. . . is a braised endive dish. Braised freakin' endive. Not a perfectly seared duck breast or some impossibly fresh hamachi. Not a well-aged steak with a slab of seared foie gras on top. We talkin' 'bout braised endive. Aside from a pinch of saffron, there was nary a luxury ingredient on the plate. Surprised? I know I was. I don't know why I even chose to make this dish from Eleven Madison Park in the first place, but I'm quite glad I did. The first bite of this dish absolutely floored me. The complexity of the flavors was simply outstanding. So many different notes being hit at the same time and all of them working in harmony. Braised endive. Go figure. I'll try to do this recipe justice in this post.
The core of this dish is the braised endive, which is halved, and then simmered gently in a saffron broth until tender. The saffron broth was made by sweating shallots, ginger and some chopped endive until tender, then deglazing with white wine, Pernod and vermouth. A couple pinches of saffron were added, and the liquid was reduced by half. Then a quart of water was added and the whole thing was simmered until only two cups of liquid remained. I can't say enough about this saffron broth and the wonderful flavor it imparted to the endive. I was initially worried because it calls for a great deal of ginger, but all the flavors were in balance. Also, using endive as base of the cooking liquid is pretty genius. After braising, the endive tasted like endive, only moreso.
I got the saffron from a friend who had just returned from the Istanbul Spice Market. Though the saffron was purchased in Turkey, it isn't Turkish, but Iranian. High quality stuff, every thread is a bright red and has an amazingly powerful aroma.
After braising, the endive is finished in two different ways. One-third of the endive is quickly seared on one side in some canola oil and sprinkled with sea salt. The other two-thirds of the endive is covered in a brioche dough, which was made by combining brioche bread crumbs with softened butter, hard-boiled egg yolk, gruyère cheese, chives, and minced ham. The brioche-crusted endive is then broiled in the oven until browned.
The dish had two sauces: mushroom and gruyère. The gruyère sauce is super straight-forward. Shredded gruyère cheese dusted in flour is added to a combination of reduced cream and white wine and emulsified with a hand blender until perfectly smooth. Wonderfully silky and rich.
The mushroom sauce. Words do not do it justice. It's so ridiculously good. The depth of flavor is just astounding. It's an umami bomb, loaded with rich, dark mushroomy goodness. It's worth making just by itself, served along some polenta perhaps. It's made by sweating shallots and button mushrooms in butter until soft. Tomato paste is added and briefly fried, then the pan is deglazed with sherry wine and reduced until near-dry. Then a quart of water, along with dried chanterelle mushrooms and thyme are added and simmered for 45 minutes. The solids are then strained out and the remaining liquid is reduced by half. The sauce is finished by adding xanthan gum to thicken, along with salt, sherry vinegar and olive oil for flavor. The end result is magic. I'm shocked that a flavor this rich could come out of a sauce whose main ingredient is button mushrooms.
The dish is then plated by placing a streak of gruyère sauce down the center of the plate, and setting the endive on top. Small cubes of several elements contained in the dish - egg yolk, ham, gruyère cheese - are then scattered around the endive. Wafer-thin slices of red pear, trimmed endive leaves, and sprigs of chervil are then placed among the endive. Lastly, the mushroom sauce is spooned onto the dish.
What else to say about this dish? I just love the little cubes that finish the dish. This isn't the only recipe in the Eleven Madison Park cookbook that does this, but it's use here is great. It adds a touch of whimsy to the plating and presentation, but more importantly it echoes the flavors found elsewhere in the dish, layering each flavor beautifully. The endive is braised in a stock made in part from more endive, then raw pieces of endive finish the dish. The ham and egg yolk are also found in the brioche crust. The raw gruyère pieces provide a sharp contrast to the smoothness of the gruyère sauce, intensifying the gruyère flavor. Each ingredient gets to shine in multiple ways.
The combination of flavors was also amazing. Gruyère, mushrooms and endive aren't a new combination, I think they're listed as "best pals" in The Flavor Bible. But they're done oh-so-well here, with some surprise flavors to accent. The ginger and saffron contained in the poaching liquid added such an interesting twist to the dish. Usually saffron tends to be the star of any dish it's in, but it's used in a supporting role here quite successfully. It's a delicate and powerful flavor all at the same time, so for it to be used as a secondary flavor was simply exceptional.
It was just a perfect dish. I'll say it again. It's the best thing I've eaten all year.
By the way, sorry for the extended absence. Outside forces conspired against blog productivity. Back on track now, and glad to be back. Hit up facebook for more photos.
1 A few modifications, due to availability. First, the original recipe did call for truffles, however, I chose to omit them. Second, I used chervil in place of salad burnet as a garnish. Lastly, I used dried chanterelle mushrooms instead of dried black trumpet mushrooms (which are actually closely related to chanterelles).
Yeah, the truffles certainly would increase the price of the dish, if included. The pear just balanced out the richness of the other elements. It almost acted as a palate cleanser between bites.
Posted by: Fork & Spoon | 2012.11.10 at 08:14 AM
Practice? Practice? It's practice. We talkin' bout practice?
Calling for truffles -and- saffron, this is not a cheap dish at all. I didn't see much mention of the pear -- just a bit of crunch + sweetness for balance then?
Posted by: Torontofoodies.wordpress.com | 2012.11.09 at 11:39 PM