My Pod - Recap

Alton lies on his couch trying to solve a Rubik’s cube while blindfolded when Sid the agent calls. Sometime ago Alton helped Sid make “sweet potato” famous. But Sid and sweet potato have fallen out and now Sid’s onto a new star. And he wants Alton’s help because his client has an image problem. He’s not a bad boy – far from it. In fact, he’s bland, plain, wholesome…vanilla. Alton protests that vanilla doesn’t need him; it’s already one of the most exotic and spectacular flavors on the planet. Somehow, before he knows it, Alton is roped into demonstrating that vanilla is… Good Eats.

Alton explains that of tens of thousands of orchid species only vanilla is eaten. The vines grow hundreds of feet up the trunks of the host tree (all orchids are parasites) just so the flowers can get to the sunlight. These flowers are available for reproduction only one day a year and if the two natural pollinators (a small bee and a rare hummingbird) are not available the tedious job must be done by hand. If this is done correctly, about six weeks later the plant will offer its reward of vanilla pods. Or as we call them, beans.

The beans are fully grown at six inches length, although a few will grow larger. But they must mature for as long as nine more months. Even then they are useless for cooking until they cure. Alton demonstrates this: step one is a nice hot bath in the electric kettle. Then he spreads the beans out to dry on a blanket. Each night they must be rolled up, and each day spread out again. The process can take as long as four months. Over this time the pods will change from firm and green to wrinkled and brown.

Pulling out a map, Alton shows where vanilla is grown: Tahiti (these beans are a little, well, vanilla for his taste), Mexico (these beans are better but the quality is erratic), and finally Madagascar. Mexico once held the reputation as the finest vanilla producer, but time and circumstance handed that honor to Madagascar, the present world quality leader. Madagascar vanilla is sometimes called bourbon vanilla after the name of the island at the time vanilla was first cultivated there (the time of the Bourbon kings of France).

Alton takes a moment to warn viewers off vanilla extracts from Mexico. Some of these are processed with parts of the Tonka bean. The Tonka bean tastes like vanilla but contains carcinogens. Cheap Mexican vanilla may well be artificial and not good eats.

Alton buys his beans over the Internet because one never knows how long beans have been sitting on the shelves of the mega mart. Alton demonstrates two quality tests: first, he flexes the bean – it should be pliant but never brittle. Then he inspects the bean under a magnifier, looking for the sparkling of vanillin crystals. The best vanilla is rich in this chemical, the chief flavor.

Vanillin appears in a lot of foods that never see actual vanilla. Any food aged or stored in wood will pick up a lot of it. Synthetic vanilla contains vanillin extracted from wood, which is why it’s so cheap. Alton uses it only in recipes like cakes and brownies where vanilla is “singing backup.”

The best real vanilla extracts contain only alcohol, water, and beans. Alton’s alter-ego, the FDA “man in black,” pops in to share the official word: pure vanilla extract must contain 35% alcohol and just over thirteen ounces of beans per gallon. Double and triple strength extracts exist but Alton doesn’t keep them around since they’re almost never used. Natural vanilla flavoring contains real vanilla beans but no actual alcohol. It delivers a slightly less intense flavor. Alton also demonstrates how to store real beans in plastic bags and glass jars kept in a cool, dark place.

In large doses vanilla extract overpowers foods. In small does it unifies flavors. Alton builds a fruit salad to demonstrate. A Granny Smith apple and some seedless grapes, a pear, strawberries, a mango, a banana, and some toasted walnuts all go into a bowl. This salad would be fine as is but it’s hard to eat and the flavors don’t get along with each other. Vanilla and some friends can fix this. Alton tosses some vanilla extract, lemon juice, honey, salt, pepper, yogurt and mayonnaise into the salad and mixes it thoroughly. This holds the ingredients together and blends their flavors.

Sid likes the salad, but it’s only an introduction for his client – he wants more! He wants… dessert. Alton answers with crème brulee.

Alton starts by splitting and scraping a vanilla bean. He pushes the point of the knife through the bean at about the midpoint and then pulls the bean while holding the knife motionless. He repeats on the other side of the bean to slide it neatly into halves. Revering the knife, he draws the bean between the back of the knife and the cutting board, pushing the pulp out.

Alton puts the bean pulp and some cream into an electric kettle to steep. Then he puts the rest of the bean into a container with sugar. The sugar extracts a surprising amount of flavor from the bean, eventually becoming vanilla sugar. While the cream mixture cools Alton whisks large egg yolks until they’re light in color and then drizzles in the vanilla sugar. It takes time for sugar to extract flavor from the vanilla bean so this batch won’t do. If you haven’t got vanilla sugar ordinary sugar works but you’ll get a little less flavor. When the sugar is in Alton slowly drizzles the warm cream mixture into the eggs. This tempering prevents the eggs from curdling. That mixture goes into any container with a spout – the electric kettle works well.

Alton puts a pan lined with a tea towel into a medium oven and sits a half dozen ramekins in it. The towel keeps the ramekins from scooting around as he adds the batter. Then he adds hot water goes into the pan to keep the heat from moving into the ramekins too quickly and ensure a smoother brulee. These bakes these for the better part of an hour; when Alton removes them they’re still wobbly; he reminds us that if an egg dish is done in the oven, it will be overdone by the time it is served.

Next comes the toasting, which is Alton’s favorite part. He disdains fancy torches made for this purpose in favor of an ordinary propane torch available from any home center. He sprinkles on a little sugar – not too much or the crust will be too thick. Then he lights the torch and directs it straight down until the sugar starts to melt. A quick rotation of the ramekin (it won’t get hot enough to burn) with the torch distributes the liquid sugar into a nice, even, golden brown crust. Don’t wait too long to eat the dessert or the sugar will get mushy. It should break crisply when tapped hard.

Sid is very pleased but now he’s got a new client, the shallot, and he wants a follow up show: perhaps Crème Brulee with shallots? As they drive along, Alton softly suggests it would be better if Sid left the recipes to him. Sid doesn’t take this kindly at all and ejects Alton from his limo a mile from his house.

Vanilla heightens and frames sweet flavors. Alton demonstrates with poaching syrup. He starts with a bottle of white wine, water and sugar, and a whole vanilla bean split and scraped. Alton plans to poach pears. First he needs to get the seeds out. Rather than a fancy corer, he uses a spade bit in a cordless drill to chew core and seeds out. He reduces the heat until the syrup is just below boiling and then drops in four prepared pears and cooks them for about half an hour. The pears firm up on the counter while Alton turns up the heat on the cooking liquid, reducing it to about a cup. The pears will keep a couple of days in the fridge. The syrup will last for a month.

Alton’s poached pears get him back in Sid’s good graces, except for a small problem: Sid doesn’t handle the pear. He suggests cauliflower and Alton realizes it’s time to leave. He orders Sid’s driver to slow down but Sid’s on a roll and orders his driver to speed up. Turnips? Kohlrabi? The limo races away carrying poor trapped Alton Brown’s screams with it...

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