My group this week was in sous chef rotation. Oy to the vey, you guys. It was all of the work- if not more- without out any of the fun stuff. I did occasionally delight in transforming leftovers into palatable food for student lunch (or 's'lunch' as I like to call it). What I did not enjoy was the sass I received when I had to ride people. Or when I told them they screwed up & needed to fix it. At least the following day it was all history.
Weirdly, the thing that bothered me the most today was when I sauteed some garlic in butter & olive oil for a ton of leftover fettucini. Chef said it needed cream (it had a sufficient amount of parmesan, fercrissake- gross pre-shedded American, anyway). I take issue with people who expect creamy, viscous sauces all of the time. Fuck, my favorite noodles are with butter & mushrooms. The older I get, the less I like those goopy, blobtacular foods. You just can't taste the food as well with all of that rich dairy coating your tongue. I'll save it for dessert, fanks.
I was so pained at the end of school today, I stopped for a couple of mimosas & a marzipan peach on my way home. I'm all better now.
2.20.2009
2.09.2009
Dumb gorillas in the midst.
The past few weeks of school have been kind of boring. Two weeks ago, my group was on starch/soup/veg. Basically, we cooked what the first quarter students had prepped for us. That week was so dull I don't even feel like giving those days any distinction from each other here. I did learn that while grilling polenta cakes, one must use tons of oil or the cakes will stick to the grill like crazy glue. (Did you think I was going to say '...stick like crazy [period]'? Well, I wasn't.) Cleaning the grill isn't a big deal, but the grill marks that are supposed to be on the cakes won't come with them when they're removed from the grill. Good thing they have two sides to choose from for presentation!
Last week, we were in the bake shop. I was sort of annoyed at first because all we get to do is bake cookies & simple cakes. Never you mind that I forgot about three trays of cookies in the oven one day. I don't get it. I like cookies a lot, so I don't understand why I burn them half of the time. I never burn anything else I put in the oven. JUST COOKIES. I didn't learn anything new last week, but it was relaxing & the ambient temperature was very comfortable.
(Aside: [Pardon the Seinfeld Ovaltine/Roundtine tinge to this, please.] Cookies- they aren't cooked. Shouldn't they be called 'bakies'? Bakies even sounds better, besides relieving my minor irritation with that dumb other name. If I call them 'biscuits', everyone will just accuse me of being a Madonna because my husband's English. By the way, I still haven't heard her speak since her divorce, & I'm extremely curious to know if her adopted accent stuck.)
This is stupid for me to even mention because it's just so damned silly, but to flesh this post out, I'm gonna! Allow me preface what I'm going to say with something I learned during one of those ' The Making Of...'-type shows that featured Planet of the Apes. During their lunches, the actors wearing the gorilla costumes sat with those wearing the gorilla costumes, & the same for the orangutans & chimps. Silly! but there it is. It's ridiculous, but people tend to people like them. Anyway. There can sometimes be this...unease between the culinary students & the bakery students. I don't want to take sides because it's beyond moronic. My best guess is that it's mostly perpetuated by mean jokes about the pastry students that somehow make it back to them. Then again, there are a few who are plain weird (who I think a lot of these jokes are based on). During an assignment in our purchasing class, I was attempting to explain in very bare, simple terms an assignment to a pastry student. She looked at me with this blank expression, her mouth slightly hanging open, in the kind of way my cat does sometimes. The part I was attempting to get across to her was so doy, I instantly thought, 'No wonder you're in pastry.' Then there was the time I laughed at a truly cruel & stupid joke about them before feeling badly about it. I shan't repeat it! Well, e-mail me if you really want to know. I just don't need everyone who reads this to know how truly base my funny bone can be.
I know it's dumb to malign them all when it's really just a couple who are truly bizarre &/or dim-witted. Pastry is very exacting & requires a lot of precision. I suppose we dis them as much as we do because I've yet to see them work they asses off the way we (chose) to. That being said, they have plenty of joke material to mine off of us considering the dumb-dumbs in our midsts. There's actually a not very young man in first quarter for the fourth time. !!! I mean, don't you think it's greedy that the program keeps accepting his tuition money? I had to remind him three times in fifteen minutes to wear gloves when handling ready-to-eat foods. It went from a gentle reminder to a something very jarring. I heard what he called me, but it's not nearly as funny as what we call him. That's not so surprising considering his name for me was pretty humorless. Still, how many times will it be before all of this takes in his walnut-brain?
Besides that guy, there are the jerks & h8rz in culinary. Some of them are even pretty rude the the newer quarter students. Like me! But naturally, after a minute or two of shit talking, I don't care about the condescending students. I figure that if someone is taking that long to make me feel like I'm not doing it right, they're probably burning something. It's just unprofessional to try to lord over someone in such a pronounced way- I mean, you're still a student too, shit slice. At least I a. stab you in the front & b. wait to do on my free time in the bar. Like a lady!
Last week, we were in the bake shop. I was sort of annoyed at first because all we get to do is bake cookies & simple cakes. Never you mind that I forgot about three trays of cookies in the oven one day. I don't get it. I like cookies a lot, so I don't understand why I burn them half of the time. I never burn anything else I put in the oven. JUST COOKIES. I didn't learn anything new last week, but it was relaxing & the ambient temperature was very comfortable.
(Aside: [Pardon the Seinfeld Ovaltine/Roundtine tinge to this, please.] Cookies- they aren't cooked. Shouldn't they be called 'bakies'? Bakies even sounds better, besides relieving my minor irritation with that dumb other name. If I call them 'biscuits', everyone will just accuse me of being a Madonna because my husband's English. By the way, I still haven't heard her speak since her divorce, & I'm extremely curious to know if her adopted accent stuck.)
This is stupid for me to even mention because it's just so damned silly, but to flesh this post out, I'm gonna! Allow me preface what I'm going to say with something I learned during one of those ' The Making Of...'-type shows that featured Planet of the Apes. During their lunches, the actors wearing the gorilla costumes sat with those wearing the gorilla costumes, & the same for the orangutans & chimps. Silly! but there it is. It's ridiculous, but people tend to people like them. Anyway. There can sometimes be this...unease between the culinary students & the bakery students. I don't want to take sides because it's beyond moronic. My best guess is that it's mostly perpetuated by mean jokes about the pastry students that somehow make it back to them. Then again, there are a few who are plain weird (who I think a lot of these jokes are based on). During an assignment in our purchasing class, I was attempting to explain in very bare, simple terms an assignment to a pastry student. She looked at me with this blank expression, her mouth slightly hanging open, in the kind of way my cat does sometimes. The part I was attempting to get across to her was so doy, I instantly thought, 'No wonder you're in pastry.' Then there was the time I laughed at a truly cruel & stupid joke about them before feeling badly about it. I shan't repeat it! Well, e-mail me if you really want to know. I just don't need everyone who reads this to know how truly base my funny bone can be.
I know it's dumb to malign them all when it's really just a couple who are truly bizarre &/or dim-witted. Pastry is very exacting & requires a lot of precision. I suppose we dis them as much as we do because I've yet to see them work they asses off the way we (chose) to. That being said, they have plenty of joke material to mine off of us considering the dumb-dumbs in our midsts. There's actually a not very young man in first quarter for the fourth time. !!! I mean, don't you think it's greedy that the program keeps accepting his tuition money? I had to remind him three times in fifteen minutes to wear gloves when handling ready-to-eat foods. It went from a gentle reminder to a something very jarring. I heard what he called me, but it's not nearly as funny as what we call him. That's not so surprising considering his name for me was pretty humorless. Still, how many times will it be before all of this takes in his walnut-brain?
Besides that guy, there are the jerks & h8rz in culinary. Some of them are even pretty rude the the newer quarter students. Like me! But naturally, after a minute or two of shit talking, I don't care about the condescending students. I figure that if someone is taking that long to make me feel like I'm not doing it right, they're probably burning something. It's just unprofessional to try to lord over someone in such a pronounced way- I mean, you're still a student too, shit slice. At least I a. stab you in the front & b. wait to do on my free time in the bar. Like a lady!
1.23.2009
Pret à manger.
Last week was sort of a shock because I had no idea how difficult it would be to make so much food in a couple of hours. Tuesday, I was on sandwiches being sold to whomever it is that eats at the community college. I just hoped they would sell.
What I did: fresh mozzarella, arugula, roasted red peppers & tapenade on foccacia.
What I wish I could have done, but didn't due to lack of time: Thinly-sliced, roasted leg of lamb, mayo, red leaf & black pepper chips (yes, inside the sammie) served warm on a multigrain. Also would not have worked because the stuff garde manger makes is kept in a refrigerated case.
Le sigh.
Well, life sure ain't fair, but I'll tell ya: I'm relieved I didn't choose to go with a meat-focused sandwich. I didn't have a day prior to do prep, & having to roast meat would have eaten up too much time. I sold all but two, so you know, things turned out OK for my meatless one. A fifth quarter student really dug my tapenade, but I didn't agree. I decided to leave out the anchovy so there was no mistaking that it was vegetarian, so it lacked that depth.
Wednesday I cringed about twelvety times a minute. I was on salads, which couldn't be more straightforward. First quarter does most of the prep, so it's a matter of assembly & making some dressing. Whoopty shit, you're thinking. Well, I was in a flop sweat because the amount I was told to make of the "Pacific Rim (job) Salad" wasn't enough. I attempted to bolster it with a lot of Chinese cabbage, but even then it was still as flat as my grandma's ass. Chef K read me the riot act, so I let him know that was the amount called for on the menu plan. He tells me I needed to put mixed greens under it. So basically a salad under that salad. I knew it wasn't worth pointing out that made no sense at all, so I just did it all over again with frilly pieces of lettuce underneath the cabbage underneath the actual salad. Hrm.
My Thursday/Friday sushi rotation went much better. Fridays are our small plates day, when all kinds of weirdos buy 55¢ tickets that are exchanged for, doy, small plates. It's a total steal because nothing is over few dollars. Thursday, I did passably well on the maki, but on Friday everything clicked into place. I maki stayed sealed when I cut it. It had the right amount of filling to rice. The ends were as good as the center cuts. Everything made it out on time. It looked pret-tay, pret-tay, pret-tay good. My inner Larry David, which is always quite pronounced, was intensely smug.
What I did: fresh mozzarella, arugula, roasted red peppers & tapenade on foccacia.
What I wish I could have done, but didn't due to lack of time: Thinly-sliced, roasted leg of lamb, mayo, red leaf & black pepper chips (yes, inside the sammie) served warm on a multigrain. Also would not have worked because the stuff garde manger makes is kept in a refrigerated case.
Le sigh.
Well, life sure ain't fair, but I'll tell ya: I'm relieved I didn't choose to go with a meat-focused sandwich. I didn't have a day prior to do prep, & having to roast meat would have eaten up too much time. I sold all but two, so you know, things turned out OK for my meatless one. A fifth quarter student really dug my tapenade, but I didn't agree. I decided to leave out the anchovy so there was no mistaking that it was vegetarian, so it lacked that depth.
Wednesday I cringed about twelvety times a minute. I was on salads, which couldn't be more straightforward. First quarter does most of the prep, so it's a matter of assembly & making some dressing. Whoopty shit, you're thinking. Well, I was in a flop sweat because the amount I was told to make of the "Pacific Rim (job) Salad" wasn't enough. I attempted to bolster it with a lot of Chinese cabbage, but even then it was still as flat as my grandma's ass. Chef K read me the riot act, so I let him know that was the amount called for on the menu plan. He tells me I needed to put mixed greens under it. So basically a salad under that salad. I knew it wasn't worth pointing out that made no sense at all, so I just did it all over again with frilly pieces of lettuce underneath the cabbage underneath the actual salad. Hrm.
My Thursday/Friday sushi rotation went much better. Fridays are our small plates day, when all kinds of weirdos buy 55¢ tickets that are exchanged for, doy, small plates. It's a total steal because nothing is over few dollars. Thursday, I did passably well on the maki, but on Friday everything clicked into place. I maki stayed sealed when I cut it. It had the right amount of filling to rice. The ends were as good as the center cuts. Everything made it out on time. It looked pret-tay, pret-tay, pret-tay good. My inner Larry David, which is always quite pronounced, was intensely smug.
1.19.2009
Re-cap of past weeks I've neglected this blog & then some.
The knife competency happened & it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. The problem was everyone (esp ME) was so nervous it felt like doing well was impossible. I'm not saying if I was in complete control of my nerves, I would have gotten 100%. I do know that when the person who was student chef that day attempted to push me around, & I let it rattle me. I can only speak from my own experience of being student chef of first quarter students in a culinary program of a community college, but somehow I didn't let this dizzying glory go to far to my head.
(I will admit I really wanted to slap a bitch when it was my turn to oversee our kitchen. She's the type that's all talk & no effort. She rolled her eyes at me when I told her to pick up the pace as she took thirty minutes to peel a couple pounds of carrots. Could you imagine someone rolling their eyes at moi? Needless to say, I repeatedly ignore her Facebook requests for friendship, & she has recently dropped out of the program. Don't let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya!)
Now it's the second quarter, & I feel a lot less intimidated by the running around & mental organization & giant mixers. In fact, using the equipment is the easy part because there's only one right way to do it. With food, there are so many variables & details that rely on the cook's skills & judgment, doing it one way every time will get you into trouble.
In case I was under the impression that I may have some taste & ability, I have the second quarter chef instructor to put me in my place. He's the kind of person that can tell when you have a question, & you can tell he's put out by having to be the one to answer it. He's an old Japanese man with a great sense of humor & humanity...which is what makes his criticisms so much more harsh. He shares them with an immense amount of displeasure, & you're left feeling horrified that the guy who is nearly a cartoon character he's so buoyant is bent out of shape by your dumb question about how much bread to order. Obviously he just wants to inoculate us against the sort of treatment we should expect to receive, rise above it & all that, but that's easily forgotten when he gives you that look of intense irritation.
Tomorrow is actually my first time back in the kitchen. The first week was just going over a zillion syllabuses, & for me, getting used to being upright in the morning. Last week, I had to wait tables in one of the school's cafés. Having done this for a living, I think it's stupid there's no way to opt out of this. I don't have to have to take the measurements class because of my math credits. Can't I bring in a list of references & not pay tuition for it? It's just silly to have to dress like I work at The Keg & "learn" to remember to bring peoples' food to them. If you can't already do that, you might just be lacking common sense.
This week, my group & I are on garde manger, responsible for ready-to-eat items. I've read the recipes, listed the equipment I need to pull, what my first quarter gopher can take care of. I've also written in my tiny steno pad a bunch of salad dressing ideas I can do in my sleep so that I'm not stumped about it when I'm balls-to-the-wall busy. Or to hand off to whatever poor first quarter is stuck with me. Successful quantity cookery = mental (preparedness + agility) + speed.
(I will admit I really wanted to slap a bitch when it was my turn to oversee our kitchen. She's the type that's all talk & no effort. She rolled her eyes at me when I told her to pick up the pace as she took thirty minutes to peel a couple pounds of carrots. Could you imagine someone rolling their eyes at moi? Needless to say, I repeatedly ignore her Facebook requests for friendship, & she has recently dropped out of the program. Do
Now it's the second quarter, & I feel a lot less intimidated by the running around & mental organization & giant mixers. In fact, using the equipment is the easy part because there's only one right way to do it. With food, there are so many variables & details that rely on the cook's skills & judgment, doing it one way every time will get you into trouble.
In case I was under the impression that I may have some taste & ability, I have the second quarter chef instructor to put me in my place. He's the kind of person that can tell when you have a question, & you can tell he's put out by having to be the one to answer it. He's an old Japanese man with a great sense of humor & humanity...which is what makes his criticisms so much more harsh. He shares them with an immense amount of displeasure, & you're left feeling horrified that the guy who is nearly a cartoon character he's so buoyant is bent out of shape by your dumb question about how much bread to order. Obviously he just wants to inoculate us against the sort of treatment we should expect to receive, rise above it & all that, but that's easily forgotten when he gives you that look of intense irritation.
Tomorrow is actually my first time back in the kitchen. The first week was just going over a zillion syllabuses, & for me, getting used to being upright in the morning. Last week, I had to wait tables in one of the school's cafés. Having done this for a living, I think it's stupid there's no way to opt out of this. I don't have to have to take the measurements class because of my math credits. Can't I bring in a list of references & not pay tuition for it? It's just silly to have to dress like I work at The Keg & "learn" to remember to bring peoples' food to them. If you can't already do that, you might just be lacking common sense.
This week, my group & I are on garde manger, responsible for ready-to-eat items. I've read the recipes, listed the equipment I need to pull, what my first quarter gopher can take care of. I've also written in my tiny steno pad a bunch of salad dressing ideas I can do in my sleep so that I'm not stumped about it when I'm balls-to-the-wall busy. Or to hand off to whatever poor first quarter is stuck with me. Successful quantity cookery = mental (preparedness + agility) + speed.
11.21.2008
About that Turkey breast...
...I'm stealing an idea from Alex Guarnaschelli & covering it with cheesecloth dipped in melted butter. OK, I'm set then!
11.18.2008
"'Cause it's all about control..."
Should I really be feeling as triumphant as I am for scoring what I did on the MarthaStewart.com "Which Thanksgiving Side Dish Are You?" quizzle. A score only 5.99% of those who took it received, beeteedubs:
You are undoubtedly
Savory Sweet-Potato Souffles.
You aim to impress with everything you do. You appreciate elegance and showmanship. You've been planning your Thanksgiving feast for weeks now. This holiday season, there'll be no canned soup in your kitchen.
Oh, I've been planning. This Thxgv'g is a special one because Paul & I will soon be in a new place that will accommodate the fucking amazing dining table & chairs making their way to us now. I ordered my organic Diestel turkey a week ago not even knowing where we'd end up because I knew this year was going to be the year. What year?
THE YEAR I'M THE BOSS OF EVERY THXGV'G COMESTIBLE. In my home, anyway.
First things first: do I brine the bird or not? Well, I was going to, until Harold McGee disabused me of this plan. Like I'm going to let watery gravy happen in my kitchen! I'm not bummed about the breast getting dry because I eat that 1 part meat to one part canberry sauce. Oh, that's no typo. I only like Ocean Spray cranberry sauce WITHOUT chunks. It's so delicious, I can eat it with a spoon. I also love the "fffwop!" sound that happens when it comes out of the can in one semi-solid, indented mass. LOVE.
Next is gravy. I'm making stock for it as soon as I can unpack my big pot. & just like my Grandma Nadine, I'm augmenting this viscous delight with the neck meat & giblets. Meat with a side of meat, y'all.
Dressing. Yes, 'dressing', not 'stuffing', which is what I would call it if I was to shove it up my bird's cunt. But I'm not. Ciabatta, mirepoix, some of that affore-mentioned stock & pancetta. OK, I ganked this from Giada de Laurentiis. So what? I would add the chestnuts, but Paul does not like them (weirdo! I think the soft texture & nutty flavor is perfect). Just because I'm the boss of this endeavor doesn't mean I can't be benevolent.
The green beans I'll cook with combination steam/sauté. Sautéing 100% makes the beans wrinkly, & 100% steaming is just...so sad. I plan to dress them with minced shallots, mustard, & butter they will cook with. I cannot abide by the horrific gut-bomb that is green bean casserole with the canned onion thingies. Unless if maybe we're talking bechamel instead of cream of mushroom soup. That I can't accommodate on my stove top room-wise.
This next component is an homage of sorts to a good friend of mine who I've spent Thxgv'g with the last four times. Waldorf Salad, with spicy roasted walnuts. What's not to like? Thin slices of tart Granny Smith apples, sweet & earthy carrot, spicy walnuts, creamy dressing. If I was one of those people who spent more time & energy on salads, I would make this at least once a week.
Lastly, in a nod to Paul's birth place, he will be making Yorkshire puddings. I would say we're having these in lieu of dinner rolls, but dinner rolls are the dog's breakfast compared to Yorkshire puddings. A little turkey drippings in the muffin tin, batter, in the oven, & out comes the most poofy, soft & satisfying starch I've ever stuck in me gob.
Whoa! I said 'lastly', but I forgot about the cheesecake. No pumpkin pie because apparently I'm married to a total hater. W'evs! I like cheesecake more anyway.
I have a mental list of everything I can prepare in advance to avoid collapsing under the weight of my own expectations on the kitchen floor. Wine should help, though.
11.13.2008
Stained & drained.
Staying up to do laundry, yeah yeah! (I was singing that more than saying that.) What an ass-pain white is. They (as in the faculty) have really put the screws to us about our uniforms being spotless & pressed. Sometimes, I iron in the morning before class because the night before I was too lazy to bother. As I'm pressing half-awake, occasionally still drunky, I think I'm seeing stains, or that my coat isn't really white & I won't notice until I get to school. Ugh! Besides inducing paranoia, the uniforms are messing with some of us.
I'm not afraid to admit I'm still not used to mine. The pants are of this heinous-anus small b&w check fabric that hasn't softened despite repeated washings. The cut is ridic; exaggerated hips, & the legs are far too short. If only I could transfer the superfluous hip fabric to my ankles. The coat is OK, though for a small, the trunk is very baggy on me. The hat...oh, the hat. It's a white skull cap that threatens to pop off my head from my hair being shoved up in it. The thing leaves a mark on my forehead when I'm finally able to take it off. Makes my small head look even tinier, which contrasts the hip-y pants & apron on top of them. Top everything off with a pair of skid-resistant clogs, & my friends, you've got yourselves the most sexless outfit you've ever done seen.
I get that "it's not supposed to matter," & ultimately, it doesn't matter that we look silly. It's fairly clear that the men-folk couldn't care less... Of course, the uniform was made for men, so why should they? Some of them look handsome in it, but most just look well-suited.
I, on the other hand, feel like it enhances everything I try to play down. I have my own system of doing this in my "street wear": Got a small head? Have lots of big hair. Hips kinda wider than your bust? Wear tight pants. Even though I'm not even thinking about what I look like when I have to meet deadlines prepping & cooking food, when I catch a glimpse of myself in uniform, I recoil internally. I know some of the other women feel the same. It's nothing worth dwelling on, but it's a reminder that stings & serves a purpose. It's not about sexy (or more to the point, if anyone can tell if we're hot underneath the layers of fug), but that we have an opportunity to be obscured enough physically for everything else to matter so much more.
God help ya if you're a butterface.
Now I promise never to use "butterface" ever, ever again.
I'm not afraid to admit I'm still not used to mine. The pants are of this heinous-anus small b&w check fabric that hasn't softened despite repeated washings. The cut is ridic; exaggerated hips, & the legs are far too short. If only I could transfer the superfluous hip fabric to my ankles. The coat is OK, though for a small, the trunk is very baggy on me. The hat...oh, the hat. It's a white skull cap that threatens to pop off my head from my hair being shoved up in it. The thing leaves a mark on my forehead when I'm finally able to take it off. Makes my small head look even tinier, which contrasts the hip-y pants & apron on top of them. Top everything off with a pair of skid-resistant clogs, & my friends, you've got yourselves the most sexless outfit you've ever done seen.
I get that "it's not supposed to matter," & ultimately, it doesn't matter that we look silly. It's fairly clear that the men-folk couldn't care less... Of course, the uniform was made for men, so why should they? Some of them look handsome in it, but most just look well-suited.
I, on the other hand, feel like it enhances everything I try to play down. I have my own system of doing this in my "street wear": Got a small head? Have lots of big hair. Hips kinda wider than your bust? Wear tight pants. Even though I'm not even thinking about what I look like when I have to meet deadlines prepping & cooking food, when I catch a glimpse of myself in uniform, I recoil internally. I know some of the other women feel the same. It's nothing worth dwelling on, but it's a reminder that stings & serves a purpose. It's not about sexy (or more to the point, if anyone can tell if we're hot underneath the layers of fug), but that we have an opportunity to be obscured enough physically for everything else to matter so much more.
God help ya if you're a butterface.
Now I promise never to use "butterface" ever, ever again.
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