Anticiplate

I know you all want to know. What it’s like? Is it different to not be a ‘stage’ anymore? Did you make the right choice?

This week has been emotional. I left two jobs that I adored. A life that was starting to seem attainable. Places where I felt comfortable and skilled, ironically. But, my new job? Mistral Kitchen? People, I am playing with the big boys. Sous vide machines, a wood burning oven, two kitchens, two walk-ins, a Combi oven. OH MY. I am in culinary Disneyland. And, I am working right alongside of the head chef, and I feel like I am starting at square one.

I feel like I am in culinary school, but getting paid for it. I have my one comfort, my friend Sidonie, who I met at Anchovies and Olives. Allies have been found in a couple of the chefs.  But man…

I. am. intimidated.

And, I have had my fair share of mess ups since we talked last. Yep. My own personal shit show, as usual.  Let’s start with the worst one. The one that happened the last night of my ‘stage’ at How To Cook A Wolf. Actually, if I am going to be quite honest, it is probably the worst thing I have ever done to this day as a cook. At around 6:15, I seared off two bread puddings in warm butter, and laid them on a bed of creme anglaise. Then I drizzled the whole dish with a salted caramel. A beautiful dessert. I said, “Runner, please” and went on to my next ticket. Not forty five seconds later, one of the desserts came back.  The customer thought the caramel tasted like sherry vinegar.

After giving him a dirty look from afar, I looked over at the head chef as I spooned a bit of caramel into my mouth. “Tastes delicious to me.” He did the same, shrugged his shoulders and told me to make them something else and not to worry about it. As I went to scoop them a bowl of blood orange sorbet, another bread pudding came back. Same complaint. I stamped my foot on the ground, confused.

“Stage, what did you do?!” the head chef said to me as the server told him that the bread pudding tasted like vinegar again. My brain circled, searching for what could have made the bread pudding vinegary. Was my spoon not clean? Did the spoon water need to be changed? Was the bowl dirty? And, then. It hit me…

Instead of creme anglaise, I ladled sherry vinegar into the bottom of the large white bowls. The containers looked the same, were not labeled, and I didn’t taste it before I poured. Two customers bit into a buttery bread pudding soaked in sherry vinegar. GROSS. One of them ate half of it before they realized.

I was mortified, almost cried (that would have been the second time ever), apologized profusely to both of the customers and had to take a step outside in the drizzling cold Seattle weather to cool off my emotions. One major rule of being a chef, taste everything before you put it on a plate. I could have kicked my own ass for stupidity.

Of course, as a stage, there is at least an excuse. But what about when you are actually an employed line cook? I walked into Mistral at 9:03 am on Friday, I immediately set down my knife bag and began to roll the old menus as a fire starter. One of my tasks each morning is to light the wood burning oven. I wrapped about twenty cylindrical pieces of paper with masking tape and put it, as directed, on the left side of the slightly warm oven. I then built a tee-pee of wood all around the paper, and lit the fire with a match. The chef told me to use a blow torch, but, in common form, I couldn’t figure out how to turn the child proof lock off. Classic.

The fire lit beautifully, and I began setting up the kitchen for lunch. One of the dishwasher came by, about an hour later, and looked in to the fire. “Kari”, he said in his cute little accent, “come quick.” At that, the other dishwasher also came by and looked in to the wood-burning oven. He gasped, putting his hand over his mouth. “You didn’t scoop out the ash from last night!” My eyes got huge, and my ears pulled up as I remembered that the chef had told me to make sure the oven was clear, but I was so eager/nervous to light that damn fire that I built another fire upon the massive amount of ash that was already in there. Luckily, it is not a big deal. Maybe that had to use a little more wood for service that evening, and maybe the next day the clean up would be double, but it was not going to affect the food. Luckily. This was no sherry vinaigrette faux pas. But, I had to tell the head chef about my mess up. Humbled is an understatement.

And there have been more. I just don’t have the energy or space to write about it. I have learned to laugh at myself, and just make light of all of these things. It is just food. But, did I make the right choice? Absolutely. It is going to be hard, stressful, and I am going to get really good. Really fast.

But, can I tell you one thing I have not messed up this week? Duck confit. Holy perfection. Thomas Keller you are a genius. Ten hours. A 190 degree oven. Rendered duck fat. Green salt. I’ll just keep reminding myself of this. I sauteed some potatoes in duck fat, and seared some brussels sprouts leaves. The duck was quickly seared and then topped with a parsley pesto. A salad was made with whatever was left in my fridge. It was one of those dinners. A really memorable one right from the fridge.

You usually have duck legs and pickled shallots in your fridge, right?

Makes 8 duck legs

Prep time: 45 minutes

Inactive prep time: 24 hours

Cook time: 10 hours

*Recipe adapted from Thomas Keller

Green Salt

1/2 c. kosher salt

2 fresh bay leaves, broken into pieces

2 tbsp. fresh thyme, chopped

1/4 c. flat leaf parsley, packed

1 tsp. black peppercorns

Eight 8 oz. whole Pekin duck legs (you could also use Mallard, they have more fat)

6 to 8 c. rendered duck fat (you can get it from local butcher shop or from trimmings)

Place the ingredients for the green salt in a food processor. Process until vivid green. Set aside.

Rinse the duck legs under cold water. Pat dry with paper towels. Trim any excess fat, leaving a 1/4 inch border around the leg. Trim any excess skin near the legs.

Render the extra fat trimmings. Over low heat, add the fat with a splash of water for at least two hours until it is all melted. Strain. Cover and refrigerate.

Salt about 1 tbsp. per dry duck leg. Rub the green salt all over the legs, rubbing a little extra on the thicker parts, and set on a sheet tray. Cover with plastic and let dry brine for twenty four hours.

The next day, preheat oven to 190 (if you do not have a convection oven use an oven thermometer to make sure the temperature is accurate). Heat the duck fat so that it will easily pour. Rinse the legs well under cold water, and dry thoroughly. Layer the duck legs into a large pot with a lid. Pour enough melted fat to cover the legs.

Cover, and place in the oven for ten hours. The meat should be tender enough to melt when pieced with a pairing knife. If it is not cooked, keep it in at least two hours longer. The bubbles of the confit should also not even reach the surface of the duck fat. It should be slightly bubbling underneath the fat.

Once the legs are cooked, remove them and let them cool in the fat. Gently lift the legs from the fat and place in a clean container. Strain the fat over the legs, and store for up to two weeks, submerged in the fat.

Can be kept for two weeks.

When you are ready to use the duck legs, remove them from the fridge to allow the fat to melt.