Mission: Cook! (16 page)

On a lightly floured surface, roll out the puff pastry into two rectangles, approximately 16 by 14 inches (depending on the size of the filet).

Place one pastry rectangle on a greased cookie sheet. Place the filet on the pastry, and top with the mushroom mixture. Brush the pastry with a little water, and then cover the filet on top with the other piece of pastry, completely enclosing the filet. Press the edges of both pieces of pastry together, making sure they seal, and trim off any excess.

In a small cup, beat the egg yolks together with a little salt, and brush the finished filet liberally. Repeat this a couple of times more, allowing to dry between coats.

Bake the Wellington for a further 10 minutes at 425 degrees, then reduce the heat to 375 degrees and bake for a further 20 minutes, or until it is golden brown and done to your liking.

Transfer from the oven and let the Wellington rest for at least 10 minutes (so all the flavor returns to the meat).

Whilst the meat is resting, you can make the Bordelaise sauce. The following is a variation on my basic recipe, which I favor for this dish.

Melt
the butter in a saucepan, and sauté the onion until tender. Add the flour and cook until the flour has browned slightly, 3 to 4 minutes.

Slowly stir in the beef bouillon or consommé a little at a time, stirring continuously. Once all the bouillon is in, add the red wine and simmer over a low heat to allow the flour to cook out (10 to 15 minutes).

Just before you are about to serve, add the thyme and parsley, and adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper.

PRESENTATION

Whether you decided to cook individual Wellingtons or a whole one, the presentation is amazing. You can serve the whole one on a platter with baby carrots and Brussels sprouts, or simply place the individual Wellingtons on plates and garnish with the vegetable of your choice. Enjoy!

O
N THE ROYAL YACHT ESPECIALLY, THERE WERE STRICT GUIDELINES FOR
behavior, and many of them were based on the principle that you were to be seen and not heard, or heard and not seen. Eye contact with the Royals in passing was not encouraged. You learned a different rhythm and a different level of expectations based on which members of the Royal Family might be on board at any given time. In living around them for extended periods of time, I found that their example was both instructive and fascinating, because for all of the pomp and circumstance that surrounds them, the honoraria and privilege, they are born to a life of service. Distance was established and strictly kept to, but outside of this discipline there were still allowances made for warmth and spontaneity, and it was possible to be reminded that they were just people from time to time.

It is customary to make a Christmas pudding for whomever is in residence on the ship at Yuletide, and it is their concomitant duty to christen the pudding before the meal. On one such occasion the Prince and Princess of Wales were in residence and they joined us in the galley for the ceremony. We all gathered around the copper. Prince Charles held a galvanized bucket with an egg, and Princess Diana held one that contained spirits. He dumped in his egg (not unlike throwing out the first pitch in a baseball game), which slid into the copper but then took off like a ski jumper straight onto Diana's tangerine dress. No damage was done—we cleaned it up in a second—and she teased him about it playfully. He repeated his charge, successfully this time, and she added her spirits. We poured in the rest of the mixture, and they took turns stirring the thick, glistening pudding. As the pudding came together and began to stiffen, Diana poked it and innocently remarked, “Oh, it's getting hard.” I didn't have the courage to look him in the eye, but I would be willing to bet that even the Prince of Wales had a tough time keeping a straight face after that one. After more stirring, a couple of swigs of punch, and a bit of general merriment, the princess soon discovered that somehow the backing to her earring had fallen off—and into the pudding. My team and I, experienced food divers all, donned plastic gloves and soon recovered it. She accepted it back, rinsed and washed, most gratefully. A short while and a couple of “Happy Christmases!” later, they were gone, and we'd shared their company not so much as a couple of the crowned heads of Europe, but as a lovely English couple who'd slipped back in the kitchen to visit with the cooks and grab a cup of cheer.

Years later, I had left the Navy and was working as an executive chef in Jamaica. In the interim, Diana had left the Royal Family as well, and we were all
anticipating her arrival on the island for an affair for the opening of a battered women's shelter, one of the many charitable interests to which she lent her name and time. It was in August of 1997, and of course, she never arrived. Let me tell you, that was a sad day.

Flavor is an endless subject, and in my philosophy, it is at the very heart of cooking and eating. As a chef, my goal is to strive to keep the flavors of the food I make bold and distinctive, and to combine them in ways that are both exciting and surprising. My job is to make flavors jump off the plate. If I do my job right, you will be talking about the food during dinner, on the way home, the next day at the office, and at Christmas, telling your grandchildren about it and and possibly even remembering it on your deathbed. I take it very seriously.

Flavor is one of the great equalizers in human experience. There is no special dispensation given to the manner in which a king or queen may enjoy their dinner over the pleasure experienced by the simplest of their subjects. They may have access to more expensive ingredients and more proficient preparers, but true enjoyment is in the taste buds of the beholder. The basic preparations have been executed a trillion times over in the history of the planet, but every time a meal is cooked, there is a chance for something new to occur. The immediate ingredients in your kitchen can always be freshly caught or picked and have never been cooked or eaten before. Consider the obsession winemakers need to cultivate over the climate's effect on the grapes used for their wine. No two harvests are the same—ever. The art of flavor lies in understanding and mastering the techniques that can enhance or augment the flavors of the food you are preparing, and perhaps more important, knowing when to keep it simple and get out of the way. You might take a rich and flavorful ingredient like goose liver, combine it and manipulate it in dozens of very technical ways to create a marvelous pâté; yet when faced with a beautifully marbled centercut prime filet of beef, two words may suffice: salt and pepper. Combine with heat and serve. Both can be excellent choices made by a master of flavor.

Humans are true culinary adventurers. Why do we seem to have an inbred desire for variety when it comes to the foods we eat? I'm sure there's an evolutionary advantage. We are omnivores, which means we can eat both meats and vegetables, and the more different kinds of foods that we can safely and healthily ingest and digest, the wider the universe of foods that are available for our survival. That's the scientific answer.

We are not just engines powered by evolutionary forces. We are the thinking animal, we have imagination and creativity, the ability to attain civiliza
tion and spirituality, and we have a craving for mental excitement. We are explorers and organizers, and that is why our culture of food is so rich and diverse. Cooks and chefs have literally spent centuries trying to figure out how to best serve the human need to eat and to eat well.

Everyone knows that no matter how delicious something tastes, even chocolate chip cookie dough straight out of the package, it's not long before you have had too much of a good thing. A constant diet of even the most succulent tastes becomes quickly dreary. In eighteenth-century England, compassionate legislators in Parliament actually had to pass a law forbidding the serving of lobster to prisoners more than three days a week.

What is flavor? What tastes good? If you ask a dozen people, I am sure you will get more than a dozen different answers in return.

I have always been instinctively inquisitive about flavor profiles, how different foods can be combined to change and enhance their flavors, to become more together than the sum of their parts. I can remember one of my earliest experiences in cooking for a lot of people, at a YMCA camp in the summer of my twelfth year. The kind lady who was doing the cooking for the campers allowed me to join her behind the camp stoves, steam tables, and boiling coppers to help prepare breakfasts and lunches. Oven-roasted tomatoes were on the menu, which I regarded as being tasty but a bit boring. I decided, on my own recognizance, to dress each with a drizzle of HP (House of Parliament) steak sauce and a tiny mound of bread crumbs. Done in the oven, it formed a nice, crumbly, but crispy sort of a crust with a savory sweet bite from the steak sauce to combine with the tartness of the tomato. It must have been a success, because my creation was added to the breakfast and lunch menus for the remainder of the week, by popular demand of the campers. I now have many more creative and startling combinations to my credit, but from an early age I realized that chefs are constantly looking for ways to push the edge of the envelope.

Ever since that early experiment with broiled tomatoes, my mind is always searching for a new way to enjoy them. I love to experiment with roasting tomatoes because the combination of sweetness and tang are so unique. Here is a pairing of which I am particularly proud.

PREPARATION AND COOKING TIME (ESTIMATES)

Preheat
the oven to 200 degrees (a low temperature because you will be slowroasting).

Prepare the vinaigrette by combining the vinegar, garlic, and mustard in a bowl and mixing well. Pour in the oil in a slow stream whilst whisking constantly. Add the parsley, salt and pepper to taste, and lime juice.

Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil. Slice the tomatoes in half lengthwise and remove the stem end and core. Scoop out and discard the seeds, leaving as much pulp as possible. Place the tomatoes, cut side up, on the baking sheet. Combine the garlic and oil, and spoon over the tomatoes, then season with salt and pepper. Slow-roast for 6 to 8 hours. Remove from the oven to let cool. Cut the tomatoes in 1-inch pieces or halves.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Toss the asparagus with the oil, salt, and pepper. Place in a preheated 350-degree oven for 6 to 8 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool. Cut into 2-inch pieces.

Cut the hearts of palm on an angle ½ inch wide.

Combine all the vegetables in a large mixing bowl and coat with the vinaigrette.

PRESENTATION

Transfer to your favorite serving bowl and serve family style.

T
HERE ARE ONLY A FEW ESSENTIAL FLAVORS BUT, LIKE THE LETTERS IN
the alphabet or musical notes, they can produce an infinitude of combinations to excite the palate.

“Sweet” encompasses carbohydrates like bread, potatoes, and rice; milk, cream, and butter; meat and fish, and, obviously, sugar. We have gone a bit over the top with it in recent years. Start scanning your food labels for fructose and corn sugars and you will see what I mean. But in real cooking, you must have an awareness of the sweet taste, when to add or subtract it, from where you can coax it and enhance it, whether you wish to feature it, sublimate it, or effectively conceal it in the background. Caramelization of meats and vegetables is one of the most fundamental operations you can perform to add flavor.