Good Eats (1999–2012): Season 13, Episode 12 - Pantry Raid XII: Turning Japanese - full transcript

For centuries,

cookbook authors,
showbiz chefs,

and of course, the French,

have touted the virtues
of cooking with alcohol.

Now more times than not,

we're talking
about a low octane‐tipple ‐‐

beer and wine ‐‐

which is folded in
for its subtle nuances ‐‐

Other times, however,
the booze gallops in full force.

We're talking
about distilled spirits:

whiskey, vodka,
or fortified wines,



like Marsala and brandy.

In either case,
maximizing the potion's

potential contribution
to cuisine

requires clear understanding,
careful consideration,

and a conservative wrist.

Join us, won't you,

as we look
at alcohol, hooch, booze

as an ingredient.

Is it just an excuse
to lube up the cook,

or is it truly...?

♪

"Good Eats."

♪

There are many different bottles
in the big bar,



containing
many different flavors,

prepared according to
many different traditions.

They have but one thing
in common ‐‐ alcohol.

And if we are to cook
with the contents therein,

we're going to need
to know a little bit more

about this curious compound.

The term alcohol,

which comes from
a very old Arab word

for "eye shadow" ‐‐
go figure ‐‐

refers to many members of
a class of organic compounds

bearing hydroxyl groups,

that is, oxygen and hydrogen
hooked up to carbon.

There are a mess of these things

and they're all, all toxic,
okay?

Now this is methyl alcohol,
or methanol, all right?

One sip of this and you go blind
or drop dead, depending.

Here, we have isopropyl,
or rubbing alcohol,

which is used
as a drying agent

and as a disinfectant
used to torture children

who have suffered
a scrape or cut.

Here we have ethyl alcohol
or ethanol.

Toxic, too, but not as toxic
as most of the others

and relatively easy

for the human machine
to metabolize.

Ethanol is a byproduct
of fermentation.

And by that we mean, of course,

the consumption of sugars
by yeast,

little unicellular critters

that at this very moment

are floating
everywhere around us.

If you're a fan
of this program,

you have certainly witnessed
their rapacious routine

time and time again.

They consume sugar,

and give off gas,
carbon dioxide, and ethanol,

a trait that evolved

specifically
as a chemical weapon,

to kill off
other microbial marauders

who might want their chow.

As I said, it's toxic stuff,

even to the yeast
that create them.

The toxic effects of ethanol
work on humans, too,

by infiltrating cell membranes,

and reeking mild to severe havoc
with their normal functions.

This havoc, of course,

is manifested
by a serious downgrade

of social graces,
table manners,

and the ability to operate
heavy machinery.

Terrible.

Now if the yeast are allowed
to consume the sugars

in grapes or fruit juice,

the resulting liquid
is usually called wine.

If, on the other hand,

grains provide
the caloric intake,

then the fermented liquid
would be called beer.

Yes, other plant matter
can be used for fermentation.

But this particular one,
I'm happy to say,

will have to wait
for its own show.

Now what's important
about this discussion

is that
both wines and beers

can be distilled to create
higher alcohol beverages

such as brandy, vodka, scotch,
and the like.

Now what exactly is
"distilling"?

Well it has to do
with our old friend ethanol,

which is a very volatile
little critter,

meaning that he evaporates
at a relatively low temperature,

78 degrees Celsius, in fact.

It's about 176 Fahrenheit.
Bye, bye.

And that means
that we can isolate it.

But of course,
we have to have a still.

Check it out.

Pretty sweet, huh?

I made it myself.

Of course
I should probably point out

that home distilling of spirits

is highly illegal
in the United States,

because for one thing,
it cuts into tax revenues,

and the second thing,
it's extremely dangerous, okay?

So do not try this at home.

This is strictly
educational, okay?

So, some liquid
containing ethanol ‐‐

say wine ‐‐
goes into the boiler.

We then bring the liquid
to 176 degrees Fahrenheit.

At that point,

the ethanol evaporates,
leaving the water behind.

Granted, trace amounts

of other extraordinarily
nasty compounds

evaporate along
with the ethanol,

which is why real moonshiners

usually dump
the "first run" anyway.

All right,
so if you maintain proper heat,

the ethyl alcohol
will concentrate here

and then move up and into
the condensation tube,

where it will change back
from a vapor into a liquid form.

Boom, hooch!

Now if you did drink this

and did not actually
die or go blind,

you would earn yourself
a hangover

that would make you wish
you were dead.

So typically,
this would be distilled again,

maybe several times,

and then filtered
through charcoal

to scrub out any impurities,

which is generally the plan
with top‐drawer vodkas,

which are, by definition,
colorless and odorless.

If, however, you were making,
say, Scotch whisky or bourbon,

you would leave some impurities,
called congeners, behind

so they can mingle
with the chemicals

in the wooden barrels
that you are no doubt

going to be
aging your beverage in.

As for this, well right now,
it's just paint thinner,

and I ‐‐
‐Alton Brown!

‐What the blazes?
‐All right Brown,

we know you're in there.

We know what you're doing.
‐I'm conducting

scientific experiments!
‐Sure, you are.

Now just put all the good stuff
in the bucket

and nobody gets hurt,
moonshiner.

I am not a moonshiner,

and I respectfully decline

to surrender
my educational aids.

‐All right.
Keep it up, Brown.

We'll see about that.
‐Oh, bother!

♪

[ Engine starts ]

Thanks for the ride, Officer.

Well, now that the matter
of my bailsman's settled,

we can get back
to our educational endeavor.

Now, one of the fascinating,

delicious
and potentially deadly,

or rather damaging attributes
of ethanol,

is that it is flammable,

a fact that has long
been capitalized on

in a class of dishes
referred to fussily as flambés.

And I want to say right up front

that these dishes have rules.

Here they are ‐‐
One, clear your airspace,

meaning there can't be anything
flammable up over the pan,

like your eyebrows.

Number two, make sure that
the heat source is turned off

before the hooch goes in, okay?

We don't want any surprise
detonations or anything.

Finally,
have a tight‐fitting lid

standing by at all times.

That's to douse the flames,
just in case there's trouble.

There won't be.
Let's cook.

Shrimp and grits
are on the menu,

so a four‐quart saucepan
goes onto the burner.

two cups each
water and whole milk go in

along with 1/2 teaspoons
of kosher salt.

This will be brought to a boil,
lidded over high heat.

Then, whisk in one cup of grits.

Now down here in the south,
grits means white hominy corn.

But you could do this with,
of course,

yellow cornmeal anywhere else
in the country.

But then of course,
that would be polenta

now, wouldn't it?

Now, drop the heat to low,
add the cover,

and cook for 15 to 20 minutes,
or until creamy.

♪

Well, it took 18 1/2 minutes,

but the grits
look nice and creamy.

So the heat goes off,

and we melt in 4 tablespoons
of unsalted butter.

And you might as well
grind on some pepper too ‐‐

about 1/2 teaspoon ‐‐
There, nice.

Now just stir until the butter
is completely incorporated.

Remember corn, even dried corn,
is an agricultural product,

and every batch is going to be

a little different
than the one before.

So cooking times,
inevitably, will vary.

Now although
it's not strictly required,

I like cheese in my grits,

at least when
shrimp is concerned.

So, four ounces
of the sharp stuff goes in.

The lid goes on,

and now we turn our attention
to the shrimp.

High heat,
a 10‐inch nonstick pan.

When it's been on the heat
for about 45 seconds,

water will do that,

and you'll know
that you're ready

to bring one pound of shrimp
to the party.

Shells off,
but leave the tails on.

You'll need those later.

About a heavy pinch of salt,

and just toss until
they are just turning opaque.

There.

Now turn the heat off

and pour in two ounces
of Bourbon whiskey.

Ignite
and return the heat to medium.

Now, let's talk about what's
actually going on here, okay?

Rest assured,
the shrimp themselves

are not on fire, okay?

And technically speaking,
the booze is not on fire either.

What is burning, however,
are the alcohol fumes,

and creating alcohol fumes
is a factor, well, of heat,

and also of proof.

The concept of proof,
as it relates to alcohol,

comes from the ancient practice
of "proofing" an alcohol

by mixing it with
black powder ‐‐ gunpowder ‐‐

and then lighting it.

Now any liquid that is
at least 40% A. B. V. ‐‐

that's Alcohol By Volume ‐‐

will indeed light.

But you can learn
a lot about that liquid

by how it burns ‐‐

the color of the flame,

the length of the burn,
and whatnot.

So here we have a liquid
that is 95% alcohol.

We will put that
on sample number one.

The next one is 75.9%
alcohol by volume.

That'll go right here.

And then just for kicks,

sample number three will get

a measly 16%
alcohol by volume.

So we know that
that one is not going to burn.

This, however,
good in martinis.

So we will don our safety gear

and I guess I should say,
don't do this at home.

We are professionals.

So sample number one lights,

and first
we see the alcohol burn.

And the alcohol burns on two ‐‐
darker blue flame.

And number three,
well, gosh darn it.

It doesn't do anything at all,
which doesn't surprise.

Now looking at these two,

we can tell
that this alcohol is ‐‐

well, liquor ‐‐
is more alcohol by volume

because it is burning
higher, brighter,

and it's already
starting to burn down

into the gunpowder,
which is definitely going to go.

There goes
the gunpowder on sample one.

Sure enough.
A lot of alcohol in there.

This one's taking it's time.

The longer it takes to actually
light the gunpowder,

the lower the alcohol by volume.

Now do you actually need
to do this at home?

Well, of course you don't.

All you need to know

is that alcohol by volume
when doubled becomes proof.

So a liquor that says
that it is "100 proof,"

is 50% alcohol by volume.

Now in a flambé situation,

I generally reach for an alcohol
that is, 80 proof, okay?

That's 40% alcohol.

Anything higher than that,

it's really difficult
and even dangerous

to control the flame.

Anything lower
won't really flambé nicely.

Now the other factor
besides proof

is, of course,
the level of heat, okay?

If the liquid boils
too quickly,

you get this huge fireball
that's over very, very quickly,

and that doesn't do anything
for the food.

What you want to do
is just maintain a boil,

which is why I've got the heat
back on medium,

so I can maintain this flame
for as long as possible ‐‐

a minute if I possibly can ‐‐
in order to do that.

Why bother?

Well, the flames
are very, very hot,

and they're actually searing
the outside of the food

and caramelizing
some of the sugars

inside of the bourbon.

On top of that,
I do want to cook out

as much of the alcohol
as possible,

while reducing
that bourbon flavor,

which goes very nicely with
grits and shrimp, thank you.

Although this fabulous amalgam

was once served
strictly as breakfast fare

in coastal South Carolina,

as far as I'm concerned,

shrimp and grits
is perfect for breakfast,

lunch, dinner,
or even a midnight snack.

All you have to do
is trade out the beverage.

[ Laughs ]

Although
they both contain ethanol,

the differences between
wine and spirits

way outweigh the similarities,

which is why wine and beer
will have their own show.

The exceptions
are fortified wines

such as Port, Sherry,
and Madeira.

Now when the yeast
fermenting these wines

aren't quite done converting
sugar from the grapes,

the processor kills them off

by adding a big dose
of distilled spirits,

which ups the alcohol level

to the point
that the yeast cannot survive.

Now the resulting beverage
is quite strong,

usually about 20% alcohol,

and usually on the sweet side
due to the residual sugars.

Now I am a fan
of most fortified wines.

But when it comes to cooking,

I do have
one particular favorite,

which was invented in 1770

by an English wine merchant,
name of John Woodhouse,

working on the very
un‐English island of Sicily

in a town called Marsala.

Woodhouse discovered
that by spiking a wine

made with
the local Grillo grapes

with distilled grape spirits,

he could create
a strong, yet sweet tipple,

that could survive
long trips at sea

down in the steamy holds
of ships

where most wine would go bad.

Ethanol, after all,
is a powerful preservative.

♪

Marsala comes in three colors ‐‐

oro ‐‐ gold,

ambra ‐‐ amber,

and rubino ‐ ruby.

And at three levels
of sweetness ‐‐

secco ‐‐ which is dry ‐‐

semisecco, and sweet ‐‐
a lot like champagne.

Now due to its balanced flavor,
golden glow,

complex aroma, balanced acid,
and alcohol,

the sweet Ambra,
or amber Marsala,

is especially well suited
to desserts,

including my favorite
on‐the‐fly dessert of all time,

zabaglione.

Which is,
as far as I'm concerned,

reason enough
to keep Marsala close at hand.

No one is really sure
where the boozy egg foam

that Italians call "zabaglione,"

and the French call
"sabayon," came from.

But most food historians point
to the Medici court of Florence,

which, of course,
is where all Italians point

when they don't know
something about

where their food came from ‐‐

kind of the way Americans
point to Thomas Jefferson,

who I feel certain,
did not invent zabaglione,

or French fries,
for that matter.

What we do know
is that it's based on

ancient egg‐thickened drinks
called "caudles",

which were originally meant
to comfort the sick and infirm.

It's where we get the word
"coddle,"

as in, "don't coddle that boy."

The parts list
is deceptively simple ‐‐

Six egg yolks, 1/2 sugar,

1/2 a cup of
the aforementioned Marsala,

and a wee little pinch
of kosher salt.

First step,
one inch of water

goes into a four‐quart saucepan.

Put that over high heat,
bring to a boil.

Now speaking of boiling,

we're going to need
a double boiler.

And typically
I would reach for a metal bowl,

but a little insulation
wouldn't hurt here.

So I'm going to go
with a very, very large,

heatproof glass mixing bowl.

The sugar goes in,

the egg yolks go in,

and we need to whisk them.

I like to use a power mixer
for this.

It certainly will make the job
a whole lot faster.

We're going to basically
cream that

until you reach a ribbon stage,

then sprinkle in the salt.

See that little pattern?
That's perfect.

Now the Marsala comes ‐‐

very slowly, or it'll splatter
all over the place.

Once that is
fully emulsified in,

and looks like a nice,
thick salad dressing,

you can go to the heat.

But you've got to remember
to turn that down to low.

You want to maintain
a bare simmer,

and continue to beat
that mixture without ceasing

until it reaches between
145 and 150 degrees Fahrenheit.

That's going to take
about 15 minutes.

When you hit that temperature,

you're going to want
to get off the heat

as soon as possible.

Ladies and gentlemen,
allow me to present zabaglione.

Mounded up nice and warm

in a wine goblet,
over some berries ‐‐

it is perhaps the most
aromatic dessert on earth.

Thanks to the ethanol,

which, being highly volatile,

especially at warm temperatures,

goes straight up
the old smokestack,

where oddly enough,

we do most of
our serious tasting.

It is elegant.
It is delicious.

It is fast.
It is easy.

And therefore,
qualifies as good eats.

Oh, did you think
this was for you?

[ Scoffs ] No.

♪

It is perhaps logical

that if ethanol is going to have
a very low boiling point,

it might also have
a very low freezing point,

and it does.

As a matter of fact,
114‐below‐zero centigrade.

That's minus‐172.3 Fahrenheit,

which is why it can be
used like culinary antifreeze.

For instance,
if you were to stir

just one cup of cream

into our entire batch
of zabaglione,

chill in the refrigerator
for a couple of hours,

and then turn in
your favorite ice cream machine,

you'd have something like this.

Ah, a delicious soft serve cone
with a kick.

Why? Because alcohol
not only lowers

the overall freezing temperature
of the mixture,

it impedes the growth of
big nasty, crunchy ice crystals.

Which is why we almost always
add a small amount,

even just a tablespoon
of, say, vodka,

to a quart of sorbet
or ice cream mix,

just to keep it soft.

But wait, there's even
more magic up ethanol's sleeve.

Brr.

Remember our oh‐so‐volatile
ethanol molecule?

Well, if you could catch
and closely examine it,

you'd see that part
of its atomic arrangement

bonds very easily with water.

One end, however,
is different structurally,

and binds quite efficiently
with fatty acids,

like this one
we have before us.

Now that means
that ethanol is a solvent,

capable of extracting
flavor compounds

that H2O alone
simply cannot touch,

which is why it's used

to make things
like vanilla extract.

We can also use it
to extract the oils

from, say,
the microscopic glands

at the surface
of a very popular citrus fruit.

Let's conduct an experiment,
shall we?

♪

All right, step one
in our extraction experiment ‐‐

remove the zest only
from two pounds ‐‐

that's 8 to 10 standard lemons,
like these Eurekas.

Now I just want the zest,
not the pith,

so I'm going
to use a micrograter.

And always be sure that
you check underneath the grater

for some zest.

Move that into
a large, clean glass jar.

And of course,
you need to repeat

with the rest of the lemons.

I won't make you watch that.

Then pour on one full

750 milliliter bottle of vodka,
100 proof.

Lid it up, shake it up, and ‐‐

oh, about those lemons.

You should juice those,
make lemonade or something.

As for the infusion,

that will go into
a quiet, cool place

for seven days.

I happen to have one
already ready.

Once that seven days is up,

the zest will have given up
all of its possible goodness.

So it's time to strain it out.

And I just go right back
into the vodka bottle

with a funnel
and just a little hand sieve

to help out.

Just put that right there,

and pour on the goodness.

Once that is done,
it will be time

to build yourself a syrup.

So a small saucepan
goes over high heat,

and 2/3 of a cup
of both water and sugar

will be dissolved.

There you go.

Just whisk until
it is thoroughly dissolved.

That's not quite right.

That is.

That's exactly
what you want to see.

Once that cools,
put that into a jar,

and then pour your infused vodka
on top of that.

There you go.

You can now lid up your
junior limoncello

and move that into a freezer

to age for at least four hours

before serving
ice, ice, ice cold.

I don't like
to ever run out of limoncello,

and it will keep here
for up to a year,

if it lasts that long.

Those of you who have spent time
around Sorrento, Italy,

will no doubt recognize this
as limoncello,

the absolute essence of lemon
in beverage form

and a fine testament to
the solvent powers of alcohol.

Now the luxurious body
of this drink

does come in part from sugar,

but also keep in mind

that when alcohol and water
come together,

some of their molecules hook up,

forming a more viscous beverage

than either
could form on their own.

Just thought you should know.

Well, I hope that
we've inspired you

to make a culinary buddy
of alcohol,

a.k.a. ethanol.

When used responsibly,
it is capable of unique feats,

from flashes in the pan,
to aromatic foams,

to heavenly extracts,
and beyond.

Of course,
"beyond" will have to wait

for another episode
of "Good Eats."

See you next time.

Ahh!