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.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Monday, August 10, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, August 3, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
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.
"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.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
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!
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!
Monday, July 6, 2009
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.
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.
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