fire twenty one arugula salads
i cooked for 90 people one day last week. yes, nine-ty. ridiculous. and, people, that was just at lunch. i’ve put in more hours during restaurant week than i ever have at mistral. as much as i want to hate it, i love it. shh.
yes. it does get boring cooking a prix fixe menu over and over again, but at the same time, i love when three hours go by faster than watching an episode of glee. massive produce orders come in each morning in large brown boxes waiting to be unpacked, the bags underneath my eyes become more and more flaccid, and yet, i crave this busy of a restaurant. i even pine for the dramatic customers that have come from who knows where to eat at mistral for the first time during restaurant week.
some people have complained, others have rejoiced. all i know is that i am putting out the best food that i can for the massive amount of clientele that walk through that giant metal door from 11am to 2pm.
but, then the aftermath of the craziness subsides, and our restaurant becomes much like it once was. a decent lunch, steady, with a crowd that i recognize. those regulars never find my “hair” in their food, they do not think the farro is undercooked, and they get care with each dish that i cook, rather than a mass produced lunch.
i do not like working during the day. i feel odd, like the black sheep.
out. of. place.
my setting up seems to flow into the cleaning up with mere hours in between. and then, i wait around at night, tired from my ‘banker hours’ as a line cook, as i anxiously wish to be cooking for that dinner crowd. the crowd that made me fall in love with this crazy restaurant world. the crowd that i used to be a part of.
loneliness prevails, like i am the only person who has a cooking job that doesn’t work at night. but, i know i need to wait. i am still a greenhorn with so much to learn and absorb. frustration often gets the best of me because of my ignorance to the many nuances of cooking, and techniques i have not yet mastered or even have the ability to execute. you should have seen the branzino i tried to butcher over the weekend. a tragic specimen.
i am going steady with marco pierre white’s book, a scorching hot bath filled with dr. bronner’s peppermint castile soap, and some sort of alcoholic beverage as i wait. i am excited for the day when i hear, “fire twenty one arugula salads” and i shrug my shoulders and whip the whole thing out in less than three minutes, not batting my amber eyes at the intimidation of the tickets that keep flowing out of the printer.
relaxed, confident, and finally a chef.
i know, i know
ok. it seems as if i am averaging a once a month post, which in my mind is unacceptable. my last post was 28 days ago. shame on me.
The Original Eleven
remember how i said i would be aloof from this website? well, i didn’t lie. but, i am working on something great. something really great. these pictures are horrendous. i know. totally not up to my standards. but, i just wanted you to get the idea of what is consuming my cooking life right now.
Back To Square One
I’ve been busy. But, that is no excuse. There is a lot on my mind. A new job. A new schedule. A new beginning. I feel like writing in phrases today.
I like how I feel, actually. Uncomfortable in my own skin, but liberated at the same time. There is more to tell, but I am absolutely certain that this is not the right time or place to tell you all the things that are actually going on. But, one thing is for sure, it is back to square one. Read the rest of this entry »
Thomas Kellers Duck Confit and Mistral Kitchen
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. Read the rest of this entry »
Pasta Carbonara, Duck Egg, Black Pepper, Ham Brodo
What. A. Week.
Let’s just get one thing out of the way. I had to get stitches on Wednesday. Oh yeah. Wednesday around 2:30, just an hour and a half after I arrived at work. Not to mention Wednesday is my Monday. And, I had to take a cab to work. So, when I went to drive myself to my Mom’s office, after cutting myself on the sharp metal anchovy can while making a broken Caesar-like vinaigrette, I realized Erik had the car . <insert curse word here>. I had to pull Erik out of an important meeting so he could drive me fifteen miles north to the arms of my Mama. Three stitches an a tetanus shot later, I was home-ridden. Unable to cook. This is the second time I have ever had to leave the restaurant from cutting myself.
2010, Changes, and My Dinner Table
Last year, as I was sitting in a small moldy apartment in Amsterdam with our best friends Drew and Josh, making New Year’s resolutions, I never pictured 2009 going this way. Long conversations about my career were had with Drew, one of my best friends from the ballet world, but I never dreamed I would actually retire from ballet when I did. I mean, AM I CRAZY?!
Wood-Fired Pizza and My Own Station
I was holding out on you. A lot of you knew I had a new cooking job, but I was mum on the subject. I just didn’t want to jinx the amazing opportunity.
The new job is three days a week: Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday. It doesn’t conflict with my “Stage” with Ethan Stowell which I do Friday, Saturday, Monday. My total cooking time each week is tipping the scale at around sixty hours a week. You see why my husband and I spend the mornings together now? Don’t you.
The best part about this new job, though, is that I run the garde manger. The station I had been working most of the summer at Anchovies & Olives. And, it is my station. Nobody to look over my shoulder. Nobody to organize and prep my mise en place. All mine. I set it up, cook at it for a solid five hours, and I clean my mess at the end of the night. My workload for cleaning depends on how much grated cheese I sloppily get on the floor, or how many radishes ricochet off of my prep table when slicing them with the mandoline. If I don’t prep enough baby greens, then it is my fault, and I don’t have a “Stage” like me to run and fix my mistake. I will have to wash them “on the fly”.
And, can I be quite honest? I love running my own station. It feels so liberating to know that each dish is 100% mine from start to finish. But, it is a lot of responsibility, too. I got trained by this amazing woman, who basically created the station from start to finish with her beautiful, yet simple ideas behind starters and desserts. She needs to get back to writing, as we all want her to do, and I am her replacement. Three days a week.
It is beyond an honor.
Her husband is also amazing, and has greeted me with open arms. He and his sous pizzaola are going to teach me to stretch the amazing, tender pizza dough that Brandon has perfected and work the giant wood burning oven that has to be tended to like a newborn baby. But, meanwhile I stand at my own station and plate buttery burrata with pink sea salt and little olive-oil toasted baguettes, an “abundant” baby green salad with spicy red radishes and Grana Padano and Brandon’s champagne vinaigrette, and Zoe’s coppa with pickled padron peppers. I bake off Molly’s famous chocolate chip cookies with grey sea salt, and I put cannelle-like dollops of creme fraiche whipped cream on fudgey brownies fresh out of the oven.
I am now the new pantry cook at Delancey.
A Feast
Scallops, Pickled Huckleberries, Grapefruit, Vanilla Oil
Potato Gnocchi, Onion, Black Pepper, Egg
Halibut, Chanterelles, Swiss Chard, Champagne Vinaigrette
Crostata, Seckel Pear, Thyme, Honey
This was my first dinner party in my new house. After cooking a professional kitchen all summer, I found cooking at home a bit jarring. I am not used to the burners on my range, I took for granted having multiple food processors and endless supplies of olive oil. But, I loved getting to create my own menu, making mistakes without getting made fun of, and not be told what to do.
I told you…
“And from deep inside me six voices all echoed yes, yes, yes as we prepared to join forces and move on.” Ruth Reichl
I have a huge announcement. One that has been tough to decide on, but definitely the right choice for my future. Yesterday, at 9:45am, I walked in to my director, Peter Boal’s office, and retired from my job of seven years at Pacific Northwest Ballet.
Yes. This is an unconventional time to retire. And, yes, I did have to break my contract with the company that I signed until June 2010. But, I have a really, really good excuse. I promise. Read the rest of this entry »
