reading

Introduction

The idea for this book came to me in the early hours – between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m. – when night passes to day. It’s a strange, solitary period when I, as a light sleeper, often find myself lying half-awake in the dark in bed. As I lie there, thoughts – often worries, but also solutions and ideas – drift up from the depths of my subconscious to the surface of my mind. I was preoccupied, pondering ideas for a food-themed day to offer as an event. Could I take people on a journey through food history? I wondered ambitiously. Travel from the early days of food in Britain through different periods in time … Time. The word caught me, stopping me in my mental tracks. My brain took the word and spun it around – rather than food in time, what about time in food; time as an ingredient, THE universal, invisible ingredient. It felt like a eureka moment, an insight into something big. Rather than a theme for an event, I felt I had the kernel of an idea for a book.

This book explores culinary time. In over 25 years of writing and thinking about food, I have always been fascinated by the way in which food connects to so many aspects of our lives – history, identity, culture. Food is so much more than fuel for our bodies; it is charged with meaning. Time and food is a vast, complex subject and one which I find enthralling. I spent months working out a structure – what I wanted to put in the book; time touches all aspects of food in some way or the other, but I wanted a book that was engaging and interesting. I think of this book as a kaleidoscope, in which my short essays, each looking at time through the prism of an aspect of food or cooking, fall together to form a complex, intricate pattern. Writing The Missing Ingredient has been an engrossing journey, enlivened by encounters with remarkable people en route. During my encounters with food producers, chefs and food writers, the importance of taking enough time came up repeatedly. For the most part, this was without prompting from me. Very few of the people I talked to knew that it was culinary time I was focused on (a book about ‘the craft of food, what makes good food’ is how I usually described it), as I wanted to discern for myself the role that time played in their work. The Missing Ingredient moves from seconds to years, taking the reader on a journey with me through aspects of culinary time. The book is designed to be read from start to finish but also works as a volume to be dipped into. What I realized, as I researched and wrote, was the overlapping nature of the material. How looking at a subject – such as meat – from different time-focused points of view meshes together to create an insight into the complex, varied role of time: from the time required to rear livestock for maximum flavour, to hanging meat, to the right amount of time to cook it or the ingenious, historic ways we have found to preserve this valuable protein.

Time is the universal ingredient in the food we cook and eat. As an invisible ingredient, however, it is seldom considered in its own right. Time is an essential part of the act of cooking. To cook food well, one needs to know how to use time appropriately. Time in the kitchen can be a brisk affair measured in minutes: the quick cooking of spaghetti in boiling water until just al dente, the exciting, rapid transformation that happens when one plunges sliced potatoes into hot oil to make chips, the thickening as you stir a mixture of flour, butter and milk into a sauce. It can also be altogether more mellow: gently simmering bones and vegetables for hours to make stock, marinating a shoulder of lamb with spices overnight, the steeping of Seville orange peel to make marmalade, slowly roasting a piece of belly pork at a low temperature for hours until the meat is succulent and the crackling crisp and golden-brown … When it comes to certain dishes – such as the frying of an omelette or the grilling of a fillet of fish – rapidity is of the essence in order not to over-cook them. In these cases, a deft hand and an eye to the clock make all the difference between the creation of a meal that is pleasurable and one that is a lacklustre experience. Other aspects of cooking, however, require patience. The browning of meat – creating the appetizing aromas and flavours through the complex Maillard reaction – is a process that requires time in order to do it properly. In Malaysian cuisine, curries and sauces involve the initial cooking of a paste made from spices, herbs and flavourings. This must be done with care and cannot be rushed. Hastiness at this stage – a skimping of the time required – will manifest itself in a disappointing harshness and thinness of flavour in the final dish. Watch an experienced chef at work in the kitchen and one notices his or her acute awareness of time, how this factors into the decisions they are making. The ability to cook food for the ‘right’ amount of time is a key part of a cook’s skills. One of the satisfactions of learning to cook is understanding how to use time effectively. Appropriately, a practical, working knowledge of culinary time takes time to acquire; there are no short-cuts to experience.

Time’s relationship with food is multifaceted and complex, extending far beyond the right cooking times for dishes. We appreciate many different aspects of culinary time. At one end of the spectrum is the idea of freshness. Eating truly fresh food is a vivid experience. Years ago, when I was a teenager living in Italy, my parents and I visited Italian friends whose home was in the hills above Fiesole. Our kindly host, noticing my boredom at the adult conversation, told me that I could go into the garden and help myself to the fruit growing in it. I stepped out into the warm Tuscan sunshine and, rather hesitantly, reached up into the branches of an apricot tree, pulled a downy-skinned, deep orange-red-coloured apricot off the tree and ate it. I still remember how delectable that apricot tasted. Not only was I eating it fresh from the tree – with no passage of time after harvesting for it to deteriorate – I was also eating it when it was ripe and ready. Over the months between spring and summer, a fertilized apricot blossom had been transformed, swelling and ripening with the rain and the warmth and light of the sun into the fruit that I enjoyed so much. The tree itself had taken years to grow, requiring care and attention from its owner from its first planting as a sapling to its fruitful maturity. My brief encounter with an apricot required many diverse types of time.

We also value the alluring patina that ageing adds to food and drink. Many of our most highly prized foods and drinks – Aceto Balsamico Tradizionale di Modena (traditional balsamic vinegar of Modena), jamón ibérico, vintage wines and spirits – take years to produce. This extensive use of time is closely bound up in our appreciation of these delicacies. The taking of time is nowadays used as a marketing tool. Recently, the multinational Unilever went to the trouble of producing a handsomely presented XO (Extra Old) Marmite. Labelled ‘matured with a stronger taste’, this is an example of ageing being used to add a sheen of glamour, transforming what is normally regarded as an everyday, mass-produced food into a desirable luxury. So prized is the concept of ageing within the food world that numerous short-cuts are used to try to mimic its effects. Some cheese-makers tap into the cachet associated with matured cheeses by wrapping their cheeses in plastic, storing them in chilled conditions, then releasing them as 1- or 2-year-old cheeses. On tasting them, however, one would note very little difference or improvement. Meaningful cheese-maturing – such as that carefully carried out on Parmigiano-Reggiano or farmhouse Cheddars – allows the cheese to breathe and dry out. When consumed, these aged cheeses deliver a richness of umami and a long, lingering finish. An authentic ageing process is one that impacts meaningfully and beneficially on the final organoleptic (sensory) experience, so affecting aroma, taste and texture. There is a mysterious alchemy to how time works. The changes wrought by time during processes such as the maturing of air-dried meats or the ageing of port – even the simple melding of flavours in a stew made a day ahead – are little understood. The beneficial results, though, can be tasted and appreciated.

Our relationship with time and food is also a double-edged one. Time is the great destroyer, causing ingredients to deteriorate and decay. For centuries humans have sought to counteract the detrimental effects of time on precious, hard-won food by finding ways of preserving it. Drying, salting, smoking, fermenting, curing, pickling, saturating with sugar and – more recently – canning are among the ingenious ways developed to keep food safer for longer. With the advent of refrigeration and freezing, the battle to keep food fresh for longer made significant advances. While in many parts of the world the traditional methods of preserving food from decay are no longer strictly essential, we continue to use them, appreciating the way in which they enrich our diet.

Eating is essential for life. It is an act we repeat over and over again throughout our lives to sustain our bodies. Historically, it was understood that the preparation of food took time, from sourcing ingredients (through hunting, fishing, growing and trading) to the gutting, plucking, picking, kneading, pounding and grinding required before cooking could begin. Today, labour-saving devices, from breadmakers to food processors, make food preparation quicker and easier than ever before. Despite this, we seem to begrudge the time spent preparing and making food. The impatience that characterizes modern life is manifest in our approach to cooking.

‘Cooking from scratch’ is the term now given to what was simply called ‘cooking’ by my parents when I was a child; it specifically means starting with raw ingredients. For those who don’t wish to make food in this way there are now numerous options. Since its invention in America in the 1950s, the ready-meal has moved from being an exotic novelty to a ubiquitous staple. The advent of the microwave in domestic homes means that chilled and frozen meals can be quickly and effortlessly heated through. The Horsegate scandal in Europe in 2013, when it was revealed that meat-based foods were being adulterated with undeclared horse meat and pork, caused a dip in ready-meal sales. Since then, though, the ready-meal market has bounced back and it is generally regarded as a buoyant sector of food manufacturing. Indeed, in Britain a recent report from business intelligence provider Key Note forecast that the market value of the ready-meals market would grow by 15.7% between 2015 and 2019. For those looking to cook for themselves, there are numerous already prepared ingredients designed to take time out of the process. Grated cheese, chopped onion, bagged salad leaves – simple kitchen tasks that previous generations took for granted now present commercial opportunities.

Dining out is another area of gastronomy where time is being reduced. The convivial idea of a long, leisurely meal at a restaurant with friends – sitting and lingering over coffee at the end – seems to belong to another era. The brutal realities of high rents in large cities have seen the development of table-turning as a common practice in order to maximize turnover. Meals are served within strictly allocated time frames and diners are expected to then move on promptly, so freeing up space for the next sitting. ‘What you pay for when you eat out in London isn’t ingredients or staff,’ a restaurateur told me, ‘it’s rent.’ One innovative café chain – Ziferblat – charges customers 8 pence a minute, rather than charging them for the food and drink they consume. ‘Everything is free except for the time you spend,’ explains founder Colin Shenton. The idea of eating out itself has been speeded up. Rather than going to the trouble of actually visiting restaurants, a popular app-delivered trend sees dishes from restaurants brought to your own home. ‘Your favourite restaurants delivered fast to your door’ is the strap-line for Deliveroo, its service undertaken by teams of couriers pedalling through city streets to deliver meals as quickly as possible. Founded in 2013, it has quickly become one of Europe’s best-funded start-ups, showing the financial potential of the online takeaway model.

The history of food production has seen the move from individual producers towards mass-manufacturing. This shift brought with it the squeezing out of time from the making of food. ‘Time is money’ in the world of industrial food production, and much resourcefulness has been spent in minimizing time in processes. A striking example of this is the Chorleywood process, invented in Buckinghamshire in the early 1960s. It radically reformulated the ingredients and the method of making bread. Lower-protein flour, fat, yeast and additives are combined through a few moments of violent, mechanical agitation in powerful mixers. The resulting dough rises rapidly, meaning that loaves of bread can be baked far more quickly than bread made traditionally, as it had been for centuries. Today the Chorleywood process is used to produce 80% of Britain’s bread. The results of bread made this way are dispiriting: light, insubstantial in texture, unpleasantly claggy to eat. And yet, around the world, there are examples of traditional time-consuming processes mimicked with short-cut methods by industrial food producers: brine-injected bacon, plastic-wrapped ‘aged’ beef, fizzy beers created by adding CO2 rather than using natural fermentation, ‘smoked’ cheese made with smoke-flavoured additives … The quest to speed up our relationship with food continues to this day. The Space Age idea of an instant ‘food meal pill’ continues to enthral. Soylent is a meal-replacement product, available in drink, bar and powder form. It was invented in California in 2013 by Rob Rhinehart, a young tech start-up entrepreneur who created it to save himself time and money. Realizing that there was interest in the idea, he and his partners sought crowd-funding; such was the interest that they raised a massive investment very quickly indeed. Sales of Soylent – a mixture of protein, carbohydrates, lipids and micronutrients – are increasing each year. Its sales pitch is focused on saving time: ‘If you’ve ever wasted time and energy trying to decide what to eat for lunch, or been too busy to eat a proper meal – Soylent is for you.’ In this vision of the world, taking the time to cook and eat is simply a waste of time. As someone who loves to cook and eat, this purely functional approach to food is in opposition to everything I hold dear. Writing this book brought home to me the importance of time in creating good food.

And yet we have also seen the rise of craft food producers. While many are using traditional methods of making food, there is also a willingness to experiment and innovate. The artisan food scene is an interesting place, characterized by makers’ imagination and energy. A striking common feature of their approach to creating good food is the proper use of time. Bakers making real sourdough bread allow the dough to ferment slowly and gently in order to create flavour and texture in the resulting loaf. Smokeries skilfully apply a time-consuming process of salting and cold-smoking to transform fresh, perishable fish into a cured luxury. Cheese-makers use different amounts of time to help them create a huge variety, ranging from fresh, moist cheeses – ready to eat within days of being made – to large cheeses, set aside and carefully matured in the right conditions for months. Livestock farmers committed to producing high-quality meat understand very well the importance of time in rearing their animals. Slower growing times allow the development of intramuscular fat and collagen, strong bones filled with marrow; the reward for the consumer being meat or poultry that is succulent, tender, flavourful. The results are foods to be savoured and relished. They possess a power to jolt us, bring us to the present, make us think about what we are eating.

Young chefs are embracing time-consuming techniques such as curing meats, pickling and fermenting because they enjoy mastering these fundamental aspects of working with ingredients. The satisfaction of making food also seems to be rippling into people’s homes, beginning with how food is sourced. There has been a rise of food markets and farmers’ markets in cities and towns, offering a more leisurely, personal and seasonally connected way of shopping rather than simply pushing a trolley through a supermarket. Tending sourdough starters and baking bread, fermenting tea to make kombucha, turning fruit into jams, marmalades and chutneys – these are all time-consuming activities being taken up with enthusiasm. There is a sense that food is worth it. Going to the time and trouble of preparing food for others has long been entwined with deep-held ideas of nurturing and hospitality. Cooking a meal for others is an expression of affection – carried out by mothers and fathers for their children, by romantic partners for each other, by people for their friends.

Time is at once fluid yet implacable. Despite much human ingenuity being expended, we find it impossible to genuinely reproduce its effects on shaping and creating our food. We need to recognize what a truly remarkable ingredient time is – find pleasure in its proper use in the whole food chain, from growing and making to cooking – in short, make time for it.

PARTICULAR BOOKS

Introduction

Seconds