As if I needed another reason to be such a lucky culinary student.
Bon Appetit named State Bird Provisions 2012's Best New Restaurant, followed by a wonderful article to boot. This coincides nicely with Danny Bowien exporting San Francisco staple Mission Chinese to New York. (Mission Chinese took Bon Appetit's #2 distinction last year). A mere 49 square miles worth of food reputation continues to grow, upwards and outwards.
Damn; I had yet to make my way to State Bird before the uber-press got there. I feel like I'll be regretting my patience.
Nonetheless: congrats, Chefs! And thank you for molding this little peninsula's culinary landscape. What a fantastic place to live and learn.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
On site: 8.10.12. The nuts and bolts of catering
We're going to City Hall, for a high-profile event. And I gotta look good. I mean, that's what the e-mail said.
 |
| The fruits of some of my labor: snap pea salad and a milk-braised pulled pork slider with fennel slaw |
I was stuck in a sticky, hot corner of a makeshift kitchen, so did it matter whether I had actually put on eye makeup? Eh, not really.
This event could have gone smoother. And that's putting it diplomatically.
We were hit with some changes in our timeline: passed hors d'oeuvres started 45 minutes before they were supposed to (eeeep!), and the buffet started earlier than scheduled as well. Oh, and guess what? We were serving 200 big eaters -- farmers and gardeners, hello (sweeping generalizations, hello). Yeah, there was nothing left. It's nice that there was so little waste, because catering is prone to it. That notwithstanding, we shouldn't have run out of food the way we did, or been subjected to such mad scrambling.
You'd like to avoid these mishaps, but you can't prevent them entirely. It's difficult to be flexible in catering. In our mini-disaster, staff should have gotten there earlier. But the call times for employees were sent out a week ago; can you manage to get ahold of your employees, only hours before they're supposed to show up? Maybe, most likely not. Did we even know the timeline was going to change -- that guests would, maybe, start showing up earlier than expected, or that there might have been some miscommunication between client and staff? Did we realize one of the cooks wasn't going to show up, for whatever, most likely valid, reason? In these cases, we can't exercise much disaster management once on site. Heavy. Sigh.
However, these messy scenarios also reveal why I find catering so intriguing. The sheer level of planning that goes into a small event is mind-numbing. Get ready for your eyes to glaze over, because I'm about to list some things you'll need to consider when catering an event. Skim it if you're not organized and anal-retentive to the very core:
Your food. What elements need to be prepped ahead of time, what should be prepped ahead of time, and what can or needs to be made on site. What about a detail as delicate as a garnish? How will you store the food with the facilities and equipment you have? Is the food appropriate for the event? Events are often planned six months in advance -- so what produce is going to survive potential drought or crap weather to be good enough to serve once the event comes around? Caterers aren't soothsayers. I get to go to the market with my soon-to-be Chef this week; there, he truly sees what's good, produce at it's peak. In that respect, he has a major advantage over caterers.
Your venue. Is there a kitchen? If there is, what equipment does the kitchen have? Will you need to bring certain equipment? If there isn't a kitchen, how will you set up? Do you need ovens, burners? Does the site have the electrical capacity to handle your equipment? Will you need to set up tents (if you're outdoors, for example)? How many tents? Oh, P.S. Some of those kitchens, and excuse my French because I will use it sparingly on this blog, can be fucking gnarly. I still shudder at the thought of those few. Ew.
Your equipment. For the kitchen to consider: bowls, butane burners, butane, hotel pans, spoons, whisks, lexans, bus tubs, coolers, plastic wrap, aluminum foil, platters, plates, sternos, ovens, tables, risers for the tables, uniforms, knives, cutting boards, towels, gloves, vinegar and water, sanitizer, soap, first aid kits, extension cords, Crescors, freezers, dry ice for the freezer. For the front of house to consider: saucers, flatware, silverware, glasses, coffee cups, trays, folding tray stands, linens, uniforms, tables, chairs, carpets/mats, portable bar(s), liquor, wine and beer (and their permits), coffee, water, cocktail shakers, coasters, bus tubs, dance floor, stage... and the appropriate size, quantity and type of each of these items.
How will these items be transported? How will you pack the truck?
Your staff. How many cooks? How many servers? How many captains on the floor? How long will they work? Will you drive them there, or will they get to the site themselves? And who will do what? Certain employees might be better suited to certain events. There's one guy at my work who's always working the charcuterie action station, because he has the perfect "look" for it. And there is always an A-Team.
Your timeline. When will your staff arrive? How long will setup take? When will cooks begin prep work? When will guests begin arriving? When will most or all of the guests arrive? If there are hors d'oeuvres, when will they be passed and when will they finish passing? When does everything need to be set-up, prepped and served so that you're ready for your guests?
There. You're welcome?
Oh, yeah, and you need to load and unload everything. So keep yourself fit, which I've realized I have to do just to keep injury at bay. Doesn't mean I am fit...crap.
Restaurants require much more planning to get off the ground, no question about that. But they're not subject to this sort of rigidity once they're open for service. At this point, I'm speaking only from limited experience, so I'll get back to you in three months with a more detailed comparison.
Sidebar: I still won't be an expert on the hospitality industry at that point, so don't take my opinion too seriously. Kay? Kay.
What did you do in all of this madness, Ms. Author? See the colorful salad at the top of this entry? I worked on that.
It was presented on buffet tables in tiny, individual, Chinese take-out boxes. Thirty to a platter, six platters made. Tedious, indeed.
Oh, but the components came together so well. Sugar snap peas, radishes, edamame, julienned red peppers, hajiki, scallions and sesame seeds, all tossed in a miso vinaigrette and garnished with micro cilantro. Hajiki? Heh? It's the black stuff in the photo. Similar to seaweed, it grows on rocks along the shorelines of China, Japan and Korea. It added an interesting texture (somewhat tough, very savory) to the slightly mealy edamame, crispy snap peas and radishes. From the point of view of a cook on a learning curve, who was in the weeds, the micro cilantro was a pain. I didn't think it lent a whole lot of dimension to the salad, but it looked slightly prettier with it.
I also learned, from a more experienced cook I was working with, that the scallions are so delicate they might tend to "cook" in the vinaigrette. Taking this into account, because I had to mix two large batches of salad in advance, the scallions weren't so much "tossed" with the salad as they were used as a garnish, sprinkled on top.
The veggies all looked gorgeous in the tiny to-go boxes: the red and white of the radishes contrasting with the bright green of the peas, beans, and scallions, the black hajiki, the dots of golden sesame seeds, all in the whimsy of little to-go boxes, filling up a large, square tray -- muah! I would have taken a picture, but alas. The hungry crowd made the servers nervous, and they were, understandably so, breathing down my neck for platter after platter.
I ran out. What's on the plate was my dinner, the straggling peas and radishes leftover in the Lexan, inadequate for another serving.
The tiny sandwich pictured above is a milk-braised pulled pork slider with fennel slaw on a mini brioche bun. Yum. The lonely sammie was one of about seven that I had for dinner. Talk about not keeping kosher! I assembled a few dozen of these as well. Easy task. They were a huge hit.
I also chopped some chives for a chilled corn soup. Note: need to find a better way to chop chives. Sounds like a useless piece of information, but I'm writing all my thoughts down. Including observations about my inadequate knife skills. So deal with it, meager Internet audience!
***
A certain Chef who has a certain TV show about pulling restaurants out of the merde made a snide, backhanded comment in the British version of his show. Upon inspecting a disgusting fridge, he commented that the state of such a kitchen was "an embarrassment to catering, let alone a restaurant."
Echem... what?
I hope that, from what I've detailed in this entry, it's apparent good catering requires a massive amount of organization, planning and skill. No doubt there are bad caterers, just like there are bad restaurateurs, cooks and chefs. But a good caterer is not just ultra-organized, they can also churn out fantastic food (above) that pleases a hungry crowd. So let's give them a little respect.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Serious lessons in fun from SF Chefs
I took an old friend with me to SF Chefs "Decadence after Dark," their Saturday night event. It all started at this Pisco booth:
Where we had this:
First things first: a delicious cocktail, with chili, avocado, lime and egg whites? Uh-huh. Yeah, just that drink, in and of itself, was a damn good time.
The food was what I expected: delicious, thoughtful, seasonal. And now, I'm about to delve into the magical combination of food, alcohol and good people.
My friend was freaking out a little too much about attending such a foodie-centric event. While we were standing in line, she shared her fears with me:
And what I told her next goes for everyone else "scared" of the food scene, or those who might find it "snooty:"
Tell the chefs you like their food. That's it. The fact is: those chefs know more than the average foodie, who might be prone to wax poetic about the acid content of ceviche, or have a penchant for the word "unctuous." But that's me, largely digressing.
But sometimes, it really is that simple.
As a culinary student, I understand the importance of dissecting a dish; of analyzing and speaking like a "foodie." This might mean I'll comment on the acid, bitterness, sourness, sweetness or savory umami characteristics of a dish. If I'm dining alone, I take notes with my Catch app (for the record: I love dining alone as much as I do with others). Yet some of my more memorable eating experiences have come when I was dining and drinking on happy autopilot. A four a.m. meal in Kreuzberg, at Hasir: braised lamb swimming in a lovely, paprika-heavy tomato sauce that was easily lapped up by fladenbrot and rice. But I was tipsy, and my friend so very gone she dribbled that delicious sauce all over herself. Or how about a Winter dinner of roast meats and greens in a Berlin suburb, with American exchange students and a German family, preceded and followed by a round of egg liqueur and puh-lenty of beer? And don't forget the Abendbrot! Oh-oh-oh, the charcuterie in Germany. I wasn't analyzing any of these meals. I was focused on enjoying myself and my lovely friends, in lovely settings.
The beautiful thing for me is that if I came across those flavors again, I would be able to place them. I'm convinced it's because the memories of those meals are positive, fond and, most importantly, so fond they're recalled on a regular basis.
Which finally brings me to my main point. At the end of our SF Chefs romp, my friend said something that made me happy for days:
Ah. And to think she nearly wanted to run away before entering the tent. I have a feeling that experience provided a revelation because it was so fun. Our night was the perfect combination of friends, food and drink.
Culinary students can learn from a little bit of enjoyment, too. If we can happily recall an experience, we're more likely to remember it, and therefore more likely to remember why we liked it so much.
I drank at SF Chefs; I was certainly not drunk, but I definitely had a good buzz going. Alcohol, in addition to numbing your other senses, also numbs your palate. Yet I remember that my favorite dish was the scallop crudo with sweet peppers and ginger; that I enjoyed it so much because the ginger gave it a bit of much-needed zip; I remember learning something new about poke from Chef Alexander Ong; and I remember learning that liquid nitrogen will keep the Thai basil in a Thai basil daquiri from oxidizing, which keeps the flavors pure and the drink cold without watering it down with ice. I'll remember these things because I will probably reminisce about this night more than a few times.
Culinary students are going to be in the business of providing enjoyment. Shouldn't we understand what it means to thoroughly enjoy food? I will still use the words acid, bitter, sour, sweet, umami and even unctuous. I might even share extensive tasting notes with my Internet audience. But there's more to food than picking it apart.
Note: I will put together an album for this event, showcasing the beautiful food. It'll appear in an update.
Where we had this:
First things first: a delicious cocktail, with chili, avocado, lime and egg whites? Uh-huh. Yeah, just that drink, in and of itself, was a damn good time.
The food was what I expected: delicious, thoughtful, seasonal. And now, I'm about to delve into the magical combination of food, alcohol and good people.
My friend was freaking out a little too much about attending such a foodie-centric event. While we were standing in line, she shared her fears with me:
Natalie, I'm nervous about my inability to discuss food intelligently... Maybe I could try drawing ties between the presentation of a dish and a major historical event? I know about history.
And what I told her next goes for everyone else "scared" of the food scene, or those who might find it "snooty:"
Tell the chefs you like their food. That's it. The fact is: those chefs know more than the average foodie, who might be prone to wax poetic about the acid content of ceviche, or have a penchant for the word "unctuous." But that's me, largely digressing.
But sometimes, it really is that simple.
As a culinary student, I understand the importance of dissecting a dish; of analyzing and speaking like a "foodie." This might mean I'll comment on the acid, bitterness, sourness, sweetness or savory umami characteristics of a dish. If I'm dining alone, I take notes with my Catch app (for the record: I love dining alone as much as I do with others). Yet some of my more memorable eating experiences have come when I was dining and drinking on happy autopilot. A four a.m. meal in Kreuzberg, at Hasir: braised lamb swimming in a lovely, paprika-heavy tomato sauce that was easily lapped up by fladenbrot and rice. But I was tipsy, and my friend so very gone she dribbled that delicious sauce all over herself. Or how about a Winter dinner of roast meats and greens in a Berlin suburb, with American exchange students and a German family, preceded and followed by a round of egg liqueur and puh-lenty of beer? And don't forget the Abendbrot! Oh-oh-oh, the charcuterie in Germany. I wasn't analyzing any of these meals. I was focused on enjoying myself and my lovely friends, in lovely settings.
The beautiful thing for me is that if I came across those flavors again, I would be able to place them. I'm convinced it's because the memories of those meals are positive, fond and, most importantly, so fond they're recalled on a regular basis.
Which finally brings me to my main point. At the end of our SF Chefs romp, my friend said something that made me happy for days:
I never knew you could experience food like that. That you could taste all of the components and appreciate a dish so much.
Ah. And to think she nearly wanted to run away before entering the tent. I have a feeling that experience provided a revelation because it was so fun. Our night was the perfect combination of friends, food and drink.
Culinary students can learn from a little bit of enjoyment, too. If we can happily recall an experience, we're more likely to remember it, and therefore more likely to remember why we liked it so much.
I drank at SF Chefs; I was certainly not drunk, but I definitely had a good buzz going. Alcohol, in addition to numbing your other senses, also numbs your palate. Yet I remember that my favorite dish was the scallop crudo with sweet peppers and ginger; that I enjoyed it so much because the ginger gave it a bit of much-needed zip; I remember learning something new about poke from Chef Alexander Ong; and I remember learning that liquid nitrogen will keep the Thai basil in a Thai basil daquiri from oxidizing, which keeps the flavors pure and the drink cold without watering it down with ice. I'll remember these things because I will probably reminisce about this night more than a few times.
Culinary students are going to be in the business of providing enjoyment. Shouldn't we understand what it means to thoroughly enjoy food? I will still use the words acid, bitter, sour, sweet, umami and even unctuous. I might even share extensive tasting notes with my Internet audience. But there's more to food than picking it apart.
Note: I will put together an album for this event, showcasing the beautiful food. It'll appear in an update.
Monday, August 6, 2012
CCSF Culinary fundraiser @ Il Cane Rosso, 8.25.12. Good for culinary, good for the college
On Saturday, Aug. 25th, the City College of San Francisco Culinary Arts and Hospitality Studies Department will host a fundraiser at Il Cane Rosso, in the hopes of keeping the program alive. The evening will offer three passed appetizers, a three-course meal (veg option included) and wine pairing, all for $50. That, my friends, is a steal!
Here's some background on CCSF's financial woes, and me, genuinely waxing poetic, carried away by sleeplessness and a lingering hangover from SF Chefs' Grand Tasting. Manohmanohman.
In the middle of Spring semester 2012, this is what was freaking most of us students out. And that's when City's culinary department started kicking it into high gear. The efforts of faculty members to get more fundraising events off the ground, besides our annual Wok on the Wild Side mainstay (oh we kicked it into high-gear for that madness, too), were only borne out after discovering this Summer that the entire college was imploding.
So while Culinary Arts and Hospitality Studies is but one arm of City College, we are an important one. Eighty percent of our graduates are placed in jobs immediately after graduating -- a dizzying figure when compared with the rest of the college. Walk into a restaurant, and you will stumble over successful CCSF alum. We are everywhere, we work hard, and, most importantly, I've found that we are an invaluable resource for one another.
The flipside of the Culinary Arts Department's financial trouble is that we cannot succeed without an accessible institution like City College. We cook in bulk, serving 900 affordable meals a day for an entire campus, providing us with an educational experience totally unique to our program; we're able to work (our butts off), and graduate with minimal to no debt in an industry that starts at the very low end of the pay scale. That's what City is all about; without City, our careers, our education as culinary professionals, isn't the enriching experience we've come not just to expect, but appreciate as well.
But if us culinary students can kick butt with a few events, like the upcoming fundraiser, then maybe we can prove to the Accreditation Commission for Community and Junior Colleges that there's one reason to keep the CCSF ship sailing. We can't represent the History Department, or Chemistry, or Paralegal Studies, but we can represent ourselves, and all that City College has provided for us in the careers we love.
Feel persuaded to come show your support? Love the SF food scene that CCSF alums have helped mold for decades? Well, then, here's all the info you need for the fundraiser at Il Cane Rosso. I hope to see your lovely faces there!
Here's some background on CCSF's financial woes, and me, genuinely waxing poetic, carried away by sleeplessness and a lingering hangover from SF Chefs' Grand Tasting. Manohmanohman.
In the middle of Spring semester 2012, this is what was freaking most of us students out. And that's when City's culinary department started kicking it into high gear. The efforts of faculty members to get more fundraising events off the ground, besides our annual Wok on the Wild Side mainstay (oh we kicked it into high-gear for that madness, too), were only borne out after discovering this Summer that the entire college was imploding.
So while Culinary Arts and Hospitality Studies is but one arm of City College, we are an important one. Eighty percent of our graduates are placed in jobs immediately after graduating -- a dizzying figure when compared with the rest of the college. Walk into a restaurant, and you will stumble over successful CCSF alum. We are everywhere, we work hard, and, most importantly, I've found that we are an invaluable resource for one another.
The flipside of the Culinary Arts Department's financial trouble is that we cannot succeed without an accessible institution like City College. We cook in bulk, serving 900 affordable meals a day for an entire campus, providing us with an educational experience totally unique to our program; we're able to work (our butts off), and graduate with minimal to no debt in an industry that starts at the very low end of the pay scale. That's what City is all about; without City, our careers, our education as culinary professionals, isn't the enriching experience we've come not just to expect, but appreciate as well.
But if us culinary students can kick butt with a few events, like the upcoming fundraiser, then maybe we can prove to the Accreditation Commission for Community and Junior Colleges that there's one reason to keep the CCSF ship sailing. We can't represent the History Department, or Chemistry, or Paralegal Studies, but we can represent ourselves, and all that City College has provided for us in the careers we love.
Feel persuaded to come show your support? Love the SF food scene that CCSF alums have helped mold for decades? Well, then, here's all the info you need for the fundraiser at Il Cane Rosso. I hope to see your lovely faces there!
Friday, August 3, 2012
A segment called: On site...
Introducing "On site..."
You see, a good practice that I have nearly abandoned was keeping a daily culinary diary -- of food conversation, of what I made that day, of what I could improve upon, injuries, etc. I do take notes, but they're miserable. It'll be better if I write with the pressure of an Internet audience on my shoulders, that way I'll be able to make sense of my thoughts easily.
I work for a large catering company, typically at events. Thus the segment name that contributes to this good practice, "On site..."
Yesterday, we arrived on site at 8 a.m. to the view below. Seeing this, you just had the sense that the day was going to go smoothly.
Ah, I love it when positive premonitions are on-the-money. The only big hiccup was the fact that the kitchen was a needless 110 degrees Fahrenheit. We weren't doing a whole mess of hot cooking, but an ill-placed skylight in a home kitchen made the room way too warm.
But, I mean, when this is your view... um, yeah... who cares?
The gorgeousness above the fog is from the Thomas Fogerty Winery in Palo Alto, high up atop the Santa Cruz mountains on Skyline Blvd (one of my favorite roads to drive, by the way). The climate is perfect for producing Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. Would love to come back when I find the free time.
Later I prepped these:
And these Armenian cucumbers:
for our infamous panzanella, which is basically bread salad (wrap your low-carb diet around THAT). Panzanella is a good way to use up your stale bread, especially with the bounty of ripe, lovely Heirloom tomatoes August has on offer. I took the leftover 'loomies home and made some myself.
The catering company I work for makes their panzanella with tomatoes, cucumbers, mandolin-thin or minced red onion, toasted cubes of bread, fresh basil and a fantastic vinaigrette, whose secrets I have yet to discover (that's definitely at the tippity-top top of my to-do list. I'd like to accomplish this task before October comes around and tomatoes become cardboard.) For this event, we plated the salad with burrata cheese and a deep-green basil oil. If it sounds lovely, that's because it is. There's no much acid in the salad that a cheese as rich as burrata is the perfect compliment. Easily one of my favorite things to build.
Note: experiment with infused oils. Probably something a child could do.
In between prepping the lovely, lovely panzo' and plating it, I built hors d'oeuvres. This is where I like to work on one of my weak spots: speed. People who arrive at a catered event and begin drinking usually want something to nosh on... pronto. If you're me, you'll inhale these bites of food, because, after all, they're soooooo tiny. Only a snack, or two... or three... or ten.
Success! Got through hors d'oeuvres for 32 people 15 minutes before the meal started. Timing was exactly what I wanted.
Being passed around the room: Caesar salad bites in frico cups and mini corn tacos. First time I've built the tiny tacos, even though they are always on the menu in some form or another (duck confit tacos, for example). My manager had set-up the station, making an aluminum foil stand for the iddy-biddy taco shells. I'll be swooping on that method, kaythanks!
Most people love the Caesar salad bites. It's a diminutive version of a common fave, making clients squeal at its cuteness. There are even wee-liddwle croutons, OMG! The mini corn tacos were also yummy -- they're served with cilantro corn, red pepper brunoise, chili aioli and an little slice of avocado. People: corn is LUSCIOUS right now. Go do something with it!
My Kitchen Manager had built a paper cone to dollop the aioli, which made me remember, "Crap, I kind of forgot how to make those. Have to re-hone my skills." Maybe I'll practice chocolate writing while I'm at it...
The entrée was prepped by a badass cook (no, not I. I don't get to touch hot food yet): airline chicken breast with potatoes dauphinoise, green- and yellow beans in herb butter and fresh mustard greens. The chicken was spot-friggin'-on, and you can't go wrong with thinly-sliced potatoes slathered then baked in cream, white wine and a good dose of garlic. The beans were a nice compliment as well. A very heavy main -- four elements on one plate is a lot to eat. But when you're cooking for a wine-tasting, you're serving tipsy-doodles who are going to end up eating a lot. Plates came back clean.
Dessert was a lemon Shaker tart with huckleberry sauce and fresh cream. I enjoyed it -- the tart was fragrant, lemon and huckleberries are lovely together, and the whipped cream balanced all that acid out.
Many of the waiters were on the same page, but the diners were split. The most common complaint: too much rind in the tart. C'mon -- that was my favorite part! The pith (white part of the peel) lends a slight bitter taste, but the tart had a hefty, hefty, hefty (read: hefty) dose of sugar. I thought the rind provided a beautiful fragrance the tart wouldn't have otherwise had.
I knew who the Shakers were, but didn't know they also had a tart to their name (smitten kitchen goes into the tart's history a little bit). The Shakers were a thrifty bunch, who were apparently so thrifty they didn't even depart with their lemon peels. So the tart includes whole, paper-thin slices of lemon, macerated in sugar and mixed with eggs.
Deb at smitten kitchen notes that the pie should be "part marmalade, part curd." I didn't notice any curd-y qualities in our tart -- would that have made it more palatable for fickle adults? Would adding more eggs to the recipe have yielded a unanimous crowd-pleaser?
The kitchen was so hot that I had to re-whip the cream with the fridge door open, in the fridge (no, not the walk-in), by hand, my right elbow constantly knocking against the door. Thump, thump, thump, wasting kilowatts, thump, thump, thump...
Kitchen conversation had nothing to food. But we did talk about military involvement in Syria, DUH! My conversations need plenty of dimension, so I was happy.
Oh goodness, audience: so sorry I didn't take pictures of anything plated. Ack, I need to get better at this.
You see, a good practice that I have nearly abandoned was keeping a daily culinary diary -- of food conversation, of what I made that day, of what I could improve upon, injuries, etc. I do take notes, but they're miserable. It'll be better if I write with the pressure of an Internet audience on my shoulders, that way I'll be able to make sense of my thoughts easily.
I work for a large catering company, typically at events. Thus the segment name that contributes to this good practice, "On site..."
Yesterday, we arrived on site at 8 a.m. to the view below. Seeing this, you just had the sense that the day was going to go smoothly.
Ah, I love it when positive premonitions are on-the-money. The only big hiccup was the fact that the kitchen was a needless 110 degrees Fahrenheit. We weren't doing a whole mess of hot cooking, but an ill-placed skylight in a home kitchen made the room way too warm.
But, I mean, when this is your view... um, yeah... who cares?
The gorgeousness above the fog is from the Thomas Fogerty Winery in Palo Alto, high up atop the Santa Cruz mountains on Skyline Blvd (one of my favorite roads to drive, by the way). The climate is perfect for producing Pinot Noir and Chardonnay. Would love to come back when I find the free time.
Later I prepped these:
And these Armenian cucumbers:
for our infamous panzanella, which is basically bread salad (wrap your low-carb diet around THAT). Panzanella is a good way to use up your stale bread, especially with the bounty of ripe, lovely Heirloom tomatoes August has on offer. I took the leftover 'loomies home and made some myself.
The catering company I work for makes their panzanella with tomatoes, cucumbers, mandolin-thin or minced red onion, toasted cubes of bread, fresh basil and a fantastic vinaigrette, whose secrets I have yet to discover (that's definitely at the tippity-top top of my to-do list. I'd like to accomplish this task before October comes around and tomatoes become cardboard.) For this event, we plated the salad with burrata cheese and a deep-green basil oil. If it sounds lovely, that's because it is. There's no much acid in the salad that a cheese as rich as burrata is the perfect compliment. Easily one of my favorite things to build.
Note: experiment with infused oils. Probably something a child could do.
In between prepping the lovely, lovely panzo' and plating it, I built hors d'oeuvres. This is where I like to work on one of my weak spots: speed. People who arrive at a catered event and begin drinking usually want something to nosh on... pronto. If you're me, you'll inhale these bites of food, because, after all, they're soooooo tiny. Only a snack, or two... or three... or ten.
Success! Got through hors d'oeuvres for 32 people 15 minutes before the meal started. Timing was exactly what I wanted.
Being passed around the room: Caesar salad bites in frico cups and mini corn tacos. First time I've built the tiny tacos, even though they are always on the menu in some form or another (duck confit tacos, for example). My manager had set-up the station, making an aluminum foil stand for the iddy-biddy taco shells. I'll be swooping on that method, kaythanks!
Most people love the Caesar salad bites. It's a diminutive version of a common fave, making clients squeal at its cuteness. There are even wee-liddwle croutons, OMG! The mini corn tacos were also yummy -- they're served with cilantro corn, red pepper brunoise, chili aioli and an little slice of avocado. People: corn is LUSCIOUS right now. Go do something with it!
My Kitchen Manager had built a paper cone to dollop the aioli, which made me remember, "Crap, I kind of forgot how to make those. Have to re-hone my skills." Maybe I'll practice chocolate writing while I'm at it...
The entrée was prepped by a badass cook (no, not I. I don't get to touch hot food yet): airline chicken breast with potatoes dauphinoise, green- and yellow beans in herb butter and fresh mustard greens. The chicken was spot-friggin'-on, and you can't go wrong with thinly-sliced potatoes slathered then baked in cream, white wine and a good dose of garlic. The beans were a nice compliment as well. A very heavy main -- four elements on one plate is a lot to eat. But when you're cooking for a wine-tasting, you're serving tipsy-doodles who are going to end up eating a lot. Plates came back clean.
Dessert was a lemon Shaker tart with huckleberry sauce and fresh cream. I enjoyed it -- the tart was fragrant, lemon and huckleberries are lovely together, and the whipped cream balanced all that acid out.
Many of the waiters were on the same page, but the diners were split. The most common complaint: too much rind in the tart. C'mon -- that was my favorite part! The pith (white part of the peel) lends a slight bitter taste, but the tart had a hefty, hefty, hefty (read: hefty) dose of sugar. I thought the rind provided a beautiful fragrance the tart wouldn't have otherwise had.
I knew who the Shakers were, but didn't know they also had a tart to their name (smitten kitchen goes into the tart's history a little bit). The Shakers were a thrifty bunch, who were apparently so thrifty they didn't even depart with their lemon peels. So the tart includes whole, paper-thin slices of lemon, macerated in sugar and mixed with eggs.
Deb at smitten kitchen notes that the pie should be "part marmalade, part curd." I didn't notice any curd-y qualities in our tart -- would that have made it more palatable for fickle adults? Would adding more eggs to the recipe have yielded a unanimous crowd-pleaser?
The kitchen was so hot that I had to re-whip the cream with the fridge door open, in the fridge (no, not the walk-in), by hand, my right elbow constantly knocking against the door. Thump, thump, thump, wasting kilowatts, thump, thump, thump...
Kitchen conversation had nothing to food. But we did talk about military involvement in Syria, DUH! My conversations need plenty of dimension, so I was happy.
Oh goodness, audience: so sorry I didn't take pictures of anything plated. Ack, I need to get better at this.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Roadblock overcome, let's grow this blog
Writer's block... cook's block... it's been a strange month, and not particularly creative. What was very fruitful this July: Tablehopper has a late-night dining app out. You should go download it, because I put a lot of hard work (with a good dose of pavement-pounding) into that sucker. And Marcia's reviews are pretty spot-on. Wonderful to see that done, done, done!
But otherwise, I didn't do as much imaginative cooking as I'd have liked. Well... I shouldn't say that. I didn't do imaginative cooking in a way that was appropriate for this blog. No photos when I made my first tagine; no photos recounting my quest to prepare the very best roast chicken, one of Thomas Keller's obsessions; no photos of the gorgeous salads I made with my killing from the farmer's market. And let's face it: a food blog without photos is just odd. It's my Mazda without the insanely awful GPS on my Android: no reference, no direction, and just a little ugly.
So thank goodness for that farmer's market produce. It's amazing just how good good product can make you feel if you're in a cooking funk. Lemon cucumbers, Summer squashes, the very first tomatoes (they'll be even better this month), peaches, Dirty Girl strawberries (which I, like a brute beast, inhaled upon getting home. Yup, the entire basket). What's my point? I finally have inspiration. I am fully aware of all the wonderful food I can create. Thus, it will be easier to catalog. So, for the few readers that I do have, this blog will have material soon -- a Weekly Market segment for sure, other segments that I haven't quite fleshed out, and maybe I will record, frame-by-frame, my insane desire for a near-perfect roast chicken, with epic, paragraph-long footnotes.
Think there's not much to write about chicken? Oh, how I will prove you wrong. That one's gonna take a while to put together.
I'll also be making a little pit stop at the SF Chefs Grand Tasting tent this Saturday. Do expect a report, with photos and everything. Ooooh, look at me go!
I promise: I will become a proper Blogger!
But otherwise, I didn't do as much imaginative cooking as I'd have liked. Well... I shouldn't say that. I didn't do imaginative cooking in a way that was appropriate for this blog. No photos when I made my first tagine; no photos recounting my quest to prepare the very best roast chicken, one of Thomas Keller's obsessions; no photos of the gorgeous salads I made with my killing from the farmer's market. And let's face it: a food blog without photos is just odd. It's my Mazda without the insanely awful GPS on my Android: no reference, no direction, and just a little ugly.
So thank goodness for that farmer's market produce. It's amazing just how good good product can make you feel if you're in a cooking funk. Lemon cucumbers, Summer squashes, the very first tomatoes (they'll be even better this month), peaches, Dirty Girl strawberries (which I, like a brute beast, inhaled upon getting home. Yup, the entire basket). What's my point? I finally have inspiration. I am fully aware of all the wonderful food I can create. Thus, it will be easier to catalog. So, for the few readers that I do have, this blog will have material soon -- a Weekly Market segment for sure, other segments that I haven't quite fleshed out, and maybe I will record, frame-by-frame, my insane desire for a near-perfect roast chicken, with epic, paragraph-long footnotes.
Think there's not much to write about chicken? Oh, how I will prove you wrong. That one's gonna take a while to put together.
I'll also be making a little pit stop at the SF Chefs Grand Tasting tent this Saturday. Do expect a report, with photos and everything. Ooooh, look at me go!
I promise: I will become a proper Blogger!
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