The Storm Settles

I apologize for my lengthy absence from the blogosphere. It was primarily due to 1) the fact that the last couple of weeks at school were fairly uneventful and 2) I've spent enormous amounts of time ensuring my life is in order before I enter a black hole called A Real Restaurant Kitchen.

Our last days with The Chef were fun and memorable. Hard, for sure, but it seemed like we were finally getting the hang of it all. Our lunch service consistently went out on time and the final market basket was proclaimed, "Zhee bhest I've tasteed en zhee easetorhee of zhee skghoul" by The Head of Everything.

I was most thrilled by the final market basket because my fiance attended! At 12:30, exactly one hour and thirty minutes after he began his journey into the suburbs on public transportation, he popped into the tasting room, eager and excited to see if the chefs, the students and the experience were everything I promised. My partner and I were first (and the appetizer was 100% mine) so he immediately saw a round of Me vs. Judges.



Our first secret ingredient was ahi tuna. Everyone was going Asian, and since I'm already Asian, I didn't want to go there. Instead, I went old fashioned tuna salad. I pounded the tuna thin to make a carpaccio, served it with onion and mayonnaise mousse, pickled celery, garlic croutons, and a mustard vinaigrette.



"Zhis deesh is zhee clowsist tu phearfict yhou can geet," commented The Head of Everything. I was THRILLED! My peers later told me that I couldn't stop jumping up and down and smiling. Brian reported I even executed a few fist pumps after The Head of Everything spoke.

We took our Phase II final last week and since then I've been tying up loose ends at my part-time consulting gig. As I walked my final commute this morning, I evaluated the differences between my life now, and my life 6 months ago. Back then, I was organized, independent, stable, comfortable and well-paid. Now, I am frantic, nervous, anxious, tired and totally broke. Am I happier now than I was before? The jury is still out on that. However, I believe I'm certainly more satisfied.

Today, maybe for the first time, I truly realized what I've done to my life; I've done IT - taken the plunge, broken ground, gotten the ball rolling or whatever you want to call it. And, so far, doing IT has been one of, if not the most difficult storm I've ever weathered. To ignore logic and accept uncertainty is plain old uncomfortable - in every way. It takes unadulterated faith.

As I thought about where I was and where I am, a wave of serenity and satisfaction hit me. I remember smiling, a big toothy smile, not at someone I knew or because I saw something funny, but at myself. I had finally found the calm after the storm.

Tomorrow, when I start my externship, a new storm will begin to brew; I'm okay with that. Without a storm, there is a complacent, anticipated, everyday kind of calm. The ordinay calm can be nice, but the calm after the storm...it is far more breathtaking.

180 Minutes, 12 Courses, 6 Hungry Women

One thing I adore about the women in my class is that like me, they love to eat. I mean really, really, really eat. For the first time in my life, I've been surrounded everyday by women who eat, and eat, and eat simply because it tastes too good to stop. I've already explained what a danger this is to the size of my body; praise the kitchen gods who made it so a chef must work on his or her feet, as quickly as possible, in extreme heat.

Like their appetite, my female peers' enthusiasm for competitive cooking is also healthy. This made the six of us an unstoppable force in the infamous Twelve Course Tasting Menu Challenge.

We were directed to serve three canapes, a soup, a fish dish (using lobster), a granite, a meat course (using lamb tenderloin), a cheese course (using goat cheese), dessert (using pears) and three mignardise. Mignardise are similar to canapes, but come after the meal and leave your diner with a final impression.

We had 24 hours to plan a menu and 3 hours to cook enough to serve 6 guests. The menu was served course by course, alongside the boys' dishes to a table of two award winning food critics, two James Beard award winning chefs, The Head of Everything and The Chef.

This is what we cooked up:
Canapes
Duck Pate Mousse, Fried Potato Spiral and Granny Smith Apple
Smoked Salmon, Pickled Fennel and Herbed Cheese
Watermelon, Fried Feta, Honey and Fresh Mint
Soup
Tomato Bisque, Grilled Cheddar and Dill Crouton
Fish Course
Butter Poached Lobster alongside Scallop, Roe and Tarragon Mousse, Beets two Ways and Orange Buerre Fondue
Granite
Pomegranate and Lavender Granite
Meat Course
Lamb Tenderloin Medallion, Sauteed Wild Mushrooms, Sweet Pea Puree
Cheese Course
Goat Cheese Timbale
Dessert
Pear Tart, Pear Ice Cream and Cranberry Coulis
Mignardise "Napoleon"
Vanilla Bavarian Cream Puff
Chocolate Almond Biscotti Bites
Strawberry Shortcake Tart

I was responsible for the canapes and the lobster course. The lobster was a challenge. Its not a protein we had worked with in class and I'm most familiar and frankly quite content with just steaming the damn thing. This was one of the most difficult dishes I've had to conceptualize and execute at school.

I was shocked how many people were concerned about the crustacean's "slow death." Seriously?! Its a f**king LOBSTER! To get everyone to shut up, I agreed to spear their skulls with my chef's knife before boiling them.

If you boil a lobster for about 1 minute, the meat remains uncooked but peels away from the shell. This way the meat can be removed, cleaned and prepped for poaching, searing or whatever. I poached the meat in butter, an Orange Beurre Fondue to be exact. Beurre Fondue is an emulsified butter sauce, which is a pain in the ass to make, but creamy, delicious and totally worth it. I infused mine with orange zest and poached the lobster tails in the sauce over a double bain marie. It took about 20-30 minutes to cook the tail, which is very slow by poaching standards, but necessary as the sauce must be held only warm to keep it from breaking.

I served a piece of the poached tail over a paper thin slice of golden beet, alongside a cylinder shaped piece of scallop, tarragon and lobster roe mousse. (I shaped the mousse into a log using plastic wrap and poached the entire thing. Once the mousse was cooked and firm, I cut it into pieces. When the pieces are turned so one of the flat ends is down, they look like cylinders.) It was topped with fried red beets (cut into thinner-than-angel-hair noodles using a Rouet machine), orange zest and a spoonful of the Orange Beurre Fondue.

I knew the canapes were delicious and well executed; it was the lobster dish I was worried about. A wave of relief washed over me as the judges tasted my dish and offered only three comments:

"The mousse is a little salty."
"The sauce is out of this world."
"Zhee lubstuher es pearfictlhee kooked."

I can certainly live with salty mousse.

After the food was consumed and the points were tallied, the girls came out on top - by a whopping eleven points! It was one of the most exciting moments I've had at school to date. Never mess with 6 hungry women.

The Homestretch

The last couple of weeks have been a whirlwind. People are exhausted (and therefore have been crying, yelling, swearing and screwing up) and people are anxious and eager to begin life as an extern. The drama associated with securing an externship is astonishing. The Dummy, of course, tried to get a job without telling the chef he was a student, hoping for an extra dollar or two above minimum wage. He was immediately dismissed when he whipped out the externship contract for the chef to sign. The contract requires the chef pay us fair market value ("fair" - a funny way to describe our compensation), work us at least 40 hours per week (another silly contract clause - most externs work 90 hour weeks), and provide written reports to the school about our progress. The chef, enraged that he had been fooled, told our classmate to "get his ass out of the kitchen." What a dummy.

In an effort to get hired, The Big Hawaiian staged for 2 weeks at one of the busiest spots in town.. We'd previously heard the chef at this joint is a huge dick. This was confirmed when the chef returned the Big Hawaiian's contract, signed, with the addition of a handwritten clause "duration of externship is a minimum of 18 months." The Big Hawaiian politely told the chef he was unable to make an 18 month commitment, and the chef told him "sucks for you" and "forget about getting paid for the two weeks of work."

School got exciting last week when The Little Accountant showed up with a dead deer. "Zhees eez geauing du be a guud day!" The Chef proclaimed when he saw the freshly skinned carcass carted into the walk-in.

"Ooh wheel du zhee boochairing?" No one volunteered, except for me. "Wheatknee, pearfect!

Although I didn't really know what I was doing, it went pretty damn well. A deer is much easier to butcher than one would think. The hardest part was maneuvering the thing. Positioning and holding a dead deer carcass on a cutting board is a far cry from a whole chicken. I started by sawing the entire thing in half right below the ribs. I couldn't get a good grip on the thing so I kept getting whacked by flailing hind legs which whipped back and forth as I sawed. Once Bambi was in two pieces, getting the meat off the bones was straightforward. Our meat lectures with The Head of Everything kept popping into my head; he always said "Fhalow zhee bones wis zhee blhade of yor nyfeh."

The second hardest part was hacking up the bones for stock. For a woman, hacking bones is not a particularly becoming activity. It takes a hefty upswing followed by a strong downswing and a thunderous pound onto the cutting board. If you hesitate, it simply won't work. I discovered this when I would take an upswing, close my eyes (making sure my free hand was behind my back!), and lamely strike the bones with the cleaver. "Neau, Neau, Neau! Why yeau deau eet zhis whay? Zhee momint yeau leeft zhee cleaveur, you most comeet teau whaking zhee bone as ard as poseeble!" The Chef demonstrated for me. I noticed at the top of his upswing, he was on his tiptoes. Using every ounce of his 4'2", 110 lb. body, this little french man shot the cleaver into the deer and yelled "VOILA!" He cleanly sliced through the bone it was impressive and entertaining.

I loved the venison. We marinated the meat overnight prior to cooking to decrease the gamey flavor of the meat. We used olive oil, rosemary, garlic, oranges and onions. We also marinated the bones in red wine to flavor the wine for our Sauce Grande Venuer (a classic venison sauce made with red wine and currant jelly).

Venison should be cooked exactly like steak, but is much leaner, so be careful not to overcook it.

Our eight course tasting challenge looms (the last class had Michele Richard as the head judge!). I was snooping around again and eyed some paperwork indicating it may be a girls vs. guys showdown. YES!

Day Sixty Two

It was inevitable this day would come... today we made sweetbreads. Sweetbreads are not carbohydrates and contain no sugar. They are for the adventurous eater who wishes to add pancreas (stomach sweetbreads) or thymus gland (throat sweetbreads) to his or her diet. Chefs overwhelming prefer using the thymus of the calf. This is the least pungent of all the sweetbread options and is actually cheaper than the pancreas type. Sweetbreads, which are soft, blob-like pieces of pure cholesterol, are generally braised or fried. Why are they called sweetbreads? I have no idea. I'm certain, however, if one saw "Braised Thymus Gland" or "Fried Pancreas" on a menu, it would not read so sweetly.

For the first time in my culinary career, I have encountered a food which I find totally repulsive. To prepare sweetbreads, they must be soaked, preferably overnight, to remove any remaining enzymes and blood. ENZYMES AND BLOOD. Then, the sweetbreads must be blanched to remove the outer membrane. THE OUTER MEMBRANE.

I am fully aware that blood, enzymes and membranes are likely involved with the slaughter of other, delicious proteins, but there is something nice about not seeing or knowing. Many chefs, including The Chef and The Head of Everything are disappointed in a young chef that "distances" herself from the facts and important processes involved with our ingredients; I understand their perspective but its not fair to judge my talent or commitment based on whether or not I can control my gag reflex.

In fairness to sweetbreads, the rest of the world seems to love 'em; you might too. If you're going to give these glands a shot, opt for fried. I kinda sorta see why fried sweetbreads are often described as McNuggety, but after the second or third bite, there is no mistake: Ronald had nothing do to with your dinner.

Thankfully, sweetbreads weren't the only item on today's menu; but for this delicious, warm radicchio salad, we'd have starved (for once!).

Warm Radicchio and Shrimp Salad

Ingredients (for two large salads)
1 head of Radicchio
8 large shrimp
1/4 to 1/2 c. olive oil
1 T. soy sauce
1 T. Worcestershire sauce
3 T. Balsamic Vinegar
1/2 c. walnuts, toasted
Salt and Pepper

Methods
-Toast the walnuts until they begin to brown - set aside
-Peel and de-vein the shrimp. Season with salt and pepper.
-Heat olive oil in a large saute pan.
-When pan is hot, quickly saute the shrimp until 80% cooked.
-Add the soy and Worcestershire sauce.
-Add the balsamic vinegar and immediately remove from heat - set aside.
-Quickly core and slice the radicchio into strips. Radicchio oxidies quickly, so you want to cut it as late in the game as possible.
-Pour the cooked shrimp and pan-dressing over the radicchio.
-Toss in the toasted walnuts and serve.

Day Fifty Nine

Every Friday we nervously sit at three long tables, in three straight rows, facing an empty demo kitchen. Usually the demo kitchen is prepped with simmering pots, sharpened cutlery, and vegetables mis en placed for one little man, The Chef.

We always plop into the same seat, a function of both habit and personality. The Big Hawaiian lounges in the back row, flanked by empty chairs, while My Favorite Gal, studious and determined sits front and center. I too sit in the front row, but strategically chose the seat closest to the kitchen threshold; this way I can get a 60 second jumpstart on most of my peers. It sounds silly, but in 60 seconds I can roughly chop 2 carrots, 1 onion and 2 sticks of celery, enough mirepoix for about 4 servings of meat, and start sweating the mixture. One full minute is invaluable when a timed deadline looms.

At about 6:58, two minutes before the start of class, The Chef springs into the classroom. "Ear whee geau peepul! Zhee engrheedeeun fhore zhee mharkit baskeet are zhee volloween: Un, Ed-on Ghrimp. Du, Zock Aye Zamon. Twah, Bears."

He said, 'Head-on Shrimp, Sockeye Salmon and Pears.'

"Tudayseh ghest joodge wheel be ere zoon, zeau wurk cleen and bhee rheadhee at elevun zharp. Geau!"

We immediately rise, file into the kitchen begin tackling our task. We must turn out an appetizer, entree and dessert to be tasted by a successful, big-name chef, using the three secret ingredients. Despite the pressure, everyone loves Market Basket days. It is the only opportunity we have to be creative. On these days one can separate the chornichon from the line cooks.

Early arrivers are rewarded. Whomever arrives first proudly scribbles her name (it is always a woman) on the whiteboard and others follow suit upon arrival. The Slow Guy is predictably last. When The Chef hollers, 'geau,' consultations begin. He meets with each one of us to ensure we won't embarrass the school's reputation in front of a guest chef and to offer suggestions, generally good ones. The Slow Guy meets with him nearly 1 hour after I do, a clear disadvantage.

The kitchen is unusually quiet. There are no partners bickering, no comments about how much damn cream and butter we're being forced to incorporate, no complaints in general. The pace quickens about 30 minutes before service. I noticed that people start sweating - I mean, really sweating.

While we are concocting, the classroom is transformed. Crisp white table cloths are draped over surfaces, tasting knives, spoons and forks are arranged for the guest, and if someone really important is in the house, The Head of Everything brings out the booze.

I saw him walking down the hall, carrying a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape. I joked, "Are you going dancing later, Chef?"

He looked at me and stated, "I du not dhanse," and then continued walking.

We draw cards to determine who is tasted first. Everything we make must be neatly packed and stored in the classroom warmer before the deadline, or else. To heighten the tension in the room, the pastry classes and the entire administrative staff view the tasting. While the first student is describing his or her dishes and the chefs are digging in, the second student is plating, and so on.

The guest chef is always decked in kitchen whites, along with The Head of Everything - they are definitely more intimidating that way. They take a bite, make curious, almost constipated looking faces, take another bite, and then nail us with commentary.

"This plating is from the 80's."
"Why did you trim the asparagus?"
"This portion is far to large."
"All of this is underseasoned."
"This (pointing to something on the plate) is a no."

It is brutal. There are also positive comments, but these are less descriptive and less noticeable.

"This is good."
"This is well done."
"Good salt."

Keep It Simple Stupid is key. When you present Sockeye Salmon Mousse with Dill Infused Chocolate and Roasted Broccoli Stems, it is interesting, but only interesting.

My menu follows:

-Roasted Head on Shrimp, Avocado and Grapefruit Slaw, Jalapeno Vinaigrette
-Pan Seared Sockeye Salmon, Paper Thin Fennel, Slow Roasted Tomatoes
-Summer Pear Turnover, Fig Ice Cream

The fennel got a "this is delicious," comment, so I will share the technique. It goes well with chicken, fish or pork.

Paper Thin Sauteed Fennel

Ingredients
1 Fennel Bulb
1/2 Tsp. Anise Seeds
1/4 c. Ricard
1/4 c. Orange Juice
Clarified Butter
Salt and Pepper

Methods
-Trim the green top off of the fennel bulb and discard.
-Using a mandoline, slice the fennel paper thin. Hold the bottom of the bulb and begin slicing from where the green top was severed.
-Soak the sliced fennel in orange juice, for flavor and to preserve the color.
-Heat a saute pan and when hot, add clarified butter.
-Drain any excess OJ from the fennel, and begin sauteing at a high heat.
-Add the anise seed, Ricard and season with salt and pepper.
-When the fennel begins to soften (if your pan is hot and the fennel is thin enough, this should only take about 1 minute), give it about 20 more seconds in the saute pan, and then remove.
-Serve immediately.

Externship Interview

Come October, I will begin my six month externship. This is what we've been working towards. This is the part that counts. This is how they make or break a culinary student. This externship will be a royal pain in the ass.

Our externship must be in a scratch kitchen (i.e. no frozen french fries) where the chef works on site. We need to work a minimum of 30 hours per week which is a frivolous requirement considering the average extern clocks 90 hours per week, usually at minimum wage. We are fed all of this information from the school's Director of Marketing and Placement, a kind looking woman who is pushing seventy.

"There are two rules to your externship. Do not quit. Do not get fired." Okay, I thought, I can do that. She continued, "Do not quit no matter how many times the chef screams 'You are an f***ing idiot extern!' or 'Are you the dumbest mother f***er on the planet?!'"

We were horrified not only about our inevitable kitchen destiny but also by the language coming from a woman who could easily move in with the Golden Girls.

"I'm terribly sorry if I'm offending any of you by saying f**k, but the fact is you're just going to have to get comfortable with it. You don't have to participate, but you have to be able to hear it without wincing." Geez.

The search begins by securing a stage (pronounced: stah-je). A stage, for a culinary student, is a working (without pay) interview. A stage, however, can also be a "guest appearance" or "meeting of the minds" for industry veterans. Wolfgang Puck, for example, has staged at the French Laundry with Thomas Keller. A stage is not easy to secure for one snooty, self-aggrandizing, twenty-something reason: the hostess. I partook in the following exchange with hostesses at four different restaurants:

"Um, I'm sorry, who did you say you were again?"
"My name is Whitney and I'm a culinary student hoping to talk to the chef about an externship opportunity."
"Um, yeah, see I'm pretty sure the chef has enough people working for him, so, like, I don't think there are any positions open."
"Okay. I'd like to speak with the chef anyway, can you please see if he is available?"
"Um, yeah, I'm pretty sure he's busy right now, can I take a message?"

My clutch line became, "Please tell him I'm on the line and I'll hold until he is available." I held for the chef for less than thirty seconds each time.

One of my stages (I did five total) was at a fancy-schmancy, award-winning joint, run by a European, James Beard award recipient. I arrived with sharp knives and a pressed, clean jacket in tow. The Golden Girl insisted on sharp, pressed and clean. She shared a story about one of her students who staged at a place in San Francisco.

He arrived at a fancy-schmany, award-winning joint, run by a tough chef and was asked to form a line with six other extern hopefuls, all of them from the CIA (the Culinary Institute of America, a generally esteemed culinary school). The chef walked down the line and immediately dismissed two students who had spots on their jackets. The chef then instructed the remaining candidates to unsheathe their chef knives. He quickly dismissed all but one student, the Golden Girl's boy, since he had the sharpest knife.

I walked into the kitchen and counted nine men and zero women. Interesting, right? My first task was to peel the skin off of very tiny chanterelle mushrooms. It was tedious, but not terrible. I then chopped chives for about an hour. The chef had still not arrived by the time I finished. When he did, everyone knew it. Every man seemed to suddenly and simultaneously stand up straight and speed up his prep work. The chef walked into the kitchen, introduced himself to me and then one by one checked in with each of his peons to see how dinner preparations were coming along.

I didn't do anymore prep work after the chives, but stood and watched the dinner service. These guys moved at a dizzying pace with remarkable precision. Their memory is equally astonishing. "Ordering four rib eye, one medium, two medium rare, one ruined (well done), two salmon, two halibut, three squab, one pork belly and one duck egg," the chef motored. Ten seconds later he'd shout out another set. And thirty seconds later, another. I was overwhelmed.

In the end, he offered me a job, which was exciting. I'm thinking about accepting it. My hesitation is that I'm simply not certain I'm cut out for this. I only worked 5 hours, one third of a normal shift, didn't do any real work, and left with an aching back, neck and pair of feet. I left happy and excited, however, which hopefully counts for something. Its difficult to accept, but this externship could quite possibly be the beginning of the end.

Days Fifty Two and Fifty Three

The Chef has turned out to be very knowledgable, which makes him enjoyable. His accent is really thick, however, and I spend a good chunk of the day saying, "I'm sorry, Chef, run that by me again." For example:

"Hav yhou bin tu allan?" (Have you been to Holland?)
"Ay wahnt zhee conezeestanzhee of zheerhub." (I want the consistency of syrup.)
"Whee ahre geauing tu yhooz bitches!" (We are going to use peaches!)

Life as an advanced student is exhausting. I'm surrounded by uber competitive people, which is a good thing, however we're approaching "insane" on the crazy meter regarding our arrival time. The first day of Phase II, we all arrived about 30 minutes early - typical for a culinary group since we have to change into our uniforms and do some minor mis en place. On the second day, a few people showed up 45 minutes early. On the third day, some overachiever arrived a full hour early. We're now ALL arriving about 2 hours before the opening bell - Oy vey! To put an end to this mad habit, I decided to make an announcement.

"So, I've been thinking....instead of arriving super early to sit around, drink coffee and whine about The Chef, can we all agree to arrive together, at a normal time? That way we'll catch an extra hour of sleep and be perceived as equally excited and dedicated."

"I agree," said The Big Hawaiian. I knew he'd side with me. He looks like one of those guys that naps all the time.

"Excellent assessment of the situation, Whitney," The Ex-Lawyer stated. 'Perfect,' I thought, if anyone can make an argument, its her. After a lengthy closing-statement-esque monologue, she got everyone to agree to my proposal.

I was thrilled to sleep in the next morning and merrily commuted to school an entire hour later than usual. I pulled up to the parking lot and almost choked on my turkey-bacon-to-go. Backstabbers! They all arrived EARLY AGAIN! Well, not all of them. As I was getting out of my car, The Big Hawaiian pulled up in his doorless, bright yellow Wrangler. "Son of a Bitch!" he exclaimed. "We got punk'd."

At least we're making cool stuff. This week included bacon wrapped monkfish, roasted squab (pigeon) and numerous terrines. My favorite terrine was made of fresh oranges. It is a delicious, light and beautiful summer dessert.

LA TERRINE D'ORANGES
Ingredients
5 Whole Oranges
1/4 c. sugar
2 Gelatin sheets

Methods
-Line a mini disposable loaf pan with plastic wrap - set aside
-Peler a Vif 4 of the oranges. To Peler a Vif, cut the end off of each orange to make two flat ends. With a pairing knife, following the shape of the fruit, cut the skin and white pith off of the orange.
-Segment the peeled oranges by cutting the flesh of the orange away from each membrane. Cut over a bowl to reserve an juice drippings.
-Juice the 5th orange and combine with the drippings in a small saucepan. Add the sugar to the orange juice and bring to a boil. Let the juice reduce by half.
-While juice is reducing, lay the orange segments into the terrine until all are used. Lay the segments lengthwise to make cutting the terrine easier. Also, soak the gelatin sheets in ice cold water for about 20 seconds - remove and set aside.
-When the juice has reduced, add the gelatin to the juice while warm.
-Pour the juice and gelatin over the orange segments and fold plastic wrap over the top. Chill in refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
-Before serving, turn terrine out and slice. Serve with raspberry coulis. This terrine is also delicious if a finely chopped fresh herb such as tarragon, mint, or basil is added to the juice reduction.

Phase II - Day One (Day Forty Nine)

I've passed! The final Phase I practical exam consisted of Quiche Lorraine, Wilted Spinach, Chicken Mousse Quenelles, Sauce Madiera and Raspberry Roulade. I did pretty well, but I wasn't perfect. Only one student (in 30 years!) has achieved a 100% on a practical exam; my audacious goal is to earn the second hundo in school history, but its proving to be difficult. I knew I was out of the money when Mama proclaimed that my quenelles "taste like Chinese meat ball," which, although delicious, was not even remotely the goal. Oh well, next time!

Our first day with The Chef ("Napolean") and his assistant, lets call her Blondie, was surprisingly enjoyable. The new restaurant style format, although challenging, is far more exciting and the quality and complexity of the food we're turning out has been elevated. For instance, today the entree we made was Halibut Crusted with Mustard, Sun Dried Tomato and Walnut Paste. Ah, much better than Eggs Benedict or Seared Chicken.

We've been expecting Blondie to be a real pain in the ass, but today both she and Napoleon were, well, super duper nice. For example, I put our mise en place (MEEZE-IN-PLAS: food, ingredients, etc. prepped/measured a head of time) in the incorrect fridge, without a label. Last week, this would have been a foot stomping, tirade-able offense, therefore I apologized immediately. "Whigh ahre yhou hapologizhing? Yhou deedn't kneau weech rheefrhigeratuur tu yhoose!" Their kindness was frightening - it must be a trick. We'll see how long the honeymoon lasts.

Blondie is an interesting gal. Super Duper Cheesy would be a better name for her, but who's judging. She is one of those women who is truly overly obsessed with the color pink. Now I love pink, but she takes loving pink to a new level. She has a Chef's Knife with a Mary Kay Buick colored blade complemented by a Watermelon colored handle; this would be a cute accessory for a cocktail slinging housewife, but we are in a professional program for god's sake. Then, I saw her knife bag. Holy shit - the bag itself and everything in it is pink. The mass of tools she's acquired in a single shade is frankly, amazing.

Here is the Halibut recipe. Halibut is a great fish for dinner parties because although it can certainly be overcooked, it is much more forgiving. It can be cooked way ahead of time and then re-heated in a hot oven.

Mustard Crusted Halibut

Ingredients
4 Halibut Fillets, 6-7 oz. each
1/2 c. Ground Mustard
1/2 c. Dijon Mustard
1/2 c. Toasted Walnuts
1/4 c. Sun Dried Tomatoes
1/2 Onion, finely chopped

Methods
-In butter, sweat finely chopped onions in a saucepan until soft and translucent.
-Combine cooked onion, mustards, walnuts and sun dried tomatoes in food processor. Blend to make a paste.
-Top each halibut fillet with paste about 1/8" thick. Leave about 1/8" of an edge because the fish will shrink slightly when cooking.
-In sauté pan on medium heat (nonstick), heat clarified butter. When hot, place fish, crust side down, and cook until crust is browned. This should take 3-4 minutes on medium heat.
-Carefully flip fish and cook the other side on medium heat for 3-4 more minutes.
-Remove from pan and put onto a sheet tray and finish the fish in the oven at 350 degrees for 5-10 minutes. (If you have an oven safe saute pan, put the saute pan directly into the oven).
-Serve with a salad or green veggie.

The Final Days of Being a Beginner

Its hard to believe, but my final week of Phase I has approached. I'm about to graduate from Cornichon to Minion. Before I have that privilege, I'll have to achieve a B+ or better on our written theory and final practical exams. The theory exam is cumulative of everything and anything we've learned the past 12 weeks and formatted as 100 short answer questions. Haven't these chefs ever heard of multiple choice?!

The practical exam is an entirely different beast. Everything and anything we've made is fair game. So far, we've been able to determine we will be making something with spinach and something with mushrooms. I should have written I've been able to determine. The Sherlock in me has been snooping around the clipboards by the delivery bay and I noticed an unusually large order for both items. We also know we're making Quiche Lorraine, courtesy of both Mama's inability to lie to us and her desire for us to succeed. She is the best. She will be missed.

Phase II sounds scary, exhausting and challenging, but promising for sure. For the last 12 weeks we've been pumping out eight servings of the daily menu (amuse, appetizer, entree, side dish and dessert) at 11:30am, sharp. For the next 12 weeks, the kitchen will be structured more like a restaurant. We will take orders from big time school staffers (The Head of Everything, his wife, The Academic Dean, etc.) and fire and pick up their orders as The Chef calls for them. There is no longer an 11:30am, sharp. There will only be when The Chef says so, sharp. Nothing will be predictable, ordinary or planned. We also have the most exciting event every Friday called Market Basket (think Iron Chef). Each Friday, we will be given a basket of random food and 2 hours to prepare a fabulous appetizer and entree. The food will be judged by local chefs (excellent, intimidating, often famous ones) and someone will win. I better win at least one of these things. The Head of Everything reminded us, again, there are no points for "Furhst Loozhair."

As promised, let's turn our Raspberry Roulade into Charlotte Royale. This was one of my favorite desserts of Phase I. You can switch up the filling and replace the vanilla flavoring with lemon, strawberry, chocolate or whatever! It is impressive and delicious.

Charlotte Royale

Ingredients
Raspberry Roulade
2 c. half and half
1 vanilla bean (or vanilla extract)
5 egg yolks
5 oz. sugar
5-6 sheets gelatin
2 c. cream

Methods
-Slice roulade into 1/4" thick slices
-Line a medium sized bowl with plastic wrap
-Line the bowl with the slices of roulade, spiral side out, packing them in as tightly as possible. Basically, you want to form a "bowl" out of the slices. Chill the roulade bowl.
-Warm half and half and sliced vanilla bean over medium heat, stirring occasionally.
-While warming half and half, whisk together egg yolks and sugar.
-When half and half begins to boil, pour a small amount into the sugar and yolk mixture and stir immediately to temper the eggs and prevent omelet formation.
-Pour the remainder of the hot half and half into the yolk and sugar mixture and mix well.
-Pour the mixture back into a saucepan and heat over a low heat while stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. You are essentially making a Creme Anglaise, which is the base of ice cream.
-Continue to heat and STIR CONSTANTLY for about 5-8 minutes or until the mixture coats the back of the wooden spoon.
-Strain out vanilla bean shell from crème anglaise.
-Soak gelatin sheets in ice cold water, and mix sheets into crème anglaise while it is still hot. Powdered gelatin will also work - 1 gelatin sheet = 1/2 tsp. of powder. Set aside in refrigerator to cool.
-When creme anglaise is completely cool, whip the cream until soft peaks form. Fold the whipped cream into the creme anglaise. You've now made a Vanilla Bavarin Creme!
-Pour the Bavarin into the chilled bowl lined with roulade and refrigerate for 24 hours.
-Turn Charlotte Royale out of bowl and glaze with apricot glaze if desired.
-Slice and serve!

Days Thirty Six to Forty

We have been waiting, desperately, for these days to arrive. No French Food Days! Mama has taken over the classroom and is filling our repertoire with Asian delights. The aroma of Steamed Pork Buns, Chicken Satay, Summer Rolls, Egg Rolls, Pad Thai, Vegetable Pilau, Curry Chicken, Naan and Peking Duck were seeping into the school's hallways all week. I have a natural affinity for this kind of grub (genes), but I wasn't the only one excited. The Chef and his advanced minions kept poking their noses into our kitchen. They were being nice to us. Their smiles and willingness to share the good equipment truly demonstrates how darn delicious her recipes are.

Mama, being Mama, fully intended to feed the entire school, and everyone's family, boyfriend, girlfriend, neighbor, etc. We made enough food to feed armies. If there were leftovers, she packaged them up for all to take home and share.

Unfortunately this week marked my official fall off the "eat only until you're full" wagon. I simply couldn't get enough. I told Mama if I don't fit into my wedding dress, I will fully blame her egg rolls.

This recipe is something she's famous for.

Pad Thai
Ingredients
1 lb. Chicken, Shrimp, or Pork (or any combo of all three)
1 lb. Thai flat rice noodles
1 T. chopped onion
1 Tsp. chopped garlic
2 eggs
1 T. sugar
1 T. soy sauce
1 T. fish sauce
4 T. vinegar
1 Tsp. pickled white radish
2 c. fresh bean sprouts
1/2 c. coarsely ground peanuts (additional for garnish)
1 c. scallions, slices into 1/2" long pieces (green parts too!)
Lime wedges (for garnish)
Paprika (for garnish)
Jalapeno Pepper, sliced (for garnish)
Canola Oil

Methods
-Soak the rice noodles in warm water until soft - about 15 minutes. Drain the noodles and set them aside.
-In a large, nonstick saute pan (use a big ass pan or you will end up with a mess), heat about 1 T. canola oil until warm. Add beaten eggs and let cook. When bottom of egg "omelet" is cooked, gently stir eggs to cook through. Remove from pan and set aside.
-Add another T. of oil to the pan. Saute the onions over medium heat until they are soft and begin to darken. Add the garlic, and meat. Cook on medium heat until the meat is cooked 50%.
-Add the softened noodles, sugar, soy sauce, fish sauce and vinegar to the pan. Mix very well using two large utensils. Push the noodles closest to you towards the back of the pan while pulling the noodles furthest from you to the front of the pan. Mix for about 5 minutes on medium heat.
-Add the pickled white radish and bean sprouts to the pan. Mix well and cook until the bean sprouts are slightly tender and the meat is cooked - about 5 minutes.
-Add the chopped peanuts and sliced green onion. Stir well and remove from heat immediately.
-Plate noodles and top with 1 tsp. of chopped peanuts and a pinch of paprika. Serve with 1 or 2 wedges of lime, and a few slices of jalapeno pepper.

Day Thirty Two

A real fight broke out today. It was between two of my favorite characters, Little Accountant Man and Numero Uno Dummy ("The Dummy"). The Dummy has been nettling us all; in short, he is arrogant. Arrogance is a particularly frustrating flaw when the offender so obviously lacks intelligence. Harsh words, I know, but I've had it up to here with The Dummy.

The dispute began brewing immediately after The Dummy and Little Accountant Man were partnered up; a Raspberry Roulade started it all. I must admit, the daily desserts and pastries we produce are the source of anger for many of us. People complain that had we wanted to learn how to make cakes and cookies, we would have enrolled in the Pastry, not the Culinary program. I don't mind the desserts, and perhaps that is evidence of my past life as an engineer. Just FYI, they say a textbook Pastry Chef is precise, numerical and high strung while a Culinary Chef is artistic, erratic and more often than not, intoxicated.

The Dummy especially despises desserts. To avoid confrontation, many of his previous partners, including myself, happily accepted the dessert task of the day and let him hack up chicken or flambe fruit - far more appropriate activities for a male chauvinist. The Little Accountant Man, however, didn't feel like making the Raspberry Roulade, either. So back and forth, back and forth like preschoolers screaming, "That is my play-dough!" "I don't want to take a nap!" and "You clean up the legos!" two grown men bickered over who was going make what. The antics continued throughout our entire production and culminated during cleanup.

I was on mop duty (again!) and watched the bickering turn into anger.

"Okay buddy, if you have such a problem with the way I wipe down tables, why don't you come over here and say it to my face!"

"I'd be happy to my man, in fact, I'd be happy to come over and do more to your face than talk to it!"

As the two bolted toward each other, grabbing for each others neckerchiefs, I watched in horror thinking, 'Somebody take their knives away!'

Then, like a superhero, Mama swooped in. This woman is incredible. Her language barrier is utterly deceiving as she is one of the most perspicacious people I know. She had quietly been following the altercation all day and was waiting in the wings (the dish corridor) for this very moment.

With her arms outstretched between the two children, she hollered, "You haa to luh each othur!" LOVE, she preaches! She followed the warm statement with, "I take lot of point from your grayed today!" I guess tough love is a more accurate description of her mantra.

Roulade is a versatile cake that can be flavored, filled and formed in to many desserts. One of the most impressive is a Charlotte Royale, which is a dome shaped cake, filled with Bavarin cream. Let's take this puppy step by step, as we did in class. Try making the Roulade first, and we'll turn it into Charlotte Royale at a later date.

Raspberry Roulade

Ingredients
6 egg whites
6 egg yolks
6 oz. sugar
4 oz. cake flour
Pinch of salt
Pinch of baking powder
1 T. melted butter (Clarified works best)

Methods
-Separate the egg whites from the egg yolks
-In a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment, whisk together the egg yolks and 3 oz. of the sugar. Mix on high speed until "ribbon stage" or the mixture is pale yellow and has increased in volume. Set this mixture aside.
-In a mixer fitter with a whisk attachment, make a French meringue. To do this, begin with the egg whites only and mix on high speed until the volume starts to increase (no more than 1 minute). Switch the speed to LOW and begin adding the remaining 3 oz. of sugar. Add the 3 oz. of sugar to the egg whites in 8-10 small pours, waiting about 1 minute between each addition. After all of the sugar is incorporated, mix on low speed until stiff peaks form. Stiff peaks are when you pull the whisk out of the egg whites and a peak forms and remains.
-Sift together the flour, salt and baking powder - set aside.
-Now, you're going to combine the meringue with the yolk mixture. Before incorporating, give the yolk mixture a quick whisk to revive it as was probably resting for awhile while you made the meringue.
-With a silicone spatula, incorporate about 1 c. of the meringue into the yolk mixture.
-Fold the remaining meringue into the yolk mixture in three parts.
-Fold the sifted flour mixture into the egg mixture. Do not overwork.
-Pour the cooled, melter butter into the batter and incorporate.
-Dump the roulade mixture into a sheet pan (jelly roll pan) lined with parchment paper. It is best to put Crisco on the pan, under the parchment, to get the parchment to stay in place.
-Gently spread the batter all over the pan to make an even, smooth cake - do not overwork or you'll deflate the meringue.
-Stick your thumb into the corner of the pan, all the way down so it touches the bottom of the pan. Drag your thumb along the sides of the pan, touching the bottom, to clean the sides.
-Bake at 350 degrees for 10-15 minutes or until light, light brown and the cake springs back when you touch it.
-Immediately upon removing from the oven, run a pairing knife along the sides of the pan to release the roulade. Sprinkle sugar all over the top of the roulade (this will prevent sticking when you turn the roulade out of the pan).
-Cover the sugar coated top with another sheet of parchment paper, and turn the pan over, flipping out the roulade. Peel away the parchment that was in the oven, and replace it with a new sheet of parchment.
-Long ways, roll the cake into a log, being careful to keep the parchment papers on the top and bottom sides of the cake. Let the warm roulade cool in this rolled position for 15-20 minutes.
-Unroll the roulade and discard the top piece of parchment. Brush the cake with simple syrup to add moisture to the cake. Spread a THIN layer of raspberry jam over the simple syrup.
-Roll the roulade back up as though it were a sushi roll, using the bottom piece of parchment like a sushi mat.
-Dust the cake with powered sugar or frost with whipped cream.

Days Twenty Nine to Thirty One

They blindsided us with escargot and calf's liver, all in the same week. "Whut ease zhe ahntrhay toodhay?" The Head of Everything inquired. "Le Foie De Veau A L'Echalotte," Chef replied. I've never seen the Head of Everything so hungry. "Oh yhes!" he replied, as I do when I see a margarita. "Hav zhem surve me twho."

Liver is a love it or hate it piece of meat. Everyone has someone in their family who loves it. Liverwurst, by the way, does not count since it is only 20% liver at most. Have you ever seen a whole calf liver? Its huge. Bigger than a whole chicken. Intimidating in a floppy, sinewy, organy kind of way.

It didn't taste nearly as bad as it looked. After chef's morning demo, we cornichon usually spring out of our seats, tasting spoons in hand, and skip up to the chef's table to get our breakfast. We are required to taste EVERYTHING. We were visablly unenthused about tasting the liver. As I expected, it was just okay. The texture is too smooth and the aftertaste is too prominent for me.

The escargot were surprisingly good. We served those little guys doused in compound butter (a butter flavored with fresh herbs and garlic), over a small circle of freshly baked puff pastry. How do you buy fresh escargot? You don't. You buy canned. They even used canned in Paris.

The liver recipe is below. The Head of Everything believes, "Evrheeone shood knowe ow to mhake guud lhivur." It is a cheap meat that feeds half of the world.
Also included is useful information about deglazing pans, a wonderful technique.

LE FOIE DE VEAU A L'ECHALOTTE (Veal or Calf Liver with Shallot)

Ingredients
Calf Liver - sliced 1/4" to 1/2" thick
Flour
Salt
Pepper
Clarified Butter or Oil
Shallots
1/2 c. Red Wine Vinegar
1/2 c. white wine

Methods
Begin heating a pan over high heat. Slice liver 1/4" to 1/2" thick and coat with flour, seasoned with salt and pepper. Put clairified butter in the pan (or oil) and heat until bubbles begin to form. Drop in the liver. Sear it for no more than 1 minute and flip. Sear the other side until just cooked. Calf liver should be cooked through, but have a slight tint of pink in the middle. Remove it from the pan, cover it with foil and let the meat rest.

Now comes the deglazing part. Deglazing is a must in French cooking - it is the only way to make a rich, flavorful sauce. Its also a good way to clean a crusty pan. When the pan is hot, pour white wine (water, stock, or whatever) into the pan and scrape the crusty stuff off the bottom and sides with a wooden spoon. If the crusty stuff was burnt, discard the deglazing liquid or your sauce will be bitter. If the crusty stuff was brown, you can reduce the deglazing liquid until the pan is almost dry and it will be a tremendous base for a sauce.

While the liver is resting, deglaze the pan with white wine. When pan "au sec," (or the white wine has cooked away and pan is nearly dry), add the sliced shallots to the pan. Sweat the shallots until soft and add the red wine vinegar, salt and pepper. Reduce the sauce until it thickens and finish the sauce with 1 Tbsp. of butter before serving over the liver.

Field Trip to The Farm

We drove out to the middle of nowhere to tour a sustainable, organic and humane farm which specializes in raising rare and endangered breeds of livestock. The middle of nowhere, by the way, is beautiful. Rolling green hills, clean air, no cell phone service - it was a nice break from the hustle and bustle of urban life.

I pulled up to the Manor House on this 880 acre farm and my jaw dropped. I've never seen such a magnificent home. And the kitchen in the home - unbelievable. We started our livestock tour at the barn. I've never seen such a magnificent barn, either. Admittedly, I haven't spent much time on farms, but if they all look like this one, then I've got a new aspiration. The interior reminded me of a Ralph Lauren store. The barn houses the Shire horses - no joke, I've never seen such magnificent horses. They are the tallest of the heavy horse breed (larger than clydsdales), and have a kind disposition. This farm manages 30 Shires, plus a one week old foal, named Jane. It is a large number of Shires considering only 4,000 remain worldwide. I had a little crush on the Shire stallion, Edward. I couldn't help but snap a picture of him.



The calves were adorable. Most of the veal in the United States is not humanely raised - here, they are allowed to run, play, and eat real food, opposed to only milk. Highland cattle (the furry one pictured) and Ancient White Park cattle are raised along with Shorthorn cattle. The farm's veal is wildly popular in the area and has been picked up by many local restaurants - at a pretty penny. The farm's veal runs about $18 per pound - wholesale. The steep price tag has a lot to do with the Certified Humane slaughter techniques employed by the farm. Animals which are inhumanely slaughtered are usually frightened and the presence of adrenaline and state of the animal's muscles (tense and tight) at the time of slaughter will greatly affect the taste and quality of the meat.





My favorite stop of the day was the pig pen. We watched a giant Gloucestershire Old Spot sow give birth to piglets. These too are a rare breed with about 1,000 purebreds in the world and only 6 breeding boars. This farm owns one of the boars, and geez does he have the life. He's allowed to roam the farm's wooded areas freely and every other day, the farmer's drop four or five sows in his woods. They pick the girls up a few days later, and 90% of the time, they're all pregnant. The sows are good for 5-10 litters, until they get too big and accidentally start squishing (and killing) the piglets when they lay down. The dirty girl in the picture below is one such sow - she had her 10th litter about a week ago and squished all but one piglet. They'll let her hang in the mud for a few weeks (primarily to allow her hormone levels to drop) and then send her to slaughter.



We were treated to a fabulous lunch on the Manor House terrace. The farm's chef prepared turkey, roast beef and barbeque pork sandwiches (the turkey, beef and pork was raised, slaughtered and cooked on site, the cheese was aged in caves on site using milk from the farm's own cows, and the micro greens were picked fresh from the farm's produce beds that morning). Talk about fresh.



As a parting gift, we were given on of the farm's famous chickens (not live, but ready to pop in the oven). These chickens are raised from day old chicks and allowed to roam free. They are humanely slaughtered on-site (every Wednesday) and brined for six hours prior to packaging. Walking through the slaughterhouse and touring the killing room was a bit unsettleing, but a certain peace of mind is achieved when you know exactly where your dinnner came from. Hooray for all the organic, sustanable, certified humane farms in the world. These places are tremendously difficult to run successfully - it takes owners who are dedicated to certain practices for the right reasons, staff who share the owner's passion and consumers who are willing to support the products these farms produce.

Week Nine (Days Twenty Eight to Thirty Two)

We had two interesting visitors this week.

The first was Walter Scheib, the former executive chef at the White House. He was at the school assisting the Head of Everything with a charity event and decided dine with our class for lunch. We served him scallop quenelles with sorrel cream sauce, lamb and lentil stew, and molten chocolate cake - this was one of our more sophisticated lunch preparations. Good thing he didn't join us two days earlier; we would have sheepishly dished up scrambled eggs and pont neuf potatoes (steak fries). He cleaned his plate and therefore Chef, Mama and The Chef were happy with us.

Scheib was hired by Hillary and served through W.'s two terms. Prior to working at the White House, he was the executive chef at the Greenbrier, a hoity-toity resort in West Virginia, known as the romping grounds for senators and representatives before these Lobbyist's are Evil days. His wife read a notice in the Times declaring the White House chef had resigned and before Scheib knew it, she had written him a cover letter and dusted off his resume.

Out of four thousand applicants, he was a top twenty finalists and was tasked with serving dinner to Hillary and nine of her buddies. "I knew I had a good shot when I walked into the room and it sounded good - happy diners sound a certain way. Silverware should clank against plates, ice should shake in empty cocktail glasses - talking and laughter, especially laughter, are all signs of a healthy restaurant." He looked at Hillary and knew he was in the top three - at least; she was gnawing on a rib bone from the rack of lamb. She asked him for a thirty second 'why I should hire you speech' and he nailed that too. He talked about what it means to be an American chef, blah blah blah, and finished by making the key point that he prepared a delicious meal not only appropriate for small, intimate gatherings, but a meal which could easily be served at a 500 person state dinner.

White House Executive Chef sure sounds like a cool job. When you work in the residence, your clearance level is Top Secret Presidential Proximity. That means you are allowed to be alone with The President - no secret service in sight. Cabinet members are not granted that kind of clearance. Scheib had wonderful stories of Hillary in hair rollers, Bill requesting Big Macs and the Bush's obsession with Tex-Mex.

Our second visitor was Michel Richard. Yes! MICHEL RICHARD. Some of us nearly began jumping up and down, while others simply stared in disbelief when he waddled into our kitchen. He looks like Santa Claus, but more rotund. He mumbled something to us in a thick French accent, and although none of us understood, we replied, "Yes Chef!" in perfect unison. Unfortunately, he wasn't there for us beginners. The advanced students were each preparing six course tasting menus to be judged by Michel Richard. Seriously, that is a holy shit opportunity for any culinary student.

The network of old-school French chefs is proving to be a tremendous asset to my education. Viva la France.

Days Twenty Four to Twenty Seven

Every few days, The Chef manages to sneak over to our "beginner" kitchen and provides us with a good verbal beating. We always hear him before we see him. His tirade usually begins near the “advanced” kitchen, located on the opposite end of the long, pot washer’s corridor. “Zhey ahre ideeuts, huh?! Ow menee timez we hav to tel zhem?” His words get louder and clearer as he marches past the dish sinks, usually carrying evidence of our rule breaking. “Ohkaye peepul, I zwhere eef you ghet into mhy kitchun and lheeve zheese muhch sawce en zhee pot ahnd geeve it to zhe dishwashur yhou will nhot gradoohate, huh?!” He held up a stainless steel pot containing no more than a tablespoon of Veloute, stuck to the sides. We are supposed to scrape and save all sauce residue, for a rainy day I suppose. Our most common offenses include: 1) tossing leftovers into the community fridge without labeling the container correctly (misspelling French words drives him nuts) and 2) leaving masking tape on pots and pans that bear our name – we discovered that labeling our pots and pans was the only sure way to prevent the Sauce Swiper from striking.

The women of our class developed a brilliant idea during locker room time. We thought it would be smart to assume identities of the advanced students and write their names on our masking tape labels in lieu of ours. It turned out there was one less student in their section than in ours, so I humbly accepted the alias of guess who....The Chef.

What fun it is to play practical jokes. We gleefully labeled our pots and pans using an alias. When it came time to take the dirty vessels to dish, we all made sure to leave the labels stuck as they were. After hearing The Chef holler and scold the advanced students for two whole days, some began to feel bad (wimps I say!).

“Maybe we should tell them it was us,” one Cornichon proclaimed.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it would be such a big deal,” another chimed.

“Are you out of your mind?” I replied. “Our plan is brilliant, and fun. I refuse to back down.” A few brave little pickles agreed with my enthusiasm, therefore we continued cooking with mislabeled equipment and listening to The Chef roar at our advanced colleagues for the rest of the week. One afternoon, we noticed the yelling stopped. Uh oh. Sure enough, he appeared in our kitchen, holding a large sauce pot (mine) over his head, labeled with a piece of masking tape bearing his name. “Ohkay peepul, I zee. Ewe ahre szmhartur szhan I szhought.” He smiled, spun around, and walked away.

I despise the following recipe, only because I screwed it up on our second practical exam. Other than that, it is quite delicious and a great lunch on a hot summer day.

LA VICHYSSOISE
Ingredients
1 Russet Potato, cut into large chunks
3 Leeks (white part only), roughly chopped
Butter
½ onion, roughly chopped
4 c. Chicken Stock
1 small bunch Parsley
1 Bay Leaf
2 sprigs Thyme
¾ c. Heavy Cream
Salt and Pepper

Heat butter in a saucepan and add the leeks and onion. Sweat the leeks and onion until translucent, being very careful to keep them from taking any color. Once translucent, add the chicken stock, potato, parsley, bay leaf and thyme. Let simmer until the potato is tender.

Remove the potato from the soup and set aside. Remove the bay leaf, thyme and parsley and discard. Blend the soup in a blender until smooth. Add potato, a little at a time, until the soup is the consistency of heavy cream – do not add too much potato (this is what I screwed up!) or you will end up with paste! Season the blended soup with salt and pepper and chill until cold. Before serving, add heavy cream as desired. If desired, garnish with finely chopped chives or chervil.

Day Twenty Two

Jean-Louis Palladin was the French chef that re-invented and re-introduced French food to Americans. At twenty eight, he became the youngest chef in France to earn two Michilin starts. Soon after, in 1979, he ventured over to the USA and opened Jean-Louis at the Watergate in Washington DC. This joint put DC on the food map - some say when the restaurant opened, it became the first time the importance of gastronomy surpassed politics in Washington. Jean-Louis' kitchen spit out many of today's best including Daniel Boulud and Eric Ripert. Again, Ripert and Boulud. I mean, c'mon, those guys are good - really, really good. For a kitchen to develop just one of the pair would mean it to be amazing. Jean-Louis' place turned out both of them.

Jean-Louis' influence on sourcing food in America is unparalleled. He was fully committed to sourcing quality foods from people who understood the food. If he couldn't find what he was looking for, he convinced someone to start growing, feeding or fishing for it. Today, there are fisherman in Maine who run lucrative baby eel businesses; Jean-Louis was the one who convinced them to fish for those things. He convinced farmers to plant whatever he wanted and to grow it however he wanted. He taught ranchers how to raise better tasting poultry, veal and pork.

This man fiercely and passionately loved food. Jean-Louis and Head of Everything were buddies, of course. The Head of Everything told us stories about Jean-Louis, including his truffle season ritual; apparently, every year at the start of the season, Jean-Louis would order hundreds of pounds of truffles and store them in a giant, 5 foot tall snifter at the front of the restaurant. If a diner wanted extra truffle, all they needed to do was walk over to the snifter and pull one out. "Ehe was jenerhous to a falt. Ol ehe wanted to du whas feed peepul delichous fuud, no mattur what zhe caust to ehm." This guy made no money. Simply he was not interested in making a living, only in making incredible food.

Jean-Louis died of lung cancer in 2001. It was provoking to listen to the Head of Everything lecture about his friend - he was very sad, but smiled whenever he spoke Jean-Louis' name. It was our best lecture yet. How inspiring and compelling to learn of a predecessor who's intentions were pure. How interesting our world would be if everyone selflessly gave to their talent and passion like Jean-Louis.

A French classic, in honor of the French great:

LA NOIX DE SAINT JACQUES GRILLEE with LE BEURRE BLANC

Ingredients
2-3 Large Dry Scallops (per person)
1 1/2 c. White Wine
1 Shallot, minced
1 Bay Leaf
1 Tsp. Peppercorns
1 Lemon, juiced
1 1/2 c. cream
1/4 lb. butter, cut into small pieces

Methods
-To make the Beurre Blanc, put wine, shallot, bay leaf and peppercorns in a saucepan over a medium heat and simmer for about 10 minutes
-Turn the heat to low and add the lemon juice and cream to the wine reduction
-Over the low heat, whisk the butter into the sauce in three batches
-Strain the sauce and hold it over a low, low heat at a warm temperature, stirring often (since this sauce is an emulsion, if you don't hold it warm it will break)
-Season the scallops liberally with salt, pepper and coat with a little olive oil
-Heat a grill pan on high heat until it is very hot
-Sear the scallops on the grill pan - do NOT force the scallop off the grill pan to turn it - when it is ready to be turned, it will easily lift from the grill pan
-Do not overcook the scallops - they should be slightly translucent in the center (about 2-3 minutes on each side)
-Spoon Beurre Blanc onto plate and place grilled scallops ontop of sauce

Day Twenty

The Head of Everything proudly explained, "In Frahnce, we hav a compeetitshun for evrheething. Eef you whant to nou eef you ahre zee best pastrhee chef, zhere is a compeetishun. Eef you whant to nou eff you ahre zee best plumur, zhere is a compeetishun - ahnd zo on, ahnd zo on. Zhis is because zee French ahre zee mhost competeetive peepul in zee wurld. Whee zimply must be zhe best."

The French prepare themselves for these ridiculous competitions by attending school, for years and years, where they perfect a select skill. In fact, completion of these rigorous programs is required if one wants to make a living - licenses are only granted to those who successfully graduate.

For the culinary world, these schooling requirements are a gift. France is the only country in the world where one can walk into a bread bakery (or a "Boulangere") and be absolutely certain they are purchasing bread made by a master. The same goes for a pastry shop (or "Pattissiere"), a veal, lamb and beef butcher shop (or "Bouchererie") and a pork butcher shop (or "Charcuterie"). Apparently you will be hard pressed to find an American style bakery in France since the owner would need both a baking (4 years) and a pastry (another 4 years) degree. Remarkable, isn't it? Do you want to be a doctor - or a pastry/bread maker?

Today we made one of the best desserts yet - LES FRUITES AU SABAYON. Eating fresh, un-creamed, un-sugared, un-buttered fruit was an incredible break from the assault of heavy concoctions we've endured over the last few weeks. Not only is this yummy, its easy and something different.

LES FRUITES AU SABAYON
Ingredients
Fresh Fruit (berries, melon, and tropical fruits work well)
4 egg yolks
3/4 c. sugar
1/2 c. heavy cream (it is inescapable)
1/2 c. sherry or marsala wine (I used rum, so use your imagination here)

Methods
-Combine the sugar and wine in a small saucepan - bring to a boil until lots of foam appears and a simple syrup begins to form
-Whisk the egg yolks at high speed in a mixer fitted with a whisk attachment
-When the yolks are light in color, whisk in the hot syrup mixture
-Be careful to pour the syrup into the mixing bowl slowly and so it hits the side of the bowl (if poured directly into the moving whisk, it will cool quickly and crystallize)
-Whip heavy cream until stiff
-Fold whipped cream into yolk/syrup mixture
-Spoon the sabayon over the fresh fruit - be generous
-Put the sabayon coated fruit under the broiler (or use a blowtorch) until sabayon is browned
-Serve immediately

Weekend Assistant Gig

As a culinary student, one of the greatest things I've been doing is volunteering to assist chefs at big-time culinary events. Not only do these events provide for excellent networking, but they provide a better idea of what chef-hood is like outside of the classroom, in real kitchens, with real deadlines.

I arrived at the event location, a swanky, historic hotel around 11:00am. The event was an exclusive wine tasting accompanied by appetizers made by the worlds biggest and brightest chefs. Upon arrival, I was escorted into the hotel's massive kitchen. As I walked through the swinging double doors into the underbelly of the hotel, I spotted one. "Oh my god," I thought, "I'm in the same kitchen as (insert name of famous chef)!" Then, I spotted another. And another. They were hiding in walk-ins, behind speed racks and camouflaged by steam and smoke. They were EVERYWHERE. There were old-time classics, modern renegades and celebrity types from the food network - all in the same kitchen. So cool. It was equivalent to being a groupie backstage with the Beatles, the Temptations, Aerosmith and the Jonas Brothers, all at the same time.

I felt bad for the executive chef of the hotel. Can you imagine having your turf invaded by the industry's best, many with major egos, who pillage your space and equipment without a care? It didn't help that this was one of the most disgusting kitchens I've ever seen, and people were talking about it. Roach City.

I got assigned to an industry veteran, who started his career in Chicago, trained some of Chicago's finest in his kitchen, and then moved to Hawaii to start a haute dog joint. Love him.

The most uneasy moment of the night came when I needed to steal tongs from one of my fav chefs. I was desperate. And, I simply couldn't let my boss-of-the-moment down. As soon as I saw this chef disappear into the walk-in, I swooped over to her station and swiped the tongs under my apron. It felt so wrong, but so right. Another chef, who witnessed the entire tong-napping smiled at me and shot me a thumbs up.

My chef was serving kobe beef and lobster hot dogs. The lobster dog was delicious - topped with a squirt of wasabi mayonnaise, julienned banana peppers, and a dollop of neon green, chunky goo. Guess what the goo was?! "What else," Haute Dog Dude said, "Chicago relish." He imports that stuff to Hawaii. As a born and bread Windy City girl, nothing made me happier.

Service began around 6:30pm. I was stationed at a hot stove, over a giant pot of 170 degree water, heating hot dogs. Totally unglamourous, but it could have been worse. Haute Dog Dude was about to head to the ballroom and leave me to tend the dogs, when his old employee walked up. There were hugs, handshakes and smiles. Apparently this guy began his career working for Haute Dog Dude and has since become executive chef/owner of three successful joints. Um, can you say chef crush? As I explained to my fiance, its similar to the crush he had on Manon Rheaume when she made it to the NHL.

This guy was good looking, accomplished, super nice, and making muffins. Just picture it, an eye pleasing, successful, nice-guy chef pouring batter into muffin cups, right next to me and my wieners.

"I have to head upstairs for a second, can you watch these muffins for me?"

"Um, oh yeah, sure. No problem," I replied, while tongging three hot dogs at once, (I was trying to do something impressive). He left, and the muffins became my mission. I kept checking the oven, adjusting the temperature, and even pulled them out a few times and stuck a knife in the center to see if they were done. Suddenly I heard a voice..... "I zink they wil kook fahstur eef you juhst leave them alone." I turned around and there he was, my favorite little French man, smirking at me at my obvious overattentiveness. I forgot, The Chef was slotted for an after dinner VIP cooking demo. "Ahs soon ahs you ahre dun weeth your little muffinz and sawsages, come and give me a hand, yah?"

"Yes, chef," I replied.

Day Nineteen

Since I started school, the size of my ass has been a primary concern. Taste the hollandaise! Try this French butter! The pastry class has brought pound cake samples! Actually, many of my classmates have lost weight (not me, of course)! Running around a hot kitchen for eight hours obliterates calories.

Today, however, no one lost any weight.

The Menu:
L’ALLUMETTE AU FROMAGE
Puff Pastry filled with Mornay Sauce
L’ESCALOPE DE VEAU VIENNOISE
Veal Scaloppini with Browned Butter
LE GRATIN DAUPHINOIS
Potato Gratin
LE MILLEFEUILLE
Napoleons

I couldn't get enough of the L’Allumette Au Fromage – think croissant filled with cheesy goodness. It was the first time we made béchamel, another mother sauce. Béchamel is generally the base sauce in all heart-attack foods such as alfredo, macaroni and cheese, hot dips and bisque. Mornay is made by thickening the béchamel with additional roux (butter and flour) and then adding cheese.
I tried to make up for the indulgent lunch by volunteering for floor duty. Mopping is the worst cleanup job in town. Even scrubbing stove burners is preferred. Hurling a wet and smelly head of knarly cotton strings back and forth with hopes of sopping up unrecognizable sticky splotches of spill is the pits. If you’re ever in a position to fill a mop bucket from a mop sink, beware of the hot water tap. You MUST turn it on with a towel, otherwise you’ll suffer a serious burn. And the hot water that comes out – look out. I’ve been taking advantage of the steamy spicket with thirty second facials, but that perk is hardly makes up for the massages I’ll be purchasing to fix my lower back from too much mopping motion.

This is a good, blunder proof recipe that can accompany any dinner.

Potatoes Gratin

Ingredients
3-4 Idaho Potatoes
1 c. Cream
1 c. Milk
1 tsp. Nutmeg
2 cloves Garlic, smashed
½ c. Cheese
Salt and Pepper

Slice the potatoes into thin chips on mandolin. This can also be done by hand if you don’t have a mandolin. Combine the cream, milk, nutmeg, garlic and season with salt and pepper. Soak slices in the cream mixture for five minutes. Butter a baking dish, a round 8” dish woks well. Line the dish with layers of potatoes until dish is full to brim. Top with cheese. Strain cream mixture and pour into dish until full. Cover and bake at 325 degrees until potatoes tender and custard is set –about 30 minutes. Remove cover and brown.

Day Eighteen

Chef was on vacation, so The Chef, who is the school’s program director, advanced instructor and an Iron Chef champ (he beat Cat Cora) filled in. Holy smokes. We’ve got it coming.

He and the Head of Everything are perfect compliments. The Head of Everything is reserved, stoic, large and in charge, while The Chef is fast paced, witty and defines Napoleon Complex. Like the Head of Everything, there is something charming about this little, French man.

“Ohkay, shood we start, yah? Lehtz go My Coreneeshun! Seet down, get reahdhee ahnd we go!” His lecture was quick and full of important, practical information. “Eeef I hav all deez potaytoe peelz in a restrhant, I tell the deeshwashur to fry dem, add a leetle salt and we suurv at dee bar no sharge. Zee custoemhur think zhey geet something for frhee - huh huh huh! But reehly we jhust geeve them salty food and zee bar zales increase twentee purscent!”

We exited lecture, happy with the advanced instruction we will soon receive (about eight weeks from now). We were eager to get into the kitchen and show The Chef our stuff. Turns out, we’ve got no stuff.

“Whut the el are you duing?”
“Who taut you to old a nife dis way?”
“Did I do dis in lectur? No! Do it aghan.”
“Enjhoy your claases now yah? You ahre in cluhb med compahaired to my claas!”

His crowning moment of craziness occurred about one half hour prior to lunch service. One station, not mine (thank god) was hoarding dirty pots and pans all over their counter because they simply didn’t have time to get over to the dishwasher. “What the el? (His favorite question) What is dis? I tell you what it is….a disastur!” He walked over to the counter, stuck out his arm, and swiped the counter clean as though the dirty dishes, utensils and prepared food were droplets on a windshield. The kitchen turned silent. He continued, “Ohkay My Corneeshun we surve in twentee fhive minute! Lets go!” as though nothing had just happened.

Thank god for Mama. One of my favorite gals got flustered upon learning she needed re-make her éclair batter, for a third time. Mama and I were standing next to her when she started to….tear up. Mama put her hand on her shoulder, “No sad. I help you do again. If you work in rehrant and hav sad, you alway go to batroom. Never sad in fron of chef. You unerstand?”

Eclairs

Ingredients
Pastry Crème (see Day
1 c. Milk
4 oz. Butter, cut into small pieces
7 oz. All Purpose Flour
1 tsp. Salt
4-5 eggs

Heat the butter and milk together over a medium heat. Stir occasionally to ensure milk does not burn. When the milk and butter mixture just comes to a boil, quickly dump all the flour and salt into the pot at one time. Immediately begin stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon over the heat. Stir until the mixture comes together to form a dough, called Panade. Do not let it burn by stirring constantly for about 1-2 minutes.

Put the dough into a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment. Turn the mixer on and off every 30 seconds to cool the dough. Once somewhat cool, begin adding the eggs, one at a time. Do not add another egg until the previous egg is fully incorporated. Enough eggs have been added when the batter forms very soft peaks (4 ½ eggs usually does the trick, however it depends how long you dry out the Panade over the heat).

Fill a piping bag (or large freezer bag) with the batter and pipe into éclair shapes on a parchment lined sheet try. Apply egg wash. Bake at 375 degrees for 20 minutes or until puffy and golden brown. Turn down the oven to 325 degrees and continue to bake to dry out the center of the éclairs (about 8 minutes).

When cool, put two holes in the bottom of the éclairs, one to use for filling and the other to allow air to release as pastry cream fills the cavity. Pipe pastry cream into the éclair. Top with powdered sugar (we haven’t learned chocolate fondant icing yet, sorry!)

Days Sixteen and Seventeen

Our first written and practical tests have arrived.

Pages and pages of short answer questions such as "Describe the method to make Pate Choux" and "List the Ingredients in Frangipane," composed the written exam. For me, the written test exposed exactly how much I had learned over the last three weeks - lots! Physically creating something, over and over and over again, brands it into your brain (or my brain anyway). I admit I studied very little for the written exam, but breezed through it. One down, five to go.

The practical exam was much harder than I anticipated. We had to make Cream Puffs, Hollandaise, Vinaigrette, Rice Pilaf, Tourner Potatoes and craft perfect julienne, brunoise, macedoine and batonnet from carrots. When the test menu was exposed, everyone smiled in satisfaction. Hollandaise? Been there, done that - fifteen times in the last week to be exact. Rice Pilaf? My grandmother makes rice pilaf. We discovered, however, each of these items was deceptively simple. So simple, that an itty bitty mistake became a conspicuous error. There was no way to hide bad flavor behind fresh herbs or crappy knife skills under sauce.

The judges, Mama and Chef, were channeling Gordon Ramsey, minus all the F-bombs. They offered zero positive feedback, only nonconstructive criticism. All in all, I'm pleased with my performance although everything I made needed more salt, and my rice was "thirty seconds undercooked." 30 seconds? Whatever.

Quite frankly, our entire class did pretty well, even the Numero Uno Dummy. Everyone finished on time and no one's Hollandaise broke. Its nice to work with people who are equally motivated, dedicated and generally, capable. This one was a win for The Cornichons (the new loving nickname I've heard the advanced students call our class).

Day Fifteen

In our third meat lecture with the Head of Everything, we talked about America's favorite meat, Beef. America has an affinity for bovinity for one reason, we've got space. This country is plentiful with plains and pastures which can be devoted to grazing animals. Other countries, such as France, simply can not allow cattle to take up precious space and time (veal, a popular meat in France, must be slaughtered before turning 9 months old, which means quick turnover and more paydays).

He walked us through every cut of beef including its location on the cow and how it is best cooked. We were shocked when he said, "Evrhebadee haz a prhefrhunce az to which cut of meet zhey prheefur, so my opinyun dhuz not mattur." For the record, however, if offered any cut of beef, he would select a Porterhouse. And surprise, surprise, when I asked him how he likes his beef cooked he replied, "Zhee onlee way it shood be kooked, rhair."

The Porterhouse is a cut from the cow's short loin, or the very center part of the cows back. A piece of Porterhouse provides both a tenderloin and a strip steak. A T-Bone is similar, but the piece of tenderloin will be smaller. A cheap substitute for a Porterhouse, that almost always must be requested from a butcher, is a Sirloin Pinbone Steak. There are only a couple of this cut in each cow, and although the strip steak may be slightly tougher and the tenderloin much smaller, a Sirloin Pinbone Steak is great bang for your buck.

"Zhair is onlee one whay to kook a stake propurlhee."

The Only Way To Cook A Steak

Ingredients:
A Quality Steak
Salt
Pepper
Butter

Methods:
-Heat a small amount of butter (use clarified to avoid burning) in a steel pan
-Season the steak well with salt and pepper on both sides
-When the pan is very, very hot, plop the seasoned steak into the pan - it should sizzle
-I really meant that, it should seriously, seriously sizzle
-Do not touch the steak until you intend to flip it over
-For rare steak, you should flip after no more than 30 seconds
-After flipping, put a generous dollop of whole butter on the steak and finish in a 400 degree oven
-For a rare steak, it should be in the oven for no more than 1 minute

Day Fourteen

The Head of Everything has a favorite meal: La Blanquette De Veau A L’Ancienne Aux Champignons. It is white veal stew, topped off with an old school garnish (A L'Ancienne means "in the old") of glazed pearl onions, potatoes and mushrooms. We added carrots to the garnish for color.

Can you imagine the pressure of preparing such a thing - The Head of Everything's ALL TIME FAVORITE?!

La Blanquette De Veau A L'Ancienne Aux Champignons

Ingredients
For the Stew:
2 1/2 c. Veal, cleaned and cubed
1/2 Whole onion
1 T. Cloves
4 c. Stock
1 c. Leeks, chopped
1/2 c. Carrots, chopped
1 Bouquet Garni (Thyme, Bay Leaf and Parsley)
Roux (equal parts of butter and flour - about 3 T of each is good)
3/4 c. Cream

For the Garnish:
1 c. Potatoes, tourner cut (good luck with this)
1 c. Carrots, tourner cut (carrots are harder to tourner than potatoes)
1 c. Mushrooms, quartered
2 c. Water
2 T. Flour
Juice from 1/2 lemon
1 c. Pearl Onions, skin removed
2 t. Sugar
1 T. Butter
1 t. Salt
3 T. Stock or water

Methods
Prepare the Stew:
-Put stock in a large sauce pan
-Clove 1/2 onion (called an "onion pique") and add to stock
-Add bouquet garni, leeks, carrots and veal to cold stock
-Season with salt and pepper
-Bring to simmer and cook until veal is cooked through and tender
-Strain and reserve stock and veal in a large sautoir pan (a large pan, similar to a saute pan, but with straight, vertical, 2"+ sides)

Prepare the Garnish:
-Boil mushrooms in water with flour and lemon (to retain their white color)
-When mushrooms are cooked, strain from flour and lemon water (called a "Blanc") and reserve
-Tourner carrots and potatoes and boil in salted water until just cooked (a tourner cut resembles a football with exactly seven sides)
-Strain carrots and potatoes from cooking water and reserve
-Put peeled pearl onions, sugar, salt and stock or water into a small saucepan.
-Bring to a boil and cover - simmer on a very low heat
-When most of the liquid is gone, begin slowly stirring until a thick glaze forms
-Remove glazed onions and reserve

Finish the Blanquette de Veau:
-Begin heating the reserved stock and let it reduce
-Make a roux by melting butter into a pan
-When melted, add an equal share of flour and stir quickly until a paste forms
-Cool the roux
-Once cooled, whisk roux into heated stock reduction
-After sauce thickens, add cream and whisk
-Season well and add 1 to 2 T. of lemon juice if desired
-Add veal and garnishes to to gravy
-Serve over rice or fresh pasta

Stews require the use of numerous important, basic techniques, therefore our lessons will be thick with stew for the next couple of months. We were thrilled at the prospect of creating and eating things like Beef Bourguignon and Coq Au Vin, until we served the Blanquette de Veau; although delicious, piping hot stew is not a choice meal in a piping hot kitchen.

My assigned partner this week is the Numero Uno Dummy. Nice, motivated and likable for sure, but clueless when it comes to anything common sense. Mine and the Dummy's Blanquette De Veau turned out way too salty.

"I figured out why our sauce was too salty!" the Dummy exclaimed.
"Oh yeah?" I replied.

This is what happened to our sauce: We each made our own sauces and combined them at the end to make life easier. We let the combined sauces reduce for over an hour, which was way too long, and therefore the ratio of salt to stock was way too high.

"Do you know why it was salty?" the Dummy inquired.
"Yes, I do. Its because we reduced it too much," I kindly replied.
"No!" the Dummy exclaimed with a smile. "Here is what I figure - since we combined our sauces, which both had salt in them, some sort of reaction happened and we ended up with double the salt. So, from now on, you should never combine two separate things otherwise your final product will have double the seasoning!"

It took all my energy to hold in a chuckle.

"Um, no. That's not correct. Think about it, if you take a can of coke and mix it with another can of coke, you don't end up with super sweet coke," I explained.
"I dunno," the Dummy doubtfully said. "I think the coke may be sweeter. I 'll have to try it when I get home tonight."

Oh boy.

Day Thirteen

Head honchos at some of the most prestigious culinary schools in America think the Head of Everything is an idiot. "Zhey looked hat me az zhough I add lhost my mhind." He brought his fist to his chin and stared over our heads at the wall behind us. After about a minute of thinking, he proclaimed, "I do nhot care. I will teech my students ow to bootchair unteel I ham too old to muve my harms."

Butchering is a dying, if not dead art - no pun intended. In the 80's culinary schools began phasing butchering class out of curricula because purchasing pre-butchered cuts in restaurants was all the rage. Chefs and industry peeps thought this new convenience would replace ordering primal meat forever. They were wrong. The state of our economy has put those folks, who include the Heads of Seriously Prestigious Culinary Schools across the country, in a big predicament. Right now, most great restaurants will only hire new chefs who can butcher. Struggling owners have discovered it more economical to buy, for instance, a whole lamb for $4 per pound vs. a rack of lamb for $22 per pound. Many restaurants can not take advantage of these prices until they employ an in-house butcher. Most US schools, at this very moment, are unable to teach butchering as they don't employ instructors who can teach it.

Thanks to the traditional, hard-core nature of the Head of Everything, I will graduate with this ancient skill in my arsenal and be an asset to any unthriving restaurant. Yip de do.

We learn to butcher once a week when the Head of Everything personally delivers a fabu lecture, from a textbook he has written but refuses to publish. Besides having an opportunity to learn from this guru, it is beautiful to watch him work. His movements are strong yet graceful and his demeanor is polished while bucolic.

The meat inspection and grading system in the United States is very, very good. No animal can be slaughtered, anywhere, without an inspector on site for the entire process. There are seven grades of meat (for beef, lamb and veal) and purchasing any of the top three grades is acceptable. The seven grades are:

(1) Prime (You get this at a high, high end steakhouses)
(2) Choice (Within Choice, there is a separate grading system. "Top Choice," meat is generally served at high end restaurants and good mom and pop steakhouses.)
(3) Select (Most of the meat in your chain supermarkets is Select. Totally acceptable and often delicious to eat.)
(4)&(5) Commercial and Utility (We enter the Danger Zone. Stuff used at fast food joints and in TV dinners.)
(5)&(6) Cutter and Canner (This is used for dog food).

The grading is completely subjective and at the discretion of the inspector. Surprisingly, the grading is very consistent and therefore very reliable.

The Head of Everything provided two bits of disappointing meat purchasing advice.1) "Nehvhur bye meet on zhale." Shoot. I only buy meat on sale. 2)"Nehvhur bye ekstrah meet with the intenshun of frheezing it for latur yoose. Shit. I will further clarify my meat buying mantra: I only buy lots and lots of meat on sale intending to freeze it for use in weeks to come.

I'll just have to add full price meat to the lengthening list of expenses I must endure in order to do dinner right. I'll tell you all about my recent trip to Sur La Table, "Culinary Shopper Extrodinaire Strikes Again," another time. The guy helping me began rolling his eyes after my signature inquiry, "Does this come in pink?"

Days Eleven and Twelve

Over the last two days we've made:
Veal stock
Chicken stock
Fume (Fish stock)
La Creme Au Caramal (Creme Carmel)
Brioche
Les Crepes de Volialle Au Gratin (Chicken Crepes au Gratin)
Le Filet de Flet Poche (Poached Filet of Flounder)
Hollandaise
Les Pommes Tourness a L'Anglaise (Boiled Tournee Potatoes)
Le Paris Brest (a dessert served on the train from Paris en route to Brest)
L'Omelette Au Fromage (Cheese Omelettes)
Les Nouilles Fraiches (Fresh Noodles)
La Sauce Tomate au Pistou(Tomato Sauce with Pesto) and
Le Pan Perdu (Bread Pudding)

This was the first time our nerves were truly tested. Time was short, space was tight and the kitchen was hot. I saw firsthand how the kitchen can turn good people to the darkside. No room for your pot? Just move someones off the flame! Did you run out of sauce? Saunter past the stove and swipe the first sauce you see! The Sauce Swiper actually took someones entire reduction off the stove, dressed his or her poached fish and then DUMPED the remaining sauce in the GARBAGE.

"Zhee mhost competitshon you will encountair in the industrhy is at zhis skoohul," the Head of Everything explained. "You are all competiting for zhee numbher one spot. Onlee one of yhu will git it....sechond place is zhee fhurst loozher." Ouch. I hope to never employ sabotage tactics or cheap tricks, but who knows how I'll behave in desperate times. I'd love to keep number one as sweet as it sounds.

So far, crepes have been the most versatile item we've cooked. We stuffed our crepes with sauteed chicken and mushrooms, smothered them with a Veloute (a sauce made from stock and roux) and then topped them with Gruyere and threw them under the salamander (a commercial broiler). If you are thinking, 'that sounds delicious,' it absolutely was. Crepes can be filled with anything you've got - sweet, savory, hot or cold.

Basic Crepe Batter

4.5 oz. All Purpose Flour
1.5 c. milk
2 eggs
¾ oz. melted butter
Clarified butter (to coat the pan)

Whisk eggs and flour together. Add milk until the batter is the consistency of heavy cream. Strain the batter to remove lumps. Lumpy batter is a crepe's nemesis. If you let the batter rest, it may thicken. Adjust the consistency by adding more milk. Just prior to cooking, whisk in the melted butter. The melted butter gives crepes color when they cook.

Coat a crepe pan with clarified butter. Clarified butter is butter that has had the milk fats removed, which allows the butter to withstand higher temperatures. Ladle a small amount of batter into the pan and swirl around until the pan is coated. When the bottom begins to brown, flip the crepe using a spatula with a long narrow blade. Cook the second side until browned. Crepes are hearty little things. You can stack them while hot and they will not stick together or tear. Crepes can even be thinly sliced and put into soups as a noodle substitute.

I thought cooking school would curb my shopping habit, but it turns out culinary schools have all sorts of exciting kitchen equipment for sale, for cheap. They often over order or need to get rid of used equipment to make room for new gadgets. Today I came home with a fabulous blue steel saute pan for $25. For me, wearable purchases are now a thing of the past, unless you consider all the heavy cream and butter I am trying desperately to keep off of my thighs. Sigh.