Chemistry

Chemistry gets short shrift. Theoretical physics and neuroscience and molecular biology get all the sexy press, while chemistry departments slowly wither away. In many respects, this is just because chemistry has been so successful: there don't seem to be any great unknowns or theoretical gaps left within the field. It's not like neuroscience (which can't even begin to explain consciousness, Alzheimer's, etc.) or modern physics (which still can't reconcile the theory of relativity with quantum mechanics).

Of course, the unfortunate fate of every successful science is to become a branch of engineering. For the most part, chemists solve practical problems, which is great for you and me, but not so great for the field of chemistry. While it might be cooler to work on cosmic equations, or the mind-body problem, if some intrepid scientist manages to save the world from global warming, my guess is that it's going to be a chemist.

All this is an awkward preface to my latest love affair with chemistry, which came in my kitchen, as I was mixing way too much gelatin into a warm batch of crushed tomatoes and olive oil. I was adapting this recipe to see if I could make a crystal clear (but deeply flavored) gazpacho. It worked beautifully. While I was sipping my tomato juice that looked like tap water, I couldn't stop thinking that chemistry is pretty damn cool.

A traditional consommé is made crystal clear by stirring in and then skimming off a foam of egg whites, which trap solid particles. The new technique uses gelatin instead. The process, though it takes two or three days, is simple. First you make juice or flavorful broth and strain it to remove any particles. Then you dissolve gelatin in the liquid, but only a little bit -- just a fraction of what you'd use in a set gelatin dessert. (You don't need to add gelatin to meat stocks, which already contain it.)

Then you freeze the liquid overnight, place the frozen block in a strainer over a bowl and let it thaw in the refrigerator a day or two. Liquid slowly drips into the bowl. This is the consommé.

It's ingenious. As the jelly freezes, the water in it begins to form solid ice crystals, while the gelatin, the solid food particles, the droplets of fat and the flavors are concentrated in the remaining liquid. The long gelatin molecules bond to each other to form an invisibly fine net that traps everything else in its crevices.

Afterwards, I tried researching the molecular wonder of gelatin, only to realize that I'd forgotten everything I learned in organic chemistry.