The elements of cooking Translating the chef's craft for every kitchen

Michael Ruhlman, 1963-

Book - 2007

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Published
New York, NY : Scribner c2007.
Language
English
Main Author
Michael Ruhlman, 1963- (-)
Edition
1st Scribner hardcover ed
Item Description
Includes bibliographical references (p. 245).
Physical Description
245 p.
ISBN
9780743299787
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Review by New York Times Review

IT is an immutable truth of the food world, right up there with watched pots never boiling: most cookbooks are failures. You can cook with joy and distraction or follow the instructions to the letter, like a terrified parent responding to a detailed kidnapper's note. Too often the result is mediocrity, food that just sits there on the plate, undercooked, overcooked, not rich enough, broken or, worse, boring. This is a depressing state of affairs, but hardly surprising. There are a lot of cookbooks in our hungry world, and they keep on coming, every season, thick and glossy and unwise, to taunt the home cook and restaurant enthusiast alike. And we buy them. Cookbooks were a $530 million business in the United States in 2007, according to Michael Morris, a senior analyst for Simba Information, a market research firm. Nearly 14 million books about cooking and entertaining were purchased in the United States in 2007, according to Nielsen BookScan. The trend has been basically upward since at least 2002. On the basis of this summer's offerings, it shows no signs of abating. Yet there are still some good cookbooks out there, amid the fallen soufflés and curdled sauces. Even in the bad ones, there are some decent recipes, excellent observations, some help for the yearning cook. And in between, there are subtle lessons to be learned about what to look for when you're at the bookstore pawing through some celebrity chef's latest tome. Here, then, are a dozen of the summer season's most interesting new cookbooks, run through an almost average home kitchen to the delight and occasional dismay of an American family, species Brooklynus insatiabilis. Lenny Bruce had it right: "If you live in New York, even if you're Catholic, you're Jewish." This is a city of pink-faced WASP lawyers with bagels and lox on their dining-room tables, of black guys eating challah French toast at the diner, of Italians with knishes and chicken soup for everyone. ARTHUR SCHWARTZ'S JEWISH HOME COOKING: Yiddish Recipes Revisited (Ten Speed Press, $35) helps make sense of the beautiful chaos, with a deep and affectionate examination of New York's Jewish food culture, refracted through the lens of what he calls the Yiddish-American experience. Schwartz is a former restaurant critic for The New York Daily News and was a longtime radio host on WOR, the official AM radio station of ladies who lunch in Brooklyn, and his stories about New York foodways are learned and funny. Amid them, he offers definitive, simple and deadly effective recipes for brisket and choient; crispy, sweet mandelbrot; Romanian broilings of various sorts; chopped liver and borscht; even fantastic if anti-kosher crossover meals like the Chinese roast pork sandwich on buttery garlic bread that came down from the Catskills in the 1950s to take up residence on the menus of family restaurants across the southern tier of this city. You want a green vegetable? Eat a pickle. In Stark contrast is OUTSTANDING IN THE FIELD: A Farm to Table Cookbook (Clarkson Potter, $32.50), by Jim Denevan and Marah Stets, a book that primarily highlights the cooking of Denevan, a chef with a big bus named Outstanding, which he drives around the country and uses to transport guests to dinners set up in fields and vineyards, community gardens, dairies, ranches. This is a kind of performance art, meant to reconnect people to the land, and with good service and plenty of wine it's probably a nice evening. The recipes are bright and cheery. In the main, this is earnest modern-hippie food: lamb stew with beets and mint gremolata; chicken liver pâté, made with caramelized tomato paste; farro soup with greens. And the recipes work well if you use the best and freshest-possible ingredients: cider-braised pork shoulder tastes rather better when you buy pork from Mr. Organics at the greenmarket than from the local supermarket. Of course, it costs rather more too. MY CHINA: A Feast for All the Senses (Viking Studio, $55), by Kylie Kwong, an Australian chef and television personality, is a lush and expensive cookbook that, for all its heft, is curiously light on recipes. But stir-fried corn with red onions and the Chinese dried sausage called lup cheongmay be worth the price of admission. Stay in that larder for red-braised chickpeas with star anise and vinegar. Make some stir-fried pumpkin with black beans and ginger. Try the braised green beans with chilies. And for a weekend lunch? An omelet with minced pork, mint, ginger and a drizzle of oyster sauce. Nap time. THE OPRAH MAGAZINE COOKBOOK (Hyperlon, $29.95), with an introduction by Oprah Winfrey, is about what you'd imagine from a magazine collection put together by the Winfrey team: heavy on the food-porn photographs and luscious production values, without much in the way of an organizing principle. There's some fine brunch eating to be found, if you're the type to serve brunch - and you are if you like Oprah. So! Egg salad with tarragon mustard. Tea sandwiches. A caramelized onion and bacon tart. Fig galette. You look fantastic. Rougher types, or at any rate boys who like to kill what they cook, will flock to THE RIVER COTTAGE COOKBOOK (Ten Speed Press, $35), by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, another television personality, who lives in bucolic splendor before British television cameras in Dorset, in the south of England. Fearnley-Whittingstall is a supporter of sustainable agriculture and fresh-caught fish, of farm living and offal eating, of "hedgerow greens" and foraged mushrooms. He is, in other words, an aristocrat. And so the book contains a wonderful recipe for lobster thermidor, a few dodgy paragraphs about how best to raise livestock - "Pigs must have a secure shelter to sleep and rest in, but it doesn't have to be fancy" - and about 400 pages of advice for living a life much like his own. This is not without its pleasures. There's something delightful about considering what it would mean to raise animals and then eat them nose to tail, close to the land. Still, THE ELEMENTS OF COOKING: Translating the Chef's Craft for Every Kitchen (Scribner, $24), by Michael Ruhlman, is better and more helpful as a training aid for those aiming to lead a gastronomic life in the modern age. You may never encounter a fresh-foraged morel or shoot your own pigeon for stew, but you will almost certainly run into curious words in recipes, in cookbooks, in the multisyllabic pretension of the food-obsessed. Ruhlman's Strunk-and-Whitestyle guide to the language and grammar of the kitchen is a great help, particularly to anyone - most of us, really - whose brow would furrow if a date pointed to a menu and asked brightly, "What's salpicon?" (Oh, darling: It's a French term for diced meat or fish bound with a sauce and used as a filling.) A deeply opinionated rundown of the essential knowledge all cooks and food people need, the book also contains three of the most important sentences anyone reading about cookbooks may see this or any year. They are found under the entry for "recipes." "Recipes are not assembly manuals," Ruhlman writes. "Recipes are guides and suggestions for a process that is infinitely nuanced. Recipes are sheet music." If So, then FISH WITHOUT A DOUBT: The Cook's Essential Companion (Houghton Mifflin, $35), by Rick Moonen and Roy Finamore, is a thick sheaf of Rachmaninoff: difficult, scary, sometimes beautiful. Fish is hard to cook well. Moonen, a celebrated American chef, aims to simplify the process, to remove the home cook's natural fear, and he mostly succeeds, with terrific recipes for sautéed turbot with leeks and red wine butter sauce; tea-steamed sea bass; slow-roasted salmon with stewed baby artichokes. Almost 50 pages in the beginning of the book are devoted to technique, advice for buying and the fish cook's kitchen. This may be the summer to outfit one, and to nail at last the perfect crisp-fried flounder dinner. Or to fire up the grill. The summer cooking season always inspires a glut of barbecue books, most of them (recall the incontrovertible truth!) terrible. But this year at least three are worth a look. The first comes from Mario Batali, the celebrity chef and prolific if uneven cookbook author. His ITALIAN GRILL (Ecco/ HarperCollins, $29.95), written with Judith Sutton, shows the big man in good form. Batali's cookbooks generally either work (the brilliant and indispensable "Babbo Cookbook") or leave you stuck up a river without a boat, much less a paddle (the flawed and cynical "Molto Italiano"). "Italian Grill" appears to fall closer to the Babbo camp, and displays some of the wonderful lunacy that shows up on the best of his menus and in televised "Iron Chef" competitions. To wit: mortadella wrapped around fresh robiola, grilled and served over bitter greens - essentially grilled ravioli made out of meat pasta. Yowza. Chicken with snap peas and agliata, a garlicky sauce (paging Michael Ruhlman!).. Ribs cooked in the American Southern style, then made very Italian, as if there were a barbecue tradition in Modena. Unless you received a rotisserie attachment for your birthday, there's probably too much in the way of spit-roasting over live fire. But most everything is adaptable to a plain-Jane grill, and the flavors are worth the improvisation. Literally everything in GRILL IT! Recipes, Techniques, Tools (DK, $25), by Chris Schlesinger and John Willoughby, is designed for the fellow with a rusted Weber and a cooler full of beer. These boys are the high priests of chicken thighs, cowboy steaks and the spice drawers of the Caribbean and North Africa. Cumin-crusted grilled skirt steak tacos might do it for some, or Cajun grouper or jerk wings from hell. Schlesinger is the chef and owner of the East Coast Grill in Cambridge, Mass., and Willoughby the executive editor of Gourmet magazine. Their partnership, burnished over many years, here provides ideal summer-share recipes, or a housewarming gift for that couple with a new place by the beach. Back in the city, those who fire up the charcoal on roofs and in the park might take a gander at BOBBY FLAY'S GRILL IT! (Clarkson Potter, $35), by, um, Bobby Flay - with Stephanie Banyas and Sally Jackson. Spanish flavors and steakhouse techniques predominate, along with a run of great burger recipes and some of the same sort of odd-duck "Iron Chef" throwdowns found in Batali's work: for Flay, an excellent red-wine-marinated flank steak filled with prosciutto, fontina and basil. It makes for a fancy Saturday night presentation and terrific sandwiches for lunch the next day. HEADING in another direction entirely is the delightful IZAKAYA: The Japanese Pub Cookbook" (Kodansha, $25), by Mark Robinson. "Izakaya" is an umbrella term that only roughly translates as "pub"; it's a Japanese neighborhood hangout, somewhere on the spectrum between bar and restaurant, where there's booze and a lot of interesting food. Robinson's book is more a paean to the vibrant and complicated izakaya culture than a definitive cooking guide (one of the Tokyo joints he writes about has a name that translates as Laughing Drunk), but the recipes, more than 60 of them, are the sort you wish more neighborhood restaurant chefs in New York would read. Certainly they're adaptable to a casual, if work-intensive, Saturday night home meal. And so: Start with cubes of raw, sushigrade tuna mixed with a miso-mustard dressing. Follow with a seaweed and broccoli rabe salad, with a light oil dressing and a dash of toasted sesame. Pair with grilled chicken breast with plum paste. (Pass on the fried tofu stuffed with Swiss cheese. Or not!) Serve with rice and Kirin beer. Finally, like fat Uncle Jack staggering over to the buffet once more, amazing the cousins with his stamina, Christopher Kimball of Cook's Illustrated magazine and America's Test Kitchen has stepped forth once again with a new cookbook: this time, THE BEST CHICKEN RECIPES (America's Test Kitchen, $35). It seems amazing that Kimball and his elves can keep drumming up subjects for these books, which arrive in the manner of the tides and the moon, but they do: a spin through the online bookstore at Cooksillustrated.com reveals dozens of titles. They remain top-form and absolutely terrific for anyone interested in cooking from recipes that always, always work. The reason is simple: Kimball hires good cooks and then treats them like scientists - or factory workers. They test and test again and again and again. Genius in the kitchen arises from baseline competence. In the matter of chickens, this book will provide it. Beginners will be the most pleased. Here is the way to roast a chicken successfully every time, to avoid overcooking a chicken breast, to make a stir-fry or stew. Here is what to do with leftovers, and how. The book addresses all the attendant worries of the kitchen neophyte: What sort of pan is best for what sort of job, what's the correct side dish for that entrée or this one, how to cut Parmesan cheese. It's perfect reading for anyone who has ever made a phone call to a friend, trying to figure out how the broiler works. But there's also satisfaction for the experienced cook. The pleasures of Korean fried chicken, for instance, are described over the course of two and a half pages, with a great sentence placed right in the middle of the run: "Here's how it works." And how! Twice-fried in a thin batter of cornstarch and water, then tossed in a fiery, sweet-salty sauce and served with scallions and cilantro, it's almost shockingly addictive. It's a recipe to threaten family traditions. That's the very best kind. ON THE WEB: 20 MORE COOKBOOKS. Still in need of culinary inspiration? Consult our annotated list of 20 new cookbooks at nytimes.com/books. Sam Sifton is the culture editor of The Times.

Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [October 27, 2009]
Review by Booklist Review

This indispensable compendium of cooking information for both professional and amateur cooks constitutes a precise, unpretentious, unencumbered culinary handbook. Although the first part of the book dealing with such basics as stocks, basic ingredients, essential tools, and key cookbooks springs from Ruhlman's career as a professional chef, the dedicated home cook will absorb a lot about which tools serve the cook best and which flavor elements produce the finest results. Ruhlman cogently makes a case for home cooks putting forth the effort to create vital and versatile veal, chicken, and fish stocks, which may be put into service in many ways. Ruhlman then proceeds to categorize his knowledge in a precise and concise glossary of cooking terms that makes good reading as well as meets the basic test of culinary competence. This is a very useful addition to cookery reference collections.--Knoblauch, Mark Copyright 2007 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

Ruhlman's slim 12th book, inspired by Strunk and White's classic The Elements of Style, would more accurately have been titled "Selected Elements of French Cooking." Organized in dictionary format, the book offers short definitions of culinary terms most likely to be encountered in a Continental restaurant kitchen: a la ficelle, jus lie, lardo, mise en place, oblique cut, oignon pique, rondeau, roulade. Entries for ladle, rolling pin and other common implements seem almost superfluous, while international items such as wok, tandoor, udon and cardamom are nowhere to be found (though to be fair, nam pla, kimchi and umami are included). An opening eight-page section announces, with finger wagging, that "veal stock is the essential" and discourses on eggs, salt and kitchen tools. Ruhlman (The Soul of a Chef) is an elegant writer and the entries he does include can be useful and sometimes entertaining. The real problem is the idiosyncratic, highly personal approach: you just don't know what you'll find in this book and what you won't. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

3. Salt I remember clearly the moment I heard it -- a bright Saturday afternoon, on the phone, seated at my desk in our old house. The truth of the news struck me like a spike. I was working with Thomas Keller on the proposal for what would become The French Laundry Cookbook . Relatively new to the world of professional cooking, I asked, "What's the most important thing for a cook to know in your kitchen?" He paused, then said, "Seasoning." "What do you mean, seasoning?" "Salt and pepper." He paused again. "Salt, really." "The most important thing for a cook to know is how to salt food?" "That's right," he said. The truth of it would only deepen as I continued to explore the craft of cooking. It is true not just for cooks in professional kitchens, but for all cooks in all kitchens, everywhere: learning to salt food properly is the most important skill you can possess. No surprise, then, that salting food is one of the first things taught in culinary school. When my instructor judged my soup to be flat he told me to take out a ladleful and salt it, then compare the two. This would help me to understand what he called "the effect of salt," he said. You don't want to taste salt in the food -- that means it's been oversalted. You want it to taste seasoned -- meaning that it has an appropriate depth of flavor and balance, is not pale or insipid. Same with the water you boil pasta in. Before culinary school, I'd salted pasta water by putting a pinch into a giant pot of water. I don't know what I thought that was going to do -- if I'd given it even two seconds of consideration, I'd have had to conclude that the salt had absolutely no effect. My instructor explained that our pasta water should taste like properly seasoned soup. This would ensure perfectly seasoned pasta. Or rice, for that matter. We learned to "season as you go" -- that is, salt your food throughout the cooking process because food salted at the beginning of or during the cooking tasted different from food salted just before it was served. The former tasted seasoned; the latter tasted salted. So even from the outset of learning to cook properly I had discovered that I wasn't doing one of the most routine kitchen acts, salting food correctly. Keller said it was one of the first things they taught new cooks at The French Laundry. I scarcely thought about it -- salt had been an afterthought. That's what the salt shaker on the table's for, right? Wrong. How to salt food. It's the most important skill you can have. After my conversation with Keller nearly ten years ago, I paid a lot of attention to salt and how people used it. I also listened to the ubiquitous health warnings about the overconsumption of salt. I even wound up writing a book largely about salting food, Charcuterie: The Craft of Salting, Smoking and Curing. Judy Rodgers was the first chef I knew to address this matter head-on in her Zuni Cafe Cookbook . Common wisdom had always been that if you salted food early, it dried the food out. Looks that way. Salt a steak and a few hours later it's sitting in a puddle of red juices. But in fact the perpetual osmotic effect of salt enhances juiciness by changing the cell structure so that it holds more moisture. Salt also enhances the flavor of the meat by thoroughly penetrating it. And it dissolves the sticky protein myosin, so that in ground preparations -- hamburger, sausage -- the meat holds together. Rodgers urges cooks to salt food early. The bigger the food is, the more salt it needs, and the more time with the salt that it needs. This is uniformly important with meat, but less so with fish; some fish is delicious after it's been packed in salt (salmon or cod) but some flesh is so delicate the salt can damage it if used too early. And it can even be true of vegetables. Vegetables with large watery cells are enhanced by early salting, such as onions, eggplant, peppers. Rodgers learned about salt from French mentors for whom salt was not simply a seasoning. To them salt was, she writes, "the thing that keeps you from starving." Indeed, salt's role as humankind's all-purpose preserver of food -- allowing for a surplus of food, food that could serve as a basis for an economy, food that could feed crews on ships during extended explorations -- makes it one of the most influential substances on earth. Salt should never be an afterthought. Salt and your health: Salt is so critical to our health that we have developed an extraordinary capacity for tasting it -- in order to regulate it. When we eat natural foods, that is unprocessed foods or processed foods containing only a few ingredients, we can use as much or as little salt as tastes good to us and do so without health concerns. Salt has become a problem in this country because we rely on heavily processed food (food that comes in boxes and plastic bags), which is infused with salt we don't necessarily detect, and we can easily consume far more than our body needs. Some people have problems with high blood pressure and hypertension and must restrict salt intake. But generally speaking, salt is not bad for you. If you eat a lot of processed food, salt might be a problem, along with other health concerns. If you are healthy and eat good food, you should feel free to salt food to levels that taste good. How to salt food: There are only a few dictates when using salt. Use kosher salt, which is both economical and available everywhere, or sea salt, or another specialty salt if you wish. Never use iodized salt (iodide deficiency is no longer a problem in this country). Salt early in the cooking process, whether seasoning meat or seasoning a soup. Taste your food continually throughout the cooking and season it appropriately as you go. Salting meat: Most meat can be salted as soon as you get it, regardless of when you intend to cook it. Salting meat as early as possible not only allows the salt to distribute itself throughout the meat, it keeps the meat fresher. Salt prohibits the growth of microbes responsible for food's going bad. Ironically, you need to be careful about salting creatures that lived in saltwater. Some fish is so delicate salt crystals will "burn" the flesh rather than distribute itself through it (scallops are a good example; they should be seasoned shortly before cooking). Salting water: There are two levels of salted water. Heavily salted water is used for boiling green vegetables and anything else that is not going to absorb a lot of the water. Moderately salted water, water that simply tastes seasoned, is used for rehydrating foods, such as pasta, rice, and legumes. See salted water in the glossary for recommended quantities. Brines: Brine -- salt dispersed throughout a very dense medium -- is an extremely effective salt delivery system, infusing food uniformly, predictably, and quickly. A good ratio for a brine is between six and eight ounces of salt per gallon of water; the stronger it is, the faster it works. The water can also be infused with aromatic vegetables, herbs, and spices; the salt helps to carry this flavor into the meat. Food that has been brined benefits from resting outside the brine before it's cooked so that the salt concentration, heavier at the exterior, equalizes throughout the meat (not dissimilar from allowing meat to rest after it comes out of the oven). Preserving with salt: Just about anything can be preserved with salt -- meat, fish, vegetables, and fruit -- with varying results in terms of quality and culinary uses. Pork is the meat most often preserved because it tastes so good. You can preserve beef tenderloin but why would you? Better to preserve a beef brisket (called corned beef, or, if smoked and spiced, pastrami). Food can be preserved in dry salt. Bacon, salt cod, and duck breast are items typically cured this way. And it can be cured in a brine -- Canadian bacon (pork loin), beef brisket, and vegetables. And some food starts out in a dry cure but releases so much liquid, a brine is created -- salmon, cabbage (sauerkraut). Even a sprinkling of salt, as if you were simply seasoning the food, has curing effects. Meat can be dredged in salt and left to cure. As much as a cup of salt per gallon will make a good curing brine. For natural pickles, that is a pickle that creates its own acid through fermentation, a precise 50 grams of salt per liter of water is perfect (a little less than 2 ounces, about a quarter cup of Morton's kosher salt, per quart). All food behaves a little differently in salt. Ultimately you have to pay attention. Taste. Remember. Salt, taste, remember. Learn your own salt levels in cooking. Put a little soup or stock in a bowl and salt it, then compare the salted against the unsalted. Taste an unsalted tomato, then taste it with salt. Teach yourself about the effects of salt. Copyright (c) 2007 by Michael Ruhlman Biscuit: a type of cake made with flour and liquid, approximately a 3 to 2 ratio, with solid fat first "rubbed" into the flour before the water is added as with a pie dough or pâte bris - e. They can be free-form or rolled and cut. Some of its leavening comes from the fact that the fat remains in chunks and separates layers of dough (in the same way a pie crust becomes flaky). Bisque: A thick, creamy, crustacean-based soup. Once bread-thickened, bisques are now more commonly thickened with roux. Restaurant menus and contemporary cookbooks occasionally use the word to describe a non-shellfish-based soup such as a vegetable puree. This usage is what H. W. Fowler, a respected commentator on English usage, would have called a slipshod extension; when bisque becomes simply a synonym for "thick and creamy," its meaning is diminished; thick, creamy vegetable purees should be called purees; thick, creamy shellfish soups should be called bisques. Bistro: A word that has become a virtual synonym for "casual" when referring to restaurant styles, and therefore all but meaningless, bistro should be used to describe a style of restaurant that originated in Paris in the early nineteenth century. A bistro was then and remains today a restaurant serving economical French fare including sandwiches, egg dishes, soups, stews, roasts, and quickly prepared dishes using inexpensive ingredients (dishes that can meaningfully be grouped under the heading bistro cuisine). Bivalves: Bivalves -- clams, mussels, oysters -- can be eaten raw or cooked. Clams and mussels are best simply steamed until they open, often with some white wine, garlic, and thyme. Oysters are prized as a raw food (it may be the only creature we commonly eat while it's still alive), but they can be broiled, roasted, fried, or used as a component in any number of dishes. All bivalves are filter-feeders and often trap toxins; it's not unwise to know where they came from and how they've been handled and, once you have them, keep them cold and eat them fresh. With all bivalves, freshness is paramount -- the sooner you get them once they've left the water, the better. Bladder (pig's) : the sturdy sac is an extraordinary cooking vessel (to enclose, for example, a stuffed chicken in the dish poulet en vessie) and further proof of the pig's elegant efficiency. Blanch: This word has several different meanings depending on who's using it, so it almost always needs some qualification or explanation. Technically, to blanch means to plunge a fruit into boiling water for a minute or less to make the skin easy to peel (as with a tomato or a peach) or to change, or "set," a green vegetable's color from flat to vivid green while keeping it, in effect, raw. Some kitchens use the word to mean parboil, to cook a vegetable halfway, then shock it so that it can be finished later. French fries are often blanched in low temperature oil so that they can be finished quickly (and crisply) in hot oil later. Many chefs use it to mean plunging a vegetable into heavily salted water that's at a rolling boil (1 cup of kosher salt per gallon is a good ratio), fully cooking that vegetable, then removing it to an ice water bath (see shock). To blanch can also mean to cover bones with cold water and bring them to a boil, then strain and rinse them in order to clean them for a white stock. Blanquette: A blanquette is a white stew, often veal, in which the meat is first blanched to prevent impurities from compromising the cooking liquid, notable for its elegance and refinement. A fricasse, by contrast, is a white stew in which the meat has been saut - ed without color to begin the preparation. Bleach: Keeping a mild bleach solution for occasional use is a good way to keep boards, countertops, and sponges sterile. Clorox recommends 3 tablespoons per gallon of water for a kitchen cleaning solution. Bleach is volatile, so make such a solution regularly in small quantities. Blender: A blender is one of the most important tools in the kitchen, used for making soups, sauces, and quick emulsified butter sauces, emulsifying vinaigrettes, and pureeing food for drinks. It can even be used in conjunction with a chinois in place of a vegetable juicer (vegetables can be pureed in a blender and the liquid passed through the sieve). (See also immersion blender.) Blind bake: Blind bake means to bake a pastry shell or pie crust before it's filled. When a pie shell or pâte bris - e is to be filled with a liquid mixture (a quiche, for example) or a mixture not to be cooked, the shell must be baked first. In order to prevent the bottom of the shell buckling up, some kind of weight is put into the shell to keep it flat as it cooks. Pie weights are made expressly for this purpose and are convenient, but a pound of dried beans on top of a piece of parchment paper or aluminum foil will work just as well. Blood: Blood can be either a detriment or an asset. In stock and stews, it's an impurity we take out, usually after it has coagulated and floated to the top early in the cooking. But toward the end of cooking, blood can be added to a sauce to thicken and enrich it (often in the case of game birds and game stews such as civet). And in certain sausages blood is the defining ingredient; its delicate, custard-like texture, and rich, deep flavor make an extraordinary sausage called boudin noir (black pudding). Bloom: 1) Bloom can mean to hydrate gelatin, which, whether powdered or in sheets, must absorb water before it can be melted and added to whatever it is you're thickening or gelling. 2) Sometimes chefs refer to putting spices or aromatics in oil so that they bloom, or release their flavor into the oil. 3) Bloom can refer to beneficial flora that can grow on some fruits and vegetables (grapes, cabbage). 4) Bloom can refer to the chalky white coating (separated cocoa butter) of improperly stored chocolate. Body: What we mean when we say that a liquid has body is that it has a degree of weight and texture on the palate. Body does not reflect flavor. Think of water as the zero mark -- water has zero body. If the liquid has almost the feel of water, it's doesn't have much body. If it feels more substantial, say a rich chicken stock, then we say it has body. Boil, boiling, boiling point: About the only foods that should be boiled are green vegetables, vegetables needing peeling, bones for white stock (see blanch), and pasta -- that is, items requiring the highest possible moist heat. In most other instances, and even sometimes in these instances, the high heat and vigorous agitation of boiling water cooks exteriors too fast, breaks things apart, and emulsifies impurities into the cooking liquid, effects that a cook should be aware of. This is why potatoes and dried beans should be cooked gently, why stocks are cooked at a mere tremble. The boiling point -- the temperature above which water cannot rise -- is another idea to be conscious of and to put to use, most notably in the form of a water bath, a bain-marie; vessels (including food wrapped in plastic) can be cooked in water to ensure steady gentle cooking. It should be noted, too, when even a small amount of water is in a pan, any food touching that water cannot be heated above the boiling point, 212°F; you can't sear or brown meat if there's water in your pan. Bone marrow: An underappreciated ingredient in the kitchen, bone marrow makes an extraordinary garnish to a sauce, or it can be cooked and spread on a toast point as a canap - ; it will flavor a savory custard or can be served roasted in the bone, seasoned with coarse salt, and served as an accompaniment to a beef dish. It should be soaked in salted water to remove residual blood, which will discolor and coagulate when it's cooked. Bone out: To bone out is chef-speak for "remove the bones from" or to describe meat that has had the bones removed (e.g., a boned-out leg of lamb). Bones: Bones are valuable because they are composed mainly of connective tissue that adds gelatin, and therefore body, to stocks, stews, soups, and braising liquids. Bones don't contribute good flavor, so they are almost always used in conjunction with flavorful ingredients such as meat and vegetables. Bones of animals bigger than chickens are often roasted or blanched before being used to make stock to coagulate the surface protein and reduce the amount of impurities released into the liquid, and, in the case of roasting, to add flavor. Botulism: Botulism is a serious kind of food poisoning caused by the toxin released by the bacterium Clostridium botulinum, which only grows in an oxygen-free, warm, low-acid environment, such as in a can, food held in oil in jars, such as garlic, and dry-cured or smoked sausages. It is prevented in canning by rigorous sterilization and in food by sodium nitrite. The three important parts of the botulism equation are these: botulism spores, abundant in soil, are not toxic, nor are they easy to kill; given a room temperature oxygen-free environment -- canned beans, a hanging sausage -- the spores can produce the bacteria, which aren't dangerous in themselves. But give the bacteria the conditions and time to multiply, and they will produce the deadly toxin, which is immobilized only at high temperatures. (See also bacteria.) Boudin, blanc and noir [boo-DEHN blahnk, nwoir]: Boudin blanc and boudin noir are special kinds of sausages with a delicate texture -- pudding-like, thus the name boudin. Boudin blanc is typically made with pork and an abundance of egg and cream and seasoned with quatre - pices, and is distinct from Cajun boudin blanc, which is seasoned differently and often contains rice. The primary ingredient for boudin noir is pig's blood, which solidifies and binds interior garnish such as onion, apple, and diced, blanched fatback. Bouillon: Bouillon is the French term for broth. Bouquet garni [boo-KAY gar-NEE]: A bouquet garni is a bundle of aromatics bound together with butcher's string so that it can be easily removed from the food, like a sachet d' - pices, after it's flavored the food. It customarily includes parsley, thyme, bay leaf, leeks, celery, or other aromatics. Brains: See offal. Braise, braising: To braise means to sear meat in hot fat, then submerge it in liquid and cook it slowly and gently. The method is used for tough cuts of meat, shoulders and shanks, muscles with a lot of connective tissue that must slowly be dissolved into gelatin before the meat will be tender. It's sometimes called a combination cooking method, using dry heat (that is, very hot fat) followed by moist heat (lower than boiling temperatures). Compare with stew, which does not necessarily imply searing, and usually refers to the cooking of smaller pieces of meat. The key factors of excellence in braising are these: Meat is seared for flavor, color, texture, and for clarity of the cooking liquid. Raw meat cooked in liquid will release blood and proteins as a kind of gray scum. Meat can either be blanched (as in a blanquette) or seared; both methods diminish the amount of impurities that wind up in the finished stew. Meat is first seasoned with salt and pepper, floured, then seared in a pan large enough to give the meat room and also retain enough heat to brown the meat. Using too small a pan will crowd the meat, thereby trapping moisture, and cool the pan so that the meat steams rather than browns. The second step is to combine the meat, stock, and aromats, bring the liquid to a gentle simmer on the stovetop, then cover, loosely, with a lid or with parchment paper (which allows some reduction of the stock, and keeps the liquid from boiling vigorously; a covered pot in the oven will be about 20 degrees hotter than an uncovered one; see McGee), and put it in an oven no higher than 300°F. The liquid should not boil -- the ideal temperature in fact is about 180°F. The meat should be cooked until it is fork tender (braises are overcooked when the liquid has leached all the meat's flavor and the meat has become dry and stringy), then allowed to cool while still submerged in the liquid. Last, the fat should be removed from the braising liquid either by skimming it off immediately or by chilling the braise and allowing the fat to congeal, which makes it easier to remove. Braises should be gently reheated and always served very hot. (See also stew.) Brandade: See salt cod. Brandy: Brandy is a spirit distilled from wine; the best tend to be from the Cognac and Armagnac regions in France. Brandy is a powerful flavoring device, not only for adding to custards and flaming over sweet crepes, but also in savory preparations, such as for a country pât - . As with any alcohol used in cooking, quality matters. Use in your food only alcohol that is excellent to drink on its own. Bread: The quality of bread is expressed through its aroma, color, density, crust, crumb, and flavor. Pay attention to these attributes when buying bread. Breads can be categorized in terms of lean doughs (doughs that don't use fats) and doughs that use a variety of additional ingredients that may include eggs and fat, which tend to make the dough softer, and sweeteners and flavorings. Breads are also distinguished by the type of flour used -- whether it's refined, or whole wheat, or rye, the latter two making a denser, more nutritious bread. We tend to think of bread on its own, eaten as is or as an independent part of a dish, for a sandwich, for croutons, or even saturated with a custard and baked to make bread pudding. But remember that bread, often in the form of crumbs, is a versatile ingredient, beyond coating items for frying, one that thickens or gives texture to sauces and soups, eggs, and salads. For this you should use fresh crumbs you make yourself. To make your own crumbs, avoid flavored breads and breads using fats or eggs. Use lean breads such as a country loaf with a high ratio of crumb to crust. The best bread for crumbs is day-old bread. Remove the crust and process in a food processor, spread the crumbs on a sheet pan, and toast them gently in the oven until golden brown (avoid the common problem of burning them by keeping your oven at 225°F or lower, below Maillard browning temperatures). Bread flour: See flour. Breading, standard procedure: The procedure for breading food that is to be fried is common: flour the item so that it is completely dry, dip it in egg, which clings to the flour, then dip it in bread crumbs, which stick to the egg. While the order and logic of standard breading procedure rarely varies, the details can vary greatly. The flour can be all-purpose, whole wheat, almond, or a pure starch such as cornstarch. The egg can be lightened with water or seasoned. The bread crumbs too can be seasoned; they can be soft bread crumbs or hard bread crumbs (see panko), or they can be substituted with another cereal or a ground nut. Given standard procedure, breading is open to the imagination. Break, broken: When ingredients that do not readily join have been combined into a homogenous mixture, we call this an emulsion, and when the various ingredients separate from each other, we call this emulsion broken. Butter is an emulsion, and if you get it hot in a pan, it will break, the clear fat separating from the water and milk solids that were once held homogenously. Preparations that commonly break are emulsified sauces, a hollandaise, or a mayonnaise, fat emulsified into a small amount of water and egg yolk -- when, in a once creamy luxurious sauce, the fat breaks out of the water and recombines with itself into a soup of fat. The reasons for such a sauce's breaking is typically that too much fat is added; too much heat will also break an emulsified butter sauce; an improperly mixed sauce will be unstable and may break. Broken sauces can be fixed by beginning the emulsion anew, starting with new yolks and adding the broken sauce as you would the fat; the emulsification should return. (See McGee for a thorough description of the structure of an emulsion.) Meat mixtures such as sausages and pât - s in which the fat is distributed uniformly throughout are considered to be emulsions, and this too can be broken when it is cooked -- the fat separating from the rest of the mixture. The cause for this is commonly that the meat and fat got too hot before they were mixed together or during mixing. A broken forcemeat such as this, however, cannot be fixed after it's been cooked. Break down: To break something down is butchering vernacular for reducing larger cuts or whole animals to individual cuts. Brigade [bri-GOD]: The brigade system, described by the French chef Auguste Escoffier, organizes the professional kitchen in terms of duties; each chef is assigned to a particular task -- one to the preparation and cooking of fish (poissonier), another to sauces (saucier), general preparations (commis), et cetera -- to make the work more efficient. Copyright (c) 2007 by Michael Ruhlman Excerpted from The Elements of Cooking: Translating the Chef's Craft for Every Kitchen by Michael Ruhlman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.