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
Saturday, November 28, 2009
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
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