A guest post by Mel Barrett

Mel Barrett writes a regular cookery column for the Wholesome Food Association. Mel is a former management consultant who, since leaving the corporate world, has worked with butchers, bakers and canapé-makers (and many others too!) who share her passion for food produced with integrity. She has authored/co-authored publications for Sustain (the alliance for better food and farming) on bread and London’s food economy, and is currently developing a new kind of cookery course. She has two young daughters. To see Mel’s growing collection of cookery columns, click here.

This special column is the first in a three-part series on flavour.

Our nation, arguably a global leader in many arenas, has, in recent times, lagged way behind on the world stage when it comes to food. “One cannot trust people whose cuisine is so bad”, bantered the former French president, Jacques Chirac, back in 2005. The remark was made in jest, but underlying it is a national stereotype which is proving difficult to shake off, for all the progress being made by a new wave of food heroes. You know you’re in trouble when the boss of a global fast food chain denounces your country’s food as “terrible”, as Bernado Hees, the Burger King chief, did just a few months ago.

Where did it all go wrong? The answer might lie partially in the fact that, despite having a number of fine dishes to be proud of, we have never managed to adopt a unifying set of hallmarks in our cooking, and therefore have no recognisable national style. Furthermore, we have wholeheartedly adopted the cooking of other countries, but, generally speaking, done this badly. Elizabeth David’s remark that “We do seem to be possessed of an unhappy capacity to absorb the worst aspects of any given cooking tradition while remaining deliberately blind to the true nature of the dishes we make our own” still rings true. Why have we been so bad at mastering the art of other people’s cooking, and striking out in confidence with our own? Inferior produce, some would say, blaming a uniquely British combination of factors, including mass industrialisation, long years of war-time rationing and supermarket dominance. But I think a major cause is that, somewhere along the line, we lost our ability to flavour food.

What is flavour?

We perceive flavour when certain types of molecules in our food interact with special cells in our mouth and nose, triggering positive and negative associations (some pre-programmed, some learned) in our brain. Inside the mouth, up to ten thousand taste buds are focused on capturing a narrow collection of taste molecules, those which provide five very defined taste sensations: saltiness, sweetness, sourness, bitterness and also a ‘savoury deliciousness’, known as ‘umami’. In addition, there are receptors in the mouth which detect astringency (the drying sensation caused by tannins), piquancy (the hotness of chilli and peppercorns) and pungency (the irritation triggered by horseradish, mustard and raw garlic, also sensed in the nose).

Inside the nose, five to ten million smell-sensing cells have a much broader remit, receiving thousands of small, airborne aroma molecules which float up into the nasal passage from the food being chewed in our mouth (or in through the nostrils). It is these odorant molecules which account for most (some estimate up to 80%) of what we perceive as flavour (to test this, try holding your nose whilst tasting certain foods).

Getting taste and aroma molecules into our food, then, is the key to flavour. From a glance around the world at many of the delicious styles of regional and national cooking we can learn three things: the importance of taste, the magic of aroma and the art of balance.

The importance of taste

Taste molecules, which only need to be added in very small quantities to be effective, do a very important job:

• Saltiness (from table salt, along with a range of other products to which salt has been added, for example, cured meats and brined vegetables) enhances flavour
• Sourness (from acids, found in vinegar, plants and sour milk products) is said to stimulate the appetite, and has a sharpening and brightening effect
• Sweetness (from a range of table sugars, sweeteners and foods which contain high levels of naturally occurring sugars and sugar-releasing starch, for example, onions and carrots) softens and mellows savoury dishes, counteracts bitterness and sharpness and generally makes most foods more appealing
• Bitterness (from alkaloids, strong chemical compounds found in plants) balances sweetness
• Umami (from glutamate, found in meat, fish and vegetables; inosinate, found in meat and fish; and guanylate, found in mushrooms) heightens flavours, lengthens their duration in the mouth and creates a delicious, mouth-watering savoury sensation.

In other words, taste molecules make our food taste good, and keep us coming back for more. Many cultures in history have understood the role taste molecules play. “There is no better food than salted vegetables” we read on ancient Egyptian papyrus, whilst Pliny said of acid “No other sauce serves so well to season food or to heighten flavour”. The Egyptians enjoyed a sauce known as oxalme, made from brine mixed with vinegar; this was later used by the Romans, along with their ubiquitous umami-rich fermented fish sauces garum and liquamen, relatives of the fish sauces and pastes still used in Asia today (nam pla from Thailand; nuoc mam from Vietnam; terasi from Indonesia), and a very distant cousin of our own Worcestershire sauce.

Food manufacturers know this too: processed food, in particular crisps, condiments and other products designed to flavour food, are often jammed with lab-produced taste molecules. Synthesised sugars (e.g. glucose, dextrose, fructose and maltodextrin), acids (e.g. acetic acid or ‘spirit vinegar’) and umami (‘hydrolysed protein’, yeast extract and monosodium glutamate) are all taste molecules added to heighten flavour. These products, cheap to buy for the manufacturers, are often added in high quantities to compensate for low quality raw materials (and to the detriment of our health). Taste doesn’t need to come out of a packet though – it can be created very easily by adding foods to the dish which contain high levels of naturally occurring taste molecules (more about these in the next column).

The magic of aroma

Whilst taste molecules set the tone of a dish, and make us want to eat more, aroma molecules add interest, variety and a further layer of deliciousness. The complex molecules of which proteins and carbohydrates mainly consist are too large to vapourise (hence very fresh, raw meat and uncooked flour have little aroma); only small molecules, which evaporate when exposed to the heat of our mouths, are able to float up into our olfactory system.

Plants are our biggest source of these, with the ones we tend to use for flavouring purposes typically containing over 100 different aroma compounds, usually concentrated in the leaves and stalks (we tend to refer to these parts as herbs), as well as the berries and seeds (these, in their dried form, we refer to as spices); some plants also offer up flavour in their bulbs (members of the allium family, e.g. onions and garlic), flowers (cloves are dried buds; saffron the stigma of croci), roots (licorice) and underground stems (ginger and turmeric). The sum of all the aroma compounds extractable from a plant is known as its essential oil, its ‘essence’, and it is this we try and capture when flavouring our food. Often dangerous to humans in large quantities, the small amounts used in the kitchen bring extraordinary life and vitality to our dishes.

Some alcohols are also good sources of small aroma molecules. Wine contains over 200 aroma compounds, which explains its popularity as a cooking ingredient (as well as the varied and complex vocabulary used to describe its aromas, or ‘bouquet’).

Finally, in certain foods, new small aroma molecules can be created on the surface by heating. When foods which contain both proteins and sugars – including meat, fish, potatoes, onions and wheat-based products such as bread and cakes – are heated at high temperatures (from 154°C), some very complex reactions take place, resulting in wonderful ‘roasted’ flavours . These are known as Maillard reactions, and are the reason why recipes instruct the cook to brown or ‘seal’ meat before adding it to the pot.

The art of balance

Getting taste and aroma molecules into food is relatively simple (more on this in the next column). The challenge lies in deciding which combinations to use. Firstly, tastes must be balanced. Food excites the most when all the sensors in the mouth are activated, so a good rule of thumb is to include some salt, some acid, at least one umami-rich ingredient and a little sweetness in every dish. Piquancy or pungency can be added for further sensory stimulation. And for extra deliciousness, several sources of umami should be combined (according to the Umami Information Centre, the use of different types in one dish has a synergistic effect, greatly magnifying the sensation). Secondly, there must be a balanced used of aroma molecules. Too much of one herb or spice can overpower; strong and pungent flavours should be used carefully; flavour compounds must work together.

Other cultures have mastered the art of balance. Many of the hundreds of different cuisines throughout the world are built on a solid framework of tastes. Typically, a mix of vegetables, providing glutamate, sweetness and sometimes pungency or heat, is used to form the base of many dishes. In France, the base, known as mirepoix, consists of onions, carrots and celery (the same as is used in Italy). In Spain, the mix is called sofrito, and contains garlic, onion and tomatoes. In Chinese cuisine it is spring onions, ginger and garlic. To such vegetable bases, various locally distinctive acids, salted products and umami-rich ingredients are added, for example, rice wine vinegar and fish sauce in China; lemon juice, pancetta and parmesan in Italy. Then, a harmonious blend of herbs and or spices, often sourced from the region, is layered throughout the dish.

And the British? It is probably true to say that the use of aroma molecules in our cooking – herbs, spices, wine – does not come naturally to us, with one important exception: the use of Maillard reactions. We love our roasted and browned food, for example roast meat and potatoes; Yorkshire pudding and cottage pie. We do understand the importance of taste (Elizabeth David informs us that for several centuries following the Stuart period the English were using grated parmesan as a seasoning, and 18^th century cookbooks are packed with recipes for pickled vegetables and acid-containing salad dressings), but somewhere along the line we stopped using products which are rich in naturally occurring taste molecules, turning instead to processed ones.

Perhaps we need to look harder for our own sources of natural acids, but they are there: gooseberries, blackcurrants, crab apples, cider vinegar and sorrel, to name but a few. So too are sources of saltiness (bacons and hams), along with aroma molecules in abundance, for example mint, cider and all manner of ‘heritage’ fruit and vegetable varieties which thrive in our soils. English food ‘terrible’? It really doesn’t need to be.

This column content (excluding images) © Mel Barrett 2011.

All images from Flickr, used under Creative Commons Attribution License. Click image to enlarge.

A guest post by Mel Barrett

Mel Barrett writes a regular cookery column for the Wholesome Food Association. Mel is a former management consultant who, since leaving the corporate world, has worked with butchers, bakers and canapé-makers (and many others too!) who share her passion for food produced with integrity. She has authored/co-authored publications for Sustain (the alliance for better food and farming) on bread and London’s food economy, and is currently developing a new kind of cookery course. She has two young daughters.

To see Mel’s growing collection of cookery columns, click here.

The oldest collection of recipes in existence is a compilation named ‘Apicius’ from the Roman Empire. Modern readers might find a few things strange, for example the exotic ingredients (porpoise anyone?) and imprecise measures used, but, broadly speaking, the format of the recipe has remained largely unchanged for thousands of years. Recipe writers specify a set of ingredients, and provide some instructions for their use. We, the cooks, blindly follow, taking our oils and our vinegars, our dried goods and our stocks, and peeling, chopping, whisking, boiling and roasting our hearts out, often without really understanding why. In doing so we limit ourselves, as seen in last month’s column, because it’s rare that we can actually manage to engineer the right match between recipe, time available to cook, and ingredients to hand. And so we don’t cook from scratch, or we stick to what we know: the average household repertoire of five dishes, week in week out.

With a little practice, we can replicate certain dishes with our eyes closed: we have memorised the sequence of tasks required; know which ingredients to use and the right sorts of quantities; we may even attempt a little experimentation (even though we may not be completely sure how our changes will turn out). But between adapting what we know and the diktat of the recipe there must be some middle ground. Could it be possible to find a new way of cooking, using some key know-how, some principles, a system if you like, to help achieve some desired outcomes? Reader, I think it is possible! Recipes are required because we can’t think through for ourselves what it is we need to do to achieve the end result we need; moreover we’re often not even sure what that end result should, or could, be. The problem is complexity: there are hundreds of ingredients we could choose from, literally thousands of possible end outcomes, and seemingly lots of different things that need to be done to ingredients to get them to the desired end point. The solution is to reduce complexity.

Simplifying outcomes

The language of cookery outcomes has changed little for years. Ever since Escoffier codified modern French cuisine in the early twentieth century, and developed a way of organising restaurant kitchen activity according to a mix of skills and discrete end products – fish cooking; sauces; pastry etc – kitchen brigades, cookery schools and cookbooks have, generally speaking, been ordered along similar lines. Prue Leith’s ‘Chef School‘ book includes such chapters as ‘Frying off’; ‘Grilling’; ‘Structure of meat and carving’. Delia’s ‘How to Cook’ series covers ‘All about eggs’; ‘First steps in pastry’; Flour-based sauces and batter’. We are missing the point. For the domestic cook needing to get a meal on the table at the end of the day, the end outcome is not a stock. Or some pastry. Or even some veg. I would suggest the most useful outcome for our purposes is rather this: an appealing, balanced plate of food. By which we mean the three main nutritional building blocks should be represented (it generally being the custom in our culture – special diets notwithstanding – for a main meal to contain some protein, some carbohydrate and some vegetables), and there must be balanced sensory appeal, in other words, a high degree of ‘tastiness’; harmonious ‘flavours’; an attractive mix of colours; and a balance of textures. To simplify outcomes, we start with one foodstuff – let’s call this the STAR, be it the piece of fish picked up on the way home from work, the standby chops from the freezer, or the red cabbage languishing in the bottom of the veg box. There are then two key questions to be asked: How do I make this star appealing? And how can I achieve balance on the plate?

Simplifying the process of transforming ingredients

The cook achieves appeal and balance by doing two things. Firstly, ENHANCING ingredients. Of course, some foodstuffs may be appealing enough in their natural state – think of the perfect tomato, grown for its flavour, and only picked when fully ripe – but generally, we will have some work to do. The good news is that there are only four things we can do to a foodstuff to make it more appealing: Change its form (size and shape); change its flavour; change its texture; change its colour. We do these things using three primary tools: heat, sharp blades and other ingredients. Once the principles of how heat can change flavour, texture and colour are understood, then we can apply that know-how to any foodstuff under the sun. Similarly, once the principles of how certain types of ingredients can change flavour, texture and colour are understood, then we can apply those to any foodstuff under the sun. Our focus moves from techniques (chopping; simmering; roasting) – the current lexicon of recipes – to know-how: how to enhance flavour; how to alter texture; how to change colour.

Secondly, COMBINING ingredients. Cooking becomes a lot simpler once we realise that there are really only three ways in which ingredients can be combined: jumbled up together in a mix; layered; and kept as separate composites (and, of course, combinations thereof). All the dishes we recreate are variations of one of these types of vehicle (stews, curries and pilafs are examples of mixed dishes; lasagne, pies and gratins of layered dishes). Once the principles of how to create a mix or a layered dish are understood, then we can apply those to any mix or layered dish under the sun.

Simplifying ingredients

Understanding how to enhance foodstuffs requires a little scientific know-how; working out how to combine them requires discernment which is altogether more subjective. The challenge is two-fold: to select ingredients which work well together, so that flavour compounds don’t clash and tastes are balanced, and to work out the best way of showing them off on the plate (there’s no point in buying expensive, delicately flavoured scallops if we cut them into small pieces and hide them in a stew). Categorising our ingredients, based on their primary purpose, and who they are ‘friends’ with, will help us.

In general, ingredients selected for our evening meal have three primary purposes:

1. They provide nutritional ballast. Some ingredients (meat, fish, grains, pulses, vegetables etc) are excellent at delivering large usable quantities of the elements our bodies need to survive. Let’s call these the PRIMARY FOODSTUFFS, of which one or two STARS are the primary focus.
2. They help bring our ingredients together on the plate: they bind or lubricate. Let’s call this the LIQUID.
3. They enhance sensory appeal by adding ‘tastiness’, ‘flavour’, texture, colour to our primary foodstuff. Let’s call these the SENSE-BOOSTING INGREDIENTS. There are different types of sense-boosting ingredients – some enhance taste; some are thickeners; some add crunch.

Some ingredients are natural partners: lamb and rosemary; tomato and basil; parsnip and bacon. For our system we need to look beyond mere partners, and consider larger groupings of ingredients that work together. Let’s call these INGREDIENT CHAINS. A typical chain will consist of some primary foodstuffs, a liquid and some different types of sense-boosting ingredients which share an affinity.

Bringing it all together

Our current way of thinking about cooking constrains the cook with its outcomes based on the professional kitchen, limits the cook by focusing on techniques rather than know-how and confounds the cook with its confusing array of ingredients. In this new way of thinking, there are two key questions we need to be asking each day: not the questions answered in every cookbook in the land (how do I make stock?; how do I make pastry?; how do I roast meat?) but, rather, how do I make these foodstuffs I have available for tonight’s meal appealing? And how can I achieve balance on the plate? The way we do this is by enhancing the flavour, texture and colour of our primary foodstuffs and our liquid, and by combining chains of ingredients in three main ways, according to certain principles. The key know-how we need? Coming in subsequent columns, starting with next month’s: ‘How to Create Flavour’.

This column content (excluding images) © Mel Barrett 2011.

All images from Flickr, used under Creative Commons Attribution License. Click image to enlarge.