KEY POINTS:
I bag the last front-row seat in the class. It's gastronomy, of the molecular variety. Our teacher, "mad scientist in the kitchen" Simon Gault of Auckland's Euro, is surrounded by containers of liquids, an industrial-sized jug-blender and two oversized syringes. All that's missing is bubbling, smoking flask of
something green and a maniacal laugh. This is definitely going to be a different kind of cooking.
"Molecular gastronomy is about giving the round wheel of food a nudge so it rolls down the road a bit wobbly," says Gault. Bring on the molecules!
Gault works with Texturas, a range of flavourless, predominantly seaweed-based powders. They're packaged in pretty tubs that you might mistake for bath salts. "These offer a bunch of possibilities to give your menu an edge," he says.
In this two-hour session there will barely be time to scratch the surface of this weird, wonderful and increasingly popular science, but to get us geared up for some intensive learning, Gault passes round the gin and tonics. It's another sign we've crossed a bold new frontier - these G&Ts are not liquid but an icy sorbet on a spoon. "It's got a fizzy thing going on," he says, passing round a tub of the maggot-like twists responsible for the tingling sensation.
Next on the molecular menu are battered scallops; this time with the added ingredient, Trisol, which prevents the batter soaking up too much oil. The result is the wispiest, crunchiest coating I've ever tasted.
Following the same theory and using Trisol to get the extremes of crunchy on the outside and soft within, batter an egg yolk and add it to your next Caesar salad, suggests Gault. I think I need another G&T.
Then there's gelifications: jellies but not as you know them. Fancy a suspension? Mixing a powder, fermented from cornstarch, solidifies the liquid just enough that you can suspend things in it. Gault demonstrates with a colourless gazpacho into which he drops tiny vegetable cubes. They float in the soup, each at a different level, as if attached by invisible threads.
Incorporate this technique into a cocktail and suddenly you're a molecular mixologist.
Meanwhile, the other demonstrating chef, Shane Yardley, also of Euro, is stirring up the extremely unusual but delicious sounding "chocolate gravel". It's made of melted chocolate mixed with Malto, a powder derived from tapioca.
Sprinkle these dark crumbs over a dessert and they'll melt back to liquid in your mouth. Gault uses the same technique to dress savoury dishes, too - he suggests lemon gravel sprinkled over fish.
From the gravel it's time for to head for the air - lime air. Gault whizzes lime juice, water and Lecite, a soy lecithin-based emulsifier, into a mountain of foam that would do any bath proud. The difference is these bubbles will retain their shape without collapsing. Add some flavours and there you have a three-dimensional garnish - you can even freeze them in their bubble-shape. "Endless fun," grins Gault. Is it me or did he just stifle a mad Dr Frankenstein-like cackle?
The last trick in this kitchen magic act is reverse spherification. We bury tiny cubes of gorgonzola and honeycomb into a spoonful of yoghurt. The spoons, complete with yoghurt, are dunked into a liquid solution, then rinsed. The yoghurt semi-sets into a soft sphere which hides the tangy-sweet burst of flavour from the cheese and honey within. Now that's magic.
And just one thing to finish. Hot liquid, in a cup. Yep, a good old-fashioned cuppa. Some things you don't want to mess with.
For other short hospitality courses contact Taste, an initiative of The Restaurant Association or see www.tastenz.co.nz.
