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Midway through our six-course meal, one of
the members of our dining party paused mid-bite. Fork poised over
her strip loin of beef (medium rare, served with parsnip puree) and
roast piquillo pepper (stuffed with goat cheese and shredded, braised
short ribs), she exclaimed with a note of wonder, "This is
so good I want to cry."
Days earlier, four of us had made a reservation at Z Kitchen, the
private dining club launched this fall by hypermodern chef, and Duke
junior, Bryan Zupon. We were intrigued by the premise: a private
dining club that operates only a couple of nights a week (at most)
and serves food based on the latest trend in cooking.
Hypermodernists like Zupon are part mad scientist and part culinary
trailblazer, using additives like agar, to create gel-like textures,
and nitrous oxide, to whip up mushroom or beet foams, and tweaking
standard pairings in unexpected ways (a bubble of mozzarella infused
with tomato "air" or a Caesar salad of parmesan-crusted
romaine and brioche "twinkie" croutons). Another hypermodern
hallmark is pairing foods that usually never meet on a plate. For
example, Thomas Keller, the only American-born chef to have two three-star
restaurants since the Michelin Guide's inception in 1900, created
his signature "Oysters and Pearls" dish by combining
tapioca custard, oysters, and caviar. At his WD-50 restaurant in
New York, Wylie Dufresne offers an appetizer of Sake-pine nut gazpacho
with oysters, cherries, and coffee oil.
Intrigued but skittish, at the appointed hour of seven o'clock,
four of us climbed the concrete and metal staircase to Apartment
H, located on the second floor of an aging, 1970s-era brick building
a short walk from West Campus. Recycling bins in front of neighboring
apartments brimmed with empty beer bottles and flattened cereal boxes.
We knocked on the worn metal door, which was answered by Zupon, attired
in a black Polo shirt and brown shorts, a crisp white apron tied
neatly around his waist.
"Welcome to Z Kitchen," he said, waving us in. Two things
struck us immediately. One, given that Zupon operates Z Kitchen out
of the bachelor-pad apartment he shares with two roommates, it was
remarkably tidy. Two, no smells wafted out of the kitchen. As we
would soon discover, most of the actual cooking had already taken
place.
Like Dufresne and the other avant-garde chefs he admires, Zupon is
experimenting with ways to push the boundaries of new cuisine. One
technique quickly gaining favor is sous vide, which translates from
the French as "under vacuum." At first blush it seems
to be little more than a variation on the old boil-in-the-bag approach
to easy, one-pot cooking. In practice, it requires chefs to understand
how ingredients that have been vacuum sealed in plastic pouches react
chemically to low temperatures (below the boiling point) and slow
cooking times (hours and hours) while both maintaining and enhancing
the integrity of the food. With sous vide, purer, deeper flavors
emerge because nothing is lost in the cooking process. Devised by
French chef Georges Pralus in the mid-1970s, sous vide has been embraced
by the culinary avant-garde.
While it can be disconcerting to show up for dinner and not smell
heady aromas of things simmering, Zupon explained to us that sous
vide is a boon to chefs not only because it creates wonderful marriages
of flavors, but also because it means that the bulk of the cooking
is done ahead of time. Any last-minute sautéeing or prepping
required can be done precisely at the moment when diners are ready
for their next dish.
Before we settled down to our meal, Zupon complied with our requests
to see the Z Kitchen pantry and prep area. Two water baths—similar
to what you might find in a pharmaceutical laboratory—took
up counter space along with a vacuum sealer he uses to create the
sous vide pouches. There's also an induction cook top, a device
resembling a modernized hot plate that can heat pots or pans in a
fraction of the time that it takes an electric or gas burner (and
cool off just as fast). Because the cook top itself doesn't
get hot but rather transfers the heat directly to the pan, the induction
method is energy efficient and results in fewer burned fingers or
hands.
As music by Miles Davis played softly in the background, we took
our places around the dining-room table, which had been minimally
adorned with black placemats, silverware, and two flickering, white
pillar candles. A computer printout of the evening's revised
menu rested at each place setting. Throughout the evening, Zupon
used a nearby prep table to plate each course as it came out of the
kitchen.
First up was a trio of salads: two plump, balsamic-infused strawberries
with an almost imperceptible smattering of black pepper, small cubes
of roasted red and gold beets, each topped with a smidgen of Fourme
d' Ambert, a traditional French blue cheese, and a single
butter-poached asparagus spear with a light dusting of black truffle
salt. Zupon urged us to eat from left to right to emphasize the progression
of flavors and textures. The gimmick worked. Each morsel provided
a pleasing ripple effect of subtle sensations on our palates. The
ripe, bittersweet bite of the vinegar-kissed strawberry was replaced
by the earthy, pungent tang of beet and blue cheese (with a hint
of orange-blossom honey providing a sweet undertone), followed closely
by the spicy crunch of the asparagus.
We were hooked. Not only was each portion a winning combination of
texture, seasoning, and aroma, but the salad—and each course
that followed—reflected the attention to aesthetics that is
a hallmark of this type of cooking. One sauce was presented as a
broad brushstroke across the surface of a plate. Another dish resembled
geometric artwork—smooth red and green crescents of heirloom
tomato juxtaposed with a sharp triangle of toasted panino. The "minerally
Riesling" he had suggested we bring was a lovely pairing with
the dish. (Z Kitchen is a BYOB affair, but Zupon makes wine recommendations
in advance.)
Plates cleared, Zupon presented the next course, a modest portion
of flaky cod served in a shallow bowl with braised fennel and raisins
in a Nueske bacon broth. The sous vide technique had rendered the
fish so tender it yielded immediately to the slightest pressure from
a fork. The anise-like aroma of the fennel counterbalanced the smoky
heft of the bacon broth, while the raisins somehow managed to be
both understated and zingy.
Zupon's clientele consists of Duke students on double dates
and an occasional food writer who's heard about what he's
doing. Advance reservations are a must, and can be made by e-mailing
Zupon. He does no advertising or promotion; instead, his fanbase
grows through word of mouth. "When people first hear about
hypermod-ern food, they think it's a joke, and a bad joke at
that," Zupon said as he re-filled water and wine glasses between
courses. "For me, it's about introducing people to the
most elemental aspects of food, taking food that is familiar but
focusing on simple, clean flavors that are delicious. And I think
that once people try it, they understand what I'm trying to
do."
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