Celery Garnish Gone Bad

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You know it's been a long weekend when I ask for the manager over a stalk of celery. The photo doesn't show you just how slimy the leaves of the celery were, but that's not what first caught my eye while dining at the airport in Nashville. Who can't miss the fact that the stalk is twice as big as the glass itself, threatening to topple it? Normally you just grab the celery and heave it sideways, but the slime leaves stopped me cold. When we pulled the celery out of the glass, it was spoiled on the bottom, too. Slimy on the top, spoiled on the bottom. This garnish should never have been presented to a customer.

All right all right, so I've had a little too much training now in prevention of food spoilage as part of my "controlling foodservice costs" class. But seriously, you can't let a little thing like rubbish slip by. I asked for the manager and was told "the manager is managing other restaurants right now." Oh really. Then whom can I speak with?

The staff sent over the bartender, poor guy. Turns out he was only a server, filling in for the bartender, who had broken her leg. OK OK, that backed me down a bit, so I merely suggested  a) leave the stalk out if it's spoiled or b) at least trim it down to size and of any slimy leaves/stem. I was nice about it. I simply asked him to remove it from my presence. He was not publicly redressed and no one got hurt. Flights took off on schedule.

I realize airport restaurants have weary travelers at their mercy. What's the chance they'll see you again due to a good or bad experience? They deal in volume, and they'll always have it. Still, I hope the server thinks twice over my small complaint. I hope the other server who brought the drink will watch the garnish next time. When you're paying $8 for a simple Bloody Mary, the least you can hope for is a fine green stalk and 3 olives.

Mind the Manners

This summer the ladies and I hoofed it to the Dallas Arboretum for time with the flowers. While strolling along, a friend grabbed my arm to see the following spectacle (above). That's you! she exclaimed. I didn't understand until she pointed out that most of the flowers were alike, but one flower dared to blossom in its true colors. She wanted me to see that I stood out. She knows how I agonize over this. I do believe we're on this earth to represent our real gifts and talents, but sometimes I struggle with what that should look like.

My ideas are hopelessly old-fashioned in the mod world. At Culinary College, I believe students should be seen and not heard unless called on. I believe in wearing the uniform because that is the expectation and the price of admission to class. You want to study here? Bring your cravat and sit down, on time, with your bouche ferme.

Yesterday in Culinary Class we had the usual interruption: A student arriving late to class, and loudly. "Where are your pants?" the teacher asked (there were pants, just not student chef pants). "Where's your cravat, where are your shoes??????"

Really? You're late and you're undressed after this many months in school? And you draw attention to yourself in this way? Julia Child would have waved the cleaver (one hopes).

When the student was told to could come back to class when correctly attired, she didn't just mouth off. She expleted. "This is Bowl Spit," she griped, only not those words. Worse, she stood there arguing the justice of the decision.

I was appalled - that a student would address a teacher in such a manner and have no regard for the time she wasted for her classmates. And then, she left, but came back without the shoes. When told to leave again, it got worse, and more uncomfortable for all of us. I'm old-school because I'm intolerant of such poor manners.

I wanted to bust her chops after class, but I'm not in charge and not the boss. I wanted to say "Listen, stop bringing the drama; you're using up everyone's time right before finals." What I really want to do is assign her to watch the grease dumpster. Yep. There should be a chair right beside it - a penalty box kind of thing.

I did see in one classroom that a chef has a toque, and it's marked, "I was late to class." Wonder who has had to wear THAT?

Message to unruly classmates: Showing your true colors may not make you stand out in the field. Or if it does, you're red for all the wrong reasons.

The Egg and I

Let's get into the egg Donnybrook.

Before all shell broke loose with the salmonella recall, I experienced a moment of great wonder at Culinary College. Above you see the willing hand of my baking friend Candace, who on a rather ordinary day cracked open an egg and discovered TWINS! See the double yoke? Have you ever seen that before?

I've cracked a lot of eggs in my time but never come across this phenom from the natural world, but Chef assures me that he has and it does happen. At school we spend a lot of time learning about eggs - their components, their behavior, how whites and yolks have different functions in cake batter - and how to use that to your advantage. Egg shells are porous, did you know that? Their contents can evaporate moisture; they can also absorb odors.

Do you think the students have been told to stop making hollandaise or mayonnaise because of the egg scare? Goodness no. We're still at it with the whip and the drip of butter or oil, depending on the recipe. Still learning how to poach eggs in swirling, vinegar-charged water. Still painting egg wash on croissants. Our school teaches proper care of eggs but with some recipes, you have to use raw eggs. As Chef says, "You're a culinarian. Take your life in your hands. Live dangerously. That's what we do."

Long live the incredible egg.

Jeanne lives in the state where the egg scare is coming from. Let's see if we can get her to weigh in on the mood there . . .