So, I think we should start this off on a note of honesty. I rarely make cured egg yolks because it calls for such an inordinate amount of sugar and salt and you can’t really reuse it once it has absorbed all of the moisture from the yolks. But if you have egg yolks that are still intact from making meringue or an egg white omelette, then this is one of the many things you can do with them. Remember, no yolk left behind.
The process is simple and nothing to be intimidated by. You could even do this with your kids, if you have them, but if not – then by yourself or your significant other is just fine. This technique is guaranteed to impress your friends, assuming they aren’t already in the ‘egg preserving’ circle. When I first made these, we had to take off to East Tennessee for a week because my mother-in-law passed out, hit her head and was hospitalized. So, my yolks actually sat in the fridge for 9 days before I got back to them. At this point, they were nice and dry so I didn’t bother putting them in the oven to dry them out more – but you may need to if you let them go the recommended 3-6 day period like most guidelines say to do. And if you want a softer version, simply let it go for 12-hours and you will achieve a runnier egg that is great for serving with crostini and smoked fish, or maybe just a schmear across your morning toast.
This procedure is from The Splendid Table via America’s Test Kitchen. And once you learn the process, you’ll be able to riff and create your own seasoning blends and find out what flavor profiles you do and don’t like. In this batch I added five bay leaves, and a heavy teaspoon of crushed red pepper flake. The spice took a little bit but not enough to make a significant difference, so I would up the quantity next time until I achieved the level of heat that I desire. But enough chatter, the recipe is below and if you make them, tag us @thesaltedtable on Instagram, I’d love to see your results!
“Contrary to popular belief, diamond is not the hardest material known to man. The hardest material in the universe is dried egg yolk. And one day, it will revolutionize the construction industry.”
― Ron Brackin
Cured Egg Yolks
1.5 cups white granulated sugar
1.5 cups Diamond kosher salt
4 egg yolks
5 bay leaves
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flake
1 1-2 inch deep dish
Method:
1. Combine sugar, salt, red pepper, and bay leaves in a blender and pulse until ingredients are combined well. Bay leaves and crushed red pepper should be sugar size particles.
2. Pour half the mixture into the bottom of your dish. Take an unbroken egg and use the shell to make indentions in the sugar/salt mixture, or you may use the back of a spoon. Make four spaces and place a yolk in each one. Cover the yolks with the remaining mix.
NOTE: I lightly pressed my fingertip on top the yolk to remember the placemat for later retrieval.
3. Cover the dish securely with plastic wrap and place pan in the fridge. Once the eggs are ready. Do a quick rinse to remove any residual mixture that is still attached. Place them on a wire rack in a 150 degree oven and let them go for about 1.5-2 hours or until your level of dryness is reached. That’s it! Your are ready to grate those babies over soups, pastas, salads and sandwiches. Enjoy!
NOTE: I simply wiped mine off with a damp paper towel and allowed them to dry at room temp before placing them in a weck jar for safe storage. Eggs are good in the fridge up to a month, if they last that long.
A video clip and close-up of the final product:
The winter entered through the back door a little prematurely. Autumn was slowly taking steps backward to make way for the hues of blue, the last leaves to fall away from the branches of soon-to-be withered trees. You know, the ones that cast shadows behind the street lights at night. I’ve become used to hearing the wailing of those who lament winter’s arrival; grumbling about how their desire for summer to come back because the spring time wreaks havoc on their allergies.
As a child I had both allergies and asthma, two diseases that still bring me grief today. But I still have an appreciation for every season because the details are different; and the arrival of spring blooms versus the color change of the leaves in autumn are all things to be appreciated. And winter’s vegetables are some of my favorite to consume. The vibrant shades of cabbage nestled against the neutrals of potatoes and a splash of hearty greens all ready to be made into delectable soups, stews and pickled things if you’re skilled enough to take on the challenge.
I was a strange kid if you were to inquire from the right family members. I was a lover of all vegetables with the exception of okra, it had to be fried and practically burnt for me to find it palatable. Of course, I’ve since matured and adore it fried or pickled, but still slightly burnt (old habits die-hard). But enough of memory lane, lets talk radishes. My only familiarity with radishes growing up was at church potlucks on crudités platters and they were always the last thing left, along with celery. They were more oft than not left behind on salad bars and strewn to the side of the plate like the family member you wanted to avoid at all cost due to lack of personality. In culinary school we carved them into flowers during garde manger, shaved over salads as an a la minute need for a burst of color. I’ve only ever known them to be the red-headed stepchild of the cruciferous family…tis a shame.
The recipe I’m sharing with you today I hope changes your mind about these guys…or gals. I rather enjoy introducing radishes to my clients in this format and I have yet to see anyone shy away from giving them a try. It’s so simple and yet so rewarding-ly delicious – just a little bit of olive oil, kosher salt and fresh ground black and you’re in business. This same method works well with carrots, rutabagas, parsnips and other hearty veggies as well.
I decided to make a little garlic aioli to eat them with and used the cheaters guide to make this rather quickly. I cracked and peeled three cloves of garlic and sautéed it in a skillet with a tablespoon of olive and a little salt and pepper until the garlic was aromatic and began to caramelize a little. Once I got a good amount of color on the garlic about two minutes on medium heat – I set that mixture to the side to let it cool. I pulled out my food processor and put three heavy tablespoons of Duke’s mayo in there with two dashes of Texas Pete hot sauce, a squeeze of lemon juice (1 tbsp), the garlic with the oil that it cooked in and a dash of Worcestershire. I flipped the switch and let those ingredients come together, scraping down the sides once or twice to incorporate all the ingredients. Once I was happy with the consistency I tasted it for salt and pepper.
I woke up this morning in our recently purchased home and decided to stop making excuses as to why I’m too busy to sit down and blog–because truth be told, I’m not. Though I do feel overwhelmed at times and all I want to do once I arrive home from work is wander aimlessly in my boxer shorts, turn the A/C down to some unbearable icy temperature and watch Netflix, it doesn’t make for the most efficient use of my time, but it’s what often happens.
I love the summer time. I love the warm weather, seeing people riding their bikes, families spending time together in backyards, and the smell of smoky meat funneling through your window. It evokes the free-spirit in all of us and we’re off to the lake on the weekend, mini road-trips pursue and we’re tending to our gardens on the patio. Just about every Summer I’m left feeling convicted that I didn’t quite enjoy it enough. I didn’t eat enough tomatoes, there’s not enough squash in my freezer and I didn’t can anything. I’m still dealing with that aching feeling this year but trying not to let it ruin taking advantage of Autumn’s produce, I do love some root vegetables, figs, apples, winter squash and greens.
I’m often looking for ways to bring some southern influence into other genres of cuisine and I love the addition of cornbread to this Tuscan salad as opposed to the typical rustic country miche of some sort. If there’s a food that can take me on a stroll down memory lane, cornbread is definitely at the top of that list. I can hear the butter sizzle around the edges of the cast-iron skillet and smell that rich nuttiness erupting through the corridors of my childhood. And what better way to use those beautiful tomatoes, cucumbers and fresh herbs than in such a simple salad with great layers of flavor.
Ingredients
There’s a minimalist inside of me just screaming to get out. I want to be surrounded by less and somehow I continue to take in more. My affinity for food props and ‘old things’ that appear to tell a story continue to steal my heart with every visited estate sale. How is it these families of deceased loved ones could let go of such treasures. Sets of silver and hand-woven baskets, wood-working pieces and quilts consisting of fragmented memories. It’s a bit melancholy when I reflect on it. I know that some of the pieces I own were simply thoughtless purchases of a scrambling aunt who forgot a birthday or two but it doesn’t mean there’s no value…or maybe it does?
I’ve run into this time and time again from the recollection of my childhood to the occasional venture to a new dining spot here in Nashville. The dish that has 5 ingredients as opposed to fifteen is the ‘last man standing’. Nothing annoys me more than a chef who over thinks their dishes. It’s often as simple as leaving off that hibiscus foam or random shaved vegetable that could make a dish shine. And leave an everlasting impression on that first-time or returning guests palate that could possibly ignite their passion for food. Not just eating it for necessity but also for sheer pleasure the enjoyment flavor profiles, local ingredients and textbook cooking techniques. My great-grandmother and grandmother were both skilled artisans at these simple things and I could go on and on telling you about some of the best meals I ever ate because they were so simple that they can’t be erased from my ‘food memories’. And I don’t think that I’d be willing to part with them. 
