Kitchen Tip: Get Flaky with Fraisage

The key to getting a flaky pie crust without the addition of shortening or any chemical cheats is a french technique known as fraisage. It is used to blend the dough after all the ingredients have been cut together.  Traditionally, it is performed by using the heel of your hand to smear the dough little by little across a floured board.  Blending the dough together in this way that creates long alternating strands of butter and dough. As the crust bakes, any moisture turns to steam and expands to form pockets between the layers.

Using fraisage also makes a good crust for free-form tarts where leaking might be a concern.  Because you are creating alternating layers of butter and dough, you are less likely to get a clump of butter that will melt during baking and form a hole in your crust as it bakes.

fraisage by hand

Instead of using your hand, you can use a dough scraper, or transfer the dough to a bowl and use a rubber spatula against the sides of the bowl. The important things to be aware of are not to overwork the dough or let the butter get too warm and melt. Just work quickly and gather up the layers of dough into a disc (or two for a double pie crust) and wrap them in plastic. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before rolling.

fraisage with dough scraper

fraisage in bowl with spatula

dough after fraisage

Try it!  Use fraisage to make these recipes:
All Butter Pie Crust
Reveillon Tourtiere
Torta Salata (Vegetable Torte)

Starting From Scratch: Classic Chicken Stock

Especially in the winter, one of the things I like to keep on hand is Chicken Stock.  When made properly, it has a delicate flavor that is not only a great base for soups, but adds flavor to rice or risotto, and is delicious for poaching vegetables too.  By using quality ingredients, the chicken stock you make will be far superior than store bought, and won't contain tons of sodium.  If you buy whole chickens and butcher them yourself, you will get even more bang for your buck.

A common misconception is that you simply dump chicken scraps and vegetable scraps into a pot, fill it with water, and boil the hell out of it. The tendency is also to put in way too much water and too many vegetables. The result is usually a cloudy vegetable stock with little chicken flavor instead of a clear, flavorful chicken stock.

The key to flavorful chicken stock is in the proportion of chicken bones to vegetables, or aromatics. The aromatics should comprise only 15-20% of total weight of bones. That's a 5:1 ratio of bones to vegetables, maximum. The French use a combination of onions, carrots, and celery, known as mirepoix, sometimes with the addition of some leek whites. In Chinese and Asian cooking, the aromatics are often comprised of ginger, garlic, and scallions. Whatever you use, keep your aromatics simple. Don't use vegetables that will break down and cloud your stock, such as potatoes. Also stay away from aggressive flavors such as asparagus, cabbage, etc. and dark green vegetables that will leach out and discolor the stock.

Other keys to remember:

Use only enough water as needed. Use a tall stockpot to minimize evaporation, and add only enough water to cover the bones by about 1 to 2 inches. If the liquid gets low, you can replenish by adding a little hot water to just keep the bones covered. Never cover the stockpot.

Skim, skim, skim. As the stock simmers, the bones will release impurities and fat that rise to the top, which you must remove. As the fat comes in contact with the air, it will congeal slightly, making it easier to skim. Most of the crud will be released in the first hour and should be removed before you add your aromatics. Then a periodic check for fat and foam should suffice.

Let that baby simmer. Whatever you do, don't stir things up and don't let your stock boil. Both of these will cause it to be cloudy.

Ingredients, makes approximately 3 quarts:

3 lbs. chicken bones, rinsed in cold water

1 small yellow or white onion, approximately 5 oz.

1 medium carrot, approximately 4 oz.

1 stalk of celery, approximately 1 oz.

2-3 bay leaves

1 bunch of fresh thyme

1 Tbsp. whole black peppercorns

a few parsley stems, if available.

Procedure:

1. Place the chicken bones in a tall 8 quart stock pot. Cover with about 1 to 2 inches of cold water and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for one hour, periodically skimming any foam and fat that rises to the top.

Use just enough water to cover the bones

Foam and fat rising to the top

2. Meanwhile prepare the remaining ingredients. Peel and chop the onions and carrots into 1" - 1-1/2" chunks. Cut the celery the same size.

3. After the first hour, the bones will have released most of their impurities. At this point, add the rest of the ingredients and simmer for another 2-1/2 to 3 hours. Fat, and some remaining impurities will continue to rise to the top of the liquid, and should be skimmed from time to time. It is helpful to keep hot water on hand to replenish the liquid as needed to keep the bones submerged.

Stock after simmering for 1 hour is clearer and ready for aromatics

4. After 2-1/2 to 3 hours of simmering and skimming, the stock should be ready. You will notice that it has become quite clear, and you should be able to see the ingredients that have settled to the bottom through the liquid. Taste your stock. It should be flavorful, and taste of chicken, not vegetables.

5. Strain your stock through a fine mesh sieve or a colander lined with cheesecloth. Discard the vegetables. The bones can be saved and used a second time to make a Remouillage*.

Finished stock, cooling

6. If you are not using it right away, it is important that you cool your stock quickly so that you can get it into the refrigerator or freezer. I usually divide the stock into quart size containers and sit them in a baking dish or roasting pan filled with ice water. When they have cooled to room temperature, cover and label the containers and refrigerate or freeze. If you will be freezing your stock, make sure to allow an inch of airspace in your container for expansion.

*Remouillage - This refers to both the process and the secondary stock obtained by simmering stock bones a second time, in order to extract the remaining gelatin.  The remouillage will not have the flavor of a primary stock, but can be used as a base for new stock, or reduced to concentrate the gelatin, and used to add body to soups or sauces.

Related Pages:

Butchering Chicken

Does Age Matter?

My prep list for the garde manger fall menu

I stumbled into a conversation at work recently between my chef and the pastry chef. They were speculating on how old Leon, one of our dishwashers is. The other dishwashers are basically kids - around 20 and 22 years old. But Leon's clearly got some mileage on him and the years have not been kind. He looks tired from the moment he arrives to work and the younger guys run circles around him. Chef and pastry chef both turned to me and asked, "How old do you think he is?" "Oh, he's got to be older," I said. "What would you say, like 45?" asked Chef. "Yeah, mid forties," I answered. Well, we got the scoop from our butcher, who told us he was 38. Both chefs and I were shocked. "He's our age?" said our pastry chef. "He's got to be lying," said Chef. Still our butcher assured us it was true.

So all of this got me wondering, how much does age actually matter in a restaurant kitchen?

Both the pastry chef and I are in our thirties, but routinely get mistaken for women who are, if I had to guess, 7 or 8 years younger. She started as a line cook twelve years ago, and in her case, found that especially early in her career, it was difficult to get people to take her seriously because they all thought she was a kid. In my previous career, letters of reference often included descriptions like, "Always a professional, she responds to the challenges of each project with a maturity beyond her years." I had to wonder, did they actually know how old I was? However, as a career changer, I believe that looking younger than my age has actually worked to my advantage, at least to get a foot in the door. My pastry chef agreed, saying, "Yes, in this industry, it's true especially for a man. No one is going to hire a 45 year old line cook."

When I considered becoming a cook, I certainly felt an urgency about it because of my age. If I was going to do it, it had to be before I turned 35. I wanted at least 10 years of solid restaurant experience before I could even call myself a chef. (see pastry chef's previous quote). Yet when I was in culinary school, there were a surprising number of students who were in their forties and fifties. One such student was in great shape and could keep up with the younger students, but many simply had trouble keeping pace. And cooking in school was like taking a nap compared to cooking in a real restaurant. So I had to wonder what these older cooks planned to do after culinary school. Most of them had dreams of opening their own restaurants. Restaurant owner? Sure, I could see that, but I doubt any of them would become chefs. From what I've seen, line cooks respect a chef who may have retired from the line but can still jump in and cook alongside them in a crunch. These are chefs who have already earned their salt by working many years on the line. They know how each station works, how to direct a line of cooks, and how to get the best out of each and every one of them. I doubt these autumn career changers were going to get that kind of experience. It's true, line cooking is a lot like being an athlete, a soldier, or even a ballerina. It requires many abilities way beyond and unrelated to cooking itself, and the cold hard truth is that many of these abilities simply weaken with age:

Sharpness and alertness of all Five Senses.
Line cooking is the only job I can think of in which all five senses must be fully engaged at all times. The first and most important one is obvious: Taste. You must taste your food before you serve it. You need to know what it's supposed to taste like (um, delicious) and how to fix it on the fly. Does it need more seasoning? Or is it too salty? Is the sauce if flavorful enough, or it it over-reduced? Can I salvage a mistake or have to start over?

Hearing. It is loud in a restaurant kitchen during service. There is the constant rumbling of the commercial exhaust hood right over you, the clanging of pots and pans, the rush of water every time the dishwasher opens and closes. And in this small enclosed space, over all the noise, you must be able to hear the chef or expediter call out orders and fire tables. At one point this past summer, the garde manger station was running a mixed, a beet, and a fig salad. Say the words mixed, beet, and fig. Add to them a Spanish accent, mix them in with other orders and the kitchen din, and to the English speaking ear, they were nearly indecipherable.

Sight. If you are lucky enough to be working a station that actually gets a dupe, or ticket, you have to be able to read the orders and pick out the ones that come from your station. Oh, and all those modifiers, such as "SOS" (sauce on the side), "light on dressing," or "gluten allergy," are in really fine print. There's simply no time to be taking off and putting back on the reading glasses during service.

Smell. Sometimes you'll get a bad scallop, or open a bad oyster. If you can't smell it and it gets served, that's going to be one unhappy, or even worse, one sick customer.

Touch. Essential, especially if you are the meat slinger. The fact of the matter in every restaurant is that the grill guy is not standing there with a meat thermometer checking the temp on each filet mignon and hanger steak. Some use cake testers to probe the meat and can tell by the heat of the probe how done the meat is. But the real pros can tell by gently pressing the meat with their fingers. (Yes, our hands are on your food, if this skeeves you out, you probably shouldn't go out to eat at any restaurant).

A combination of senses can save a line cook from the irretrievable disaster of burned food. When it's busy, you can't always have an eye on the pans that you have working on the stove. Ideally, while you have your back turned, reaching around the low boys for your next order, your food should be quietly sizzling away. However, if one of your pans has gotten too hot, and something is at risk of burning, the first thing you'll notice is the sound. A loud hissing noise should signal you to quickly lift the pan and turn down the flame. If this first signal is missed, the second signal will the be the smell, which is often followed by the internal musing, "Hmm, is something burning? Oh shit!" At this point, the item may still be salvaged if you react quickly enough. However, if you don't hear it, and you don't smell it, by the time you see smoke, it's probably too late. This brings me to the next requirement of line cooking.

Quick reflexes, agilty, and a steady hand
In a restaurant kitchen, it's called line cooking because you are literally standing in a line of cooks flanked on one side by counters and refrigerators and on the other side by ovens and burners. The aisle in which you stand is narrow so that you can reach items on the stove and the counter at the same time, but it also means that whenever the oven or refrigerator doors open, you'd better be out of the way. In an ideal world, each cook on the line would have his/ her own oven. Well, this week, one of our two working ovens finally died, leaving all four cooks on the line working out of the hot appetizer oven. It happened that was the station I was working last night. "Open oven!" yelled the saute cook next to me as she opened the door and threw a pan of monkfish inside. I quickly stepped back, still stirring my pan of ragout so the cheese I just tossed in wouldn't clump up. Just as she was about to close the door and I was about to resume my position in front of the burner, the garde manger cook to the other side of me said, "Wait" and held the door open so she could pull the tart she had been warming. I could easily have stepped forward and had a face full of hot veal ragout and second degree burns on my knees. As I'm plating my dishes, cursing some oversized floppy pasta for splashing all over the rim of the bowl, or trying to stack saucy sticky barbeque ribs into a structually sound tower without making a mess, it is not uncommon for a dishwasher (usually our friend Leon) to insist on squeezing by behind me to restock the shelf over the stove with clean saute pans.

When it works, line cooking is actually a beautiful thing to watch. When my station is quiet, I take particular joy in watching our resident meat slinger at work. Manos de hombre, as he has been dubbed for his unusually large and meaty hands, works the grill, and only the grill. Yes, it's strangely fitting, and he's a real pro. Watching him is like watching a prima ballerina dancing a part she has done a thousand times before. Always calm and even smiling, he makes what I know to be a difficult job look practically effortless. Every one of his movements is clean, precise, and steady - whether slicing a perfectly cooked duck breast, arranging it on the plate, drizzling the sauce over it, or even wiping down his station after each plating. Utter perfection, especially when compared to the night that our former sous chef, who eventually got fired for cooking under the influence, crashed and burned covering the station on Manos de hombre's night off. But that's a story for another post...

Stamina, Resilience, and Mental Focus
Hungover after going out after last night's service? Coming down with a cold? Grab a hot pan without a towel? Or simply exhausted from working a double shift? Well, suck it up, because a line cook's shift is anywhere from 8-12 hours, and if your name is on the schedule you had better be there and pull your weight. The work is physically demanding. You are on your feet for every single one of those long hours, running up and down the stairs from the prep kitchen to the service kitchen, lifting 5-gallon containers of stock or heavy equipment, standing in front of a hot stove, or endlessly squatting down to get stuff out of low-boys and ovens. If you are tall like I am, it certainly takes a toll on your back and your knees. What about burns and cuts you ask? Well, while I was an intern, I saw a young fish cook at another restaurant grab hold of a hot pan-handle, burning himself very badly across the palm. He couldn't let go or the fish would have dropped on the floor. He managed to plate the fish, left the line just long enough to wrap his wound in masking tape then return to the line to finish his shift without once losing his focus. This is the reality of what is expected of a line cook. Leave early, or pull a no-show, and your fellow cooks are going to have something to say about it - probably using phrases such as pinche pendejo, burro, or hijo de la verga. And yes, even English speaking cooks have come to use the more colorful Spanish phrases.

So how much does age matter in the kitchen? How old is too old? Well, if working the line requires you to have your five senses intact, quick reflexes, precision of movement, and the physical and mental stamina to stay focused for 12 hours (or more if its a double shift), then yes, age matters in that these are typically abilities that become compromised with age. Still, everyone ages differently so I'd say that it's physical and mental age, not numerical age that matters. Regardless of how old you are, or how old you look, it all comes down to not letting your fellow line cooks down.

Comfort Food Pt. 2 : Christmas in New England

It's been said that when you live somewhere long enough, it becomes a part of you. Sure, maybe it's been four years since I returned to New York. Sure, maybe I live only five minutes from the suburb where I grew up. But after leaving New York at eighteen, I spent the better part of my adult life living in the little New England city of Providence, Rhode Island. After more than ten years there, it became a part of me, and it became more my home than New York was. So I was really excited to get some time off from work to spend Christmas there and have some real Rhode Island comfort food. Here are three of my favorites.

Tourtiere de Reveillon, or French Canadian Meat Pie

My boyfriend is a native of Rhode Island, and while we lived there, I spent many holidays with his family. This year, I received an email from his sister in Atlanta, requesting my recipe for Reveillon Tourtiere. It was going to be her first Christmas away from home, and Christmas Eve just wasn't going to be the same without it. The traditional meat pie originated with 17th century French Acadian settlers of eastern Canada, some of whom migrated to various parts of New England, including Rhode Island. On Christmas eve, or Reveillon, the family would attend midnight mass together, then return home to open their presents and feast on the fragrant and savory meat pie. When the neighborhood market that sold the family's favorite tourtiere closed a few years ago, my boyfriend and I embarked on a quest to re-create the pie of his childhood. There are a lot of recipes on the internet, and surely every French Canadian family has a meme with a closely guarded recipe of her own. Using the internet recipes as a starting point, we made variation after variation until we finally got the flavor and texture were just right. We ate a lot of meat pie that winter.

Hot Weiners

A Rhode Island obsession. Unlike hot dogs, these are natural casing sausages that come in a continuous link that have to be cut, resulting in the signature stubby ends. A true connoisseur orders them "all the way," or fully topped with greek-style meat chili, mustard, onions, and celery salt. I usually have two. My boyfriend usually downs four. Add a glass of coffee milk and a plate of french fries with salt and white vinegar for the complete Little Rhody experience. When we lived in Providence, my boyfriend and I were late night regulars at the original New York System on Smith Street, and when we visit Rhode Island we usually stop there before we leave. Still he would rave about the weiners he grew up with at Rod's Grille in Warren. Finally this trip, we happened to be in the neighborhood and stopped into Rod's Grille. Truth be told, though the New York System is more famous (thanks in part to "Providence" the T.V. show), the weiners at Rod's Grille were delicious, and did taste fresher.

Littlenecks and other fresh New England seafood

Much of the seafood we consume here in New York, particularly the shellfish, comes from New England waters. If you've ever had fresh off the dock seafood straight from it's source, it's difficult to stomach anything less. It's probably the seafood I miss most, and every time we visit Rhode Island, I take the opportunity to have some. In the summer it's beer and littlenecks on the halfshell at Topside's outdoor deck facing the bay, or chowder and clamcakes at Quitos. But in the winter, we go indoors to Jack's Family Restaurant. We usually start with littlenecks on the halfshell then share the seafood pasta with Jack's "special" sauce. Although the littleneck clam is named after Little Neck, NY where these clams were once abundant, the majority of these clams now come from Rhode Island shores. They don't get any fresher than this - pink, plump, and sweet, and not the slightest bit rubbery.

Reveillon Tourtiere (Spiced Meat Pie) 

Here is the recipe I developed for Reveillon Tourtiere. Whatever pie crust recipe you are comfortable with will work fine, but I'm partial to all-butter pie crust for two reasons. First, I prefer the flavor, and second, butter is something I always have around. I seen many recipes for pie crust that substitute shortening for some of the butter for added flakiness, and I know of one home cook who even adds just a touch of baking powder to give her pie crusts a little more lift. However, I urge you to try the butter crust using the fraisage technique to blend the dough. With a little practice, you should be able to get a flaky crust every time.

For the filling or forcemeat, I prefer to add the spices and adjust the seasoning as I am mashing the cooked meat and potatoes. Some recipes I've seen call for seasoning when the potatoes and water are added, but I found that simmering dulled the flavor of the spices and I ended up having to use more. Besides, as the pie bakes, the meat will have plenty of time to meld with the spices.

Ingredients, for a 9" pie:

all butter pie crust (for top and bottom):

1 lb. (approx.2-1/2 c.) flour
1 tsp. salt
1/2 lb. (2 sticks) butter, diced
6 Tbsp. ice water, plus more if needed
1 egg for egg wash

for the filling:

3 - 4 oz. salt pork, finely chopped
1/2 - 3/4 lb. ground pork
1/2 - 3/4 lb. ground beef
1 medium onion, grated
1 large potato, peeled and sliced
1 clove of garlic, minced
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. bells' seasoning, or savory
1/4 tsp. celery salt
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
1/8 tsp. cinnamon
1/2 c. water

Procedure:

For the pie crust:
1. Chill the pieces of butter in the freezer.

2. If you can, use a food processor to cut the butter and flour together. Sprinkle the butter cubes over the flour mixture and just pulse a few times until it starts to resemble to texture of wet sand, or until there are pieces of butter no bigger than a small pea. Sprinkle the ice water over the mixture and pulse a few times more. If you don't have a food processor, you can use a pastry cutter or your hands.

3. To blend the dough by fraisage, turn the dough out onto a floured surface and use the heel of your hand to smear the dough a little at a time against the board, adding more ice water a tablespoon at a time as needed. Work quickly, taking care not to let the heat of your hands melt the butter. If you have a plastic dough scraper you can use it instead of your palm and achieve similar results. Another method is to transfer the mixture to a bowl instead of turning it out on a board. Then use a rubber spatula to blend the dough by smearing it a little at a time against the side of the bowl.

4. Gather the layers of dough into two discs, wrap each disc and refrigerate at least 30 minutes before rolling.

5. Meanwhile make the filling.

For the filling:

1. In a large saute pan or wide saucepan, slowly render the salt pork on medium heat. Add the ground pork and ground beef and brown them.

2. Drain the excess fat. This is an important step because you are also draining the excess salt from the salt pork. It's good to reserve it for making gravy if you wish.
2. Add the potatoes, onion, garlic and water. Simmer until the potatoes are soft and most of the liquid has evaporated.

3. Add spices and mash the potatoes meat together. Adjusting the seasoning, adding salt if needed. Transfer the filling to a food processor, and pulse a few times to to get a finer grind on the meat. The size of the grind on commercially ground meat is coarser then tourtieres I've had. Unless you grind your own meat at home, you will need to process the mixture a bit to get the right texture. If you don't have a food processor, you can just mash all the ingredients together, but the texture will be more like meatloaf or hamburger.

5. Cool the filling at room temperature. Meanwhile, roll out the dough and line the pie pan. If it gets too warm, refrigerate the prepared crusts briefly before filling the pie.

6. Assemble the pie. The filling can be warm, but should not be so hot that it melts the pie crust. After assembling, brush the top with the egg wash, cut vents in the top, and bake at 375 degrees for 40-50 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown and the middle of the pie is hot. You may need to cover the edges of the pie with foil if they start to brown too fast.