Cutting Potatoes, Part Deux

Chef looked at my board and was very quiet as he lifted pieces of potato, examined them, turned them and rolled them in his hand. "The batonnets are getting better. Work on the smaller cuts." As he he walked away, I heard him say, "We'll get there." I wanted to shout in reply, "I'll make it, Chef!" But I only dropped my head and gave him a demure "merci, Chef."

I live with the hope.

I had stolen into the Foundations 1 lab two hours before class and had hoisted a few potatoes from the walk-in. Alone in my endeavors, I had cut and cut and cut shapes, without anyone looking, but progress just wouldn't come. Then later in class, Chef unexpectedly told us we'd have a little drill today - several cuts in various sizes, a specific number of product for each cut - and only two potatoes. Mon dieu, I would need to think about waste and save scraps.

I could feel everyone's tension and tried to breathe as I whittled away, and then Chef did something interesting. He turned on music. That seemed to drop a few shoulders down below the ears. I managed to finish on time, and then we gathered near the stove to see Chef finish a chicken fricassee in white sauce.

Can I describe the moment at the stove? I was admiring the white sauce as he stirred it in the pan, smelling the aroma and listening to the music. In a flash, I realized the symphonic addition was from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind," the moment when Richard Dreyfus walks into the alien ship, in a total state of awe. I heard those five "tones" they played to talk with the aliens, bum bee bum, ba buuummmm. And then I was weeping.

I quietly pulled out my Grandmother Daisy's dusty rose handkerchief I carry for moments like this and dabbed away. You see, I've never felt this emotional connection - sort of a powerful intersecting moment when smell and sound and sight all blend harmoniously - in a workplace cubicle before. And in that moment when tears came, I was grateful, so grateful.

Grateful to be standing at the intersection.

Cutting Potatoes

.

Number of 10-pound bags to get this tourneed potato, two batonnets and one Julienne: THREE.

Off to class. More tonight. Practice makes - practice.

Culinary School: The Beginning

The Band-Aid count is: Are we counting by Band-Aids or different fingers? Perhaps number of fingers is best. So the count stands at 3 different fingers I've wrapped during practice on knife skills for culinary school. Is that average? Do we count nicks or slices only? When I stand in the daily lineup for inspection, does it count for me that I have wrapped fingers, showing that yes, practice at home is going on and yes, I know basic sanitary care, or does it count against me as clearly a simpleton who can't hold a potato without it "sauteing" into the air. You know that "saute" means to "jump" in French, oui? Mais . . . 

Today is Day 15, and I am still standing at culinary school. You won't find bashing of any Chef Instructors or other students here - because that's not the experience I'm having, which is good to say. So far I've learned much more about myself - my view of my own math skills, my ability to push through fatigue - than I've learned about any individual. After all, everyone looks just like me when we're all wearing kitchen whites (save for the Chef Instructors, whose hats must stick out of their sunroofs when they drive home).

If you're asking, "is it fun? I've always wanted to do that", I'd reply that it's important that you be open to understanding like this: You don't know much, less than you think you do, and you need to start from scratch, in all likelihood, if you want to do cooking the French way (and naturellement I do). You aren't paying all that lettuce to go tell somebody how much you already know. The way I figure it, if you can pull an A in the basic foundations class, what are you in there for?

The aspect of fun is the self-discovery that happens - and for some people that wouldn't fit the "fun" category. For me, it's work, but it's the work of discovery and yes, I'm enjoying the effort required.

When Jeanne and I were at the Roger Smith Writers Conference in New York over Valentines Weekend, we heard from Kathleen Flinn, who wrote a book called The Sharper Your Knives, the Less You Cry about attending the world's most famous culinary school. Think Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina. At that point, I had no idea I'd be going myself, but the title of her book fascinated me, so I dove into it. I had a wrong idea about the book based on the title: I thought it would be about the sort of boot camp humiliation that surely would be doled out to hapless students like me. But that's not the case. Read it, enjoy it as I am, because you'll get a great sense of how it feels, tastes, smells and looks when you go to culinary school.

This morning I've been through 3 Band-Aids on the same finger. I've stopped cutting, because once you sense that it isn't working, you're tired or there isn't enough light, just stop, stop it now. Safety first.

That's one of the first lessons you'll ever hear in culinary school. Excuse me now, I have to go iron my hat.

Red Tulips

Where have I been the last few weeks? Inside a culinary school looking around, and if truth be told, I've decided to take up the banneton. A new baking and pastry program has just been introduced at the school, so it's a marvelous time to sprinkle the flour in a new location outside of Singing Wheat Kitchen, which gets more than its share of the annual average per square inch.

If running away to join the circus is no longer in the cards, then surely learning the culinary arts will be just as high-wire glorious and I do see some similarities - working with flames, juggling objects, certain costumes, the knife work, secrets of the candy apple.

How much baking I'll do on the side is anyone's guess, but I do consider it homework and research. Let's all cheer for new insights that give my skills fuller flair and broader personality.

The red tulips are to remind me that everything can open up beautifully with a little faith, courage and a frisson of sunshine. Why not embrace the springtime as a time of growth and reach? Think of the new friendships, the new connections. Think of hollandaise, think of all the mother sauces, imagine tempering chocolate and bending it to your will. More abundant daily bread.

It's all so richly glorious!

"Cup" Cake Challenge

I did, indeed, issue a challenge to my co-blogger to test a 5-minute chocolate cake.It is not my recipe, however. It came from a Facebook page.

As a baker, I tend to be skeptical of things "baked" in the microwave oven. But fans of this quickie cake in a cup were eating it up.

So I had to find out what the buzz was about. So, I baked mine in a little bowl, thinking it would be more shapelier than a tall thin mug-cake. And it was. Except for the lopsided, wavy top caused by the fact that it didn't rise evenly in the microwave oven. When I released mine after "baking," the cake was full of tiny craters. Texture was tough. Kind of like biting into tuggy French bread. That's NOT quite the texture I like in my cakes.

Maybe the egg added to the rubbery tugginess: think scrambled egg overcooked in the microwave with the addition of flour, sugar, and cocoa.

The taste? Well, horrid. Perhaps, as Michelle, err, Mama Mia suggested, the cake flavor might be improved by dark chocolate chunks, mint, orange peel, something....anything. I tried to boost the flavor of mine by adding a new chocolate-vanilla extract from Mexico, but it didn't help. Still too dry (maybe "baked" too long?) and texture challenged.

On the positive side? It was quick. Whipped it up in a coupla minutes. Baked 3 minutes. I sprinkled it with chocolate chips and vanilla chips (which I hate, but thought they would break up the darkness on the plate).

I didn't like it. Not one bit. Except for the gooey chocolate chips melting on top of the warm so-called cake. Michelle didn't talk much about the flavor. She probably was being polite since she thought it was my recipe. But it's not. So, Mama Mia Michelle. Did you actually taste it? And what did you think?

5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.

Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.

Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.

Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts (high). The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.

5 Minute Chocolate Mug Cake

Jeanne slipped me an interesting challenge. Make a mug cake in five minutes. The sweeter the research, the better, so I followed the recipe on a Sunday afternoon, as daffodils popped their leaves in a gentle rain.

Know what? Her recipe works. From stirring batter in a mug to a final spin in the microwave, the whole creative process took five minutes. This opens up entirely new territory in the "I've got a craving and no place to go" category. If you've got flour, sugar, some cocoa and an egg, you're on your way to the fastest fixer upper I've ever tasted.

The recipe suggests adding semisweet chocolate bits, but now that I've made it, I sense a longing for a deeper chocolate experience.

Don't misunderstand: The version as given below works quite well. But if you want to fling it up a notch, fiddle around with some of the flavored dark chocolates, instead of the semisweet versions. Try adding a little orange peel, a splash of orange liqueur, or a chocolate liqueur such as Kahlua. You might even give it a splash of Kirschwasser - a nudge with the cherry brandy.

I'm thinking a splash of mint flavor, too. Now that I know it really bakes up in 5 minutes, I feel like playing around a little with the same devotion I would give the tango - hand to the heart, head to the floor.


5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE

4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix 
thoroughly.

Pour in the milk and oil and mix well.

Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.

Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts (high). The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed! Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.

EAT! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous). And why is this the most dangerous cake recipe in the world? Because now we are all only 5 minutes away from chocolate cake at any time of the day or night!

(photo featuring a commemorative plate of the Marine Transportation Building, New York World's Fair 1939.)

Wine Biscuits

Do you ever slip into one of those moods where you just have to try something different in the same vein as kids who come up with science experiments the day of science fair? I once had an assignment due for a Humanities Class. The subject was architecture. I blanked on it until the night before, when I found myself making a high school out of pumpkin bread (and aced it).

But appallingly, I digress.

The fact is, I came across a recipe for wine biscuits and had never seen, heard, sampled or baked anything of the sort before. What is their purpose, other than as a peppery vessel to hold up your cheese? The recipe calls for cabernet sauvignon and I only had pinot noir on hand, so the wine essence was not as deeply soulful as I would have longed for. But the pepper announces itself after you've tasted the sweetness of the biscuit - well, not a biscuit but more like a cookie with a hole in it.

The purpose of the hole? It's beyond me. Try the recipe without the hole and report back. There must be something we can do about the color of the finished product, but if you're topping this biscuit with cheese, it won't matter much.

Were I to make the wine biscuits again, I'd wait for another rainy day. I'd use a better grade of pepper, freshly ground, and a fuller-bodied wine. The recipe suggests 4-6 tablespoons of sugar. You might think of skipping that last tablespoon, but I wouldn't. I tried it and ended up dusting the top of each cookie with superfine sugar. The dough was just too savory without it.

A wine biscuit is not a sweet confection; it's a savory item that would go well with spreadable cheeses and fruity beverages such as sangria, in the manner suggested by King Arthur Flour.

I think an herb such as chopped rosemary could help lift this biscuit to another level. Something more is what I want. Something with kick that turns a wine biscuit into a sweet memory.




(photo featuring wine biscuits and a World War II era handkerchief from Hawaii, sent by a Marine to my mother, Rosie)