For those of you who have never worked in restaurants, the fantastic benefit of being a waiter working for beans/whoring for tips, or a cook working for beans/whoring for your chef, is that you get to eat for free. Unless you work in a chain (Sorry, Carl).
Oh and a quick aside, at Blu Sushi Lounge we scavenge your food. Because sushi is usually served in bite sized pieces, any food left on a plate is generally untouched and free game. I don't know if it's because we're all really poor at Blu, but if we see guests slowing down with plenty of food on the plate, we are hoping you say "No, we won't take it home." That shit gets hawked down immediately. It's kind of unprofessional, but some of us will drop what we're doing, sneak back to the kitchen and scavenge the goodies as quickly as possible and get back to work. Sushi is an expensive and luxurious cuisine, alright? We like to enjoy it too.
Behold the wonder that is the family meal. Formally I guess it's a staff meal or an employee meal, but really restaurant staffers usually form close bonds so the term "family meal" is very appropriate. It's usually comprised of scraps and can be sub-par. A wise restaurant owner will not spend too much on their employees, it is the kitchen's responsibility to turn what would be waste in to food. But a delicious family meal really does wonders for morale, and is greatly appreciated by poor restaurant workers. Whenever Sergio, the pastry chef, has to make family meal he makes three trays of thin crust pizza with some fantastic toppings. Mozzarella cheese over a garlic-ricotta sauce, fontina cheese over spinach, sausage and tomato sauce, smoked mozzarella over grilled squash/zucchini and a tomato/jalapeno sauce. My favorite day of the week.
Every week at Va Pensiero when the schedule comes out the chef will kind of randomly highlight names for every day of the week. Those highlighted will make the family meal for that day. I noticed that so far I've been selected to make family meal every Sunday. I then noticed that that is the chef's day off. I guess he has no interest or faith in my ability to make a decent meal. Then I thought about it some more and realized that although I am developing very specific kitchen skills, my ability to create a whole meal is somewhat untested.
My fellow Mexican cooks also share the same opinion as Le Chef. The first week I was supposed to make family meal they went ahead and made a meal without me. They joked about it, assuming I didn't have the balls to make something. I was pretty hurt, I had devoted my whole train ride to thinking what we could use and what I could make. We eat a ton of pasta with tomato-based sauces, so I was going to play it safe in that direction, but still! C'mon! Give me a shot!
The next week wasn't much better. It was a super busy Sunday and I kind of forgot family meal needs to be pretty punctual at 4:30 PM. Our sous chef reminds me at about 4:05 and he's like, "Eric! Did you start family meal?" At which point I nearly shit my pants. SHIT-FUCK-DAMN! I run to the walk-in, grab onions, red bell peppers, mushrooms, garlic, and tomato remnants and start roughly chopping everything in sight. At the very least I impress people with my vastly improved knife skills. It was a decent meal.
During the week I also am occasionally responsible for making the salads that go along with the meal. The person working the cold station has to take whatever raw vegetables that are turning south in terms of freshness and make a decent salad out of them. I never paid attention to how Maestro makes the dressings for these salads, but they're usually quite decent and based on some sort of fruit. I take a page out of The French Laundry Cookbook and make Thomas Keller's standard family meal salad dressing.
Shallots
Sherry vinegar
1 egg yolk
1 clove of garlic
Salt and pepper
Olive oil
You throw it in a blender and emulsify it slowly with the oil, by drizzling it in during the process. The finished product is creamy and off-white, which I was not expecting at all. This is unlike any salad dressing I've come across (to be fair I'm very accustomed to Hidden Valley Ranch and maybe a balsamic vinaigrette). But the taste is quite good! A nice acidic note to counter the creaminess of the egg yolk/oil, and the gentle onion perfume of the shallots with the sharpness of garlic to accent it. Pretty tasty! Perhaps a bit too much garlic, but otherwise solid all around. I throw a bag of mixed greens in a bowl, toss in a handful of arugula, julienne some Granny Smith apples, red onion and empty out the dregs from a can of pistachios for some textural contrast. Hey that's a pretty good salad! I know I'm using exclamation points a lot, but seriously! I'm proud of myself! But I make the mistake of perhaps adding a bit too much dressing, allowing the greens to get a little soggy as opposed to crisp and fresh.
Alright so salads go pretty well, but any monkey with a bowl and some reasonably fresh vegetables can make a salad. How about a real family meal? Well here we are, Sunday the 20th. The wonderful thing about cooking family meal on a Sunday is that there are a plethora of ingredients to use. It's the end of our week and there's plenty of leftovers to go around. Unused chickens, leftover pork belly from an appetizer we didn't sell as much of as we had hoped, some cuts of pork and beef, and any vegetables are fair game because we get fresh ones on Tuesday. The Mexicans again snicker and offer assistance, not thinking I can pull this off. Well ... challenge accepted, you buttholes. (That's right I said buttholes .. 3rd grade, what up)
I go in to the walk-in and notice a big box of chicken wings leftover from butchering. The light goes off in my head. Ding! Perhaps my favorite thing in the world are buffalo wings. I need some starch too so I decide to make a pasta alongside it. This isn't going to be the most cohesive meal, but it will be tasty, damn it. I make another childhood favorite, pasta alfredo.
Making hot wing sauce from scratch is trickier, so I use Frank's Red Hot as a base. I know, I know I'm a cop out, whatever. Still these turned out friggin' great.
Frank's Red Hot Sauce
Ketchup (Heinz baby, represent Rob)
Splash of Tabasco
Splash of Valentina (a Mexican hot sauce .. we go through like one bottle a week)
Squeeze of lime juice
Melted butter with a touch of honey whisked in
Garlic paste (You mince cloves of garlic extremely fine, and then using kosher salt as an abrasive you mash it in to a fine paste)
I cook the wings at low temperature first and then blast them hot in the convection oven to crisp the skin. Ideally I would deep-fry those bad boys, but alas we don't have a fryer.
And then for my linguini Alfredo. We happen to have taken our linguini dish off the menu, so that pasta is fair game. We get all our parmigiano-reggiano from a ginormous wheel (we toss pasta in it tableside), so when we take the wheel apart we are left with the waxy rinds. I grate all the rinds to get every scrap of cheese, and add some pecorino as well. I make a blond roux (equal parts butter and flour) and start whisking in milk, effectively what's called a bechamel sauce. The roux is a thickener and I start whisking in the cheese. Now I have a thick, white, cheesey sauce. Essentially alfredo sauce. I saute julienned red bell peppers, mushrooms (shitakes and criminis leftover from our mushroom tagliatelle dish), onion and garlic (yeah I use it a lot). Toss everything together, hit it with some chopped parsley, and voila! Pasta!
All the food is put out and I look at what we have. It's a veritable feast. Luis has heated up some leftover pork tenderloin and made a 12-egg omelet (which he flipped very successfully in a pan... it was awesome). Mr. Cruz, the manager, has brought in a pepperoni pizza he got for free somewhere and Maestro has made a salad with leftover gorgonzola cheese for the dressing. This is one hell of a fatty meal. Then Chuy tells me he's kind of lactose intolerant, Luis tells me he just ate pasta at Bravo!, his other restaurant that he works at, so he's eating the omelet with Chuy. It just so happens our only two American waiters are working, so they go for pizza and salad, the girl staying away from my creamy, fatty pasta. And Mr. Cruz generally opts for a tomato salad or some bread usually, not interested in our family meal. So the pasta goes largely untouched. Then they tell me I need to go home because a 4-top and a 5-top have canceled, and they no longer need me. Thanks a lot guys. See you on Wednesday. ... Buttholes.
Those wings were fucking delicious though.
EP #6
PS - Thank you Eva and Paul for pointing out one of my errors. Buttholes.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Hanging in There
So some of you may think I am dead. Or at least have gone missing. Both are somewhat true. I am dying slowly, getting chewed up in the inferno of a professional kitchen.
A little more than two weeks have passed with me being a professional cook now, and frankly the work is harder than I could have anticipated. Even though I interned as a stage for quite some time, cooking for 5-6 days a week with 10-12 hour days thrown in are very tiring. As I look at my hands while typing this I notice the true mark of a novice line cook.
I have angry burns from splattered oil dotting the backs of my hand. I have a nice big cut on my right index finger from cleaning the deli slicer. On the other side of my index finger is a gnarled blister from using a knife for so many hours a day. A callus is proudly beginning to form. My cuticles are mangled, and the grime from cleaning 40 pounds of mushrooms remains difficult to cleanse. I could really use another manicure.
Err...
Anyhow, the point is that the work is hard. I do enjoy it though and the catharsis a 14 hour day of cooking offers is reward enough in itself. I am genuinely excited for my first paycheck so that I can experience my first compensation for working with food (also I just lost 3 rounds of credit card roulette on a random night of Monday drinking). As of now the work is not consistently 12 hours or more, but the weekends do require us to race, which has lead me to experience a few new things. The constant battle against the clock that is a cook's life, and the war-like camaraderie developed with your fellow cooks in that struggle.
Now I have responsibilities allocated just for me. I am currently acting as a swing cook between pasta and cold stations, setting up one or the other every day. I am frustrated by my lack of precision and speed. If I try to work too fast, the quality of my work begins to suffer, but if I work too slow I might not make it in time for service. The other cooks have been endlessly patient with me and I thank them for that. But I am personally very disappointed that I am not doing better. Right now I have been a supplementary factor to the line, an extra hand who always has a veteran guardian angel to pick up my slack. But starting this week I am going to command my own station, my chef hoping that I can pull my weight on the line.
I guess it is to be expected. Your first job is always a little difficult, but I am annoyed that I don't pick up cooking as easily. Cello was never hard for me to learn, I learned ultimate in a fairly relaxed manner, I can't afford to let this learning curve dominate me. But dominate me it must.
A few Saturdays ago, Le Chef lets me try out the beginning of service on the hot line as a pasta cook. We're picking up a wedding reception of 100 in an hour and we need to turn these first tables ASAP (to turn a table is the time it takes for guests to finish a table so that we can get them out the door, clean and reset the table for the next round of guests, restaurants will typically do 2-3 turns depending on the size and business of the dining room a night). I am getting hammered with orders getting called in waves of 2 or 3.
"Ordering one tagliatelle split, two ravioli and a pasta penne!"
Ordering means that I should start working on heating up the sauce, getting the taste and ingredients to the right point, and have it ready for the pick up. Once the order is picked up I then just heat the pasta in water, throw it in to the sauce, toss it and plate to maximize efficiency. So after this first order I need to saute a bunch of mushrooms, tomatoes and herbs in butter, add mushroom stock and begin to reduce it, prepare two pans of browned butter and sage, and heat up arrabiata sauce and add chicken for the penne. Adjust the seasoning on everything and keep it warm.
"Pick up tagliatelle! Fire table 23!"
The tagliatelle is getting picked up separately alongside the rest of the orders. I begin to heat up all my pasta, Luis starts double checking my sauces. I throw all the pasta in to the sauces and begin tossing, Luis has set up all the plates on the board for me. I plate, being careful to mound the pasta, adding cheese, wiping plates. Luis helps me to finish the plating.
Whew, first order done with marginal success!
"Ordering 2 tagliatelle, 2 pasta onion, penne appetizer! Pick up pork belly and cheese tart!"
I am also responsible for a few appetizers, those being the Braised Pork Belly with Crispy Onions and a Cranberry/Pomegranate Juice reduction and the Mediterranean Goat Cheese Tart with Arugula Oil and Tomato Vinaigrette.
I begin to slow down. My caramelized onion sauce begins to scorch slightly, I'm taking too long and the orders don't stop.
Le Chef looks at Luis and then at me.
"Eric, go help Maestro with picking up the salads for the wedding."
I've been benched. I am crushed. I don't know if I should have expected myself to handle a busy Saturday a week in, but I am disappointed nonetheless.
I have a lot to learn.
I am so upset because I care. I want to be a good cook, I want a solid foundation of cooking technique before I even begin to explore the idea of my own cuisine. A line cook's life is all about being able to express the big dog/chef's personal cuisine. It's not up to you to be creative, it's up to you to be precise and efficient.
Grant Achatz, who I consistently go on about because I kind of love him a lot, at age 23 was Thomas Keller's best line cook at The French Laundry, as it began its climb to the best restaurant in America. I knew he was uniquely artistic and endlessly creative, but I always sort of assumed that was his main asset, that his cooking technique was only slightly better-than-average.
How wrong I was. As I learn more about the enigma that is Grant Achatz I find that he most certainly earned the devotion and loyalty of his staff through his skills as a line cook. When he was the executive chef at Trio, it was often said that if you started slacking on the line he just came in and worked your station better, faster, harder, stronger than you ever could on your best day while expediting.
Fuck.
I really do have quite a bit to learn.
Wish me luck, give me strength.
EP #6
A little more than two weeks have passed with me being a professional cook now, and frankly the work is harder than I could have anticipated. Even though I interned as a stage for quite some time, cooking for 5-6 days a week with 10-12 hour days thrown in are very tiring. As I look at my hands while typing this I notice the true mark of a novice line cook.
I have angry burns from splattered oil dotting the backs of my hand. I have a nice big cut on my right index finger from cleaning the deli slicer. On the other side of my index finger is a gnarled blister from using a knife for so many hours a day. A callus is proudly beginning to form. My cuticles are mangled, and the grime from cleaning 40 pounds of mushrooms remains difficult to cleanse. I could really use another manicure.
Err...
Anyhow, the point is that the work is hard. I do enjoy it though and the catharsis a 14 hour day of cooking offers is reward enough in itself. I am genuinely excited for my first paycheck so that I can experience my first compensation for working with food (also I just lost 3 rounds of credit card roulette on a random night of Monday drinking). As of now the work is not consistently 12 hours or more, but the weekends do require us to race, which has lead me to experience a few new things. The constant battle against the clock that is a cook's life, and the war-like camaraderie developed with your fellow cooks in that struggle.
Now I have responsibilities allocated just for me. I am currently acting as a swing cook between pasta and cold stations, setting up one or the other every day. I am frustrated by my lack of precision and speed. If I try to work too fast, the quality of my work begins to suffer, but if I work too slow I might not make it in time for service. The other cooks have been endlessly patient with me and I thank them for that. But I am personally very disappointed that I am not doing better. Right now I have been a supplementary factor to the line, an extra hand who always has a veteran guardian angel to pick up my slack. But starting this week I am going to command my own station, my chef hoping that I can pull my weight on the line.
I guess it is to be expected. Your first job is always a little difficult, but I am annoyed that I don't pick up cooking as easily. Cello was never hard for me to learn, I learned ultimate in a fairly relaxed manner, I can't afford to let this learning curve dominate me. But dominate me it must.
A few Saturdays ago, Le Chef lets me try out the beginning of service on the hot line as a pasta cook. We're picking up a wedding reception of 100 in an hour and we need to turn these first tables ASAP (to turn a table is the time it takes for guests to finish a table so that we can get them out the door, clean and reset the table for the next round of guests, restaurants will typically do 2-3 turns depending on the size and business of the dining room a night). I am getting hammered with orders getting called in waves of 2 or 3.
"Ordering one tagliatelle split, two ravioli and a pasta penne!"
Ordering means that I should start working on heating up the sauce, getting the taste and ingredients to the right point, and have it ready for the pick up. Once the order is picked up I then just heat the pasta in water, throw it in to the sauce, toss it and plate to maximize efficiency. So after this first order I need to saute a bunch of mushrooms, tomatoes and herbs in butter, add mushroom stock and begin to reduce it, prepare two pans of browned butter and sage, and heat up arrabiata sauce and add chicken for the penne. Adjust the seasoning on everything and keep it warm.
"Pick up tagliatelle! Fire table 23!"
The tagliatelle is getting picked up separately alongside the rest of the orders. I begin to heat up all my pasta, Luis starts double checking my sauces. I throw all the pasta in to the sauces and begin tossing, Luis has set up all the plates on the board for me. I plate, being careful to mound the pasta, adding cheese, wiping plates. Luis helps me to finish the plating.
Whew, first order done with marginal success!
"Ordering 2 tagliatelle, 2 pasta onion, penne appetizer! Pick up pork belly and cheese tart!"
I am also responsible for a few appetizers, those being the Braised Pork Belly with Crispy Onions and a Cranberry/Pomegranate Juice reduction and the Mediterranean Goat Cheese Tart with Arugula Oil and Tomato Vinaigrette.
I begin to slow down. My caramelized onion sauce begins to scorch slightly, I'm taking too long and the orders don't stop.
Le Chef looks at Luis and then at me.
"Eric, go help Maestro with picking up the salads for the wedding."
I've been benched. I am crushed. I don't know if I should have expected myself to handle a busy Saturday a week in, but I am disappointed nonetheless.
I have a lot to learn.
I am so upset because I care. I want to be a good cook, I want a solid foundation of cooking technique before I even begin to explore the idea of my own cuisine. A line cook's life is all about being able to express the big dog/chef's personal cuisine. It's not up to you to be creative, it's up to you to be precise and efficient.
Grant Achatz, who I consistently go on about because I kind of love him a lot, at age 23 was Thomas Keller's best line cook at The French Laundry, as it began its climb to the best restaurant in America. I knew he was uniquely artistic and endlessly creative, but I always sort of assumed that was his main asset, that his cooking technique was only slightly better-than-average.
How wrong I was. As I learn more about the enigma that is Grant Achatz I find that he most certainly earned the devotion and loyalty of his staff through his skills as a line cook. When he was the executive chef at Trio, it was often said that if you started slacking on the line he just came in and worked your station better, faster, harder, stronger than you ever could on your best day while expediting.
Fuck.
I really do have quite a bit to learn.
Wish me luck, give me strength.
EP #6
Saturday, November 28, 2009
And So It Begins..
First, a few things about this blog.
I'm not sure who reads it, I'm assuming mostly my Gchat buddy list, but every once in a while I'll encounter people in real life and they will reference this blog. This is both flattering and terrifying. I guess I should be more conscious now of what I am writing.
Leave comments. They make me feel loved.
I understand these posts are generally very long and that I overuse the narrative device of "narrative (insert inner monologue in parantheses here) lolcano." I also realize I use an unnecessary amount of adverbs. These are things I will be addressing from this point on. Even though I'm convinced you cubicle rats can spare 6 minutes to read a diatribe about me burning myself in the kitchen. And then leave a comment telling me how much you love me.
I express desire to reorganize and smooth over this blog because I am about to enter a new stage of my life. On Wednesday, December 2, 2009 I will begin work as a full-time, paid line cook.
A few weeks ago, I almost didn't go to Va Pensiero because I was feeling lazy and kind of hungover. I mustered up the strength to get on the train and somewhere between family meal and dinner shift my chef corners me in the bakery. He begins very somberly, questioning me about my plans for the next few months. I'm pretty sure he's about to axe me, telling me he needs to cut the excess fat before the holidays and get his crew in to tip-top shape. I'm freakin'. Suddenly I hear the words, "I need a guy I can count on. You've obviously showed the dedication. I need another guy. I was thinking about you."
What?! Ex-squeeze me? Did I hear that correctly? You want the Asian intern to be your new line cook? Holy crap!
I don't accept immediately because I wasn't sure what was to happen with Blu. I have worked out a deal to work at both places. And yes I am still wanting to start working at the bakery, I just haven't been able to figure out the timing and logistics yet.
So here we go. I'm going to be a full-time cook at Va Pensiero, honing my skills and training for culinary school in the fall. Every profession needs a strong foundation of technical expertise. At least that's the goal for now. To harden myself in the fires of the kitchen. To pursue perfection in every dish, every ingredient. To constantly offer true hospitality and care while working the front of the house. To never stop learning about the phenomenon that is the restaurant, this very curious aspect of human society.
But this also means I will be working a lot. Needless to say, this means I won't be playing very much ultimate anymore. Though this saddens me, I am excited to move on to this part of my life. So don't expect many ultimate posts to be coming. Eventually the time will come to say goodbye to this blog. If I will create another one I don't know, but we'll keep this going as long as I can.
So onward and upward I say! I have already shed that which takes away my focus, my drive. My life now belongs to the kitchen. My heart now belongs to my restaurants. Now all I have is to focus on being the best cook I can be. To train to be a damn good restaurateur. To chase the dream.
Wish me luck.
EP #6
I'm not sure who reads it, I'm assuming mostly my Gchat buddy list, but every once in a while I'll encounter people in real life and they will reference this blog. This is both flattering and terrifying. I guess I should be more conscious now of what I am writing.
Leave comments. They make me feel loved.
I understand these posts are generally very long and that I overuse the narrative device of "narrative (insert inner monologue in parantheses here) lolcano." I also realize I use an unnecessary amount of adverbs. These are things I will be addressing from this point on. Even though I'm convinced you cubicle rats can spare 6 minutes to read a diatribe about me burning myself in the kitchen. And then leave a comment telling me how much you love me.
I express desire to reorganize and smooth over this blog because I am about to enter a new stage of my life. On Wednesday, December 2, 2009 I will begin work as a full-time, paid line cook.
A few weeks ago, I almost didn't go to Va Pensiero because I was feeling lazy and kind of hungover. I mustered up the strength to get on the train and somewhere between family meal and dinner shift my chef corners me in the bakery. He begins very somberly, questioning me about my plans for the next few months. I'm pretty sure he's about to axe me, telling me he needs to cut the excess fat before the holidays and get his crew in to tip-top shape. I'm freakin'. Suddenly I hear the words, "I need a guy I can count on. You've obviously showed the dedication. I need another guy. I was thinking about you."
What?! Ex-squeeze me? Did I hear that correctly? You want the Asian intern to be your new line cook? Holy crap!
I don't accept immediately because I wasn't sure what was to happen with Blu. I have worked out a deal to work at both places. And yes I am still wanting to start working at the bakery, I just haven't been able to figure out the timing and logistics yet.
So here we go. I'm going to be a full-time cook at Va Pensiero, honing my skills and training for culinary school in the fall. Every profession needs a strong foundation of technical expertise. At least that's the goal for now. To harden myself in the fires of the kitchen. To pursue perfection in every dish, every ingredient. To constantly offer true hospitality and care while working the front of the house. To never stop learning about the phenomenon that is the restaurant, this very curious aspect of human society.
But this also means I will be working a lot. Needless to say, this means I won't be playing very much ultimate anymore. Though this saddens me, I am excited to move on to this part of my life. So don't expect many ultimate posts to be coming. Eventually the time will come to say goodbye to this blog. If I will create another one I don't know, but we'll keep this going as long as I can.
So onward and upward I say! I have already shed that which takes away my focus, my drive. My life now belongs to the kitchen. My heart now belongs to my restaurants. Now all I have is to focus on being the best cook I can be. To train to be a damn good restaurateur. To chase the dream.
Wish me luck.
EP #6
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Modes of Instruction
Not one of us can go through life without guidance and instruction. It is fundamental to the advancement of humans as a species to learn from each generation, to refine ourselves in whatever pursuit we may take on. Guidance can be flawed, it can do more harm than good, but regardless of the quality we will always carry its significance with us.
Let the gravity of that settle in. Okay, now I'll stop talking like an asshole.
In anything, but most especially food, instruction and the sharing of information is paramount. People will slave for months in a kitchen without pay, just to learn from the masters; chefs who started off doing the same thing and have amassed a lifetime of culinary skill and experience. I value a good culinary education more than anything. I realize the importance of having a sound technical foundation upon which to build my creative and artistic house of haute cuisine. So basically what that means is I deeply value and respect my sous-chef and chef-owner.
I'll start from the beginning.
There are three things in my life I've devoted vast amounts of time and energy towards in the pursuit of perfection. I have generally failed at even coming close with all of them. But that's not really what is important. What is important is what I learned about myself along the way (where's my motivational poster? Perseverance + Pandas = Win! ... kind of).
Okay not at all actually, because I failed pretty hard at cello. Very much like my experience with public school, I was talented enough at cello to get by with very little work. This taught me the value of procrastinating, cheating, finding shortcuts, and exploiting the system. I never really loved cello. I occasionally loved a well-done orchestral performance, with me representing from the back of the section. I occasionally liked when I played a good master class, or had a good lesson. I really liked pulling off a good recital. But in general, I resented the instrument, I hated the Juilliard School, and I still loathe the large majority of classical musicians (sorry, guys ... but if you're reading this then you're probably not one of them).
I did love all my teachers though. Whereas my sister had the unfortunate luck of having stereotypically mean, horrid European teachers, my first cello teachers were sweethearts. Ardyth Alton was an ancient yet scarily energetic woman. She was as sweet as could be and was always willing to stick up for me, and guide me even though I was a huge pain in the ass. As I first began to learn the instrument she had me study with her assistant, Debbie Park. Debbie was also a wonderfully sweet girl, and not to mention smoking hot. To this day I have a massive crush on her because she was always so kind, so attractive, and willing to show me infinite patience as she prepared me for my Juilliard Pre-College audition. On the day of my audition she helped me warm up at seven in the morning, bought me hand warmers, bananas (potassium supposedly calms your nerves and prevents shaking, or some shit. Classical musicians swear by it.) and chocolate-almond bars (my favorite). There was no more perfect of a woman for a chubby 11-year old Chinese boy. There is still no more of a perfect woman for a 23-year old man-child. After I got accepted she offered to take me out to dinner. I chose McDonald's (duh).
So even though I didn't think of it at the time, because my teenage angst was overriding all coherent thought and emotion, when I got expelled from Juilliard I eventually realized I was doing them a huge disservice. What a great way to pay your dues to someone who sacrificed so much to teach someone so unteachable. By then I was studying with Andrey Tchekmazov, another great guy. Though he was a bit firmer than Mrs. Alton or Debbie ever was (c'mon, he's Russian), he was still always very patient and very encouraging. His skill and knowledge of the cello astounded me. I improved under his tutelage by leaps and bounds. So you can imagine one of the first and only times he ever got furious at me, when he learned I got expelled ... I was shitting my pants.
Now let's talk ultimate. I think I've mentioned this before, but I have absolutely no idea how I learned to throw a frisbee. There seems to be a curiously large blank spot in my memory that probably is related to all the alcohol quaffed freshman year. I remember really loving to play, but I don't remember my first forehand huck, first skying grab or first (clumsy) lay out.
But eventually by now I became a decent enough of a player. This evolution was very largely, and painfully self-taught. Thank you to all the captains over the years, but I struggled with the game internally for years. I wish for more than anything that I realized sooner what it takes to understand and excel at this game, but alas there is nothing to be done. I am grateful for having reached this point and I have the somewhat hands-on teaching that was offered by Northwestern Ultimate to thank for it.
When you're a rookie and all you know of ultimate is local pick-up and intramural sports, the senior players on your college team seem like gods of plastic (I didn't see a copyright, GoP). But these gods sit up high on Mt. Frisbee House and sometimes overlook the minor peons of Northwestern ultimate land. It is to be expected as many of these peons are non-believers, brief interlopers who seek to gain wisdom and beer from these gods, only to leave for North Campus Frat Quad land after the leaves fall. Other peons are devout but lack the proper skills to offer. They do not shun these poor souls, but rather give little hints that they are lacking and if you seek salvation there must truly be a great transformation.
Okay I can only write like Ted for like 10 sentences before my head starts to explode. Anyway my point is, I wasn't given a ton of attention or care by the senior players and hence was not offered much in the terms of education. That is understandable, I only had mild potential and not being a freshman meant my worth was unclear. But I stuck with the program, and the senior players let me tag along. I worked hard, but not hard enough until my last year. That's when I realized what it would take to be a good player, someone who you could count on when the game was on the line.
So we've examined my life (forgive my egocentric tendencies, but it is MY blog, bitches) and we see two methods of instruction. One where great instruction meets lack of interest. That equals disaster (i.e. expulsion). And then we see where unfocused instruction meets great passion. That equals a painfully slow pace of learning, but a great sense of self-awareness.
How about when sound instruction meets great passion?
I can only begin to surmise, but so far I feel it is working out. The cooks at Va Pensiero are not particularly fervent about their craft, but they do respect it as a lifestyle and art form. I don't know if cooking is my sous-chef, Chuy's calling in life, but he has taken the time to master it nonetheless. And he is also a kind soul, always forgiving of mistakes and gentle to correct them. I mention his influence the most because like in most kitchens, the sous-chef is the one who does much of the training and staff management. The executive chef or chef-owner often has a plethora of other responsibilities to attend to, leaving the second-in-command to micromanage. And how much I have already learned. How to properly score the skin of a duck breast to achieve a proper rendering of fat, how to butcher a chicken (I still suck at this and it frustrates the ever-living crap out of me), how to filet a fish, how to reduce a sauce, how to make a proper custard, how to order produce, how to cook a staff meal, etc. The list goes on and on.
The biggest problem is a language barrier. Though Chuy has what I would consider a very good grasp of the English language, there are still communication obstacles. He doesn't know how to properly describe the deboning process of a chicken, so he usually takes his knife and starts slicing and dicing while uttering "Then cut it kind of like deese, then jiggle it around like deese and then .. you see? It's very easy, mang you just have to practeece."
Oh okay, like that. I see. Then why the fuck does my chicken no longer resemble a chicken, but a poor fowl that wandered on to the Omaha Beach head on D-Day? Stupid fucking chickens.
But the education has only begun. There is still culinary school to attend and years of being someone else's bitch before I can rightly call myself a chef, and begin to consider my own culinary footprint. Like with ultimate, I regret it began so late, but instead of crying over spilled milk, I think I should just shut up and learn to temper that milk in to luscious, dark-chocolate ganache. Or however the saying goes.
In Memory of Ardyth Alton
A very sincere thank you to all the significant teachers I have had in my life. That includes you, Ice Cold Teddy Ballgame, #7.
EP #6 (Btw, Lebron changing his number to six .. HELL YES! Our time has come, Zaslow!)
Let the gravity of that settle in. Okay, now I'll stop talking like an asshole.
In anything, but most especially food, instruction and the sharing of information is paramount. People will slave for months in a kitchen without pay, just to learn from the masters; chefs who started off doing the same thing and have amassed a lifetime of culinary skill and experience. I value a good culinary education more than anything. I realize the importance of having a sound technical foundation upon which to build my creative and artistic house of haute cuisine. So basically what that means is I deeply value and respect my sous-chef and chef-owner.
I'll start from the beginning.
There are three things in my life I've devoted vast amounts of time and energy towards in the pursuit of perfection. I have generally failed at even coming close with all of them. But that's not really what is important. What is important is what I learned about myself along the way (where's my motivational poster? Perseverance + Pandas = Win! ... kind of).
Okay not at all actually, because I failed pretty hard at cello. Very much like my experience with public school, I was talented enough at cello to get by with very little work. This taught me the value of procrastinating, cheating, finding shortcuts, and exploiting the system. I never really loved cello. I occasionally loved a well-done orchestral performance, with me representing from the back of the section. I occasionally liked when I played a good master class, or had a good lesson. I really liked pulling off a good recital. But in general, I resented the instrument, I hated the Juilliard School, and I still loathe the large majority of classical musicians (sorry, guys ... but if you're reading this then you're probably not one of them).
I did love all my teachers though. Whereas my sister had the unfortunate luck of having stereotypically mean, horrid European teachers, my first cello teachers were sweethearts. Ardyth Alton was an ancient yet scarily energetic woman. She was as sweet as could be and was always willing to stick up for me, and guide me even though I was a huge pain in the ass. As I first began to learn the instrument she had me study with her assistant, Debbie Park. Debbie was also a wonderfully sweet girl, and not to mention smoking hot. To this day I have a massive crush on her because she was always so kind, so attractive, and willing to show me infinite patience as she prepared me for my Juilliard Pre-College audition. On the day of my audition she helped me warm up at seven in the morning, bought me hand warmers, bananas (potassium supposedly calms your nerves and prevents shaking, or some shit. Classical musicians swear by it.) and chocolate-almond bars (my favorite). There was no more perfect of a woman for a chubby 11-year old Chinese boy. There is still no more of a perfect woman for a 23-year old man-child. After I got accepted she offered to take me out to dinner. I chose McDonald's (duh).
So even though I didn't think of it at the time, because my teenage angst was overriding all coherent thought and emotion, when I got expelled from Juilliard I eventually realized I was doing them a huge disservice. What a great way to pay your dues to someone who sacrificed so much to teach someone so unteachable. By then I was studying with Andrey Tchekmazov, another great guy. Though he was a bit firmer than Mrs. Alton or Debbie ever was (c'mon, he's Russian), he was still always very patient and very encouraging. His skill and knowledge of the cello astounded me. I improved under his tutelage by leaps and bounds. So you can imagine one of the first and only times he ever got furious at me, when he learned I got expelled ... I was shitting my pants.
Now let's talk ultimate. I think I've mentioned this before, but I have absolutely no idea how I learned to throw a frisbee. There seems to be a curiously large blank spot in my memory that probably is related to all the alcohol quaffed freshman year. I remember really loving to play, but I don't remember my first forehand huck, first skying grab or first (clumsy) lay out.
But eventually by now I became a decent enough of a player. This evolution was very largely, and painfully self-taught. Thank you to all the captains over the years, but I struggled with the game internally for years. I wish for more than anything that I realized sooner what it takes to understand and excel at this game, but alas there is nothing to be done. I am grateful for having reached this point and I have the somewhat hands-on teaching that was offered by Northwestern Ultimate to thank for it.
When you're a rookie and all you know of ultimate is local pick-up and intramural sports, the senior players on your college team seem like gods of plastic (I didn't see a copyright, GoP). But these gods sit up high on Mt. Frisbee House and sometimes overlook the minor peons of Northwestern ultimate land. It is to be expected as many of these peons are non-believers, brief interlopers who seek to gain wisdom and beer from these gods, only to leave for North Campus Frat Quad land after the leaves fall. Other peons are devout but lack the proper skills to offer. They do not shun these poor souls, but rather give little hints that they are lacking and if you seek salvation there must truly be a great transformation.
Okay I can only write like Ted for like 10 sentences before my head starts to explode. Anyway my point is, I wasn't given a ton of attention or care by the senior players and hence was not offered much in the terms of education. That is understandable, I only had mild potential and not being a freshman meant my worth was unclear. But I stuck with the program, and the senior players let me tag along. I worked hard, but not hard enough until my last year. That's when I realized what it would take to be a good player, someone who you could count on when the game was on the line.
So we've examined my life (forgive my egocentric tendencies, but it is MY blog, bitches) and we see two methods of instruction. One where great instruction meets lack of interest. That equals disaster (i.e. expulsion). And then we see where unfocused instruction meets great passion. That equals a painfully slow pace of learning, but a great sense of self-awareness.
How about when sound instruction meets great passion?
I can only begin to surmise, but so far I feel it is working out. The cooks at Va Pensiero are not particularly fervent about their craft, but they do respect it as a lifestyle and art form. I don't know if cooking is my sous-chef, Chuy's calling in life, but he has taken the time to master it nonetheless. And he is also a kind soul, always forgiving of mistakes and gentle to correct them. I mention his influence the most because like in most kitchens, the sous-chef is the one who does much of the training and staff management. The executive chef or chef-owner often has a plethora of other responsibilities to attend to, leaving the second-in-command to micromanage. And how much I have already learned. How to properly score the skin of a duck breast to achieve a proper rendering of fat, how to butcher a chicken (I still suck at this and it frustrates the ever-living crap out of me), how to filet a fish, how to reduce a sauce, how to make a proper custard, how to order produce, how to cook a staff meal, etc. The list goes on and on.
The biggest problem is a language barrier. Though Chuy has what I would consider a very good grasp of the English language, there are still communication obstacles. He doesn't know how to properly describe the deboning process of a chicken, so he usually takes his knife and starts slicing and dicing while uttering "Then cut it kind of like deese, then jiggle it around like deese and then .. you see? It's very easy, mang you just have to practeece."
Oh okay, like that. I see. Then why the fuck does my chicken no longer resemble a chicken, but a poor fowl that wandered on to the Omaha Beach head on D-Day? Stupid fucking chickens.
But the education has only begun. There is still culinary school to attend and years of being someone else's bitch before I can rightly call myself a chef, and begin to consider my own culinary footprint. Like with ultimate, I regret it began so late, but instead of crying over spilled milk, I think I should just shut up and learn to temper that milk in to luscious, dark-chocolate ganache. Or however the saying goes.
In Memory of Ardyth Alton
A very sincere thank you to all the significant teachers I have had in my life. That includes you, Ice Cold Teddy Ballgame, #7.
EP #6 (Btw, Lebron changing his number to six .. HELL YES! Our time has come, Zaslow!)
Monday, November 16, 2009
Just Do What Tastes Good
Quick aside,
Asian people. Tip better. I know in Asia it is not necessary nor customary to tip, but for the love of god, you are in America and these poor Americans who are serving you sushi are dirt poor and depend on tips. Especially on Mondays when Blu does half-off sushi/sashimi and the waiter spends 15 minutes explaining every cut of fish, its freshness and flavor, and then bringing giant plates of the stuff to you because you are taking advantage of our amazing deal. You are saving upwards of $60-70. You can spare an extra $5 to make it a 20% tip, especially when I flirt with and charm you. And if that's your girlfriend/mom, well my bad it didn't seem that way. But still, don't be insecure and jealous just respect my ballsiness and effort. Prease.
Ahem.
I splurged big time for my birthday and bought many, many cookbooks and food-related books. Not that I need to reiterate my own insecurity about my career, but they are just more concrete and definitive reminders that I have a lot to learn. Everyday, that massive volume of The Complete Thomas Keller, and the Alinea cookbook, and La Technique by Jacques Pepin look me in the face and say,
"You, sir... are a noob."
But I am beginning to redefine what the word "delicious" means to me. What is delicious? I'm reading The Fourth Star by Leslie Brenner, a NY Times reporter who spends a year in Daniel Boulud's flagship restaurant as he strives for the coveted 4-star review. She goes on to say that four-star quality food must be "gorgeous, original, amazing - even, one hoped, transcendent."
Now, chicken nuggets are about the farthest thing from transcendent. They are pond scum in the evolutionary chain of cuisine. But they are delicious. To me at least. Who doesn't like chicken nuggets, honestly? Dave Thomas' time-tested recipe serves up 5 crispy little wonders, conveniently packaged and delivered piping hot for $1.09 (Yeah not really a dollar anymore. Even Dave Thomas can't fight the recession). What a wonderful vehicle for a plethora of sauces! Honey mustard, sweet & sour, barbecue sauce, even ranch...
But what separates this lowly yet lovely Dave Thomas chicken nugget from Thomas Keller's "Roasted Guinea Fowl en Crepinette de Byaldi with Pan Jus?" The fancy French name and technique, ingredients, complexity, quality are obvious differences. But are they that different on the spectrum of enjoyment? (By the way that dish is ridiculous. Byaldi is sort of like a ratatouille, it in fact looks like the ratatouille that Remy made in the movie. This lovely vegetable mixture is encased with the guinea fowl in caul fat and baked. The bundle of joy slowly melts out the fat and combines with the juices of the vegetables to baste and cook the bird all at the same time. Genius. Seriously.)
Hear me out. When you go to The French Laundry you are expecting fireworks and the staff is more than happy to oblige. You would expect a dish such as the one mentioned above. You would deeply, deeply enjoy it. But when you're in the middle of nowhere-Tennessee, in a 1994 Dodge Caravan and the big face of a freckled red-headed stepchild shines at you like a lighthouse, do you not also get giddy with excitement for the wonders within? No? Just me? Okay, moving on.
My point is, when you go to a restaurant there are several things to consider. I've already talked about service and the importance of ambiance, front-of-the-house machinations. Now let's talk about food. Many places will get away with mediocre food if they have above average service and trendiness. And many places will get away with awful decor and location because they have fantastic food. Honestly I would prefer that food just taste good. I'm not a picky eater, I'll eat anything. In fact, I kind of hate picky eaters. I used to be one myself. As a child I was strictly a carnivore, consuming animal flesh in fried or grilled form only. Imagine my mother's relief when she discovered I wanted to be a cook (okay the relief that came after the shock/disappointment/threats of disowning/grief) and that I would love to try and taste anything.
It was winter 2007. I was beginning to take tentative steps towards a culinary career. A little research, a little planning, a little reading. It was still an idea, a great but young idea. My mother wanted to take us out to dinner, somewhere kind of fancy. I used to loathe the idea. Hours of transportation, sitting in stuffy white tablecloth joints, talking about my failing music career away from the internet. But all of a sudden I was now excited. We went to BLT Market, Chef Laurent Tourondel's restaurant on the Upper East Side that focuses on sustainable purveyors and superbly fresh seasonal ingredients. It was fantastic.
Potato gnocchi in a black truffle cream sauce, with roasted lobster.
Sauteed foie gras served on a frisee salad with garlic crouton.
Antipasto board with prosciutto, jamon de iberico, garlic baguette and fresh cheese
Roasted duck breast with an orange reduction
Fallen banana and caramel souffle with fresh fall berries
The memories are unfortunately imprecise, but that's what I remember. And I remember it being spectacular. This was the first time I had eaten haute cuisine but with the intent of knowing it, enjoying it and studying it. It was an experience that was rife with epiphany. It's like you go skin diving your whole life and you are suddenly given scuba gear. Everything is clear, you have the capacity to enjoy, you can see so much.
So maybe this post kind of got off track. I just kind of put out food porn for myself for a few pages. Well, what I meant to get at is; just cook what is delicious, cook with love, and eat with an open mind. When you go to a real restaurant, I'm not talking about a chain or an entrepreneurial endeavor, a restaurant that at it's very soul just wants to nourish, entertain and feed you, eat everything. The chef is not trying to poison you, he's trying to give you something good to eat because at the heart of all chefs, is a heart that likes to feed others. He's working hard out of passion, and if he slips then he slips, but he's trying and a good chef will not put out something he doesn't think tastes good. (I realize I use the pronoun "he" a lot, I did that out of convenience, not because I'm sexist. Women belong in a kitchen.)
I never loved fish. Especially fishy fish. Black sea bass, salmon, tuna sushi, I really like. Mahi mahi, monkfish, sable, I'm still ... getting used to. But fish is important because other people do love it, and you have to put it on your menu. The way we do it at Va P is a very simple, but what I believe to be delicious preparation. We do it this way because we think it's good, and we hope you do too. Where it actually falls on your spectrum of deliciousness we may not know, but all we can do is try our best and give you a quality product.
Black sea bass (sometimes cod) baked with a salt crust. It's stuffed with lemon and thyme, seasoned well, filleted table side. Served with grilled vegetables (red peppers, squash, zucchini, roasted red onion) and a salsa verdi. Simple yet delightful. Though more similar to a chicken nugget in complexity, we hope it's high up on the tastiness scale.
"When you acknowledge as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving towards perfection becomes clear; to make people happy. That's what food is all about." -Thomas Keller
EP #6
PS - I bolds his name because he is ze pr0.
Asian people. Tip better. I know in Asia it is not necessary nor customary to tip, but for the love of god, you are in America and these poor Americans who are serving you sushi are dirt poor and depend on tips. Especially on Mondays when Blu does half-off sushi/sashimi and the waiter spends 15 minutes explaining every cut of fish, its freshness and flavor, and then bringing giant plates of the stuff to you because you are taking advantage of our amazing deal. You are saving upwards of $60-70. You can spare an extra $5 to make it a 20% tip, especially when I flirt with and charm you. And if that's your girlfriend/mom, well my bad it didn't seem that way. But still, don't be insecure and jealous just respect my ballsiness and effort. Prease.
Ahem.
I splurged big time for my birthday and bought many, many cookbooks and food-related books. Not that I need to reiterate my own insecurity about my career, but they are just more concrete and definitive reminders that I have a lot to learn. Everyday, that massive volume of The Complete Thomas Keller, and the Alinea cookbook, and La Technique by Jacques Pepin look me in the face and say,
"You, sir... are a noob."
But I am beginning to redefine what the word "delicious" means to me. What is delicious? I'm reading The Fourth Star by Leslie Brenner, a NY Times reporter who spends a year in Daniel Boulud's flagship restaurant as he strives for the coveted 4-star review. She goes on to say that four-star quality food must be "gorgeous, original, amazing - even, one hoped, transcendent."
Now, chicken nuggets are about the farthest thing from transcendent. They are pond scum in the evolutionary chain of cuisine. But they are delicious. To me at least. Who doesn't like chicken nuggets, honestly? Dave Thomas' time-tested recipe serves up 5 crispy little wonders, conveniently packaged and delivered piping hot for $1.09 (Yeah not really a dollar anymore. Even Dave Thomas can't fight the recession). What a wonderful vehicle for a plethora of sauces! Honey mustard, sweet & sour, barbecue sauce, even ranch...
But what separates this lowly yet lovely Dave Thomas chicken nugget from Thomas Keller's "Roasted Guinea Fowl en Crepinette de Byaldi with Pan Jus?" The fancy French name and technique, ingredients, complexity, quality are obvious differences. But are they that different on the spectrum of enjoyment? (By the way that dish is ridiculous. Byaldi is sort of like a ratatouille, it in fact looks like the ratatouille that Remy made in the movie. This lovely vegetable mixture is encased with the guinea fowl in caul fat and baked. The bundle of joy slowly melts out the fat and combines with the juices of the vegetables to baste and cook the bird all at the same time. Genius. Seriously.)
Hear me out. When you go to The French Laundry you are expecting fireworks and the staff is more than happy to oblige. You would expect a dish such as the one mentioned above. You would deeply, deeply enjoy it. But when you're in the middle of nowhere-Tennessee, in a 1994 Dodge Caravan and the big face of a freckled red-headed stepchild shines at you like a lighthouse, do you not also get giddy with excitement for the wonders within? No? Just me? Okay, moving on.
My point is, when you go to a restaurant there are several things to consider. I've already talked about service and the importance of ambiance, front-of-the-house machinations. Now let's talk about food. Many places will get away with mediocre food if they have above average service and trendiness. And many places will get away with awful decor and location because they have fantastic food. Honestly I would prefer that food just taste good. I'm not a picky eater, I'll eat anything. In fact, I kind of hate picky eaters. I used to be one myself. As a child I was strictly a carnivore, consuming animal flesh in fried or grilled form only. Imagine my mother's relief when she discovered I wanted to be a cook (okay the relief that came after the shock/disappointment/threats of disowning/grief) and that I would love to try and taste anything.
It was winter 2007. I was beginning to take tentative steps towards a culinary career. A little research, a little planning, a little reading. It was still an idea, a great but young idea. My mother wanted to take us out to dinner, somewhere kind of fancy. I used to loathe the idea. Hours of transportation, sitting in stuffy white tablecloth joints, talking about my failing music career away from the internet. But all of a sudden I was now excited. We went to BLT Market, Chef Laurent Tourondel's restaurant on the Upper East Side that focuses on sustainable purveyors and superbly fresh seasonal ingredients. It was fantastic.
Potato gnocchi in a black truffle cream sauce, with roasted lobster.
Sauteed foie gras served on a frisee salad with garlic crouton.
Antipasto board with prosciutto, jamon de iberico, garlic baguette and fresh cheese
Roasted duck breast with an orange reduction
Fallen banana and caramel souffle with fresh fall berries
The memories are unfortunately imprecise, but that's what I remember. And I remember it being spectacular. This was the first time I had eaten haute cuisine but with the intent of knowing it, enjoying it and studying it. It was an experience that was rife with epiphany. It's like you go skin diving your whole life and you are suddenly given scuba gear. Everything is clear, you have the capacity to enjoy, you can see so much.
So maybe this post kind of got off track. I just kind of put out food porn for myself for a few pages. Well, what I meant to get at is; just cook what is delicious, cook with love, and eat with an open mind. When you go to a real restaurant, I'm not talking about a chain or an entrepreneurial endeavor, a restaurant that at it's very soul just wants to nourish, entertain and feed you, eat everything. The chef is not trying to poison you, he's trying to give you something good to eat because at the heart of all chefs, is a heart that likes to feed others. He's working hard out of passion, and if he slips then he slips, but he's trying and a good chef will not put out something he doesn't think tastes good. (I realize I use the pronoun "he" a lot, I did that out of convenience, not because I'm sexist. Women belong in a kitchen.)
I never loved fish. Especially fishy fish. Black sea bass, salmon, tuna sushi, I really like. Mahi mahi, monkfish, sable, I'm still ... getting used to. But fish is important because other people do love it, and you have to put it on your menu. The way we do it at Va P is a very simple, but what I believe to be delicious preparation. We do it this way because we think it's good, and we hope you do too. Where it actually falls on your spectrum of deliciousness we may not know, but all we can do is try our best and give you a quality product.
Black sea bass (sometimes cod) baked with a salt crust. It's stuffed with lemon and thyme, seasoned well, filleted table side. Served with grilled vegetables (red peppers, squash, zucchini, roasted red onion) and a salsa verdi. Simple yet delightful. Though more similar to a chicken nugget in complexity, we hope it's high up on the tastiness scale.
"When you acknowledge as you must, that there is no such thing as perfect food, only the idea of it, then the real purpose of striving towards perfection becomes clear; to make people happy. That's what food is all about." -Thomas Keller
EP #6
PS - I bolds his name because he is ze pr0.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Complexity and Food
I apologize for the delay between posts. Been a crazy few weeks. Busy weekends at the restaurants, new life developments ... you understand, right?
With molecular gastronomy asserting its dominance as a new food craze, the idea of food and what is delicious food is becoming confusing.
Molecular gastronomy in itself is confusing. That's almost the point. To deliver the unexpected, to surprise your palate, to have fun with food. I totally respect that and I think we as humans have come to a point that allows us to make fun of food. And I think it's obvious from my blog that I have a massive man crush on Grant Achatz. But there's a reason for that.
Using space-age technology and obscure chemicals in the kitchen is just fine, so long as it tastes good. I haven't eaten at Alinea or El Bulli, but even Grant himself seems to have an issue with his mentor's food. After studying the cookbooks of both, reading what a 20+ course dinner is like at each establishment, there seems to be a clear difference. Chef Achatz, though innovative and distinguished, still focuses on food being tasty. Chef Adria has seem to switched his focus to being as crazy and new-age as possible, taste has almost become secondary.
I obviously can't truly make that statement with much validity because I haven't eaten their food personally (except when I tried to elbow that grandma out of my way at Chef Achatz's cooking demo ... she boxes out like a champ). So I will leave it at a distant personal observation, and the opinions of others to give that statement weight. Anyway, I wanted to illustrate another point.
At what point do complexity and flavor reach a wonderful harmony? The answer: Thomas Keller. Okay not necessarily, but I really admire his balance between complex flavors and straight-up deliciousness. It would be a fulfillment of my ultimate dream to work at Per Se, Bouchon or The French Laundry. But if you compare the recipes of Keller, to Achatz, to Adria, to Portale ... or between Scott Bryan, Mario Batali, and Rick Bayless ... they each toe a line between simplicity and complexity, with every dish reaching the perfect point somewhere along that line.
Some dishes are meant to be simple, their ingredients being lightly dressed to allow the brightness and boldness of their flavors to shine through. I'm thinking of a good beef carpaccio. High-quality, grass-fed beef, pounded thin with a kiss of lemon juice, salt and olive oil ... it's delicious (though at Va Pensiero we add a little tomato fondue, parmigiano reggiano and arugula). Some dishes are incredibly complex, sometimes taking several days to get all the pieces together. Generally, the whole Alinea cookbook is kind of like that. You can see for yourself here, Carol Blymire's blog about cooking Alinea at home. Delicious, though very labor intensive.
So I guess the grand question is, where do I want to fit in on this spectrum? The S. Pellegrino List of the World's 50 Best Restaurants seems to have a thing for molecular gastronomy restaurants. But it also has plenty of restaurants that pride themselves on having dishes that contain less than 6 ingredients. I'd like to say I lean towards the simpler side, though I guess even that is subjective; what is simple?
One of my favorite dishes at Va Pensiero seems very complex, but it's quite simple.
Scallops with Brandied Lobster Sauce
The sauce is a standard mirepoix sauteed with lobster and shrimp shells. Once they are softened and much of their juice has been released, you deglaze with brandy, add dried tarragon and tomato paste. Then you add a truck load of cream and let it reduce for the day until it has a beautiful color reminiscent of a creamsicle. Strain, keep warm.
The scallops are U-10 (under 10 per pound, so ... big scallops), crusted with our herb mix (parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, marjoram), seasoned and sauteed. The final dish is served with the sauce on the plate, scallops on top with navel orange supremes and a light salad of microgreens or arugula.
It's kind of a heavy dish, but it's rich and delicious. A lot of the dishes I like seem to have this level of "complexity." A veal saltimbocca with shallot sauce, a steak au poivre with a creamed mushroom pan sauce, steamed lobster with ghee and Old Bay even.
So if it ever comes to be the time you can come to my restaurant, as of now I promise no shenanigans. But things could change. After all, I'm going for fireworks. Who knows where that could take my food?
Feel free to comment and tell me your favorite dish. I love to hear about that kind of stuff.
EP #6
With molecular gastronomy asserting its dominance as a new food craze, the idea of food and what is delicious food is becoming confusing.
Molecular gastronomy in itself is confusing. That's almost the point. To deliver the unexpected, to surprise your palate, to have fun with food. I totally respect that and I think we as humans have come to a point that allows us to make fun of food. And I think it's obvious from my blog that I have a massive man crush on Grant Achatz. But there's a reason for that.
Using space-age technology and obscure chemicals in the kitchen is just fine, so long as it tastes good. I haven't eaten at Alinea or El Bulli, but even Grant himself seems to have an issue with his mentor's food. After studying the cookbooks of both, reading what a 20+ course dinner is like at each establishment, there seems to be a clear difference. Chef Achatz, though innovative and distinguished, still focuses on food being tasty. Chef Adria has seem to switched his focus to being as crazy and new-age as possible, taste has almost become secondary.
I obviously can't truly make that statement with much validity because I haven't eaten their food personally (except when I tried to elbow that grandma out of my way at Chef Achatz's cooking demo ... she boxes out like a champ). So I will leave it at a distant personal observation, and the opinions of others to give that statement weight. Anyway, I wanted to illustrate another point.
At what point do complexity and flavor reach a wonderful harmony? The answer: Thomas Keller. Okay not necessarily, but I really admire his balance between complex flavors and straight-up deliciousness. It would be a fulfillment of my ultimate dream to work at Per Se, Bouchon or The French Laundry. But if you compare the recipes of Keller, to Achatz, to Adria, to Portale ... or between Scott Bryan, Mario Batali, and Rick Bayless ... they each toe a line between simplicity and complexity, with every dish reaching the perfect point somewhere along that line.
Some dishes are meant to be simple, their ingredients being lightly dressed to allow the brightness and boldness of their flavors to shine through. I'm thinking of a good beef carpaccio. High-quality, grass-fed beef, pounded thin with a kiss of lemon juice, salt and olive oil ... it's delicious (though at Va Pensiero we add a little tomato fondue, parmigiano reggiano and arugula). Some dishes are incredibly complex, sometimes taking several days to get all the pieces together. Generally, the whole Alinea cookbook is kind of like that. You can see for yourself here, Carol Blymire's blog about cooking Alinea at home. Delicious, though very labor intensive.
So I guess the grand question is, where do I want to fit in on this spectrum? The S. Pellegrino List of the World's 50 Best Restaurants seems to have a thing for molecular gastronomy restaurants. But it also has plenty of restaurants that pride themselves on having dishes that contain less than 6 ingredients. I'd like to say I lean towards the simpler side, though I guess even that is subjective; what is simple?
One of my favorite dishes at Va Pensiero seems very complex, but it's quite simple.
Scallops with Brandied Lobster Sauce
The sauce is a standard mirepoix sauteed with lobster and shrimp shells. Once they are softened and much of their juice has been released, you deglaze with brandy, add dried tarragon and tomato paste. Then you add a truck load of cream and let it reduce for the day until it has a beautiful color reminiscent of a creamsicle. Strain, keep warm.
The scallops are U-10 (under 10 per pound, so ... big scallops), crusted with our herb mix (parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, marjoram), seasoned and sauteed. The final dish is served with the sauce on the plate, scallops on top with navel orange supremes and a light salad of microgreens or arugula.
It's kind of a heavy dish, but it's rich and delicious. A lot of the dishes I like seem to have this level of "complexity." A veal saltimbocca with shallot sauce, a steak au poivre with a creamed mushroom pan sauce, steamed lobster with ghee and Old Bay even.
So if it ever comes to be the time you can come to my restaurant, as of now I promise no shenanigans. But things could change. After all, I'm going for fireworks. Who knows where that could take my food?
Feel free to comment and tell me your favorite dish. I love to hear about that kind of stuff.
EP #6
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Big Dog
I am not sure what kind of picture I paint about my Chef, but I think it's time I introduce you to my working environment.
The Va Pensiero kitchen is through and through Chef Jeffrey Muldrow's ship. It's a big boat, it's a little old, but it's well-organized and functional. There are many things about it that I love, and a few things about it that bother me.
The restaurant is rather old, and it shows sometimes. Our roundeaus are warped and the bottoms look like JCVD placed a violent roundhouse in to them, thus creating a cooking surface that has mountainous summits and jagged canyons. They heat and cook very unevenly, requiring me to be vigilant so that no poor onion explorers get scorched in any canyons, or are left to freeze on any mountaintops. (Okay weird analogy got taken too far .. I get it, shut your face, I had to go with it). Our mandolines are frustratingly dull, our knives can't hold an edge to save their lives, and we have stupid vegetable peelers that have perpendicular blades as opposed to parallel ones. I HATE those peelers. Also, our appetizer plates are ugly and the 80s want them back.
But the space is huge, there are WINDOWS, and as previously mentioned it is meticulously organized. Anytime I need something I know exactly where to find it (mainly because it's staring right at me from an industrial steel rack across the stove), and dry goods are stacked and labeled in the back. At Oceanique it was like a scavenger hunt every time I wanted something (no offense, Mark). And I reiterate the space for soon I feel I will be working in a New York City kitchen that allows no room for personal space, let alone working space, and has a dungeon-like prep kitchen with a torturous flight of stairs. I should stop getting annoyed when Maestro jostles me to use my oven.
And it's important to describe the Va P kitchen in detail because it represents Chef Jeff better than words could. He is a solid cook. I sometimes find myself questioning his methods, and maybe wondering why he isn't "big time," but without a doubt he is a good cook. Some feel that I could find a paying job in a lesser institution, like a decent diner or bistro, but I am constantly reminded why I am here. Sure, you could go to state college for cheap, maybe even for free, but a lot of you went to Northwestern and shelled out massive cash because of the education. That's the way I feel. Chef Jeff runs a good restaurant and it isn't by chance. He has spent a lifetime honing his skills on the line.
He seems crass a lot of the time. He has potty-mouth humor, doesn't have a very expansive vocabulary, and his penchant for sarcasm often makes me feel stupid. But he is very knowledgeable about Italian food and how to make it.
I made a ragu Bolognese today. He walked me through the steps and gave me an in-depth tour of Italy along the way. As you can imagine, sauce Bolognese originates from Bologna which is in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. Emilia-Romagna, as he explains, is what separates and combines Northern and Southern Italy. In the North you have room to rear cows so beef is a major protein. Your cheeses are cow's milk cheese, and dairy in general is king. In the South is where tomatoes are prominent, but not cows. So sheep and seafood are your major proteins and much of the cuisine is based on those. Well Bologna, apparently, is where everything comes together. Tomatoes are turned in to tomato paste and brought north, milk is brought south, prosciutto is brought from Parma, mortadella is made in Bologna, etc. The Chef believes it to be a quintessentially Italian creation wrongfully bastardized by Americans (see: spaghetti with meat sauce, or as he calls it ketchup and hamburger shat out of a cafeteria).
We carefully grind pork, veal, beef, prosciutto and mortadella, adding cold lardo, or pig back fat to the mixture, making sure it stays cold. I dice up a fine mirepoix (onions, carrots, celery, 2:1:1 ratio). Saute the meat mixture, just barely cook it through and strain the fat off. Saute the veg, get a nice little brown color, hit it with tomato paste. Let that brown up a bit, French people (the Chef no like ze French) call it pincage. Add the meat back in and add whole milk. You reduce it until it reaches a pinkish hue. You hit it with more tomato paste. The final product is a dark orange and is creamy, incredibly flavorful and pleasantly chunky. It takes a few hours to reach the right flavor profile and consistency, but oh is it worth it. We serve it layered like a lasagna but with crepes instead of pasta. He says that's very traditional. The crepes are folded, topped with a leek sauce (sauteed leeks, carrots, heavy cream and thyme), sprinkled with parmigiano reggiano and browned in the broiler.
One sauce. One afternoon. A veritable treasure trove of knowledge. I'm not going to lie, half the reason I wrote this post is so I could remember all that. And that happens very often for me. I ask about polenta, I get a very lengthy but fascinating lecture. Foccacia bread, tagliatelle, orecchiette, Cremini mushrooms, pistachio pesto ... I ask a lot of questions to learn, and I am not disappointed to always get a lot of answers.
But any nerd with a textbook and a few months in Italy could probably spit that out. Can the man cook? Well I've said it before and I will emphasize it again ... hell yes. I was once given random advice to work in a kitchen where the chef still cuts his own protein. I was not disappointed on day one to find the Chef cleaning a massive pork shoulder with his own hands and (shitty) knives. He doesn't work the line anymore like most chef/owners who have to spend their time elsewhere. But I am confident that he was and is a very reliable line cook. He taught me how to break down a chicken. He did it with unteachable confidence and ease. He taught me how to filet a fish and I basically got a piscine anatomy lesson. And it's not just food. He teaches me how to be a mechanically sound cook.
When I first started working on the hot line I quickly realized there was a lot more to it than just making good food. There are movements and actions one learns naturally by cooking for years. Movements that immediately display skill and experience. Movements that suggest confidence and ease, not my current state of awkwardness and panic. You learn these faster by having someone yell at you to stop being so goddamn clumsy.
I like to rest my hands on my hips sometimes but that means my elbows increase the space I take up by two-fold. He always barks, "Tuck in your big fucking elbows, Eric, you're going to cause a disaster," (Somehow I am the tallest and thinnest person at this restaurant). He reminds me that when there is a lull in service that it's not break time, it's "check to see how fucked you are" time. Check your ingredients, are you running low on something? Do you have more? Where is it? Can you get it easily? Can you make more in time, just in case? Where's your knife? Don't kill anyone. Clean off your station. If you're not busy help the dishwasher out and bring your pots to him, he's got enough shit to do. Do you have tongs? Did Luis steal them? He's a tongs-stealing bastard ("Bastard" is his favorite word). Towels? Are they clean? If they're covered in shit and oil throw them in the laundry. Got time to wipe off the burners? You get some rebellious cooking fat and you now have a grease fire. If I have to turn on the Ansul because of you I swear to God, Eric, I will end you (Ansul is an emergency fire extinguisher system that most kitchens have). Bring 16 ravioli to the front of your low-boy (refrigerator) so when an order gets called you are ready. Check your pasta water. Is there enough? Is it hot? Is it so starchy that it is now essentially a solid? What about your pasta baskets? Is there shit in them? Look ... a stray strand of linguini. Getting an onion ring in your fries is cool at Burger King, but that shit don't fly at Va Pensiero.
Where else would you get such a loving and helpful lesson?
So the man is deeply intimate with Italian cuisine and its history. He's an experienced and capable cook. He is clearly a well-organized and profitable chef. And he is willing to have me in his kitchen. He is willing to accept there may not be perfection, because this stupid Asian kid is eff'ing everything up. But he is willing to teach me, and guide me unto the right path. Because he likes to yell at me and frankly I think he thinks it's funny. He also likes Asian people.
Sometimes my schedule at Blu and Va P don't line up nicely, and I have to explain to him that I can't come in that day anymore, I got scheduled at work ... you know, where they pay me? The next time he sees me it usually goes something like this..
"You missed a good time the other day."
"Yeah, I'm really sorry, Chef. Sometimes it's unpredictable. Did everything go alright?"
"Don't fucking worry. Va Pensiero isn't going to close because your clumsy ass didn't show up."
I love you too, Chef.
EP #6
The Va Pensiero kitchen is through and through Chef Jeffrey Muldrow's ship. It's a big boat, it's a little old, but it's well-organized and functional. There are many things about it that I love, and a few things about it that bother me.
The restaurant is rather old, and it shows sometimes. Our roundeaus are warped and the bottoms look like JCVD placed a violent roundhouse in to them, thus creating a cooking surface that has mountainous summits and jagged canyons. They heat and cook very unevenly, requiring me to be vigilant so that no poor onion explorers get scorched in any canyons, or are left to freeze on any mountaintops. (Okay weird analogy got taken too far .. I get it, shut your face, I had to go with it). Our mandolines are frustratingly dull, our knives can't hold an edge to save their lives, and we have stupid vegetable peelers that have perpendicular blades as opposed to parallel ones. I HATE those peelers. Also, our appetizer plates are ugly and the 80s want them back.
But the space is huge, there are WINDOWS, and as previously mentioned it is meticulously organized. Anytime I need something I know exactly where to find it (mainly because it's staring right at me from an industrial steel rack across the stove), and dry goods are stacked and labeled in the back. At Oceanique it was like a scavenger hunt every time I wanted something (no offense, Mark). And I reiterate the space for soon I feel I will be working in a New York City kitchen that allows no room for personal space, let alone working space, and has a dungeon-like prep kitchen with a torturous flight of stairs. I should stop getting annoyed when Maestro jostles me to use my oven.
And it's important to describe the Va P kitchen in detail because it represents Chef Jeff better than words could. He is a solid cook. I sometimes find myself questioning his methods, and maybe wondering why he isn't "big time," but without a doubt he is a good cook. Some feel that I could find a paying job in a lesser institution, like a decent diner or bistro, but I am constantly reminded why I am here. Sure, you could go to state college for cheap, maybe even for free, but a lot of you went to Northwestern and shelled out massive cash because of the education. That's the way I feel. Chef Jeff runs a good restaurant and it isn't by chance. He has spent a lifetime honing his skills on the line.
He seems crass a lot of the time. He has potty-mouth humor, doesn't have a very expansive vocabulary, and his penchant for sarcasm often makes me feel stupid. But he is very knowledgeable about Italian food and how to make it.
I made a ragu Bolognese today. He walked me through the steps and gave me an in-depth tour of Italy along the way. As you can imagine, sauce Bolognese originates from Bologna which is in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy. Emilia-Romagna, as he explains, is what separates and combines Northern and Southern Italy. In the North you have room to rear cows so beef is a major protein. Your cheeses are cow's milk cheese, and dairy in general is king. In the South is where tomatoes are prominent, but not cows. So sheep and seafood are your major proteins and much of the cuisine is based on those. Well Bologna, apparently, is where everything comes together. Tomatoes are turned in to tomato paste and brought north, milk is brought south, prosciutto is brought from Parma, mortadella is made in Bologna, etc. The Chef believes it to be a quintessentially Italian creation wrongfully bastardized by Americans (see: spaghetti with meat sauce, or as he calls it ketchup and hamburger shat out of a cafeteria).
We carefully grind pork, veal, beef, prosciutto and mortadella, adding cold lardo, or pig back fat to the mixture, making sure it stays cold. I dice up a fine mirepoix (onions, carrots, celery, 2:1:1 ratio). Saute the meat mixture, just barely cook it through and strain the fat off. Saute the veg, get a nice little brown color, hit it with tomato paste. Let that brown up a bit, French people (the Chef no like ze French) call it pincage. Add the meat back in and add whole milk. You reduce it until it reaches a pinkish hue. You hit it with more tomato paste. The final product is a dark orange and is creamy, incredibly flavorful and pleasantly chunky. It takes a few hours to reach the right flavor profile and consistency, but oh is it worth it. We serve it layered like a lasagna but with crepes instead of pasta. He says that's very traditional. The crepes are folded, topped with a leek sauce (sauteed leeks, carrots, heavy cream and thyme), sprinkled with parmigiano reggiano and browned in the broiler.
One sauce. One afternoon. A veritable treasure trove of knowledge. I'm not going to lie, half the reason I wrote this post is so I could remember all that. And that happens very often for me. I ask about polenta, I get a very lengthy but fascinating lecture. Foccacia bread, tagliatelle, orecchiette, Cremini mushrooms, pistachio pesto ... I ask a lot of questions to learn, and I am not disappointed to always get a lot of answers.
But any nerd with a textbook and a few months in Italy could probably spit that out. Can the man cook? Well I've said it before and I will emphasize it again ... hell yes. I was once given random advice to work in a kitchen where the chef still cuts his own protein. I was not disappointed on day one to find the Chef cleaning a massive pork shoulder with his own hands and (shitty) knives. He doesn't work the line anymore like most chef/owners who have to spend their time elsewhere. But I am confident that he was and is a very reliable line cook. He taught me how to break down a chicken. He did it with unteachable confidence and ease. He taught me how to filet a fish and I basically got a piscine anatomy lesson. And it's not just food. He teaches me how to be a mechanically sound cook.
When I first started working on the hot line I quickly realized there was a lot more to it than just making good food. There are movements and actions one learns naturally by cooking for years. Movements that immediately display skill and experience. Movements that suggest confidence and ease, not my current state of awkwardness and panic. You learn these faster by having someone yell at you to stop being so goddamn clumsy.
I like to rest my hands on my hips sometimes but that means my elbows increase the space I take up by two-fold. He always barks, "Tuck in your big fucking elbows, Eric, you're going to cause a disaster," (Somehow I am the tallest and thinnest person at this restaurant). He reminds me that when there is a lull in service that it's not break time, it's "check to see how fucked you are" time. Check your ingredients, are you running low on something? Do you have more? Where is it? Can you get it easily? Can you make more in time, just in case? Where's your knife? Don't kill anyone. Clean off your station. If you're not busy help the dishwasher out and bring your pots to him, he's got enough shit to do. Do you have tongs? Did Luis steal them? He's a tongs-stealing bastard ("Bastard" is his favorite word). Towels? Are they clean? If they're covered in shit and oil throw them in the laundry. Got time to wipe off the burners? You get some rebellious cooking fat and you now have a grease fire. If I have to turn on the Ansul because of you I swear to God, Eric, I will end you (Ansul is an emergency fire extinguisher system that most kitchens have). Bring 16 ravioli to the front of your low-boy (refrigerator) so when an order gets called you are ready. Check your pasta water. Is there enough? Is it hot? Is it so starchy that it is now essentially a solid? What about your pasta baskets? Is there shit in them? Look ... a stray strand of linguini. Getting an onion ring in your fries is cool at Burger King, but that shit don't fly at Va Pensiero.
Where else would you get such a loving and helpful lesson?
So the man is deeply intimate with Italian cuisine and its history. He's an experienced and capable cook. He is clearly a well-organized and profitable chef. And he is willing to have me in his kitchen. He is willing to accept there may not be perfection, because this stupid Asian kid is eff'ing everything up. But he is willing to teach me, and guide me unto the right path. Because he likes to yell at me and frankly I think he thinks it's funny. He also likes Asian people.
Sometimes my schedule at Blu and Va P don't line up nicely, and I have to explain to him that I can't come in that day anymore, I got scheduled at work ... you know, where they pay me? The next time he sees me it usually goes something like this..
"You missed a good time the other day."
"Yeah, I'm really sorry, Chef. Sometimes it's unpredictable. Did everything go alright?"
"Don't fucking worry. Va Pensiero isn't going to close because your clumsy ass didn't show up."
I love you too, Chef.
EP #6
Monday, October 12, 2009
The Act of Cooking
As I spend more time in the kitchen I realize a very wide range of topics come up in discussion. You spend a lot of time together, you start talking about random shit. Dick and fart jokes only last for so long. Recent topics of discussion include the economic production rate of Brazil vs. Chile (Some are convinced that even though Brazil is far bigger, it is still a relatively poor country), and the best philosophy for the defense of the USA. This one waiter, one of the very few Americans who works at Va P, has something for Amish culture. I don't know if after his Rumspringa he decided waiting tables was his calling in life or what, but he's convinced the Amish would have a proper mindset for the defense of this nation. Hence he and the chef (who from my observations seems to be a more conservative-minded person) had this exchange,
"I think if the Amish ran the country, there would be world peace."
"Really? I think we'd all be dead. Pussy ass bastards, when was the last time someone took a horse-and-buggy in to battle?"
End random anecdote.
So I've decided to go to Va P on off nights as opposed to busy weekends because a) I get to work the pasta station, and b) the cooks have more time to teach me and guide me, and c) if I fuck up it wouldn't set in motion a snowball-effect of disaster. C is particularly important because the last time I went in (yesterday) I was just having one of those days where I could not do anything right. I forgot to turn on the soup heaters, so by 8 PM they were tepid. I almost destroyed the microwave. I burned 2 vegetable tarts. The convection oven was broken and making my life even more difficult. The list goes on. But the difference between doing that on a Sunday as opposed to a Saturday is that it's very funny on Sunday, and very not funny on Saturday. Anyhow, now that I guess I'm a real sort of line cook and I make real sort of food, things have changed quite a bit.
The most important difference is that I make dishes that have to taste good. There are people paying for my end product, paying damn good money, so it'd better taste like it. Whereas before I would only make parts; the diced eggplant in the caponada, the sauteed shrimp in the crab cakes, the roasted red peppers for the antipasti, now I make whole dishes. There isn't really any room for error. I must taste constantly and adjust accordingly. And it's not just pasta but prepped dishes as well.
I help out the various stations as needed, but without fail I always make the crab cakes whenever I come in, the horseradish aioli for the crab cakes, mascarpone cheesecakes, Sicilian roasted red peppers for antipasti, and whole grain mustard potato salad. Though these are not all dishes on their own, they are integral components to a whole dish that have to taste right. They are complementary but necessary. So the chef will walk around his kitchen as usual, talking, checking on things, and most importantly tasting. He trusts his staff (as he should) to make things taste right, but he still tastes things here and there out of hunger and/or curiosity. So I'm making the crab cakes and I leave for a second to get some gloves. He tastes the mixture (jumbo lump imperial blue crab meat, sauteed tiger shrimp, minced red peppers, sliced scallions, egg, breadcrumbs, horseradish aioli). As I'm walking back and see him munching at it my heart seizes. I forgot I'm responsible for all the crab cakes tonight, or rather I forgot how important that is.
"I can't fuck that up! These are one of our most popular items, why did he trust them to me, oh dear jesus I fucked that shit up I know it, crab cakes are his favorite, $12 a pop, so profitable, they're not remotely Italian he admit he put them on the menu just because he likes them, oh shit-fuck-damn, he's been making these for years and now the intern makes them and effs that shit up, oh god hellllllppppp meeeeeeeeee!"
That's basically the dialogue that was running through my head. But just as that little bit of crazy passes, he finishes chewing and resumes conversation as if nothing had happened. What? Absence of criticism = praise? FUCK YEAH! I immediately rush back to the bowl and give it a taste. Hey! It does taste pretty good! Taste it, chef. Literally. Oh it's delicious isn't it?
But the moment of heart failure I experienced as he was tasting it was no joke. I have to get serious about making this food. I can't let small errors happen anymore. My carrots weren't diced precisely enough, well not a huge deal even though incorrect. My pasta lacks seasoning and tastes like nothingness? That's a big deal because someone paid $20 for that. If I'm going to be a real cook I need to start acting like one.
Which brings me to my next point that I've reiterated before. Wilson recently went to eat at Woodfire Grill, the restaurant of Kevin Gillespie who is currently on Top Chef (or is he? I haven't been up to date for a week). He said it was fantastic. That bastard (Chef Kevin) is like 26. WHAT THE FUCK!?! I don't see myself owning a wonderful, fantastical restaurant in 3 years. I see myself slaving behind a stove, a good one, but nonetheless no better than a culinary themed serf. And then I follow Grant Achatz's twitter, and he's always talking about his cooks and how passionate they are. Grant-fucking-Achatz is saying you're a passionate cook? That means something.
So I don't want to get back in to last post where I bitch about how competitive it is out there and how nervous I am, and how much of a little girl I am being. But it is damn competitive out there, I'm nervous and I am being a little girl. Maybe that means cooking at home more, experimenting, learning to make things taste right in a non-pressure situation. Wilson also knocks me (as have many of my past roommates) for not cooking all that much at home. They find it odd for someone who likes working in kitchens so much to not enjoy his own kitchen. Well frankly, cooking at home is a pain in the ass to me. Going to the grocery store and buying mediocre ingredients (can't afford organic or farmer's market stuff right now), coming home and cooking it (okay that part is fun), then washing dishes and cleaning everything up (not fun, even with a dishwasher) seems tedious to me. Not to mention that we don't have a wide range of miscellaneous ingredients at home that any professional kitchen would have. Oh I need star anise? Who the hell keeps fresh star anise on hand at all time? No one, or almost no one. And even if they do they probably bought it once for $6 and used it once. Six months later, that shit is weak sauce. Literally (most spices, especially if ground lose potency in 6-8 months).
But maybe I should. Tom Colicchio said he would often buy heads of celery for 2 dollars and just mow through them to practice his knife skills. He is one of the few big name chefs these days who did not go to culinary school. I definitely could use more practice on making a good stock, reducing it and testing its body and flavor. I could use a lot more practice doing a lot of things. And don't get me wrong, I actually look forward to this practice, unlike cello. I love to cook, the act is both cathartic and enjoyable in its sometimes frenetic pace, but how to become the best is still beyond my knowledge.
Maybe I'll take it slow, don't freak out. Let's just make sure every onion pasta and mushroom tagliatelle I turn out right now is perfect.
EP #6
"I think if the Amish ran the country, there would be world peace."
"Really? I think we'd all be dead. Pussy ass bastards, when was the last time someone took a horse-and-buggy in to battle?"
End random anecdote.
So I've decided to go to Va P on off nights as opposed to busy weekends because a) I get to work the pasta station, and b) the cooks have more time to teach me and guide me, and c) if I fuck up it wouldn't set in motion a snowball-effect of disaster. C is particularly important because the last time I went in (yesterday) I was just having one of those days where I could not do anything right. I forgot to turn on the soup heaters, so by 8 PM they were tepid. I almost destroyed the microwave. I burned 2 vegetable tarts. The convection oven was broken and making my life even more difficult. The list goes on. But the difference between doing that on a Sunday as opposed to a Saturday is that it's very funny on Sunday, and very not funny on Saturday. Anyhow, now that I guess I'm a real sort of line cook and I make real sort of food, things have changed quite a bit.
The most important difference is that I make dishes that have to taste good. There are people paying for my end product, paying damn good money, so it'd better taste like it. Whereas before I would only make parts; the diced eggplant in the caponada, the sauteed shrimp in the crab cakes, the roasted red peppers for the antipasti, now I make whole dishes. There isn't really any room for error. I must taste constantly and adjust accordingly. And it's not just pasta but prepped dishes as well.
I help out the various stations as needed, but without fail I always make the crab cakes whenever I come in, the horseradish aioli for the crab cakes, mascarpone cheesecakes, Sicilian roasted red peppers for antipasti, and whole grain mustard potato salad. Though these are not all dishes on their own, they are integral components to a whole dish that have to taste right. They are complementary but necessary. So the chef will walk around his kitchen as usual, talking, checking on things, and most importantly tasting. He trusts his staff (as he should) to make things taste right, but he still tastes things here and there out of hunger and/or curiosity. So I'm making the crab cakes and I leave for a second to get some gloves. He tastes the mixture (jumbo lump imperial blue crab meat, sauteed tiger shrimp, minced red peppers, sliced scallions, egg, breadcrumbs, horseradish aioli). As I'm walking back and see him munching at it my heart seizes. I forgot I'm responsible for all the crab cakes tonight, or rather I forgot how important that is.
"I can't fuck that up! These are one of our most popular items, why did he trust them to me, oh dear jesus I fucked that shit up I know it, crab cakes are his favorite, $12 a pop, so profitable, they're not remotely Italian he admit he put them on the menu just because he likes them, oh shit-fuck-damn, he's been making these for years and now the intern makes them and effs that shit up, oh god hellllllppppp meeeeeeeeee!"
That's basically the dialogue that was running through my head. But just as that little bit of crazy passes, he finishes chewing and resumes conversation as if nothing had happened. What? Absence of criticism = praise? FUCK YEAH! I immediately rush back to the bowl and give it a taste. Hey! It does taste pretty good! Taste it, chef. Literally. Oh it's delicious isn't it?
But the moment of heart failure I experienced as he was tasting it was no joke. I have to get serious about making this food. I can't let small errors happen anymore. My carrots weren't diced precisely enough, well not a huge deal even though incorrect. My pasta lacks seasoning and tastes like nothingness? That's a big deal because someone paid $20 for that. If I'm going to be a real cook I need to start acting like one.
Which brings me to my next point that I've reiterated before. Wilson recently went to eat at Woodfire Grill, the restaurant of Kevin Gillespie who is currently on Top Chef (or is he? I haven't been up to date for a week). He said it was fantastic. That bastard (Chef Kevin) is like 26. WHAT THE FUCK!?! I don't see myself owning a wonderful, fantastical restaurant in 3 years. I see myself slaving behind a stove, a good one, but nonetheless no better than a culinary themed serf. And then I follow Grant Achatz's twitter, and he's always talking about his cooks and how passionate they are. Grant-fucking-Achatz is saying you're a passionate cook? That means something.
So I don't want to get back in to last post where I bitch about how competitive it is out there and how nervous I am, and how much of a little girl I am being. But it is damn competitive out there, I'm nervous and I am being a little girl. Maybe that means cooking at home more, experimenting, learning to make things taste right in a non-pressure situation. Wilson also knocks me (as have many of my past roommates) for not cooking all that much at home. They find it odd for someone who likes working in kitchens so much to not enjoy his own kitchen. Well frankly, cooking at home is a pain in the ass to me. Going to the grocery store and buying mediocre ingredients (can't afford organic or farmer's market stuff right now), coming home and cooking it (okay that part is fun), then washing dishes and cleaning everything up (not fun, even with a dishwasher) seems tedious to me. Not to mention that we don't have a wide range of miscellaneous ingredients at home that any professional kitchen would have. Oh I need star anise? Who the hell keeps fresh star anise on hand at all time? No one, or almost no one. And even if they do they probably bought it once for $6 and used it once. Six months later, that shit is weak sauce. Literally (most spices, especially if ground lose potency in 6-8 months).
But maybe I should. Tom Colicchio said he would often buy heads of celery for 2 dollars and just mow through them to practice his knife skills. He is one of the few big name chefs these days who did not go to culinary school. I definitely could use more practice on making a good stock, reducing it and testing its body and flavor. I could use a lot more practice doing a lot of things. And don't get me wrong, I actually look forward to this practice, unlike cello. I love to cook, the act is both cathartic and enjoyable in its sometimes frenetic pace, but how to become the best is still beyond my knowledge.
Maybe I'll take it slow, don't freak out. Let's just make sure every onion pasta and mushroom tagliatelle I turn out right now is perfect.
EP #6
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Time to Get in Gear
The more I watch these shows the more I am made aware of how much talent, passion and dedication there is out there. Every day, every show there are a slew of competent chefs presented. Usually the cream rises to the top, but even those that fail on cable television still have got some serious skills. One of my favorite things to do is to research hot restaurants and staff changes in New York, Chicago, all the big gastronomic cities. I like reading bios and interviews to see how these chefs got to where they are. I am not disappointed to find that great cooks come from every walk of life, from many sorts of trades and backgrounds and ages. There are a few common denominators that I’ve identified and highlighted in big, bright yellow (I’ll talk about this later), but generally there are no themes.
I think my favorite chef right now, and many other people’s favorite chef as well, is Grant Achatz. I’ve only eaten his food once, at Trio in Evanston, way back when I was a college freshman. I liked the food a lot but can’t remember all that much. Could I go back to that day, I would have taken notes had I known I was in the hallowed halls of the next food movement. I don’t have the money to go to Alinea right now but I like how Chef Achatz works. I like his mindset and his philosophy towards food. I love his brilliant artistry and ability to push food beyond the boundaries we as a species have known since forever. His genius is shining. I went to a cooking demo of his once and he signed a copy of the Alinea cookbook for me. He wished me luck and told me to say hi to Chef Mark at Oceanique. I have only perused through that book once. I’m scared of what I might find on a more detailed study; a level of accomplishment and skill perhaps that I could never hope to attain? I feel like Salieri in Amadeus as he looks through Mozart’s music in bewilderment. I fear I might get knocked over by a powerful epiphany.
But there can only be one Grant Achatz. And for every Grant Achatz, there are another great handful of chefs of comparable celebrity and talent. And for every one of those another group of chefs who are James Beard Award winners and nominees. And for every one of those even more successful and competent chefs who make great food, run great restaurants. Where do I fit in this food chain? Where CAN I fit in this food chain?
I want to be successful, I want to be appreciated for my hard work and skill, as would anyone. I’m not saying I’m going to be the flag bearer for a new food movement, but I want to be respected as a good chef, as a creater of delicious food. That means I need to get more serious about my culinary education.
There are three factors to success; talent, hardwork and passion. All the talent in the world won’t do anything for you if you can’t apply it with time and effort, sweat and tears. Hardwork and passion will take you far, but not to the top. When all three are aligned the sky is the limit. Now I can’t control how much talent or passion I have. I’m pretty sure I at least have the passion part down. I can most certainly control the effort part of the show though. And that’s what I need to do.
My rule is I work my shifts at Blu every week and I work at least 3 shifts at Va Pensiero to cook. This usually gives me 1 or 2 days off a week. I’ve been offered an opportunity to take an internship shift at Bennison’s bakery. I think I need to take at least one morning shift there (oh yeah 5 AM .. go baking) and one more shift at Va Pensiero. I need to get serious. The staff at Michelin starred restaurants, some of the best restaurants in the world will work 15 hour days, 6 days a week. How can I afford to let myself have so much leisure time?
School is out. It’s really time to start thinking about how to get serious. I’ll let you know how it goes.
EP #6
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Northwestern Ultimate Team
As I step outside I can now distinctly smell fall. The air changes. Things start to smell a little musty, it feels like the weather is falling asleep. I love this smell, I love the change of seasons even though I don't necessarily love the cold temperatures. But it feels different this time and after thinking about it for a little while I now know why.
I am not playing ultimate at Northwestern.
This smell is something you experience every night you're at practice, every weekend you're at a tournament. Especially on those tournament days where you wake up at the crack of dawn, the sense of autumn is overwhelming. I miss playing with NUT, I miss playing with my college team.
I'm sure most of you have played organized sports. I dabbled in some football and basketball but nothing too serious. So NUT was all I ever really had, but NUT is all I will ever have needed.
I hope you younger kids who still have a few seasons ahead of you are reading this. There is nothing like your college ultimate team. The camaraderie, the time you spend working and practicing is irreplaceable. Sure, high level club teams spend plenty of time together, but your lives are all so separate. Everyone has their own jobs, schools, relationships, circle of friends. You're just people who play ultimate together.
Your college team is your identity. Some of you don't take it to that level, but I did and so do the top college programs. You spend an insane amount of time together, except it doesn't seem all that crazy because of how fun it is. You spend all that time sweating it out in dusty gyms, throwing frisbees in inclement weather because you want to succeed as a team. Winning with club teams is fun, I can only imagine how rewarding it is at the highest levels. But there's a certain quality about college ultimate that makes it unique.
I don't have a full grasp of it right now, but I know I want it back. Living in Frisbee House, my life seemed more about ultimate than about school. Every day was scheduled around practice, gym time, tossing, organizing and planning for our team. Two hours in the gym, three hours of practice, four nights a week, a tournament every other weekend. And why do you do it? Because you love to play the sport, because you love to play with these people, because they are your friends, your teammates. Road-tripping to obscure polo fields only to freeze and play shitty ultimate in shitty Midwest weather. You don't remember about all that silly shit you talked about in those sleepy car rides, but you know that they were really fun.
And then you show up. Game day. Yes, college ultimate seems like a real joke to most people. An underdeveloped sport largely played by mediocre athletes at best. But you put your heart in to it and you run your ass off. Your legs barely work the next day. You see freshman step on to the field. You get frustrated that they make mistakes, but you know it's part of the process. And when they succeed you get excited, you get jacked up, you scream and cheer and encourage. You lose, well for us it happened all the time. Never could get past those big state schools, kind of like our football team. But you take away what you did well, how to improve for next time, for next year. You win? There's nothing like rushing the field after pulling out a close game. All that time, all that work, all that frustration learning this sport justified in that moment.
Then you leave the field exhausted, and you grossly overeat at some cheap chain or fast food joint. Maybe you have a few drinks that night, depends how seriously you're taking this tournament. You recount sweet plays from today, congratulate your teammates who had a solid day, talk about all the goofy shit that happened. Who did you tabletop? Who got inadvertently hit in the nuts? Who ate too many Cheez-Its? You talk about things immature boys would talk about. You pick on your rookies a bit, maybe "encourage" them to drink some beers. Maybe you watch a movie, maybe you immediately fall asleep. You segregate motel rooms by who snores and who doesn't. You talk about farting and the damage it can do in close quarters. You talk about failed and successful sexual escapades. And then eventually, one by one, everybody falls asleep.
Then Sunday, 6 AM rolls around (sometimes earlier) and it's time to do it all over again.
Sunday is the day that counts. Elimination day. Bracket play. You play hard even though you're a senior who played way too much on Saturday. Your body is abused. Or you didn't play very much because you're a young'n. You get excited to jump in and do what you can. You get frustrated when you fail, you get pumped when you succeed. You wish you could play more, you wish you could go out there and do something spectacular. At some point play stops, maybe you did well, maybe you didn't. The point is you didn't get any work done, but you had a blast this weekend. Time to go home and try to eke out some academic crap for Monday.
I don't know. This post really had no direction. I'm just painfully nostalgic. I try to think of how a college tournament went for me these past 3 years, and that's what I think of. I love this game even though it means nothing to anyone else. I loved and will continue to love having played for NUT. I wish I could have it back, but alas you must move on. All the things the sport and the team did for me as a person I will never forget. Just never take your team for granted, never forget that you will miss it very dearly.
No team can succeed on one player. Ultimate is unforgiving in how much it depends on teamwork and team chemistry. Sure a lot of our players could get inserted in to some of the best teams in the nation, but if we can't do it together, right here, right now, then that's all for naught. Play with passion. Play for your teammates. Play aggressive. You young guys will get noticed for that. You older guys will get thanked for that. You would lay out for an errant throw because you know your teammate would do the same for you. You would bid for an in-cut D because it would inspire your rookies, inspire your team to give it their all.
Work hard, hopefully I can be alongside you this year to guide you. It's worth it, trust me.
EP #6
I am not playing ultimate at Northwestern.
This smell is something you experience every night you're at practice, every weekend you're at a tournament. Especially on those tournament days where you wake up at the crack of dawn, the sense of autumn is overwhelming. I miss playing with NUT, I miss playing with my college team.
I'm sure most of you have played organized sports. I dabbled in some football and basketball but nothing too serious. So NUT was all I ever really had, but NUT is all I will ever have needed.
I hope you younger kids who still have a few seasons ahead of you are reading this. There is nothing like your college ultimate team. The camaraderie, the time you spend working and practicing is irreplaceable. Sure, high level club teams spend plenty of time together, but your lives are all so separate. Everyone has their own jobs, schools, relationships, circle of friends. You're just people who play ultimate together.
Your college team is your identity. Some of you don't take it to that level, but I did and so do the top college programs. You spend an insane amount of time together, except it doesn't seem all that crazy because of how fun it is. You spend all that time sweating it out in dusty gyms, throwing frisbees in inclement weather because you want to succeed as a team. Winning with club teams is fun, I can only imagine how rewarding it is at the highest levels. But there's a certain quality about college ultimate that makes it unique.
I don't have a full grasp of it right now, but I know I want it back. Living in Frisbee House, my life seemed more about ultimate than about school. Every day was scheduled around practice, gym time, tossing, organizing and planning for our team. Two hours in the gym, three hours of practice, four nights a week, a tournament every other weekend. And why do you do it? Because you love to play the sport, because you love to play with these people, because they are your friends, your teammates. Road-tripping to obscure polo fields only to freeze and play shitty ultimate in shitty Midwest weather. You don't remember about all that silly shit you talked about in those sleepy car rides, but you know that they were really fun.
And then you show up. Game day. Yes, college ultimate seems like a real joke to most people. An underdeveloped sport largely played by mediocre athletes at best. But you put your heart in to it and you run your ass off. Your legs barely work the next day. You see freshman step on to the field. You get frustrated that they make mistakes, but you know it's part of the process. And when they succeed you get excited, you get jacked up, you scream and cheer and encourage. You lose, well for us it happened all the time. Never could get past those big state schools, kind of like our football team. But you take away what you did well, how to improve for next time, for next year. You win? There's nothing like rushing the field after pulling out a close game. All that time, all that work, all that frustration learning this sport justified in that moment.
Then you leave the field exhausted, and you grossly overeat at some cheap chain or fast food joint. Maybe you have a few drinks that night, depends how seriously you're taking this tournament. You recount sweet plays from today, congratulate your teammates who had a solid day, talk about all the goofy shit that happened. Who did you tabletop? Who got inadvertently hit in the nuts? Who ate too many Cheez-Its? You talk about things immature boys would talk about. You pick on your rookies a bit, maybe "encourage" them to drink some beers. Maybe you watch a movie, maybe you immediately fall asleep. You segregate motel rooms by who snores and who doesn't. You talk about farting and the damage it can do in close quarters. You talk about failed and successful sexual escapades. And then eventually, one by one, everybody falls asleep.
Then Sunday, 6 AM rolls around (sometimes earlier) and it's time to do it all over again.
Sunday is the day that counts. Elimination day. Bracket play. You play hard even though you're a senior who played way too much on Saturday. Your body is abused. Or you didn't play very much because you're a young'n. You get excited to jump in and do what you can. You get frustrated when you fail, you get pumped when you succeed. You wish you could play more, you wish you could go out there and do something spectacular. At some point play stops, maybe you did well, maybe you didn't. The point is you didn't get any work done, but you had a blast this weekend. Time to go home and try to eke out some academic crap for Monday.
I don't know. This post really had no direction. I'm just painfully nostalgic. I try to think of how a college tournament went for me these past 3 years, and that's what I think of. I love this game even though it means nothing to anyone else. I loved and will continue to love having played for NUT. I wish I could have it back, but alas you must move on. All the things the sport and the team did for me as a person I will never forget. Just never take your team for granted, never forget that you will miss it very dearly.
No team can succeed on one player. Ultimate is unforgiving in how much it depends on teamwork and team chemistry. Sure a lot of our players could get inserted in to some of the best teams in the nation, but if we can't do it together, right here, right now, then that's all for naught. Play with passion. Play for your teammates. Play aggressive. You young guys will get noticed for that. You older guys will get thanked for that. You would lay out for an errant throw because you know your teammate would do the same for you. You would bid for an in-cut D because it would inspire your rookies, inspire your team to give it their all.
Work hard, hopefully I can be alongside you this year to guide you. It's worth it, trust me.
EP #6
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Kitchen Humor (Plus Bonus Story)
I started writing this post a little while ago, but now must give a completely new introduction because some exciting things happened today. I, after several months in the kitchen, have reached the biggest milestone. A point I hoped to reach in the next 3-4 months. A point I wanted to reach and become competent at before going to culinary school.
I have worked the hot line.
I have used the element of heat to transform raw ingredients in to delectable cuisine ... in a professional setting, at a high-end restaurant.
I have made ... pasta.
You know that scene in "Cast Away" when Tom Hanks makes fire for the first time, and proclaims to no one "I! ... HAVE MADE! ... FIRE!" Yeah that's pretty much what happened in the kitchen. There was no containing my excitement and there was no hiding my complete ineptitude, but I shouted to the culinary gods that I! HAVE MADE! MUSHROOM TAGLIATELLE!
So yes, I was completely abuzz with nervousness and excitement as I stared down that massive pot of pasta water. Four burners in front of me, my pans above the salamander, and this big boiling bastard that will cook my pasta. I will tame you. I will climb you, you Everest of starch-laden water. But first, I must get a quick crash course in all of our current pasta dishes.
It was a very slow night tonight, and I was hoping for an evening like this so that the other cooks would have time to walk me through some basic techniques. Every second I'm not tied to my station, or doing something for the chef, I watch how the hot line rolls. That's where I want to be, climbing my way from grill, to pasta, to saute. Saute station, the big daddy, the sous chef spot. I want that. So I knew basically how the station worked. But I didn't know the details of every dish. And let me tell you, there are a fuck load of details.
I could easily fill many pages with instructions on how to make the various pasta dishes but let me just give you an example of one of the simpler ones.
I'm not sure what it's called on the menu because we change that shit really often, but on the ticket it's just called Onion Pasta.
1) Heat up a pan, drop in 2 ladles of caramelized onions, 1 ladle of chicken stock, a pinch of roasted garlic, and salt/pepper to taste.
2) Drop in a few knobs of butter to let it thicken, heat through and begin to reduce.
3) Let the sauce reduce to a "thick" consistency, taste, set aside.
4) When the waiter calls for a "pick up" time to finish the dish. Drop in a "big handful" of regular ole' spaghetti in to the pasta waster.
5) Let the spaghetti reheat for 30 seconds, bring the sauce back up to temperature, moisten the pan with a few drops of pasta water if necessary. (This is one of those pro veteran moves where you pull one of the pasta baskets out of the water and drip a few drops of water in to your pan)
6) Combine pasta and sauce, add salt (it'll probably need it), toss, i.e. flip the pan and toss to combine without using tongs, because tongs are clumsy and inefficient and have a chance of tearing pasta ... oh and do this with your left hand because your right hand needs to be available, and if your left hand is retarded for some reason even though you played cello for 10 years then you're shit out of luck.
7) Twist the pasta in to a nice mound with tongs, plate on to a bowl (weird sentence, I know), add tomato fondue, chopped herbs (parsley, sage, thyme, rosemary .. and marjoram .. taste it, Garfunkel), parmigiano reggiano, and breadcrumbs.
8) Slide it under the salamander for 15 seconds to brown the cheese/breadcrumbs, slide it into the window, it's done.
Eight steps doesn't seem all that bad. And when you write out the steps it certainly seems way more complicated than it actually is. Working in a kitchen is very much a matter of habit and practice. But when the night is busy, you have a bajillion other things to do, or you just got slammed with 6 different pasta dishes that have equally or more complicated directions then ... fuck. Add in completely n00b skillz with the hot line, and you have a recipe for disaster.
But it worked out all right. I churned out 5-6 pasta dishes with help from the grill man, Rey, and the sous chef, Chuy. I then even got to do a few completely on my own under their watchful eyes. And then someone ordered risotto which is a completely different kind of bitch, and I called it quits for the night. In fact, once the word "risotto" inked its way on to the ticket Chuy just starts laughing, knowing full well that I would seriously fuck up a risotto right now.
And alas here is my very poorly done tie-in to my original post. Kitchen humor.
The kitchen is a very funny place. That's just what happens when you put together a variety of cultures, languages, overgrown man-children, and a general attitude of complete immaturity. My chef put it very eloquently one day,
"This place, and every other kitchen I've worked in is one big penis joke."
And then as if the culinary deities wanted that to hit home at that moment, someone whips out a well-hidden beef tenderloin from under their apron to "cock slap" one of the dishwashers. Even a cleaned beef tenderloin would rival the alpha walrus for sheer dick size, as Luis tags Gavino from a good 2 feet away. The cow from which this exquisitely tender cut of meat came from is surely displeased to find its backside muscles used so crudely. Chef quickly cuts in to stop the fun (tenderloin is expensive, bro), Luis clearly had no idea that he was there and shuffles back to his station.
But yes ... there are shenanigans. Don't get me wrong, we work hard when it's busy, and generally we take our jobs very seriously. But sometimes there is just a perfect opportunity for a joke, or just a little too much downtime. The Chef seems to be always be around to never let the fun get out of control, to keep our focus on the job, but even he can't be everywhere at all times. And sometimes he can't help but join in.
Enter: Va Pensiero Mystery Hot Pepper Challenge
The Chef walks in with two small boxes of hot peppers. "Some woman from Indiana I know grew these. She gave 'em to me, let's eat them for employee meal." Well we have no idea how hot these things are and no one wants to try. Chuy slices one open and gives it a whiff, recoils. The fear is palpable. Generally, my theory is that peppers are like poisonous reptiles. The small, brightly colored ones are the ones you have to stay the fuck away from. But every once in a while you get a deceptive bastard or a lying whore of a pepper/reptile. Anyhow, Chef calls Chuy out for being a "complete pussy of a Mexican" and that a pepper grown in Indiana cannot possibly be that hot. The only way to know for sure is to try.
I somehow get dragged in to this challenge and we each pick our poison. Following my theory I go for a large, dull red one, thinking, praying that this thing is mild. The chef picks out a wrinkled, yellowish one. I think, HUGE mistake, Chef. Chuy sticks with the sliced open little green one. On 3, we bite.
I've never just taken a bite out of a whole hot pepper. I take a big ole' chomp failing to notice that the others take mincing, girly bites. At first, not much going on, just a slight tingly spiciness. Clearly, the calm before the storm. Or should I say volcano. Spicy tingling and pain literally erupt all over my mouth. I shout expletives, only taking comfort in the fact that the other two are tearing up, looking extremely disappointed in themselves. The Chef can't help but yell angrily, "C'MON! INDIANA!? WHITE WOMAN!? C'MON!"
After suffering for a few minutes, we can't decide which ones to exclude from employee meal. Every one is claiming theirs was the hottest pepper. In the end we use a mixed batch, but of a very modest quantity. Yes, employee meal was plenty spicy.
So that's exactly the kind of stupid behavior you'd expect from a frat house or post-college apartment (nice job with the cinnamon, B). Apparently these stupid contests have been going on for ages. There was the "10 Budino Challenge" of great notoriety. Our budino is a molten chocolate cake, but of far greater quality than any of those bullshit chain desserts. But it is also incredibly rich. Ingredients to make roughly 70 of them? 50 egg yolks, 12 whole eggs, 12 quarts of cream, 3 lb. mix of dark/bittersweet/milk chocolate, 2 lb. confectioner's sugar, and some other flavorings. So the 10 Budino Challenge is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes when we bake them for plating they form a crack that would leak chocolate everywhere on a plate. These wounded soldiers can only serve one purpose; to be consumed by stupid restaurant staff. You could imagine the aftermath, something like in District 9 where he barfs black goo everywhere.
The kitchen can be a funny place. I applaud any women that can work in that environment for long. Clearly I don't expect every kitchen to be like this, but I like that Va Pensiero can produce some seriously good food on a crazy night, but yet still be a fun place to work. We get yelled at, and we get caught "in the weeds" here and there, but if you like kitchen work that's sometimes a lot of the fun. When you're trying to plate angel food cake, fresh strawberries, and zabaglione sauce for a wedding of 70, and your Chef yells at you, "You assholes work like old people have sex! HURRY THE FUCK UP!" You can't help but smile and yet get on your horse at the same time.
Whenever I walk in to the kitchen and when I see the Chef we often have this exchange.
"Hi Chef, how are you?"
"Fat and happy."
"Do we have a party today?"
"Every day is a party at Va Pensiero."
EP #6
I have worked the hot line.
I have used the element of heat to transform raw ingredients in to delectable cuisine ... in a professional setting, at a high-end restaurant.
I have made ... pasta.
You know that scene in "Cast Away" when Tom Hanks makes fire for the first time, and proclaims to no one "I! ... HAVE MADE! ... FIRE!" Yeah that's pretty much what happened in the kitchen. There was no containing my excitement and there was no hiding my complete ineptitude, but I shouted to the culinary gods that I! HAVE MADE! MUSHROOM TAGLIATELLE!
So yes, I was completely abuzz with nervousness and excitement as I stared down that massive pot of pasta water. Four burners in front of me, my pans above the salamander, and this big boiling bastard that will cook my pasta. I will tame you. I will climb you, you Everest of starch-laden water. But first, I must get a quick crash course in all of our current pasta dishes.
It was a very slow night tonight, and I was hoping for an evening like this so that the other cooks would have time to walk me through some basic techniques. Every second I'm not tied to my station, or doing something for the chef, I watch how the hot line rolls. That's where I want to be, climbing my way from grill, to pasta, to saute. Saute station, the big daddy, the sous chef spot. I want that. So I knew basically how the station worked. But I didn't know the details of every dish. And let me tell you, there are a fuck load of details.
I could easily fill many pages with instructions on how to make the various pasta dishes but let me just give you an example of one of the simpler ones.
I'm not sure what it's called on the menu because we change that shit really often, but on the ticket it's just called Onion Pasta.
1) Heat up a pan, drop in 2 ladles of caramelized onions, 1 ladle of chicken stock, a pinch of roasted garlic, and salt/pepper to taste.
2) Drop in a few knobs of butter to let it thicken, heat through and begin to reduce.
3) Let the sauce reduce to a "thick" consistency, taste, set aside.
4) When the waiter calls for a "pick up" time to finish the dish. Drop in a "big handful" of regular ole' spaghetti in to the pasta waster.
5) Let the spaghetti reheat for 30 seconds, bring the sauce back up to temperature, moisten the pan with a few drops of pasta water if necessary. (This is one of those pro veteran moves where you pull one of the pasta baskets out of the water and drip a few drops of water in to your pan)
6) Combine pasta and sauce, add salt (it'll probably need it), toss, i.e. flip the pan and toss to combine without using tongs, because tongs are clumsy and inefficient and have a chance of tearing pasta ... oh and do this with your left hand because your right hand needs to be available, and if your left hand is retarded for some reason even though you played cello for 10 years then you're shit out of luck.
7) Twist the pasta in to a nice mound with tongs, plate on to a bowl (weird sentence, I know), add tomato fondue, chopped herbs (parsley, sage, thyme, rosemary .. and marjoram .. taste it, Garfunkel), parmigiano reggiano, and breadcrumbs.
8) Slide it under the salamander for 15 seconds to brown the cheese/breadcrumbs, slide it into the window, it's done.
Eight steps doesn't seem all that bad. And when you write out the steps it certainly seems way more complicated than it actually is. Working in a kitchen is very much a matter of habit and practice. But when the night is busy, you have a bajillion other things to do, or you just got slammed with 6 different pasta dishes that have equally or more complicated directions then ... fuck. Add in completely n00b skillz with the hot line, and you have a recipe for disaster.
But it worked out all right. I churned out 5-6 pasta dishes with help from the grill man, Rey, and the sous chef, Chuy. I then even got to do a few completely on my own under their watchful eyes. And then someone ordered risotto which is a completely different kind of bitch, and I called it quits for the night. In fact, once the word "risotto" inked its way on to the ticket Chuy just starts laughing, knowing full well that I would seriously fuck up a risotto right now.
And alas here is my very poorly done tie-in to my original post. Kitchen humor.
The kitchen is a very funny place. That's just what happens when you put together a variety of cultures, languages, overgrown man-children, and a general attitude of complete immaturity. My chef put it very eloquently one day,
"This place, and every other kitchen I've worked in is one big penis joke."
And then as if the culinary deities wanted that to hit home at that moment, someone whips out a well-hidden beef tenderloin from under their apron to "cock slap" one of the dishwashers. Even a cleaned beef tenderloin would rival the alpha walrus for sheer dick size, as Luis tags Gavino from a good 2 feet away. The cow from which this exquisitely tender cut of meat came from is surely displeased to find its backside muscles used so crudely. Chef quickly cuts in to stop the fun (tenderloin is expensive, bro), Luis clearly had no idea that he was there and shuffles back to his station.
But yes ... there are shenanigans. Don't get me wrong, we work hard when it's busy, and generally we take our jobs very seriously. But sometimes there is just a perfect opportunity for a joke, or just a little too much downtime. The Chef seems to be always be around to never let the fun get out of control, to keep our focus on the job, but even he can't be everywhere at all times. And sometimes he can't help but join in.
Enter: Va Pensiero Mystery Hot Pepper Challenge
The Chef walks in with two small boxes of hot peppers. "Some woman from Indiana I know grew these. She gave 'em to me, let's eat them for employee meal." Well we have no idea how hot these things are and no one wants to try. Chuy slices one open and gives it a whiff, recoils. The fear is palpable. Generally, my theory is that peppers are like poisonous reptiles. The small, brightly colored ones are the ones you have to stay the fuck away from. But every once in a while you get a deceptive bastard or a lying whore of a pepper/reptile. Anyhow, Chef calls Chuy out for being a "complete pussy of a Mexican" and that a pepper grown in Indiana cannot possibly be that hot. The only way to know for sure is to try.
I somehow get dragged in to this challenge and we each pick our poison. Following my theory I go for a large, dull red one, thinking, praying that this thing is mild. The chef picks out a wrinkled, yellowish one. I think, HUGE mistake, Chef. Chuy sticks with the sliced open little green one. On 3, we bite.
I've never just taken a bite out of a whole hot pepper. I take a big ole' chomp failing to notice that the others take mincing, girly bites. At first, not much going on, just a slight tingly spiciness. Clearly, the calm before the storm. Or should I say volcano. Spicy tingling and pain literally erupt all over my mouth. I shout expletives, only taking comfort in the fact that the other two are tearing up, looking extremely disappointed in themselves. The Chef can't help but yell angrily, "C'MON! INDIANA!? WHITE WOMAN!? C'MON!"
After suffering for a few minutes, we can't decide which ones to exclude from employee meal. Every one is claiming theirs was the hottest pepper. In the end we use a mixed batch, but of a very modest quantity. Yes, employee meal was plenty spicy.
So that's exactly the kind of stupid behavior you'd expect from a frat house or post-college apartment (nice job with the cinnamon, B). Apparently these stupid contests have been going on for ages. There was the "10 Budino Challenge" of great notoriety. Our budino is a molten chocolate cake, but of far greater quality than any of those bullshit chain desserts. But it is also incredibly rich. Ingredients to make roughly 70 of them? 50 egg yolks, 12 whole eggs, 12 quarts of cream, 3 lb. mix of dark/bittersweet/milk chocolate, 2 lb. confectioner's sugar, and some other flavorings. So the 10 Budino Challenge is exactly what it sounds like. Sometimes when we bake them for plating they form a crack that would leak chocolate everywhere on a plate. These wounded soldiers can only serve one purpose; to be consumed by stupid restaurant staff. You could imagine the aftermath, something like in District 9 where he barfs black goo everywhere.
The kitchen can be a funny place. I applaud any women that can work in that environment for long. Clearly I don't expect every kitchen to be like this, but I like that Va Pensiero can produce some seriously good food on a crazy night, but yet still be a fun place to work. We get yelled at, and we get caught "in the weeds" here and there, but if you like kitchen work that's sometimes a lot of the fun. When you're trying to plate angel food cake, fresh strawberries, and zabaglione sauce for a wedding of 70, and your Chef yells at you, "You assholes work like old people have sex! HURRY THE FUCK UP!" You can't help but smile and yet get on your horse at the same time.
Whenever I walk in to the kitchen and when I see the Chef we often have this exchange.
"Hi Chef, how are you?"
"Fat and happy."
"Do we have a party today?"
"Every day is a party at Va Pensiero."
EP #6
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Smart Defense for Old Men
I've never been a defensive oriented player. After a lifetime of playing cello, eating Chinese food, and a smoking habit picked up at 14, I never had the athleticism and endurance to be an all-star defender. But I had good throws and a natural sense for the sport of ultimate and I think that's why Northwestern ultimate players didn't shoo me away as quickly as possible.
So I plugged away at it; quitting smoking, conditioning, hitting the gym, learning to lay out, studying the game, losing weight, and here I am ... still not a defensive oriented player.
Though I am a more advanced version of Panda (we like to call it Uber-Panda or Panda 2.0), I still wouldn't put myself on starting D-line. But that doesn't mean I don't play good defense, that just means it's not my strong suit. Every offensive player worth his salt can get the disc back if need be. I hope you young, athletic defenders out there read this, because the reason I can defend you is not because I'm faster it's because I'm smarter.
"Old man tricks" is a term used to describe a set of skills a player of veteran experience possesses. It is a term used to describe a player who is able to get open/play defense via deception, trickery, and knowledge of the game and field. This a term used to describe me. Old man tricks don't always belong to just post-college, 30 and over players. It mainly applies to someone who relies on their brain rather than their brawn when playing ultimate.
Handler defense. This is one of the most underrated and most difficult aspects of the game. Being able to put consistent pressure on a team's best handlers will eventually win you the game. To frustrate an opponent's ability to get a reset is a priority. But the first thing you have to realize, is that your opponent will be getting open on you. The important thing is to contain him and make him go where you want him to go.
It can be broken down in a few steps:
1) Upline cuts are unacceptable, STOP THE UPLINE. A successful upline cut gives the handler a power position and the best hucking opportunity, downfield cutters will strike at this moment. In high-level club ultimate, giving up an upline cut in the backfield will be a huck-to-score 60-70% of the time. Even if your mark comes around and makes the handler holster the huck, you are out of position and open to be broken. SO DON'T GET BEAT UPLINE.
2) Contest the dump/reset. You can stop an upline with somewhat ease by positioning yourself up the field, but to contest the dump is much harder. So many people just let the handler have the back reset easily and give up a huge swing. You have to be tight enough to contest a badly thrown dump (if it floats, is not out to space enough, etc.). A good handler will get open on this option most of the time, but it's a percentage game. If you are close enough to D a small error, then you are close enough to ...
3) Cut off the swing. This supposed good handler will get open on the back dump most of the time. If you can force him to lose yards, lose midfield position, or clear out for the next handler cut than you've succeeded on step 2. Now you must cut off the swing. You have to come all the way around and stop the O/I around swing. This swing resets their whole offense, it can't be allowed to go off. If you can force a handler to get a dump, but no swing 20 times in a row the offense will eventually make a mistake. In fact 20 times in a row would be remarkably consistent on the offense's part.
4) Cut off the break. The next look the handler has is the I/O break up field. Because you're going to be slightly out of position to stop the around swing (and that's if you're quite agile) a good thrower will quickly throw downfield to the breakside. Now that look is a) not always there because it's a hard communication between handler and cutter, and b) a hard throw in general, prone to turnovers, especially in wind. So if you've gotten to step 4 and that's the only option your handler has, then you as a defender have won.
Good handlers will beat you upline occasionally, will beat you on step 2, 3 and 4 often. The point is being able to force them back and take the hardest look most of the time. As I previously mentioned, it's a percentage game with handler defense. They will get open, but if you can force them to the worst position, to take the hardest throws most of the time, you will get turnovers and affect the game. It may not be glorious or attention-grabbing but it's EXTREMELY important. (Thanks to CK @ Force Flick for schooling people in handler D)
Now all the handler defense in the world won't save you if an offense can fundamentally get downfield cuts all the way to the endzone. Though cutting defense is definitely not my strong suit, I can definitely dominate an inexperienced player, or someone that is not using their brain. There are plenty of young, athletic cutters who just like to run deep and catch Frisbees, but I can prevent them from getting open because of positioning.
Let's just talk horizontal stack. Ho-stack cutter D is a very one-on-one operation. Vert stack depends on handler and team defense a lot more, so yeah ... ho-stack.
The defense you're going to play depends on the position of your cutter. If they are in the primary lanes in the middle of the stack, then you have your work cut out for you (pun ... unintended .. I suck). But the exterior lanes can be exploited for their weakness in position.
Let's say the disc is centered, the handler's primary looks are the 2/3 mid lane cutters. The cutter on the far breakside can't do much. They can't cut across the 2/3 lanes to get in to position, so for him to get the disc there has to be a break throw or a deep shot to space. The best place to position yourself in my opinion is a few yards off your man, shading him deep. A deep look to this cutter is actually the preferred look so you can't risk letting a huge throw get around you, so play him deep. But you can play off a few yards and "allow" an under. As long as you watch what's happening up field with the handlers, you can prevent a gain. The only way the disc is going to the breakside guy is if the disc swings all the way around to the breakside handler (or a break throw, but let's assume our marks are tight). If you see the disc swinging all the way around now you have to be ready to attack the under that's coming. The deep look will rarely come from a swing, and if it does it won't be the best throw. So 80% of the time it will be an under cut that allows a great angle for a lay out D attempt.
Now let's talk about the 4 spot, the cutter trapped against the line (forcing forehand). This cutter has a decent under look, but a bad deep look. So that means you should shade under. Obviously this will have to depend on respective skill/athleticism as to how much you can cheat in, but you can give a few steps deep if you're quick. The most important thing here is that if your cutter does get the disc, to force him as much to the sideline as possible, and to put a huge trap mark on (what we in Chicago, call the "hardest" mark). The deep look to this cutter is a bad look. It has to be an exceptional throw to go out of bounds, come back in to catch the cutter in stride. If it even comes back in play at all, it will usually come in high, at which point you can contest it, or too far out and low where it cannot be caught. So stop the under here, and force them outwards toward the line.
The primary cutters are going to be a tough place for the defense. The beauty of the horizontal stack is that the under and deep options are kept open. So the primary cutters will probably be the strongest cutters and they have several places to go. This is where athleticism and decision making will have to be utilized to the fullest. If you've got yourself a tall, fast cutter that likes to stretch it deep, you'll have to force him under and try to contest an in-cut. If they have weak throws (as tall, deep receivers tend to have), then you can hope and probably get turnovers that way. If they're not terribly fast, or if you think you can beat them in the air with confidence, force them deep. These cutters tend to be mids for their offense, getting under and doing damage with smart throws. If you force them out of their comfort zone deep, then the handlers will be less likely to throw to them, and you can get turnovers that way. If you have an exceptional cutter who can go deep, and move the disc under (ex: Kurt Gibson, Will Neff, etc.) well ... you're going to have a tough time, but that's what makes them good players.
These are just guidelines. Defense depends on knowing good habits, smart positioning and being flexible. You could play defense strictly by these guidelines and have decent success, but the only true way to dominate is to account for your opponents' strengths and weaknesses. This is an experience thing. The ability to evaluate your opponent just by watching them for a point or two, and then adjusting your defensive measures accordingly. Quick I/O forehand break? Adjust to a wide inside mark, play physical on stopping the backhand around break, get the foul called. Cutter is faster than you? Body him up, get in his way, keep some contact with him so you know where he is at all times. Huge thrower? Straight-up mark, downfield defenders have to be alert and know that all options are open, that a goal could be coming when the disc is in his hands. There are thousands of adjustments to be made in any given game. In a match of equal athleticism and talent, this is the difference maker. As I heard someone on Sub-Zero once say, "Johnny Bravo is a team like Sub Zero, fast and with good skills, but with way more intelligence."
Alright well... I've been meaning to get all that off my chest for a while. I wanted to give my 2 cents to NUT during the season on handler defense, but it may have been a little late to implement. I hope you younglings read this and start working hard on building these good habits this year. You're going to need them.
So you guys still enjoy the frisbee part of the show? I know not many of you can relate to, or even understand half the terminology in these posts, but I hope they are at least .. insightful? Ultimate is a true sport that requires athleticism and extensive strategy. Just because it isn't always played at the highest competitive level doesn't mean that it isn't. Anyhow, ultimate and Asian-American men are probably two things I try to change everyone's opinion on the most. I'll keep giving you anecdotes from the "Year of Food Training" as I've come to call it. Blu Sushi Lounge has proven as hilarious as I could have hoped.
EP #6
So I plugged away at it; quitting smoking, conditioning, hitting the gym, learning to lay out, studying the game, losing weight, and here I am ... still not a defensive oriented player.
Though I am a more advanced version of Panda (we like to call it Uber-Panda or Panda 2.0), I still wouldn't put myself on starting D-line. But that doesn't mean I don't play good defense, that just means it's not my strong suit. Every offensive player worth his salt can get the disc back if need be. I hope you young, athletic defenders out there read this, because the reason I can defend you is not because I'm faster it's because I'm smarter.
"Old man tricks" is a term used to describe a set of skills a player of veteran experience possesses. It is a term used to describe a player who is able to get open/play defense via deception, trickery, and knowledge of the game and field. This a term used to describe me. Old man tricks don't always belong to just post-college, 30 and over players. It mainly applies to someone who relies on their brain rather than their brawn when playing ultimate.
Handler defense. This is one of the most underrated and most difficult aspects of the game. Being able to put consistent pressure on a team's best handlers will eventually win you the game. To frustrate an opponent's ability to get a reset is a priority. But the first thing you have to realize, is that your opponent will be getting open on you. The important thing is to contain him and make him go where you want him to go.
It can be broken down in a few steps:
1) Upline cuts are unacceptable, STOP THE UPLINE. A successful upline cut gives the handler a power position and the best hucking opportunity, downfield cutters will strike at this moment. In high-level club ultimate, giving up an upline cut in the backfield will be a huck-to-score 60-70% of the time. Even if your mark comes around and makes the handler holster the huck, you are out of position and open to be broken. SO DON'T GET BEAT UPLINE.
2) Contest the dump/reset. You can stop an upline with somewhat ease by positioning yourself up the field, but to contest the dump is much harder. So many people just let the handler have the back reset easily and give up a huge swing. You have to be tight enough to contest a badly thrown dump (if it floats, is not out to space enough, etc.). A good handler will get open on this option most of the time, but it's a percentage game. If you are close enough to D a small error, then you are close enough to ...
3) Cut off the swing. This supposed good handler will get open on the back dump most of the time. If you can force him to lose yards, lose midfield position, or clear out for the next handler cut than you've succeeded on step 2. Now you must cut off the swing. You have to come all the way around and stop the O/I around swing. This swing resets their whole offense, it can't be allowed to go off. If you can force a handler to get a dump, but no swing 20 times in a row the offense will eventually make a mistake. In fact 20 times in a row would be remarkably consistent on the offense's part.
4) Cut off the break. The next look the handler has is the I/O break up field. Because you're going to be slightly out of position to stop the around swing (and that's if you're quite agile) a good thrower will quickly throw downfield to the breakside. Now that look is a) not always there because it's a hard communication between handler and cutter, and b) a hard throw in general, prone to turnovers, especially in wind. So if you've gotten to step 4 and that's the only option your handler has, then you as a defender have won.
Good handlers will beat you upline occasionally, will beat you on step 2, 3 and 4 often. The point is being able to force them back and take the hardest look most of the time. As I previously mentioned, it's a percentage game with handler defense. They will get open, but if you can force them to the worst position, to take the hardest throws most of the time, you will get turnovers and affect the game. It may not be glorious or attention-grabbing but it's EXTREMELY important. (Thanks to CK @ Force Flick for schooling people in handler D)
Now all the handler defense in the world won't save you if an offense can fundamentally get downfield cuts all the way to the endzone. Though cutting defense is definitely not my strong suit, I can definitely dominate an inexperienced player, or someone that is not using their brain. There are plenty of young, athletic cutters who just like to run deep and catch Frisbees, but I can prevent them from getting open because of positioning.
Let's just talk horizontal stack. Ho-stack cutter D is a very one-on-one operation. Vert stack depends on handler and team defense a lot more, so yeah ... ho-stack.
The defense you're going to play depends on the position of your cutter. If they are in the primary lanes in the middle of the stack, then you have your work cut out for you (pun ... unintended .. I suck). But the exterior lanes can be exploited for their weakness in position.
Let's say the disc is centered, the handler's primary looks are the 2/3 mid lane cutters. The cutter on the far breakside can't do much. They can't cut across the 2/3 lanes to get in to position, so for him to get the disc there has to be a break throw or a deep shot to space. The best place to position yourself in my opinion is a few yards off your man, shading him deep. A deep look to this cutter is actually the preferred look so you can't risk letting a huge throw get around you, so play him deep. But you can play off a few yards and "allow" an under. As long as you watch what's happening up field with the handlers, you can prevent a gain. The only way the disc is going to the breakside guy is if the disc swings all the way around to the breakside handler (or a break throw, but let's assume our marks are tight). If you see the disc swinging all the way around now you have to be ready to attack the under that's coming. The deep look will rarely come from a swing, and if it does it won't be the best throw. So 80% of the time it will be an under cut that allows a great angle for a lay out D attempt.
Now let's talk about the 4 spot, the cutter trapped against the line (forcing forehand). This cutter has a decent under look, but a bad deep look. So that means you should shade under. Obviously this will have to depend on respective skill/athleticism as to how much you can cheat in, but you can give a few steps deep if you're quick. The most important thing here is that if your cutter does get the disc, to force him as much to the sideline as possible, and to put a huge trap mark on (what we in Chicago, call the "hardest" mark). The deep look to this cutter is a bad look. It has to be an exceptional throw to go out of bounds, come back in to catch the cutter in stride. If it even comes back in play at all, it will usually come in high, at which point you can contest it, or too far out and low where it cannot be caught. So stop the under here, and force them outwards toward the line.
The primary cutters are going to be a tough place for the defense. The beauty of the horizontal stack is that the under and deep options are kept open. So the primary cutters will probably be the strongest cutters and they have several places to go. This is where athleticism and decision making will have to be utilized to the fullest. If you've got yourself a tall, fast cutter that likes to stretch it deep, you'll have to force him under and try to contest an in-cut. If they have weak throws (as tall, deep receivers tend to have), then you can hope and probably get turnovers that way. If they're not terribly fast, or if you think you can beat them in the air with confidence, force them deep. These cutters tend to be mids for their offense, getting under and doing damage with smart throws. If you force them out of their comfort zone deep, then the handlers will be less likely to throw to them, and you can get turnovers that way. If you have an exceptional cutter who can go deep, and move the disc under (ex: Kurt Gibson, Will Neff, etc.) well ... you're going to have a tough time, but that's what makes them good players.
These are just guidelines. Defense depends on knowing good habits, smart positioning and being flexible. You could play defense strictly by these guidelines and have decent success, but the only true way to dominate is to account for your opponents' strengths and weaknesses. This is an experience thing. The ability to evaluate your opponent just by watching them for a point or two, and then adjusting your defensive measures accordingly. Quick I/O forehand break? Adjust to a wide inside mark, play physical on stopping the backhand around break, get the foul called. Cutter is faster than you? Body him up, get in his way, keep some contact with him so you know where he is at all times. Huge thrower? Straight-up mark, downfield defenders have to be alert and know that all options are open, that a goal could be coming when the disc is in his hands. There are thousands of adjustments to be made in any given game. In a match of equal athleticism and talent, this is the difference maker. As I heard someone on Sub-Zero once say, "Johnny Bravo is a team like Sub Zero, fast and with good skills, but with way more intelligence."
Alright well... I've been meaning to get all that off my chest for a while. I wanted to give my 2 cents to NUT during the season on handler defense, but it may have been a little late to implement. I hope you younglings read this and start working hard on building these good habits this year. You're going to need them.
So you guys still enjoy the frisbee part of the show? I know not many of you can relate to, or even understand half the terminology in these posts, but I hope they are at least .. insightful? Ultimate is a true sport that requires athleticism and extensive strategy. Just because it isn't always played at the highest competitive level doesn't mean that it isn't. Anyhow, ultimate and Asian-American men are probably two things I try to change everyone's opinion on the most. I'll keep giving you anecdotes from the "Year of Food Training" as I've come to call it. Blu Sushi Lounge has proven as hilarious as I could have hoped.
EP #6
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Post-College Body
I like to consider myself an observant person. I will usually notice subtle changes to your appearance or how you're feeling if I know you well enough. I won't always mention it if you find yourself disagreeing, but trust me ... I know (insert creepy, silent stare). Ahem.
That being said, I am woefully ignorant of my own body and how I feel. Some days I have seemingly limitless energy, and this energy supports a high-octane feeling of well-being. Other days I feel like hell and have to drag my dead-weight body out of bed, my misery only barely dulled by strong coffee. Not only do I usually not figure out that I'm feeling like crap until I have a slip-up, but I always have a hard time identifying why I feel that way. And that goes the other direction too, I usually am blissfully unaware of why I am feeling awesome. This is not a post-college phenomenon. But now that I have more a routine and there's less cheap alcohol in my life, my day-to-day state of being is made more apparent.
I don't think there's always a concrete reason as to why I feel one way or the other. My energy levels can be affected by very minor events (these include Disney songs coming up on shuffle, sharing eye contact with someone pretty [now that I live in Boystown ... very flattering], getting to cut onions, getting to saute onions, coming across the smell of a good taqueria). And the same goes for the negative. So the choice of conclusions before me are either I am very much unaware of myself or that I am so capricious that slicing sulfurous vegetables can jack me up.
Damn.
I mention this because I think physical energy and awareness is now oh-so-important to me succeeding in my career, or anything for that matter. Whereas in college I could eke by on a few hours of drunken sleep because I could sleep it off later, now there is not so much free time to recover. There is not so much leeway to be less than 100%. I could just get myself a poor grade (and I often would) and still graduate. Now I would risk letting down a kitchen full of people, or a dining room full of customers because my mind is hazy. So I've taken to getting my heart rate up at least once a day, exercising and getting regular sleep. I feel this keeps me up and focused so when the chef gives me a laundry list of things to do I can remember them and execute them. Or when I wait tables I can recite the specials in a coherent and tantalizing manner so that the customer can't help but get one of those.
For example, on a slower night when I'm not stuck to my station the chef will have me run his random kitchen errands. He'll start a creative project and then let me finish it, checking in on me here and there to make sure I haven't slipped up.
1) Pork shanks just came in. Experiment. Seasoned flour (dried rosemary, tarragon, salt/pepper), dredge them and saute, brown nicely. Cool off, prepare braising liquid.
2) Veal stock, rosemary, lemon, a little water, mirepoix - bring to simmer and start braising. Middle oven, about 275-300 for a few hours.
3) Find the couscous, warm it up, keep it hot.
4) Sauvignon Blanc poached pears, bring to boil, reduce to simmer for 5 min., off heat.
5) Apricot nectar, reduce by half.
6) Dice strawberries, apples, carrots.
7) New salad tonight, you're doing the mise-en-place: romaine hearts, fresh apple slices, grilled apple, whole grain mustard dressing, candied walnuts
8) Caramelize the pineapple with brown sugar/cinnamon/little cayenne ... I don't care how, just get it brown; broil it, convection oven, I don't fucking care just do it.
And the night will start off something like that. He'll only tell me once, and I can ask him to remind me but he gets pretty annoyed and looks at me like I'm retarded.
I've found when I'm hungover or tired this usually goes very poorly.
So I keep healthy not just to avoid getting fat and staying in shape for ultimate, but so I can perform at a high level. So I don't look like a chump. So I can learn.
And it's had wonderful effects so far. My body runs on a shockingly regular and light amount of sleep (6-7 hours, as opposed to like 9-10 while in school), I feel great, I feel stronger and faster for ultimate, I feel more focused and driven for food. Even though I don't always know why I feel one way or the other, I've generally found sticking to a routine and being a creature of habit has produced more good days than bad. The next step is eating better. Working in a kitchen is obviously conducive to eating a lot, and sometimes unhealthy stuff. We get a family meal around 430 but that's it. So my dinner usually consists of light snacks throughout the night. I work at the apps station a lot so I eat a sort of canape. Focaccia crostini with some antipasti toppings. Sicilian roasted red peppers (garlic, focaccia breadcrumbs, capers, olive oil, red peppers), smoked fontina cheese with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes, a little Italian chicken salad. The goal is to make the whole body more efficient.
I'll have to let you know how it works after the weekend. I feel pumped up for this tournament, my first seriously competitive one since Regionals. I feel I've improved my stamina and can play Sam Kanner-esque defense for a point or two. Perhaps I've gotten better at frisbee since leaving Frisbee House? Let's see. Here we go, NURD!
EP#6
That being said, I am woefully ignorant of my own body and how I feel. Some days I have seemingly limitless energy, and this energy supports a high-octane feeling of well-being. Other days I feel like hell and have to drag my dead-weight body out of bed, my misery only barely dulled by strong coffee. Not only do I usually not figure out that I'm feeling like crap until I have a slip-up, but I always have a hard time identifying why I feel that way. And that goes the other direction too, I usually am blissfully unaware of why I am feeling awesome. This is not a post-college phenomenon. But now that I have more a routine and there's less cheap alcohol in my life, my day-to-day state of being is made more apparent.
I don't think there's always a concrete reason as to why I feel one way or the other. My energy levels can be affected by very minor events (these include Disney songs coming up on shuffle, sharing eye contact with someone pretty [now that I live in Boystown ... very flattering], getting to cut onions, getting to saute onions, coming across the smell of a good taqueria). And the same goes for the negative. So the choice of conclusions before me are either I am very much unaware of myself or that I am so capricious that slicing sulfurous vegetables can jack me up.
Damn.
I mention this because I think physical energy and awareness is now oh-so-important to me succeeding in my career, or anything for that matter. Whereas in college I could eke by on a few hours of drunken sleep because I could sleep it off later, now there is not so much free time to recover. There is not so much leeway to be less than 100%. I could just get myself a poor grade (and I often would) and still graduate. Now I would risk letting down a kitchen full of people, or a dining room full of customers because my mind is hazy. So I've taken to getting my heart rate up at least once a day, exercising and getting regular sleep. I feel this keeps me up and focused so when the chef gives me a laundry list of things to do I can remember them and execute them. Or when I wait tables I can recite the specials in a coherent and tantalizing manner so that the customer can't help but get one of those.
For example, on a slower night when I'm not stuck to my station the chef will have me run his random kitchen errands. He'll start a creative project and then let me finish it, checking in on me here and there to make sure I haven't slipped up.
1) Pork shanks just came in. Experiment. Seasoned flour (dried rosemary, tarragon, salt/pepper), dredge them and saute, brown nicely. Cool off, prepare braising liquid.
2) Veal stock, rosemary, lemon, a little water, mirepoix - bring to simmer and start braising. Middle oven, about 275-300 for a few hours.
3) Find the couscous, warm it up, keep it hot.
4) Sauvignon Blanc poached pears, bring to boil, reduce to simmer for 5 min., off heat.
5) Apricot nectar, reduce by half.
6) Dice strawberries, apples, carrots.
7) New salad tonight, you're doing the mise-en-place: romaine hearts, fresh apple slices, grilled apple, whole grain mustard dressing, candied walnuts
8) Caramelize the pineapple with brown sugar/cinnamon/little cayenne ... I don't care how, just get it brown; broil it, convection oven, I don't fucking care just do it.
And the night will start off something like that. He'll only tell me once, and I can ask him to remind me but he gets pretty annoyed and looks at me like I'm retarded.
I've found when I'm hungover or tired this usually goes very poorly.
So I keep healthy not just to avoid getting fat and staying in shape for ultimate, but so I can perform at a high level. So I don't look like a chump. So I can learn.
And it's had wonderful effects so far. My body runs on a shockingly regular and light amount of sleep (6-7 hours, as opposed to like 9-10 while in school), I feel great, I feel stronger and faster for ultimate, I feel more focused and driven for food. Even though I don't always know why I feel one way or the other, I've generally found sticking to a routine and being a creature of habit has produced more good days than bad. The next step is eating better. Working in a kitchen is obviously conducive to eating a lot, and sometimes unhealthy stuff. We get a family meal around 430 but that's it. So my dinner usually consists of light snacks throughout the night. I work at the apps station a lot so I eat a sort of canape. Focaccia crostini with some antipasti toppings. Sicilian roasted red peppers (garlic, focaccia breadcrumbs, capers, olive oil, red peppers), smoked fontina cheese with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes, a little Italian chicken salad. The goal is to make the whole body more efficient.
I'll have to let you know how it works after the weekend. I feel pumped up for this tournament, my first seriously competitive one since Regionals. I feel I've improved my stamina and can play Sam Kanner-esque defense for a point or two. Perhaps I've gotten better at frisbee since leaving Frisbee House? Let's see. Here we go, NURD!
EP#6
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Front of the House vs. Back of the House
My apologies for the hiatus. A week of starting work at Blu, moving, and working in the kitchen kicked my ass. But here I am, ready to rock, living in Chicago at the Buckingham Palace, ready to start anew.
Now that I live in a real person apartment, I feel I can finally get a rhythm going and start really setting the eyes on the prize. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time living at 912, and a great time living at Frisbee house. But the time has come for me to move on from living with 11-13 people under one roof. And the time has come for me to get out of Evanston. Oh wait...
Yeah two jobs in Evanston. Not really leaving that college bubble yet. Oh how I dread serving you NU punks at Blu. Students just tip poorly, I don't blame you but it's the facts. The past two weeks have made me realize a few things about serving.
I haven't waited tables for years, and to be doing it for a job I guess is okay. The money can be good, and the job has relevance to my career, but it can just be a huge pain in the ass. Trying to placate a customer who clearly just wants nothing more than to bitch and moan at every given opportunity takes supreme patience. It's easy to keep a smile on when you're serving a nice customer. It's disproportionately harder to keep that smile genuine when dealing with a serious jerk. So here I am, at the juxtaposition of the restaurant business; front of the house vs. back of the house. Both are absolutely crucial to a successful restaurant. In fact, many people, myself included, believe that a restaurant with great service and mediocre food wins out over a place with stellar food and mediocre service.
Why is that? Well that's the heart of the restaurant experience I guess. People go to restaurants to celebrate, to relax, to have a good time mainly. The food can sometimes be secondary to that experience. People want to feel waited on and treated well, to let someone else take over the reins for an evening. An impeccable wait staff can really do wonders to compensate for kitchen mishaps, or poorly executed food. After all a restaurants profits really depend more on regulars and repeat customers than experimental newcomers. To earn regulars, to keep regulars, you need a well-oiled front of the house.
But then you ask the dangerous question; which is easier? Both sides love to argue that their job is harder, and me being a cook at heart definitely makes me a little biased. But I'll try to analyze this as objectively as I can.
Let's start with front of the house. You make more money, or at least you usually make more money. You work less hours (fact not opinion), you get to shower, dress nice, smell good and converse with customers, really use your people skills. You get AIR CONDITIONING. You get to see firsthand how a customer is enjoying their meal, their whole experience. You get thanked in person and get the satisfaction of knowing your customer is happy if you do your job right. That gratitude is manifested in cold, hard cash.
But then again, when things are going badly it can be real bad. When a customer gets pissed off, or wants to send back a dish it's you who has to grin and take it. To weather the verbal assault, to settle the anger, to alleviate the awkwardness. You have to make things right and it's not always concrete on how to do it. Every customer is different, is fickle and requires a different approach. Sometimes it's not even your fault but your income will be afflicted by it either way. No matter who you are, having someone be pissed at you never feels good. Messing up an order, not serving as you know you should, or god forbid spilling something is a terrible, terrible feeling.
Back of the house. The good? You get a fixed salary, and a steady job. A lot of waiters have to supplement their jobs with second jobs. You can usually sit pretty with one. You can learn a lot, the physical act of cooking can be both rewarding and fun. You get to flex your creative muscles here and there, and best of all you don't really have to deal with shitty customers if you're a line cook. You just keep your head down and do your job, and if you love that job like I do then it's great.
Oh but there's plenty of bad. The kitchen is a fierce place. It. Is. Hot. You will be gross and sweaty by the end of it, reeking of some kind of animal flesh and covered in a just perceptible film of grease. You work long ass hours doing manual labor and a lot of the times it's in a state of high stress and panic. On a busy night you are in an insane frenzy of cooking that can easily go horribly awry. You just have to rely on your muscle memory and most basic brain functions to go at that speed. If you fuck up a dish, if it gets sent back? Damn, that's a bad feeling too. And all the while some fat guy is yelling at you to go harder, faster no matter if you're doing well or not. You can injure yourself, you WILL injure yourself at some point, and generally it's thankless. You are a faceless, non-existent entity, simply an extension of the chef's creativity and genius. You are an integral part of the machine, but like so many obscure parts in a car engine, most people don't know what you do until you're gone.
The funny thing is, being a chef blends those aspects together. Most chefs these days present themselves in the dining room occasionally, or at least put their faces on websites so people know who's making their meal. So Blu can really help me out a bit here, I can get some more serious experience knowing what it takes to make the front of the house work. But which do I prefer? Which do I think is genuinely harder? Being a cook of course.
Those conditions sound pretty bad, but that's something you can love about cooking. I don't know how to quantify it so well, but all of that actually sounds good to me. It is truly a labor of love, and I feel bad for cooks who hate their jobs and do it solely for a living. It is truly a back-breaking job, and a spirit-breaking one at that if you don't derive any pleasure from it.
So here we go, establishing my life rhythm downtown, embarking on my culinary adventure to learn everything about restaurants. I'm playing catch up to the greats. I want to be great. So this year will hopefully be enough time for me to play some ample catch up. Grant Achatz unabashedly said, "I want to be famous. To be famous means you're the best." Well, Chef Achatz, you certainly are famous. Everyone knows who you are, and when I went to your cooking demo I seriously wasn't expecting a full house, standing-room only event where everyone knew you and wanted to see your magic. So you changed me then. You showed me firsthand the power of food, and I want to reach your level. Hopefully I will see you soon enough.
EP #6
Now that I live in a real person apartment, I feel I can finally get a rhythm going and start really setting the eyes on the prize. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time living at 912, and a great time living at Frisbee house. But the time has come for me to move on from living with 11-13 people under one roof. And the time has come for me to get out of Evanston. Oh wait...
Yeah two jobs in Evanston. Not really leaving that college bubble yet. Oh how I dread serving you NU punks at Blu. Students just tip poorly, I don't blame you but it's the facts. The past two weeks have made me realize a few things about serving.
I haven't waited tables for years, and to be doing it for a job I guess is okay. The money can be good, and the job has relevance to my career, but it can just be a huge pain in the ass. Trying to placate a customer who clearly just wants nothing more than to bitch and moan at every given opportunity takes supreme patience. It's easy to keep a smile on when you're serving a nice customer. It's disproportionately harder to keep that smile genuine when dealing with a serious jerk. So here I am, at the juxtaposition of the restaurant business; front of the house vs. back of the house. Both are absolutely crucial to a successful restaurant. In fact, many people, myself included, believe that a restaurant with great service and mediocre food wins out over a place with stellar food and mediocre service.
Why is that? Well that's the heart of the restaurant experience I guess. People go to restaurants to celebrate, to relax, to have a good time mainly. The food can sometimes be secondary to that experience. People want to feel waited on and treated well, to let someone else take over the reins for an evening. An impeccable wait staff can really do wonders to compensate for kitchen mishaps, or poorly executed food. After all a restaurants profits really depend more on regulars and repeat customers than experimental newcomers. To earn regulars, to keep regulars, you need a well-oiled front of the house.
But then you ask the dangerous question; which is easier? Both sides love to argue that their job is harder, and me being a cook at heart definitely makes me a little biased. But I'll try to analyze this as objectively as I can.
Let's start with front of the house. You make more money, or at least you usually make more money. You work less hours (fact not opinion), you get to shower, dress nice, smell good and converse with customers, really use your people skills. You get AIR CONDITIONING. You get to see firsthand how a customer is enjoying their meal, their whole experience. You get thanked in person and get the satisfaction of knowing your customer is happy if you do your job right. That gratitude is manifested in cold, hard cash.
But then again, when things are going badly it can be real bad. When a customer gets pissed off, or wants to send back a dish it's you who has to grin and take it. To weather the verbal assault, to settle the anger, to alleviate the awkwardness. You have to make things right and it's not always concrete on how to do it. Every customer is different, is fickle and requires a different approach. Sometimes it's not even your fault but your income will be afflicted by it either way. No matter who you are, having someone be pissed at you never feels good. Messing up an order, not serving as you know you should, or god forbid spilling something is a terrible, terrible feeling.
Back of the house. The good? You get a fixed salary, and a steady job. A lot of waiters have to supplement their jobs with second jobs. You can usually sit pretty with one. You can learn a lot, the physical act of cooking can be both rewarding and fun. You get to flex your creative muscles here and there, and best of all you don't really have to deal with shitty customers if you're a line cook. You just keep your head down and do your job, and if you love that job like I do then it's great.
Oh but there's plenty of bad. The kitchen is a fierce place. It. Is. Hot. You will be gross and sweaty by the end of it, reeking of some kind of animal flesh and covered in a just perceptible film of grease. You work long ass hours doing manual labor and a lot of the times it's in a state of high stress and panic. On a busy night you are in an insane frenzy of cooking that can easily go horribly awry. You just have to rely on your muscle memory and most basic brain functions to go at that speed. If you fuck up a dish, if it gets sent back? Damn, that's a bad feeling too. And all the while some fat guy is yelling at you to go harder, faster no matter if you're doing well or not. You can injure yourself, you WILL injure yourself at some point, and generally it's thankless. You are a faceless, non-existent entity, simply an extension of the chef's creativity and genius. You are an integral part of the machine, but like so many obscure parts in a car engine, most people don't know what you do until you're gone.
The funny thing is, being a chef blends those aspects together. Most chefs these days present themselves in the dining room occasionally, or at least put their faces on websites so people know who's making their meal. So Blu can really help me out a bit here, I can get some more serious experience knowing what it takes to make the front of the house work. But which do I prefer? Which do I think is genuinely harder? Being a cook of course.
Those conditions sound pretty bad, but that's something you can love about cooking. I don't know how to quantify it so well, but all of that actually sounds good to me. It is truly a labor of love, and I feel bad for cooks who hate their jobs and do it solely for a living. It is truly a back-breaking job, and a spirit-breaking one at that if you don't derive any pleasure from it.
So here we go, establishing my life rhythm downtown, embarking on my culinary adventure to learn everything about restaurants. I'm playing catch up to the greats. I want to be great. So this year will hopefully be enough time for me to play some ample catch up. Grant Achatz unabashedly said, "I want to be famous. To be famous means you're the best." Well, Chef Achatz, you certainly are famous. Everyone knows who you are, and when I went to your cooking demo I seriously wasn't expecting a full house, standing-room only event where everyone knew you and wanted to see your magic. So you changed me then. You showed me firsthand the power of food, and I want to reach your level. Hopefully I will see you soon enough.
EP #6
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