Banana Cream Pie

I’m really into sports. Just ask me who I think is going to make this summer’s Olympic women’s gymnastics team. I dare you! I could go on and on forever! But this blog isn’t called bon appé-one-and-a-half-twist-into-a-double-Arabian, now is it?

So, let’s switch gears to a different competition: Food 52’s Piglet Tournament of Cookbooks. For those of you unfamiliar, Food 52 took sixteen of the most notable cookbooks of 2011 and placed them in a classic tournament-style bracket with top food writers and chefs as judges. As you might have guessed, I was rooting for Tender. (Remember my Tender Trifecta?) And for the first two rounds, the fat, novel-length cookbook was holding his own. The judges found Tender to be approachable, non-gadget-oriented, and just plain lovely. (I don’t think either of them actually said lovely, but they probably meant to.)

Then, in the semi-finals, Tender goes up against another one-word titled cookbook: Milk. But don’t freak out, the good money is on Tender. Tender is all about old school, honest food that’s not afraid of using garden vegetables straight from your backyard vegetable patch. Milk is the total opposite. It’s irreverent, flashy, impractical food that’s not afraid of equipment like acetate. To put it in sports terms we can all understand, Tender is like Kate Moseley and Doug Dorsey’s routine with the classical music and without the pamchenko. Milk is the pamchenko.

So, you can understand the shock when acclaimed food writer, Kim Severson, came down on Milk's side. Naturally, I took the loss hard (and if you read the comments, so did a lot of other people!). I hadn’t explored Milk previously, and after this, I couldn’t even look at it—every time I browsed the cookbook section, I completely ignored it. This went on for weeks. And then, one day, I don’t know what happened, but I found myself looking at it. Soon enough, I was opening it, flipping through the pages. And then, all of a sudden, I was thinking: this looks fun! I want to have fun! I want to make these recipes!

Let me show you what I’m talking about, and then you try and tell me that this doesn’t look fun, OK?

Initially, I really wanted to make one of the cakes, but they called for a few pieces of equipment that I didn’t want to buy. The pies seemed more doable. And the banana cream pie sounded delicious. I loved the corresponding photo, too. Before I knew it, I was mentally committed to making it.

Only after this mental commitment did I read through the instructions. Oh, you have to wait for the bananas to get super ripe? Oh, in order to make the crust, you have to make the chocolate crumbs? Oh, you need to bloom gelatin? For how to bloom gelatin, go to page 29. Wait, what’s going on here? I just wanted to eat a cream pie that had some bananas in it and sat on top of a chocolatey crust. I didn’t realize I was applying for a mortgage.

But, in the interest of trying not to create any undue stress, I decided to give myself a whole week to make this. I bought bananas and waited for them to ripen to a glorious brown color, which (bonus?) produced a few fruit flies by the time things were all said and done. While I waited, I made the chocolate crumbs. I put them in an airtight container, and then a few days later, I made the crust. I wrapped that up in plastic wrap and a few days later, when my bananas were grandma ripe, I made the banana cream.

Then, one early morning, I tapped Matt on the shoulder while he lay asleep and asked him if he could please take the our version photo while I poured the cream into the piecrust. “We’re having the pie?” he said.

“Tonight,” I whispered as creepily as possible. “Tonight, we’ll have pie.”

And after dinner, that’s exactly what we did. And it was fantastic. Not, I-deserved-to-beat-Tender fantastic and not I-will-definitely-make-this-again fantastic, but it was really, really good.

Banana Cream Pie via Momofuku Milk Bar by Christina Tosi

Chocolate Crumb

2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon cornstarch
1/2 cup sugar
2/3 cup good-quality cocoa powder
1 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

Heat the oven to 300 degrees.
Combine the flour, cornstarch, sugar, cocoa, and salt in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Mix on low until mixed. Add the butter and mix on low until the mixture starts to come together in small clusters.
Spread the crumbs on a parchment or silicone mat-lined sheet pan. Bake for 20 minutes. Let the crumbs cool completely before using or eating. [This latter part about not eating it until it cooled made me curious. So curious that I ate a few crumbs before they had completely cooled. AND they were delicious. Go figure?]

Chocolate Crust (makes 1 10-inch pie crust)
3/4 of the chocolate crumb recipe above
2 teaspoons sugar
1/8 teaspoon salt
1 to 2 tablespoons of melted butter

Break up the chocolate crumbs into a bowl. Add sugar and 1 tablespoon of the melted butter to start. With your hands, knead until it is moist enough to form a ball. If it isn't moist enough, add another tablespoon of melted butter. Press the crust firmly into the pie plate, making sure the bottom and sides are evenly covered.

Banana Cream
2 very ripe bananas. [We are talking about black/brown bananas here. Tosi says this makes all the difference in the world.]
1/3 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup whole milk

1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon salt
3 egg yolks

2 gelatin sheets (or 1 teaspoon powdered gelatin)

3 tablespoons butter
1/2 teaspoon yellow food coloring

3/4 cup heavy cream
1 cup powdered sugar

1 just-ripe (yellow) banana, sliced

Combine the ripe bananas, 1/3 cup heavy cream, and 1/4 cup milk in a blender & puree until totally smooth. Add the next section of ingredients--the sugar, cornstarch, salt, & egg yolks and blend. Pour into a medium saucepan. Clean out the blender.

Bloom the gelatin. (To bloom sheet gelatin, soak it in a small bowl of cold water for 2 minutes. Gently squeeze to remove any excess water before using. To bloom powdered gelatin, sprinkle it evenly onto the surface of 2 tablespoons of cold water in a small dish or cup. Allow to soften for 3-5 minutes.)

Whisk the contents of the pan and heat over medium-low heat. As the banana mixture heats up, it will thicken. Bring to a boil and then continue to whisk vigorously for 2 minutes to fully cook out the starch. The mixture will resemble thick glue, bordering on cement, with a color to match. [I really like Tosi's description here. It was so helpful as this is exactly what happens. She left out one thing, though. At this point, you will definitely have broken a sweat.]

Dump the contents of the pan into the blender. Add the bloomed gelatin and butter and blend until smooth and even. Color the mixture with yellow food coloring until it is bright yellow. Tosi realizes that this is a lot of coloring, but says, "banana creams don't get that brilliant yellow color on their own. Womp," which I think is a good enough argument for food coloring as any.

Transfer the mixture to a heatsafe container & chill in refrigerator for 30-60 minutes or until completely cooled.

Using a whisk or a mixer with a whisk attachment, whip the cream and powdered sugar to medium-soft peaks. Add the cold banana mixture to the whipped cream and slowly whisk until evenly colored and homogenous. (Stored in the refrigerator in an airtight container, this will stay fresh for up to 5 days.)

Assembly!
Pour half the banana cream into the chocolate pie shell. Cover with a layer of sliced banana and then cover that with the remaining filling.

Note: I'm not sure if my gelatin never really bloomed or what, but this pie was basically a pudding, as in you couldn't exactly cut a slice of it as much as you could spoon some of it onto a plate. If I ever made it again, I might skip the whole pie-crust process and simply serve the banana cream in a ramekin with a healthy dusting of the chocolate crumb on top.

Momofuku's Shrimp and Grits

This attempt involved improvisation, persistence, discipline and endurance. Welcome to the culinary athletic super zone!

Momofuku's version (the picture takes up two pages):

Our version:

It all began when my coworker, Janice (thank you, Janice!), let me borrow the Momofuku cookbook. (For those of you unfamiliar: Momofuku refers to the restaurant trio of Momofuku Noodle Bar, Momofuku Ko and Momofuku Ssäm Bar in NYC.) I'd read a few reviews that warned if you keep kosher or are a vegetarian than this book probably isn't for you. Personally though, I think that this book is for anyone who loves food and a major challenge. (This shrimp and grits recipe is definitely one of the most accessible.)

Plus, I found chef/owner David Chang to be rather inspiring in the semi-archetypal insane artist kind of way. At moments, he also vaguely reminded me of bon appétempt's first culinary hero--Kenny Shopsin.

So what about the actual attempt and my becoming this strange chef-thlete in the aforementioned super zone? Well, I think it's because for the first time in bon appétempt history, I took some more-than minor liberties with the recipe.

1. It called for the grits to be cooked in homemade dashi broth, which didn't seem that hard to make, but it did involve finding konbu, which meant heading to our fave westside Japanese market, which despite trying to do on a few different occasions, we just couldn't fit into our schedules this week. But already committed to the shrimp and grits, we decided to use chicken broth instead.

2. We couldn't find usukuchi (a light, golden-colored soy sauce) and had to substitute regular soy sauce. And so, with two ingredierts substituted, it felt like we suddenly had license to wing it.

Ironically, I think it's this freedom that really saved us from a total fail in the end. The recipe instructed cooking 2 cups of grits with 2 cups of dashi and 2 cups of water, BUT the back of the box of grits instructed us to use 8 cups of liquid to 2 cups of grits. We followed Momofuku's directions anyway (trusting that Mr. David Chang knew something we didn't) but the grits weren't just way too thick and grainy, they were un-stirrable. It was like trying to stir oatmeal that had been left at room temperature for a few months. So, we ended up unscientifically adding water and stock until it arrived at a more agreeable consistency. (Very chef-like, right?)

I really loved how specific the instructions in this recipe were. I made the mistake of returning this book a little too soon--if I had it in my hands right now, I would quote exactly how detailed the recipe tells you to cook the shrimp. However, I did manage to write down one quote from David Chang, which I believe basically sums up why it is as specific as it is.

"I know the difference between Momofuku and McDonald's: caring. Caring about every detail... What is the point of cooking at all if you're not gonna do it right?" Then, he goes on to write about flipping out on his staff, accusing them of not caring enough. And well, can't you relate a bit? I mean, can't we apply this to everything we really care about in life and that frustration when others--others who are supposed to care as equally and passionately--don't? p.s. please forgive me for the lack of homemade dashi and usukuchi, Chef Chang. I truly did care about getting everything else right. I swear. Like the shrimp for example.

I'll tell you what I remember from the directions: after cooking the bacon, it says to sort of wipe the pan clean. Put it back on the burner set to high. Then, take a small batch of the raw shrimp, which have been tossed in a bowl of grapeseed oil and salt, place them on the hot pan and with a metal spatula (uh, sorry again--we only had plastic.), press down on the small batch for 40 seconds or until 40 percent of the translucent grey color has turned pinkish white. When that happens, flip them and do it again for another 40 seconds.

I don't know if Chang is doing anything wildly unique here, but I just loved how exact he wanted those shrimp done. Plus, I loved how the grapeseed oil didn't splatter everywhere and left the cooked shrimp with a light char and a very clean, non-oily taste.

Truth be told, when you actually get into it, the recipe is not as challenging as it was intimidating. It's really just assembling several relatively simple components, one right after the other: grits, bacon, shrimp, poached eggs, and chopped scallions.

The dish also reiterates a lesson that I've been steadily learning: never underestimate the power of the  poached egg.

All in all, nothing could be better on a late Sunday morning. Though I wouldn't recommend entertaining with the dish unless you are comfortable with being in the kitchen almost the whole preparation time. There's just not much you can do ahead of time apart from soaking the grits overnight.

RECIPE:

Uh, remember? I returned the book too early. Sorry. You can buy it here.