Puree: Magnum's Pablum

You know when you're first getting to know a possible romantic interest, and you find yourself interpreting every single thing about them? If you've ever been on an Internet date, you know exactly what I'm talking about:

THEM: So what kind of restaurants do you like?

ME: I absolutely adore Momofuku. Killer pork ramen. And those pickles...

THEM: I don't eat pork. Well, I do, but only in Chinese Food. Oh, and I guess I eat bacon, but only when I get a BLT at diners or sometimes my brother in-law's house (he's Protestant) because I keep kosher. 100% kosher...in the home. Oh, except I always keep a bag of shrimp in the freezer, but I'd never eat a bivalve.

ME: So you don't eat oysters?

THEM: God no. They are filth. In fact I'd never touch anything even resembling an oyster.

ME: (to myself) Oh really? I think we're done here.

And then there are the pleasant surprises. Like JChef. I've never dated a chef before, and I can't think of a single person who has and would recommend it. Insanity is a chef pre-requisite; which is (let's admit it) both appealing and not. A chef gets burnt and bloody, spending most of his day managing a motley crew of close-to-the-edge cooks, slaving away in heat and carcinogens while you're 10 feet away, wearing a fantastic new cashmere set, determining which might make the best pre-school for Jacob. The chef has spent years learning how to cook so that he can make 50 omelettes in a 2 hour rush every Saturday and Sunday (the first part of his 16-hour workday), while likely not making enough of a profit to afford to eat in his own restaurant. For every patron who orders from the bottom of the wine list, and thoughtful enough to send a glass back to the kitchen, there is another who returns dessert because "my girlfriend doesn't like those black dots in her vanilla ice cream."

A chef has to care, deeply, about his product and making it excellent. He'll be up at night wondering if the crispiest fries are bought pre-blanched and frozen (yes), or are made from scrach (no). Should they be fried in beef fat, pork fat, or peanut oil, and should they should come with ketchup, chipotle mayo, or both. That's a whole lot of caring about the experience of a room full of people he'll never meet. There is no ovation at the end of the night. Sure, there's the possiblity that a lonely woman at the bar might pass you her phone number, or a cute waitress might get close to you in the walk-in.

If you weren't crazy before you got into this business, you will be.

So on date 1 with JChef (whose own fondness for oysters causes him to salivate just thinking of thick green moss growing on the side a dock), we found ourselves locking antlers over a certain chef we knew in common, who I'll refer to as Magnum. He was an old friend of mine and I was to be flirting, I mean working, with him later that week. JChef had cooked with him during a kitchen trail years ago. While we both respected and enjoyed the man's food, JChef understood realized there wasn't a walk-in in the world that could accomodate the three of us.

I received an email not long after the date, but prior to my Magnum rendez-vous, with the last line:

"Have a good time with Magnum tomorrow. Ten to one you'll be preparing some kind of savory custard at some point. He's into that kind of pablum, so bring a straw. J"

What could be more fun for an interpreter than having her woo-er make use of an unfamililiar term? I had stumbled onto unfamiliar, urban-legend territory: a chef with a brain. Advantage JChef.

pablum
n 1: a soft form of cereal for infants [syn: Pablum] 2: worthless or oversimplified ideas [syn: pap]

Oversimplified ideas? Yee-ouch. JChef created a Magnum puree with one well-chosen word. As predicted, the following day I played with savory custards, flavored with butternut squash and truffle. Customers love these items-- Magnum's reputation is built around them. There's something about having that soft eggy, creamy texture that makes people go mmmmmm.

Which got me to wonder what exactly turns people on about a savory custard, and how can home cooks achieve that same yumminess with a similar texture and flavor and less water-bath drama?

Simple: a puree. Why do people go nuts for light, buttery mashed potatoes? It's that same baby food texture, exponentially improved with butter, cream and salt. Potatoes are good, but what if you could achieve that same texture, with a richer flavor, ie. roasted sweet potato or sweet parsnip? Any of you familiar with the Atkins or South Beach lifestyle will know what I mean when you hear these two magic words: cauliflower puree.

Whether it's Magnum's Frenchy custard or a simple puree, it's a not-too-challenging delicious-yet-surprising component of a meal. I've served it and taught it, and am always asked for seconds. A far more interesting option than mashed potatoes, IMHO, with all the benefits. Play with the components; interpret it for yourself. It's a charming call-back to what we've all loved from the beginning: baby food.



White Sweet Potato Vidalia Puree
Developed by The Wooden Spoon
Serves 4 to 6

Try this with a variety or combination of root vegetables (parsnips, celeriac, rutabaga), liquids (milk, stock), fat (butter, creme fraiche, mascarpone, cream), and acids (lemon juice, sherry vinegar). Add in fresh herbs if you'd like. Interpret it for yourself.

3 large white sweet potatoes, scrubbed
1 small vidalia onion
Olive oil, salt and pepper
1 to 2 cups milk or stock
1 tablespoon cider vinegar, optional

1. Preheat oven to 425F. Peel potatoes and cut into 2-inch chunks (to allow faster roasting). Cut onion into 1-inch wedges. Place on a baking sheet and toss with a few tablespoons of olive oil and salt; roast until very soft, about 35 to 45 minutes. Reduce heat or cover with foil if necessary to prevent browning.

2. Place in mixture food processor and add 1 cup liquid; puree until smooth. Add more liquid, as desired, for a thinner puree. Add vinegar if desired to perk flavor.


P.S. Regarding last week's JChef account, I'd like to thank you for your heartfelt phone calls and notes of consolation. The lucky duck is back; he's ended his man-flake. After 4 days of silence, speaking to him was like uncorking a bottle of champagne that had been lashed to the back of a motorcycle for a 10 mile trip on cobblestones. The man spoke without breathing; on and on about misrepresentation in my blog; the special he ran that weekend (as I guessed, it included cabbage); his newsletter and would I give him my opinion; his cat's challenging eating habits, etc. etc. Without saying it, he told me just how bad he missed me.

We met for oysters, tipped Luis well, and kissed a lot. To hell with New York dating convention; I'm giving this a go.