Fermentation Nation - Recap

In his basement (or perhaps wine cellar), Alton contemplates cooking with alcohol-containing liquids. There are many such, ranging from beer and wine to stronger spirits. For this half-hour, he focuses on beer and wine, promising the stronger stuff for another show. In this show, Alton wants to learn whether beer and wine can do what their proponents claim. Can they intensify flavors, release aromas, and even tenderize meats? Or are those claims hokum, mere excuses for the cook to tenderize himself? If they pass the test, they'll be... Good Eats!

Before examining the roles beer and wine might play, Alton first examines the origins of these quaffs. He lugs a heavy barrel of murky liquid onto a shelf beside a similar barrel of deeply colored brew to its right. That is wine in the making, originating from grape juice. Grape juice contains sugars and a veritable pharmacy of other compounds: polyphenols, tannins, and anthocyanin, a class of flavinoids that contribute bluish pigmentation. In the other barrel is beer, which comes from a grain that is roasted and sprouted, a process called malting. This deconstructs some of the grain's starch into simple sugars in a thick stew called a mash. Both barrels contain sugars, which are the food of yeast. Beer comes chiefly from a grain, sprouted and roasted (a process called malting) which converts some starches to sugars. This becomes a thick stew called a mash. Sugar is the common compound; they feed yeast.

Yeast (demonstrated by a pair of puppets popping from the barrels) ferments sugar, producing alcohol and savory compounds like glutamic acid and succinic acid, as well as heavier alcohols (those with more carbon atoms enchained). Exposure to air forms acids, and these can recombine with alcohols to form esters, the flavor compounds found in fruits such as apples, pears, and berries. Yeast even make diacetyl compounds that can yield buttery flavors. But ultimately, the yeast... dies, poisoned by its own alcohol emissions.

Upstairs in his kitchen, Alton proposes a test to see what food would work well with wine (or beer). For wine, he asks the question, “Would this food taste good with black currant jam?” This preserve amplifies many of wine's coarser attributes, so foods tasty in combination with it might be tasty with wine. For beer the question is, “Would this food taste good with bread?” Bread, after all, is generally made from the same grains as beer.

Three covered plates offer choices for a wine pairing. One bears chocolate, which does have a few fruity friends, like raspberry. But these fruits tend to play against chocolate's bitterness rather than its sweetness or other complex flavors, making chocolate a poor choice, especially when heat is involved. Another plate contains potatoes, but Alton dismisses these as too bland; fruity flavors overwhelm them and they disappear – a bad partnership. That leaves the middle plate, on which Alton presents lamb shoulders. Here is a food with promise: lamb is a bit gamey and earthy, and these flavors contrast well with fruit flavors. And, lamb shoulders contain a good bit of connective tissue, meaning they take well to braising, the process of slow cooking in a liquid. A liquid like... wine!

Alton chooses his wine carefully. His first rule is that he never uses cooking wine. And his second rule is that he never uses cooking wine! It has too much salt, too much acid, and frankly doesn't belong in a kitchen! He tosses the bottle away.

White wine has a place in the kitchen (a sommelier hands Alton a bottle), but it can be tricky to handle, so Alton chooses to focus on red wines, narrowing his selection to a mere 50,000 choices or so. But heat changes everything, and fine quality red wines can sometimes produce nightmarish cooking flavors when heated. Alton recommends a blended red in the $10 - $20 range, selected from varietals like Mourvèdre, Grenache and Shiraz. Meritage (it rhymes with heritage) describes a high quality blend of grape varieties; many such wines are tasty and relatively inexpensive. Look for two terms: Meritage (a blend, often inexpensive) and Côtes du Rhône (literally: Banks of the Rhône River) a classic French variety often made from Grenache grapes that is also affordable. After several rejections, the disgusted sommelier returns with a bottle in a bag, which Alton accepts, commented that these varieties work in the pan, and are delicious for drinking, a bonus for the cook!

Alton has chosen his wine. Now he needs to get past the cork, and for that he has help from a superhero names Lever Man! Lever Man presents a wide array of choices to help Alton find his way past that cork, but Alton rejects the cape's various suggestions. The traditional sommelier's knife translates some of the leverage to sideways pressure, wasting effort. A dual rack-and-pinion design damages the cork, and an ear design (basically, the patented Rabbit tool) is both too expensive, and too difficult to use in Alton's view. Alton favors a simple device that allows the user to easily twist a thin screw into the cork, and that lifts the cork out as he continues to twist. It even has a small foil cutter built in! But it uses no levers, and that makes Lever Man bitter. Before he leaves, the hero promises Alton a reckoning, someday when Alton needs to change a tire, or swing a ball bat, or...

Alton's finally ready to cook. He starts by putting a 10” straight sided sauce pan over medium heat for five minutes. While the pan heats, he then rubs lamb shoulder chops with a little oil, searing them for a few minutes once the pan is ready. This process adds a layer of calorie free flavor and also damages the top cell structure, making the chops receptive to marinading. Alton cools his seared chops and then stashes them in a gallon zip top bag along with fresh rosemary and red wine. That goes into the chill chest for three hours; Alton squishes the bag every hour or so to ensure the liquid is well distributed over the meat.

Why three hours? Not to tenderize, although a persistent myth claims the acids in liquids like wine will tenderize meat. Alton produces two pieces of lamb marinaded for different periods. One spent three hours immersed, while the other swam for a full day. The piece that marinaded longer is slightly darker, but a few slices tells the tale: except for a thin layer near the top, the marinade simply doesn't penetrate the dense meat tissue. And in both pieces, the marinade has penetrated to the same depth. Marinade will not go deeper unless the meat spends enough time in the liquid to begin decomposing.

And why marinade at all? One reason is that polyphenols and water react with the surface proteins in the layer the marinade does penetrate. They make this part of the meat less permeable to water. During cooking that helps keep liquid inside the meat where it should be. Marinade doesn't tenderize, but it does work to preserve the tenderness already present. And other chemical reactions set the stage for further reactions during cooking that amplify flavors. A short marinade, Alton concludes, preserves tenderness and enhances flavor. And a longer one does nothing more.

When it's time to cook, Alton dumps the contents of the zip top bag into a pan that can go into an oven, arranging them in a single layer. He covers the pan and sets it on the middle rack, where he'll braise it at 250° for around 3½ hours until the meat just pulls away from the bone. When the chops finish cooking, Alton moves them to a new pan and covers them with foil while he builds a sauce in the original pan. He starts that by pouring the wine and herbs into a gravy separator, the best tool for removing the fat. He lets that stand a few minutes, then pours the wine broth (but not the fat) back into the pan over medium-low heat. It is most important, Alton cautions, to avoid the temptation to higher heat, even though this is a reduction. Higher heat can drastically alter fragile wine, producting unpleasant flavors. A slow reduction of lower heat requires patience, but that will be rewarded.

Heat drove off some of the volatile fruit essences. To restore them to his broth, Alton adds some coarsely chopped dried plums (prunes) and dried apricots to the pan. He cooks that for about ten minutes until the sauce darkens and slightly thickens, then whisks in ice cold butter that he's cut into small chunks. He whisks in the butter one chunk at a time; this slow speed enables him to produce an emulsion (a suspension of droplets of one substance – here, fat – in another that does not dissolve it). He also adds a bit more fresh rosemary and a dash of the same wine he used to cook the chops; these restore and brighten the flavors. He tastes that before deciding whether to add any salt and pepper – sometimes the sauce needs these and sometimes it does not. He serves his chops over a bed of noodles with the sauce over that. But before he can eat, there's the matter of cooking with beer to address...

Alton's got three new foods and a new test for compatibility, this time with beer. He reminds us that the question is, “Does this food taste food with beer?”

The first choice is cod. This mild fish often finds its way into beer battered dishes such as fish and chips – but that's another show. Perhaps kale? A dark leafy vegetable, kale contains some bitter compounds that can clash with the roasty toasty goodness of beer. (Alton drives the point home with a ridiculous green-checked suit and purple-patterned shirt). Kale isn't the right choice. That leaves cheddar cheese – as in grilled-cheese sandwiches, a nice pairing of bread and cheese. Alton plans to meld beer, bread, and cheese; his favorite use for beer (excepting the obvious) is to bake with it.

For soups, fondues and fish batters, Alton chooses a lager. Fermentation occurs on the bottom of the barrel in lager production, leaving a clean, crisp product. Dark and spicy porters work well in chocolate cakes and brownies, but for a cheesy bread Alton selects a hopped pale ale. He gathers several bottles from his garage chill chest before returning to his kitchen.

There, Alton cranks the oven to 375° before turning to the software. He adds all-purpose flour and whole wheat flour to a bowl, then baking powder, kosher salt, sugar, fresh chopped dill, cheddar cheese, and beer. Using a spatula, he brings the mixture together, careful not to over mix it, and decants the resulting lumpy dough into a loaf pan prepared with a coating of non-stick spray. A few sunflower seeds atop the loaf add crunch, and the pan goes into the hot box to bake. When it has baked, he lets it cool for ten minutes in the pan, then another ten out of the pan so the starches have time to set. Patience: cut it before it cools and the result won't be pretty.

Do these few episodes cover the full utility of beer and wine? Hardly! Alton plans to spin sequels from this episode for years to come!

What about the alcohol content? With the help of some “USDA Agents” Alton shows that reveals that some alcohol does remain in food cooked with alcohol-bearing fluids. How much depends on how much the food was cooked and when the alcohol containing ingredient was added. (For example, flaming reduces the alcohol volume by about 25%.) The amount of alcohol remaining is normally so low that only those with hard and fast reasons to avoid alcohol entirely need be concerned. For most of us, beer and wine are ingredients in all kinds of... Good Eats.

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