Posts Tagged ‘knives’

10 Cooking: Exhaustion Takes a Seat

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

The tears are beginning to fall

The tears are beginning to fall

Now that we’re about to move into our new stations, the constant pressure is beginning to show. Several people have mentioned that they’re not sure what they’re doing in this class. “I don’t intend to work in a restaurant” is a common refrain. Many of us joined up to learn to cook well, and what we’ve been exposed to is the grundgiest side of the restaurant business: the conflicts among different personalities, the constant greasy clean-up, petty jealousies and continual time pressure—put that together with being relegated to one station at a time, making one thing over and over rather than learning a lot of different techniques—some of my fellow students are headed for the door. I’m not among them. The adrenalin rush of having to put up or shut up within a short period of time (you burned it? Make it again, and quick!), combined with the hurried atmosphere of people rushing about, all bent on making it all come together by 11:30 (when the restaurant opens) is strangely addictive. Plus, I’m actually learning a lot. The textbook is excellent, and just by being in the kitchen, I learn something new every day (no, my knife isn’t dull—it’s easier to cut a bell pepper through the soft inside rather than the tough skin. Duh.) Next: I become one with soup.

09 Cooking: Vegetable Stock and the Meaning of Life

Friday, October 23rd, 2009

The snake is optional

The snake is optional

Stock is the foundation of all formal cooking. Most of us get it in cubes or jars, or in boxes from Trader Joes. Fact is, it’s kind of a pain to make, at least the first few times. After that, you’re seriously addicted. You’ll feel virtuous because you’re not throwing away those perfectly good but tough onion peels, celery bottoms, carrot chunks, tomato ends, parsley stems and other vege items. Not the potatoes, though—they and the squash go hand-in-root to the compost pile, along with anything strongly bitter (I’m talking to YOU, endive and kale) or boldly colored (unless you love beet red—then it’s OK). Mirepoix (that mix of ½ onions, ¼ celery and ¼ carrots) in any amount is the basis for all stocks, whether vegetable, white (usually made from chicken bones, though traditionally from veal bones), or brown stock (definitely veal or beef bones). A vegetable stock is the easiest to make, and super versatile. I realize I’m a renegade, and worse, the daughter of depression-era parents, but I save all my onion, carrot, celery bits plus whatever else I’ve cut up in a quart bag in the freezer until it’s full. Learning that potatoes and their bumpy cousins were responsible for my cloudy stock modified my habits, however. I’m not at all careful about proportions, though I often end up with the right amount of onions because they’re in everything I cook. I used to roast it straight from the freezer, but I’ve found I really don’t need to. I dump the washed bits into water to cover plus a little more, bring it to a boil then turn it down to (oh, these cooking phrases!) a “lazy bubble”—aka a slow simmer with the occasional bubble breaking the surface. Cook uncovered for 45 minutes, and strain. This makes a great basis for soups and sauces. If you, like me, are space-challenged, cook the strained, clear stock down (again at a lazy bubble) until it reduces to the amount you need. As Chef says, “You can always add water”. When you make vegetable stock, you have found the true meaning of life-save the good stuff, make the best use of it, have patience, and the results are versatile and satisfying.

08 Cooking: A Crook with No Fingerprints is a Cook

Wednesday, October 21st, 2009

And it's almost Christmas again!

And it's almost Christmas again!

Remember that scene in The Polar Express (2005) where the waiters come in with hot chocolate and sing the “hot, hot” song? A lot of people sing it in the kitchen, along with  “sharps”, “knife”, and “behind you”.

The hottest place in the kitchen—and the most likely to do damage—is on “the line”—the sauté cook, griller, and griddler are all in a row, and all burners on the 25-foot line are on full-blast. It’s Death Valley sculpted in steel, coated with liberal amounts of clarified butter. The line cooks wait for an order to come in, and depending on what it is, can have several orders blazing away at once. It’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, and if you lose concentration, a lot of opportunities for 3rd degree burns. Most of us, if we’ve cooked before at all, have already managed to burn off our fingerprints by reaching for the pan/pot/utensil without thinking. Mystery writers could have a field day with this fact.

There’s also a sandwich station, which supplies the coffee shop; a garde manger station (pronounced “gard manJAY”—oh, you sound so French) for salads and cold appetizers; a prep team, who cut all the vegetables and do some of the other foundation preparation such as side dishes; the student meal team who come up with the eats, a student chef who finds out what the different stations need and makes a list each day, and yours truly—packing veges and herbs, “fabricating” meat, fish and poultry (yes, that’s what it’s called), making the occasional stock, and up to my elbows in soapy, greasy water at least three times a day. I brought in a little red devil rubber duck that sits on the sink dividers—patron saint of the pot sink. Next week, I’ll be student chef—I can’t tell whether I’m moving up or down in the world.

07 Cooking: Bitchin’ in the Kitchen/People Soup

Tuesday, September 29th, 2009

We line up for the student meal.

We line up for the student meal.

The knives truly come out after a few days. We have a few students who insist on instructing others—true fonts of un-requested advice and correction. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. You haven’t lived until you’ve been busted by a Kitchen Nazi—I got it (rightfully) for not carrying my knife point down—a dumb move; fortunately I’m ignorant, not stupid. But free advice can be mighty unwelcome: it takes some longer than others to understand that unsolicited advice from someone who knows little more than you do is just plain annoying. The worst part is, sometimes it’s GOOD advice, but you become deaf to it because—well, if these people are in a beginning cooking class, why should you listen to them? Aren’t they there to learn too? Could they secretly be scouts for Iron Chef? How’s my hair?

Most students are hard workers who will pick up any job, no matter how messy—earning the respect and gratitude of others. Others, alas, have earned the sobriquets “Kitchen Barbie” and “debutante” (yes, that CAN be a guy) and their names are included in the phrase “Where’s …?”, always followed by an eye roll and derisive snort. This is the big kitchen Zen lesson, since it’s all about helping each other. There’s no squeaking by in the confines of the big gray room—EVERYBODY notices if you take frequent breaks, disappear, or don’t dive into the gross bits. And there are always gross bits, more than you’d ever suspect.

We’ve begun having student meals prepared by members of our class, which are close to heaven—just a few bucks for some decent-to-great chow and a variety of sinful desserts from the pastry people. Everyone is going to be on that station eventually, so what used to be complaints about “too much salt, not enough thyme” has turned into finding what’s right about the meals—what goes around etc. In this little hive, all the bees have stingers, but we can make some powerful honey, too.

06 Cooking: Sharpening up

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009

Tools of the trade...

Tools of the trade...

We saw a truly informative video about knives. We all have our “kits”, which we carry around in cases, like ominous flutes. The knives are very, very sharp—basic kits include a 10-inch chef’s knife, 8-inch boning knife, 3-inch paring knife and a peeler among other tools. Several of us took turns sharpening on a stone, which involves precise angles combined with a Pilates-like twist of the upper body. This has to be good for the core. I worry for my fingertips.

The kitchen has stations, like an army has divisions. My first assignment is Receiving/Butchering/ Pot Wash. Receiving is a flurry of activity, putting away boxes of produce and icing down fish and meats. Meats go into the walk-in covered with plastic wrap; fish are in a drain/sieve pan in a hotel pan (square/rectangular stainless steel pans of various sizes), covered with plastic wrap, then with ice. They have to be re-iced daily. The exceptions are shellfish such as mussels, which drown, so must be iced under the drain pan. Pot wash is exactly what it sounds like—wet and greasy. Butchering is endlessly interesting, even for a semi-vegetarian like me—I think of it as surgery.

Facing his fate with courage and determination

Facing his fate with courage and determination

I can now break down a chicken (fortunately for me, headless, footless and plucked) into eight parts in a couple minutes. Here’s how:

1. On the chicken’s backside, make a shallow cut with your knife down each side of the backbone.

2. Hold the chicken up by the tail and cut through the ribs on both sides all the way down to the neck following the shallow cuts, taking care not to cut through the breast meat. Keep the backbone for the stockpot.

3. Open the chicken up and take out the firm piece of cartilage that runs inside the breast by making a close cut with the tip of your knife around the V-shaped end and getting your fingers under the upper bony part (you’ll leave the wishbone in). Cut the breast in half by pressing down on the knife where you’ve just removed the cartilage and bone (you’ll split the wishbone in half).

4. Flip each side over and press down with your fingers between the upper thigh and breast—make a clean cut there on both sides.

5. Separate the thigh from the drumstick by feeling for the joint between them, and cut around and through it.

6. On the breast, feel for the wing joint closest to the breast meat, and cut through (the tips are pretty useless, but you can use the larger part of the cut wing for “drummettes”). This configuration—with the bit of wing left on—is called an airline cut.

7. Make a diagonal cut on each breast to separate it into 2 equal pieces: Voila! An 8-piece chicken!

01 Cooking with Cons & Prose: I Swap the Pen for a Pan

Saturday, September 12th, 2009

Who’s sautéing your weenie? I’ve enrolled at a Culinary Academy that teaches the Cordon Bleu method in a nearby city—the catch is, this is at a local college, and the chef/teacher warned me I may be with “the sort of people you may not be used to—people just out of jail, and so forth.” Evidently I don’t give off street vibes.Professional Cooking--our text

I haven’t commuted in years, and this course required me to be downtown at 9AM (actually BEFORE that, as I’m required to change into my “whites”—cooking uniform—at school for sanitary reasons). I decided to try the ferry first—it’s crowded but fast. In the week I’ve been in school, I’ve already seen a few familiar faces on the boat, including “she who never shuts up.” Apparently, this woman commutes with friends or co-workers, and carries on a lively, very loud conversation every morning. She has a distinctive “New Yawk” accent. Since my brain is barely turning over and I’m trying to read, I’ve considered throwing a wadded-up newspaper at her to try to break her train of thought. However, that train continues, speeding down the rails and crushing all in its path. I may get wet standing outside, but the icy spray is soothing in comparison.

The book (it weighs eight pounds, yikes!), uniforms, and knives are pretty pricey, but I already feel professional. Whatever that means.