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Laura · #1 08-27-2008, 03:38 PM

http://discovermagazine.com/2006/feb...tart:int=1&-C=

Quote:

The confounding of molecular gastronomy with a sort of hipster cuisine drives even a patient man like This a little crazy. Non, non, non: Molecular gastronomy isn't a cooking style, he insists. "We shouldn't confuse science with technology. Molecular gastronomy is only the science part. It asks: How does something work? What is the mechanism? The application of that knowledge is the cooking part, and that's technology. Cooking is a technique"—his voice softens—"combined with art." He adds, "Here in the lab, we do the science part—experiments."
He introduces a Spanish student whose doctoral thesis investigates the effect of heat on two vegetable pigments, chlorophyll and carotenoids. Other students, using chromatography and nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy, for instance, are studying complex mixtures like meat and vegetable stocks. "You will see, we will do some experiments too," This says. "They will be simple, don't worry." You really can try this at home.

Gagnaire emerges from backstage with the fruits of his labor.

Execution is everything. A molecular gastronome can boil down cooking to its scientific essentials, but when the plate hits the table, artistry always holds the upper fork.
We begin by tackling the "standard model," the 10-minute egg. Can it be improved upon? Well, says This, if your grandmother cooked eggs that way for you, and you adored her and her cooking, there'll be no persuading you of a better way. (As This is fond of saying, "The most important ingredient in cooking is love.") But if you're willing to learn a little egg-protein chemistry, you can calibrate your eggs with astonishing exactitude.

Recall that when an egg cooks, its proteins first unwind and then link to form a rigidifying mesh. But not all its proteins solidify at the same temperature. Ovotransferrin, the first of the egg-white proteins to uncoil, begins to set at around 61 degrees Celsius, or 142°F. Ovalbumin, the most abundant egg-white protein, coagulates at 184°F. Yolk proteins generally fall in between, with most starting to solidify when they approach 158°F. Thus, cooking an egg at 158°F or so should achieve both a firmed-up yolk and still-tender whites, since at that low temperature only some of the egg-white proteins will have coagulated.

"Cooking eggs is really a question of temperature, not time," says This. To make the point, he switches on a small oven, sets the thermostat at 65°C, or 149°F, takes four eggs straight from the box, and unceremoniously places them inside. "I use an oven in the lab; it's easier. But if the oven in your kitchen is not accurate, cook eggs in plenty of water, using a good thermometer." About an hour later—timing isn't critical, and the eggs can stay in the oven for hours or even overnight—he retrieves the first egg and carefully shells it. "The 65-degree egg!" he announces. The egg is unlike any I've eaten. The white is as delicately set and smooth as custard, and the yolk is still orange and soft. It's not hard to see why l'oeuf à soixante-cinq degrés is becoming the rage with chefs in France. (Salmonella can't survive more than a few minutes at 60°C, or 140°F, so a 65-degree egg cooked for an hour should be quite safe.)

Next, This turns up the oven thermostat to 67°C, or 153°F, and after waiting a while for the eggs inside to reach that temperature—again, he's casual about the timing—he retrieves a second one: "The 67-degree egg!" At this temperature the yolk has just started thickening up—some of its proteins have coagulated, but the majority have not. "Look, you can mold it," he says, scooping out the yolk and manipulating the pliable orangey-yellow ball like fresh Play-Doh. He tries to mold a heart, then settles for a cube.

"Try one," he says, taking a third egg from the oven for me to play with before turning up the heat to 158°F (70°C). The 70-degree egg, when it is finally done, has a moistly set yolk and a very tender white. "So you see, you can adjust the temperature depending on what you want," says This. If you prefer a firmer egg, cook it at 167°F or 176°F. Bear in mind, though, that the most copious of the egg-white proteins sets at 184°F—hence the rubbery results of the 212-degree bath.

So familiar is This with this process that he can tell at a glance the temperature at which an egg was cooked. During lunch at a local bistro, I notice a 65-degree-Celsius egg on the menu, served on a fricassée de girolles. As the plate is set down, This says: "That's not a 65-degree egg. It's a 64-degree egg." The yolk is soft, and the egg white, while completely opaque, is so delicately jelled and fragile that it breaks apart slightly when it is plated. "Eh, oui," the chef sighs; he is having des ennuis regulating the heat of his stove. Never mind that the presentation isn't completely perfect—the egg, mixing in with the earthy mushroom stew, is delicious.

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TVDinner · #2 08-28-2008, 05:38 PM

really....really smart people... playing with their food, lol

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