chops 

3 medium red onions (¼ inch slices)

Apple cider (2 cups)

Apple vinegar (4 Tbsp)

Pantry:

Olive oil

Salt & pepper to taste

Step 1: Brown pork chops

Heat olive oil in a stainless steel pan on medium heat until oil is hot but not smoking. Place the pork chops in the pan, and brown on one side for about five minutes, then flip.  Shake pan occasionally to prevent meat from sticking. Once pork is golden brown on each side, and juices run clear, remove from heat.

Step 2: Caramelize onions

Without cleaning the pan, add 1½ cups of apple cider and 2 tablespoons of apple vinegar, with a few cracks of pepper and a pinch or two of seasalt. Turn the heat up to medium-high and add the onions. Stir intermittently as juices reduce and onions caramelize. Gradually reduce heat as sauce bubbles and onions become translucent. Remove onions from pan when they start to stick. 

Step 3: Finish chops & deglaze pan

Deglaze the pan once more by adding the remaining ½ cup of cider and tablespoon of apple vinegar over medium-high heat. Add back the pork and let the sauce boil down while the chops warm fully and take on some of the caramelized onion and apple flavors. Serve hot, with the caramelized onions and sides such as roasted potatoes with rosemary or delicata squash. 

Notes

In absence of apple balsamic vinegar, use regular balsamic vinegar. In absence of red onions, use white onions or shallots. 

Find out what I’m cooking and eating on Twitter: @KathrynAndersen