Modernist-Cuisine-Vol.-1-Small

1
Hot and cold tea exploits the rheology of
fluid gels, which have the properties of
both liquids and solids, to keep its hot
and cold sides separate. For a recipe, see
page 4·182. For more on fluid gels, see
page 4·176.
Heston Blumenthal‘s The Big Fat Duck
Cookbook became a best-seller in the U.K.
His goal was to create perfect versions of the
classicssuch as the perfect fried potatoby using
science as a tool. He ultimately arrived at a recipe
for triple-cooked chips (see page 3·322) that is a
perfect rendition of crispy French fries. In addition,
to learn more about the links between taste, smell,
memory, and emotions, Blumenthal contacted
McGee, Barham, and other scientists who were
studying psychology and flavor chemistry.
Blumenthal attained his first Michelin star just
three years after opening the restaurant. In 2001,
when he was awarded his second Michelin star, his
career as a celebrity chef was born. He became a
columnist for the Guardian newspaper, made a
six-part television series for the Discovery Channel,
and published his first book, Family Food. He
also received numerous accolades from publications
both within the United Kingdom and
outside it.
Meanwhile, Blumenthal’s interest in culinary
science was leading him to dream up radically new
dishes, such as crab risotto with crab ice cream,
white chocolate filled with caviar, and parsnip
cereal with parsnip milk. As Guardian food
columnist Matthew Fort wrote in 2001,”It isn’t too
much to claim that the approach that [Blumenthal]
is taking represents the biggest shake-up to
ideas about how we cook of the past 50 years.”
The Fat Duck was awarded its third star in 2004,
becoming only the fourth British restaurant to ever
hold that distinction. The journey beginning with
the meal at L’Oustau de Baumanière was now
complete: Blumenthal had not only become a chef;
he had reached the highest level of the profession.
That journey was anything but easy. When
Blumenthal opened The Fat Duck, he had never
worked in a restaurant before, apart from a
one-week stage in Blanc’s kitchen. It was a rude
awakening, a sort of baptism by fire. Blumenthal
rose to the occasion and overcame his own
inexperience. With incredible drive, he persevered
and created an establishment with top-caliber
food and service.
As his cuisine matured and recognition grew,
financial success did not always follow. During the
week in 2004 when Michelin called to announce
that the restaurant had earned its third star, there
was so little business that Blumenthal worried he
would not have sufficient funds to make payroll. In
fact, on the very day the call came from Michelin,
there were no reservations; not a single customer
showed up that night. Of course, the next morning
the news of the third star was out, and the phone
rang off the hook.
To Perfection and Beyond
Perfection was Blumenthal’s original goal when
he opened his restaurant, and he still returns to
that goal often today. He created several TV series
with the BBC called In Search of Perfection, in
which he sought to perfectly execute many
culinary classics, from high-end dishes such as
Peking Duck to more humble ones such as bangers
and mash or fish and chips.
If Blumenthal had stopped at the perfect
execution of old classics using modern techniques,
he would have been a great chef, but one
with limited impact. Instead, perfection was just
the beginning. Soon he discovered that the
scientific approach to food offered him the
possibility to do things that are new and unique,
and he began to branch out. In one early dish, his
pommes purées (mashed potatoes) contained
cubes of a heat-stable lime gel. Each bite included
the foundation of creamy mashed potatoes
punctuated by the clean, bright flavor of lime. It
was still classic pommes purées, but it wasn’t like
any version that had come before.
Sensory science and its application to cuisine
are of particular interest to Blumenthal, and he
has collaborated with scientists studying human
perception. Many of his more innovative dishes
combine multiple sensory experiences. An oyster
and abalone dish called Sound of the Sea, for
example, engages not only taste but also sound:
before serving the dish, the waiter brings each
diner a conch shell with a set of headphones
protruding from it. The shell, which contains a
tiny MP3 player, seems to produce ocean noises.
Blumenthal had a scientific reason for believing
that the sound would add to the dining experience.
He had conducted research with Oxford
University and determined that listening to sea
sounds while eating an oyster makes the oyster
taste stronger and saltier than usual.
In a training manual written for the Fat Duck
staff in 2003, Blumenthal described his approach
at the time in an open letter to his guests:
In all cooking there is sciencesome say
much artand sage traditions that must be
understood in relation to the diner. Our
challenge is to discover these relationships,
demystify the culinary traditions and, with
that knowledge, create an experience that
reaches beyond the palate.
This is the culinary cornerstone of The
Fat Duck. Though it sounds Shelleyesque,
in its truest sense the approach is fundamental.
Every aspect of dining must be in
harmony. This goes well beyond music
choice or decor. For a dining experience to
be full, it must ignite all senses and awaken
the soul.
At The Fat Duck we enjoy challenging
traditional techniques and theories, even
those in place for centuries. We don’t
challenge these techniques because they are
wrong. We look at the cause and effect of
centuries of tradition; pair that with evolving
knowledge and the overall effect of
those things that make up you, our guest.
In an interesting reversal of Nouvelle cuisine
and its emphasis on plated dishes, Blumenthal
designs many of his recipes to be plated tableside
by servers, adding to the drama of the dining
experience. In a dish called Nitro Green Tea Sour
(see photo on page 74), a whipping siphon is
brought to the table and used to squirt a foam into
liquid nitrogen. When diners take the first bite,
cold air and condensed water vapor from the
foam-nitrogen reaction rushes into their nasal
passages. The result: it looks like smoke is coming
out of your nose.
In another dish, Nitro Scrambled Egg and
Bacon Ice Cream (see photo on page 54), the
server goes through an elaborate charade in which
he appears to be making scrambled eggs in a
tableside chafing dish. He adds what appears to be
oil to the pan (it’s actually liquid nitrogen) and
cracks eggs into it (the eggshells are filled with a
custard base). When he “scrambles” the eggs, the
custard freezes and becomes a rich, eggy ice
cream. In one sense, this is the kind of tableside
service Escoffier might have approved of, yet its
shock value and unconventional use of liquid
nitrogen make it clearly Modernist.
These dishes are obviously related to deconstruction,
but with a twist all their own. In
deconstruction, the flavor profile is that of a
classic dishbut in a form that keeps you from
recognizing what it is until you eat it. Here the
opposite happens: something appears to be a
classic dish, but it is actually very different in
substance.
Another theme that runs through much of
Blumenthal’s cuisine is the role of memory and
nostalgia. He tries to re-create tastes and aromas
that will trigger childhood memories and evoke
emotions. Unlike deconstructionist chefs, Blumenthal
does not aim to provoke a double take as
the diner recognizes the classic dish being referenced.
Instead, he wants to evoke just enough of
the memory to transport diners back in time,
while at the same time engaging them in the
present.
Blumenthal often plates dishes in ways that
help to create this mood, as in his Flaming
Sorbet (see photo at right), which is designed to
look like a campfire. The dish is just what it
sounds likea sorbet made with gellan, a gelling
compound that, unlike conventional gelatin,
retains its solid form up to 90 °C / 194 °F. Whiskey
is poured on and lit to create flames, which
do not melt the sorbet. The bowl containing the
sorbet is nestled in a bed of twigs that conceals a
layer of dry ice beneath it. As the waiter ignites
the sorbet, he simultaneously pours a perfume
mixture (containing notes of leather, wood,
tobacco, and whiskey) onto the twigs, where it
reacts with the dry ice. Vapor cascades around
the dish and releases the pleasant and perhaps
nostalgic aromas of a campfire.
Blumenthal also aims to transport diners back
in time by re-creating dishes from the distant past.
In a dish called Beef Royal (1723), he reimagines a
recipe published in 1723 that was served at the
coronation of King James II. He has also explored
antiquity in a TV series for the BBC’s Channel 4,
constructing new versions of Roman and Victorian
feasts.
Blumenthal’s influence on cuisine goes far
beyond his work at The Fat Duck. He is extremely
personable, and through his television shows, he
has taken his enthusiasm to a much larger audience
than could ever get a table in his restaurant.
As an ambassador for Modernist cuisine, he has
opened the door for a whole generation of young
chefs, who will find a more receptive audience
because Blumenthal blazed the trail for them.
Flaming Sorbet uses gellan gel to make a
sorbet that can withstand high heat. The
theatrical presentation of sorbet at the
center of a bonfire both surprises and
entertains guests. For more on gellan gels,
see page 4·124. Photograph by Dominic
Davies
In 1999, Peter Barham, a physicist,
took Tony Blake, a flavor chemist, to
dinner at The Fat Duck. The dinner
led to Blumenthal’s invitation to the
2001 Erice meeting. More important,
it put Blumenthal in touch
with Firmenich, a Swiss food flavor
company at which Blake worked as
a senior scientist. The Firmenich
contact gave Blumenthal both
access to their flavors and also
financial support, in the form of a
consulting agreement.
50 VOLUME 1 · HISTORY AND FUNDAMENTALS
HISTORY 51