There’s a running joke in chef circles: to score a star, hat or whatever manner of legitimacy food critics dish out, put burnt stuff on the menu.
I don’t mean burnished-edged lasagne, or “burnt” butter sauce (which is really just caramelised). Nor your burnt ego when you catch a whiff of something singed and wonder “who left the oven on?” only to look in the kitchen and realise (spoiler alert) it was you.
