When someone first told me to "sweat" my eggplant, I looked at them like they had three heads. But their tip was a culinary game-changer, as I had thought for years that restaurants must have an exclusive secret way of preparing eggplant that I could just never master. And as it turns out, they did ... but it wasn't a secret.
Before refrigeration, fat was fickle. It spoiled quickly, turned rancid, and needed a buffer against time. Salt was a cheap, bountiful preservative, and so salted butter was the default. If you were a farmer storing the summer's bounty of creamy grass-fed butter, a merchant shipping barrels, or just a household trying to stretch food through lean seasons, salt was non-negotiable because it turned perishable fat into something that could be kept.
Tendrils of steam curl out of the bread basket, spreading a warm, yeasty scent as my server unfurls the linen cover to reveal a plump kind of sourdough with a golden-brown crust.
Hugh finds circles satisfying in design, an opinion I initially questioned until I experienced the visual pleasure of an ice-cream sandwich's rounded shapes.
Wet aging involves vacuum-sealing meat, which keeps it moist and tender by breaking down connective tissues. This results in a juicy final product, making it efficient for restaurant operations.
On the Portuguese island of Madeira, espetadas are made by threading chunks of beef onto fresh-cut branches of bay and cooking the skewers over the embers of a fire, infusing the meat with unique menthol notes.