Baby Cow Face

I have been slacking in my posts but in my defense… I have been feeling pretty stationary lately. I grill steaks, I make polenta, I grill fish and asparagus, I roast pork tenderloin – every day kinda feels the same… BUT NOW… we are in the process of transitioning the menu into the new season and so we are getting to play with new ingredients and techniques.

Today was that day. In the restaurant business, cold weather is almost synonomous with braising, which I absolutely love.

Our executive chef wanted to introduce two braised items as specials tonight. The first being ossobuco, a braised veal shank served over saffron risotto and topped with fresh, whole parsley leaves tossed with fresh lemon juice and zest.

The second, and the one I was more excited about because he gave me complete control over the execution, was braised veal cheeks. I know for many, the idea of veal seems cruel and even more so, the idea of veal cheeks.

“It’s baby cow face…” he said jokingly when he described it to our servers.

Putting that aside for a minute, here was my concept for the dish.

Because veal is a young meat, it has very little fat. Fat is what makes meat moist and so in order to gain moisture, it has be tenderized and/or cooked in such a way that moisture is retained. This is why braising is ideal.

Braising is essentially a combination of moist and dry heat cooking. Meat is typically seared at a high temperature to brown (dry heat) and then finished in a covered pot with liquid (moist heat). The liquid will break down the collagens and connective tissue in tough cuts of meat, causing the meat to moisten and nearly fall from the bone (if you’re doing it right…)

Enough… I’m no Alton Brown…

I seasoned the cheeks generously with salt and pepper, very lightly coated them with a salt/pepper/flour mix and seared them in a very hot cast-iron pan with blended oil (I would have preferred to use clarified butter but we had none and I had limited time and could not make my own – having to also set up and prep my station for regular service in addition to working on the special… excuses, excuse, I know…)

Once the cheeks achieved the rich brown crust I was after, I rested on a roasting rack and began to work on my braising liquid.

I chopped carrots, onions, fennel and celery and sweat them in butter. I added garlic, sage, cinnamon sticks and juniper berries. In a seperate pot, I was heating a mix of black mission fig puree, red wine and veal stock. Once the liquid came to a boil, I turned off the heat, added it to my vegetables, put the cheeks in a hotel pan (I used two of them so as not to overcrowd) and poured the mix over them, filling each pan about half-way. I then covered the hotel pans with aluminum foil and put it in the oven at 375 degrees for about 4 hours.

You will have to take my word on this put I removed the pans from the oven and opened the aluminum foil the first time to check them, it smelled amazing.

Our dishwasher, Paula, caught a wiff and moved closer, wanting to know what was happening and in some sort of awful spanglish, I attempted to explain what went on. I don’t know how much sense I made or how much she understood but it was bueno to her and that was good enough for me.

I removed the cheeks from the liquid onto a baking sheet and covered them with plastic wrap to retain moisture.

I then strained the braising liquid from both hotel pans and reduced the liquid to a rich, almost melted-chocolate looking sauce that I finished with butter to give it a shine and a little richness.

I served it over a bed of oven roasted fingerling potatoes, fennel and baby carrots – I was supposed to get a shipment of cipollini onions that would have added extra class to the dish but they did not arrive (jerks…). I tossed the veggies with olive, salt, pepper, garlic and rosemary before roasting. I then topped the cheeks with my glorious brown sauce and garnished with a mix of chopped parsley and scallions.

It was divine…the meat was CRAZY TENDER – very similar in taste to short ribs – but more tender. Vegetables – perfect. Sauce was even better than it looked – and it looked amazing. Okay, enough bragging…

I was very proud – and I think chef was too – I did get a “f&%king good” out him – and you really can’t ask for more than that. Tomorrow it makes it big debut for customers and one of our servers promised to push it as much as possible.

When it’s my creation, I say “Push the sh%t out of it.”

I’m Fine, Thank You…

my beautiful apartment.

I am very fortunate to have a best friend who will host such an obvious disaster while this decision is under construction. I assume my first step, which I am convinced is 85% of the answer making it happen – is money. I need to begin saving in addition to settling a number of current debts. Of course, my first month is dedicated to pampering myself after devastation of condensing a bohemian-chique, one bedroom apartment into a single bedroom.

I have to give myself credit here, I think I did an amazing job. I kept my clothes, books, music, artwork and kitchen stuff and got rid of everything else. The only sting was giving up my couch – 10 feet long, crushed velvet with wood carved piping down the arms and across the bottom. It was the kind of couch a Victorian heiress would swoon on after an overwhelming exchange… or a lovably-superficial, black, gay guy could buy second hand on craigslist. Same thing.

So far what I am loving most is that I am basically living the same self-endulgant lifestyle I was before – but now I can pay for it myself instead of borrowing money from everyone I have ever known. I have even thrown in a few cultural shopping sprees – famers markets, more books, pad thai, argyle, canvas shoes. Next month, which is in just a few days, I will get down to business. Contacts need to be… contacted, work visas need to be inquired about, money needs to saved.

I’ve been off since Sunday and it has been amazing. I already know Wednesday is going to suck but I will deal with that later. Tomorrow… or technically, RIGHT NOW, I turn 32. I’m too old (or so i’ve been informed…) for a party and shockingly low-key but I do have a few rituals that I started in high-school.

1. I don’t work
2. I eat whatver I want- all day – any time.
3. If I have the cash for it – I buy it.

At midnight, I go back to making myself feel guilty for the purchases and regretting everything I ate. I already had tacos after midnight and I’m thinking about cupcakes at some point tomorrow…

Yeah, with an S. cupcakeS.

Hot Child in the – Paris?

I’m not sure if I hinted at this in a previous post but I recently made a pretty HUGE decision. Within the next six to eight months, I hope to continue my culinary journey in Paris.

It’s not original… in fact, it’s pretty cliche (for rich people) but it’s also a life changing, terrifying opportunity…and I swear I wanted to do this well before Julie & Julia.

It might seem more fitting at this time to consider Italy since I have been cooking at an Italian restaurant for almost two years, which blows my mind. I still can’t believe that I am finally doing this for a living. No regrets in the slightest. Though you wouldn’t know it by my excessive tempter tantrums in the kitchen but because I am a self-diagnosed bi-polar, I counter my rage with generous, well-crafted “family meals”, witty and engaging banter (we killed a whole night taking turns picking which celebrities we would kill, hook up with, and marry – you are presented three celebrities and put one in each category – you’ve played this before, right? and emotional support when time and feelings allow, however, I went to a french culinary school and am looking forward to returning to my roots.

No one makes you feel more insecure about your culinary ability than the french. I miss that. I want to get back to being a little scared going into the kitchen and being made to feel like crap if you miss a step in your execution. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment… and judging from my love-life and previous employment, I am… but I like kitchens where perfection is not just encouraged – it’s required.

My first step in making this a reality was that I gave up my apartment. My beautiful, beautiful, over-priced oasis in one of the trendiest areas of the city… excuse me for a moment….

Cioppino Vino

Tonight was… Interesting. For a moment, it was all out war over a steak. It began as such…

Things really heated up for my station in the middle of service. Keeping in mind the size our restaurant (less than 40 people) I had tickets for seven ciopinno, 6 steaks, 2 chicken and 2 salmon and a porchetta (stuffed pork loin). Each entree had multiple garnishes and sides, many of which have to be made on the fly. All burners were occupied.

As the end was in sight, our final ticket had three steaks. Problem was… there was only one left.

This is not a cool thing to happen – for everyone involved. Servers need to be notified and then they have to endure the horror of going back to the table and telling the customers that two of them cannot have a steak and the behavioral consequences depending on the nightmare-level of the customer (we all have that friend or relative who is a total jerk to a waiter or busboy).

What we decided to do instead was offer to subsitute the sirloin for the skirt steak we use for lunch, which I happened to have at my station. The server claims to have notified the customer but that is still pending investigation… particularly, after a “favor” I was asked for by him but I won’t totally rat him out. I kinda want to hook up with him and don’t want to ruin any chance of a drunken mistake (fingers crossed).

Two sirloins and one skirt went out and after a minute, one of the sirloins came back. Apparently one of the steaks ended up being a mistake and one of the customers already started eating the skirt, leaving a fuller sirloin as a leftover. Seconds after that, there was a complaint over the size of the steak. Why did we not offer the sirloin that was returned to the customer? That answer we will never know but it resulted in a total battle between the front and back of the house that ended up involving the executive chef and the GM. Silent treatment and cold stares followed for about an hour. We all eventually got over it. One person apologized and everyone else caved as well, including myself and the GM bought us all chinese food at the end of the night. Free food can end any dispute.

Prior to that, something interesting happened to me. I took a liberty with one of the chef’s recipes and he noticed it. Depending on the chef, this could escalate into something really bad. It seems like a small thing but when egos are involved, there is sometimes is no small thing in the kitchen. and I get that…

We were running a Cioppino special and the chef let me have pretty free range with the execution. He told me what ingredients to use and some basic preparation guides but for the most part, he let me make it my own – and the response has been very good – both from the customers and the staff. A few of the servers made a special effort to tell him that the feedback on the floor was really positive, which was a huge solid for me.

Tonight, however, I question going a little too far when he told me originally to use white wine as I built the broth and I went with red. I believed that the red wine gave the broth a deeper color and taste. I really wanted the broth to have more of a rust color but did not want to push it too much with the chef. I also did this because we had run out of our white cooking wine and were already borrowing low-end whites from the bar.

He happened to catch this as I was in the early stage of prepping it and while he didn’t say anything to me about it, I could have SWORN that I saw him raise one of his forearms in a WTF manner.

I built the Cioppino as follows:

I sweat onions and shallots then added Bonito (smoked, dried and shaved fish) and red pepper flakes. I did this to develop a spicy and broth with a noticable pronounced taste.

I then added red wine and allowed it to reduce for a bit before adding clam juice – more reduction and then pureed tomato. I allowed it to reduce often to concentrate flavor and would occasionally thin it out with a fish stock (that I took the initiative to make with the bones of one of our fish entrees… am I tooting my own horn?) and adjusted seasoning throughout service and as more stock was added. I must have had about three bowls on increments of tablesppons here and there.

When an order was fired, I steamed clams in white wine and clam juice. While waiting for them to open, I seared diced swordfish and shrimp. Seared the swordfish just enough to color the ouside and then allowed them to continue cooking with the tomato broth and clams then seared the shrimp until they turned began to turn pink and then finished them in the broth as well.

While waiting for the shrimp to cook. I grilled calarmari just enough to mark them and finished those as well.

I took these steps in an effort not to overcook the seafood, recognizing that they each had different cook temperatures – professional cooks, in case you are thinking it – no, my clams did not overcook. I realize it sounds like the opened clams were on high heat for a long time.

I then plated by adding an exaggerated piece of toasted bread with a saffron rouille to wide bowl, then added the large shrimp then spooning the remaing seafood, then adding enough broth to envelop the cluster of seafood, topping it with more Bonito, which kind of danced in the breeze and fresh parsley.

A total pain in the ass to make but worth it. There was a gasp by someone almost every time I plated one, which totally thrilled me. I also delighted in noticing that at any point I looked up looked up or over someone was watching me.

It was a great moment and feeling, which is probably why I didn’t thow a tantrum when I got an order (not too bad of one anyway…). I do worry about the chef’s feelings on the wine but probably will not mention it if he doesn’t.

And the Special Is…

This week has been a tough one. Chef is vacationing overseas and terrifingly enough, has left me in charge of the kitchen. I have been working lunch and dinner shifts, which is nice as an hourly employee but I am having trouble adjusting my sleep schedule to this change and so… not really sleeping.

I was also given permission to run a couple of my own creations as specials and ran my first one tonight.
What I decided on was a roasted corn and mushroom Mezzaluna with a chive-butter sauce and garnish of fresh, roasted corn kernels.

I made a puree of roasted corn and Shiitake mushrooms, which I used as my flavor base and learned from another cook how to use risotto as a binding agent that would make a firmer filling that would not make the pasta soggy or susceptible to breaking apart. When making the risotto, I felt it best to incorporate the ingredients that I described on the menu – those being corn and mushrooms, so I saved the ears after I removed the kernels for the puree and made a concentrated corn stock that I used with a quick mushroom broth made from the stems as the liquid to cook my risotto. I also added the corn ears to the risotto since they were large enough to pick out but I felt I could extract flavor from them while cooking the rice. I added the rice the corn/mushroom puree and pureed again until I had a smooth charcoal filling pierced with golden flakes from the corn.

I also set some of the corn stock aside to use as the liquid for the butter sauce that I garnished with finely chopped chives and corn kernels.

I decided on the classic Mezzaluna shape because I find them both interesting and the perfect bite size and what I like best about the dish is that the butter sauce provides a richness while the mushroom and corn have an earthy quality and yet together, the dish is light enough and appropriate enough for the weather.

We made 16 servings and sold 11, which I was happy with. Of course, the arrogant, emotionally needy side of me wanted not only sell out completely but have each guest come by the window and sing my praise.

That didn’t happen but the response was good and the servers, knowing this was important to me, would call me to show me each empty plate that they returned to the kitchen – and that felt good. Financially speaking, it was a profit – which is also good.

Tomorrow night, I will try to sell it out and run another special with the remaining chicken breasts. All I know so far is that I want to use baby carrots…

Am I Not Clear… Or Are You Just A Huge F$#!ing Moron?

Today, I did a lunch and dinner shift, which was great because I could use the extra hours.

There were a couple of tasks, I wanted to get done during lunch serivce and so when I drafted the prep-list for the next day, I requested for the daytime cooks to do the following
(btw, if anyone is reading this and you can persuade me that I was someone not clear enough, I would love to hear it):

Medium dice, 4 onions
(an actual size illustrastion was also presented here – with an arrow pointing to it that read “should be this size”)

Small dice, 4 onions
(a similar illustration and arrow reference)

Medium dice, pancetta (2 rolls) [they come in 5lb logs]
(similar illustration and arrow reference)

Marinate Calamari with Rosemary, Garlic, and olive oil

I also provided labeled, plastic container with the two onions and the pancetta.

One of the things that makes the kitchen such a unique atmosphere to work in, is that it is such a mix of cultures and personality types – and with little interaction with the public, we can often express ourselves with little filter. There are those who are there because they want to be and might have goals of someday having their own restaurant or becoming an executive chef – and those who bounce from kitchen to kitchen with more interest in a steady paycheck than in the food itself. I am dealing with one such person. She runs back and forth from her station for about four hours, each time remembering another thing she forgot to bring from the walk-ins, she needs to told how to prepare things between 4 and 6 times and often STILL does not get it right or even finish, she is a notorious gossip (yes, I realize I am gossiping about her but it’s adorable when I do it…) and at one minute past the end of her shift, she is halfway down the block, leaving behind a host of unfinished items. I suppose I feel a little self-righteous because I could made a hefty downpayment on a house with the cost of culinary school instead of renting an apartment that commands about 80% of my monthly income.

Here is what I got back the next day:

5 onions that were all one size – and not either of the sizes in my illustration – too small to be “medium” and too large to be “small”. Got to give her credit for pulling that one off…

The pancetta was decent but in a totally different, plastic container.

Calamari was marinated – but perhaps just rosemary and olive oil, I later discovered that she pureed about a quart of garlic and stored it away.

We playfully made bets the night before that my illustrations and detailed list would not break through but I was positive – cocky even. After all… I’m a people person. I pride myself on my ability to explain things well. All I have to say is… thank God I didn’t bet money.

When I passed by the window and say all three of my plastic containers empty, my heart sank and my temper began to flare. How could this have happened? ANYONE could have done what I needed based on that list.

When I asked her about the onions, which were all over her cutting board, she looked at me and pointed to half “These are small,” and to the other half of he board “and these are medium”. I was about to lose it… and possibly lose my job for freaking out.

“these look exactly the same and they are either too big or too little.”

blank stare…

“cut these smaller please and put them in this container” pointing to the container marker “small dice, onions”.

I needed a cigarette immediately and left to have one in the garage.

I went on a mini-rampage to one of the servers and a great guy…and actor… who constantly does impressions of Sammy Davis Jr. and/or Peter Falk. I’m not sure which.

When I returned the onions still were not small enough and she pulled another container from the dish rack to hold them. Why???

Mind you, the entire time, my list and graphics were taped directly in front of her.

I realized that I was basically on my own for the shift. I did pretty much everything, spoke very little to her and occasionally cursed. At the end of the shift, she actually asked me to make lunch for her and one of the dish washer, at which point, I had to leave the premisis. The assistant GM and I raced up the street to try Georgetown Cupcake for the first time. Thank You Red Velvet… thank you.

Yes, It’s Been A While…

Life has been moving so fast and there have been so many changes – personal and professional, that by the time I found the energy to update, I noticed my last entry was almost a year ago.

To bring those who still have any interest up-to-date, I did very well at the pasta station. It was very demmanding and I liked it. I learned to make pasta, sauces, and be more organized as a cook. I needed to have a constant tally of what was available in the walk-ins, how much to prepare for service, what I could continue to work on during service and what needed to be done for the next day.

- We lost our executive and sous-chef in what apparently a very common move on-ward. For a while, two of us were left for evening service and we worked 7 days a week. It was brutal. Then she left me to go on to Poste. I was very happy for me and very sorry for myself. I had to learn everything- FAST! I learned to order food from vendors, do inventory, a new station (Grill), schedule staff. I did this for about two months before we hired a new executive chef. Really great guy.

- I had my first triste with a line cook. you don’t know him.

- I graduated from Culinary school in December. My family joined me for the celebration. It was a great time. Then they abandoned me to move to Portland, OR.

- I was honored as “employee of the quarter” by the inn.

- I had my second triste with a line cook

- I was promoted to lead-line cook.

- I have the apartment to myself again. The freedom is just as sweet as I remember it. The loss of rent contribution is also very apparent every month. Things are tight. But somehow, I make it work. The day when I look back on these trying times and laugh can start now…

- There were some high-level firings. New management lurks.

That’s pretty much it. I am now the lead cook and responsible for the hot entrees. New chef, new menu, new staff, new frustrations. Things are going well. I’ve learned a lot of recipes that I will share in future posts.

Wah…Wah…Wah…

Warning… there will be spelling mistakes… and I can’t be bothered to fix them…

It’s been a ridiculously long time since my last post despite several big developments.

The hours have been long and the heat – unforgiving – even more so in a kitchen.

If you are out having a leisurely meal at some cute cafe with your friends, laughing, drinking, dining and casually mention to them how hot it is - take just a moment to think about the poor bastard who just made your meal in same heat with the additional degrees added from 12-24 running gas burners, 2-6 ovens set at 500 degrees and running around in a chef coat in search of chives for your garnish or a freakin’ stainless steel bowl to mix your mixed green salad. Then go back to enjoying yourself and your meal … it’s the only thing that makes this torture worth while.

Days off are precious. So much so that for the last several weeks, I just couldn’t see myself thinking “you know what would be awesome to do instead of sleep or lounge around on my ass… update my blog that no one reads…”

But while in between therapists, I feel compelled to expound upon the last few weeks. And it’s a dousey… so much so that I am going to need to make a series of posts.

Stay tuned…

It Figures…

As soon as one area of my life seems to be going well, others seem to be on the verge of crumbling. School is going very well. My grades are fantastic and chef seems to really like me. Now for the first time in my life, I have run out of favors to ask and my rent is due tomorrow and I have… nothing. I am staring a possible eviction right in the face and I have no idea what to do. I am trying to stay focused on school but it seems that things are falling apart…

So… if any of my 4-5 loyal readers know of any well-to-do homeowners in the area who have a basement apartment and aren’t too hung up on profiting but rather feeling generous or sympathetic enough to rent to a culinary student with a seasonal heart of gold, let me know… because baby needs to move.

I am currently staying in the very trendy Logan Circle area of NW DC, which, in retrospect, I don’t think I could ever afford. But what is a gay guy with great taste and little income to do?

My original dream of meeting an older-yet well preserved gentlemen in the neighborhood and moving into his rowhouse, that he has paid for in full by now, has not exactly materialized.

I’m kidding, of course.

It doesn’t have to be a rowhouse. A condo is fine.

Still Alive

It has been a while since my last post, which I know was a bit dark. The last week has been much more positive. I will elobaorate more tomorrow. It’s currently past my bedtime but I will share all the good news tomorrow.