The Ethiopian experience

Often I like to sit and have a nice revere about times when life was simpler, when dinner consisted of pre-chewed mush and utensils were an afterthought.

For most of you, this likely takes you back to when you were two or so years old sitting in a high chair. As for me, I only have to go back about two hours. I have, however, graduated from having to use a bibb.

Tonight for dinner I had the distinct pleasure of visiting Meskerem, a local Ethiopian restaurant here in Charlotte. I was at a table with four other classmates, none of which (including myself) had ever quite had this sort of experience. On the plus side, it's harder to make a fool of yourself if no one there knows what they're doing.

We did have a bit of instruction (yes, we knew that there weren't going to be forks). The food is meant to be shared, and often the entire table's order will be placed on a single large plate. Injera, a form of sourdough flatbread, is used as both dish and utensil. The injera comes in a large circle, getting close to two feet across, and is folded on the plate as a base for the food (often in pureed form). At Meskerem were were each given a second piece to use as our utensil. Just rip off a piece and use it to scoop up a bit of whatever looks good. And trust me, it went beyond looks.

This whole idea really goes to show how food is viewed in Ethiopia. It's no secret that food is a bit more scarce than it is here in the US. The act of communal eating is such a great way to hold on to the intimacy of food that we seem to have thrown out the window in recent years. I happen to be a rather large fan of sharing food. It's one of the reasons why I love cooking so much - food brings people together. For me, it's a way to share something I love with people I love, a way of sharing myself. So sharing a plate may seem simple at first, but when you look at it, look at what it really is, you'll see what a beautiful thing that simple act is.

On to the actual food, though.

Wanting to get the most out of the evening all of us at the table made sure to order something different. I went for the shro wat, a dish of ground seasoned chick peas with berbere sauce. Among the other dishes were miser alecha - a puree of split lentils, doro wat - a classic chicken dish with berbere sauce, a lamb dish with some very delicious peppers, and "vegetable #2", a very tasty - if somewhat unimaginatively named - combination of cabbage, potatoes, and carrots.

The only semi-complaint of the night seemed to be the injera bread, and only that because of its texture. Different than anything I've ever had it's something like a thick, soft, spongy tortilla. But hey, that's what happens when you try new things. New flavors and textures have a habit of popping up. Overall, I give the food a solid thumbs up.

I'd say, though, that going to Meskerem is as much about the experience of eating as it is the food itself, and would encourage people to go at least once for this reason.

Tonight was pretty eventful. I tried not only a new cuisine, but a new style of eating altogether. Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll leave the forks in the drawer.

Smile for the camera

I recently read an article by Frank Bruni titled You May Kiss the Chef's Napikin Ring. More than just a catchy title, it offers an interesting view on the (relatively) newfound glamour of being a chef.
Celebrity chefs are new creatures, in the scheme of things. By all counts I'm enrolled in a trade school. But I still hear about all of the "Ooh's and aah's" that fellow students have received from family and friends when they announce their choice of study. I feel kind of bad for the mechanics of the world.
That's not to say that it's an entirely bad thing. Who doesn't appreciate a little bit of recognition? I'm not going to chastise people for getting a kick out of my career plans. I like it when people ask my opinion on things, or try to glean a bit of advice. I'm all for it. I love cooking food, and I love talking food. I wasn't drawn to this because of some magical aura that seems to go along with it, but it does have a few perks.

That said, there is a darker side to the story.

Bruni writes about a number of restaurants that seem to be taking the power out of the diners' hands. An attitude of "This is our food, our restaurant, our night... so sit back and take what we give you" permeates the air. It shows up in a variety of ways, from one chef chosing to get rid of the 5 course tasting menu and only offer the 9 course menu (requiring a significant amount of time to sit through), to a restaurant deciding to place the view of the city on the cooks' side of the open kitchen and letting the guests simply watch the food being made.

I have mixed feelings on the issue. I'm of the opinion that, should a chef decide that the 9 course menu is the only way to truly get the full experience, then said chef should feel free to put only that menu as an option. Of course, seller beware. If someone doesn't have that much time, that much money, or whichever other of a number of reasons, that someone won't be coming to your restaurant. I've never been one to do elongated matched pairings, but if I went to the trouble of putting the whole thing together then I would be put off a bit if someone decided to only try half of what I had to offer.

On the issue of giving the best view to the cooks or, like in another case, having a strict two-hour limit on certain tables, I think people are getting their priorities mixed a bit. I love the idea of an open kitchen, and I'll watch Iron Chef with the rest of the crowd, but I enjoy a nice skyline view too. Taking something away simply for the reason of demanding the attention yourself seems a bit pompous to be honest. If the food is good, they will eat. If the making is entertaining, they will watch. To me, that is enough.

I'm afraid it goes deeper, though.

I like the Food Network. I think it's fun to see chef's as celebrities, those select (often simply lucky) few who have made it big. Some I really like, others not so much. Rachel Ray comes up all the time as one of those "love or hate" people. Would I call her a big culinary authority? Probably not. She's got no formal training, and was discovered doing small demos for some sort of grocery store. Now, can she cook? Obviously. Is she good at what she does? If she wasn't she wouldn't still be on TV. That, at least, I can respect. But at the same time I will jump up and down saying that what she does isn't indicative of the greater chefdom. These people, all of them, be they from the industry or not, are the lucky few. They are the exception to the rule.

I've heard that the freshman class here was asked "How many of you want to be on the Food Network". Just about everyone raised their hand.

Good luck with that.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's not going to happen. One, maybe - and that's a big maybe - will get some level of recognition beyond simply being a good chef. If you're going into this industry to be famous, though, you're going into the wrong industry. Generally there's a lot of work, a lot of sweat, a lot of long days, and not a lot of individual recognition. One thing that tends to irk me is the idea of celebrity chefs opening a restaurant, hiring someone to actually be the chef, and no one giving them the credit. It's still Emeril's place (who, coincidentally, can actually on occasion be found cooking at his restaurants so I'm told - kudos to him). No one hopes to get a glance of the guy who peeled and cut all of those potatoes. They want to see the famous face.

Give credit where credit is due, that's all I'm saying. Emeril's a fine cook, a good entertainer, and is good at what he does. But everyone else working in his restaurants, those that actually make the restaurants work... they deserve some props themselves.

Is gaining a bit of a celebrity reputation bad? No, not at all. But you have to take all things (good and bad) in stride. Don't let it go to your head. Don't think that you're not still there to serve someone else, that at the end of the day you don't still rely on everyone else's choice to come eat at your place.

What's in a name?

I have a confession to make. Until recently, I would have told you that roasting and baking were, for all intents and purposes, the same technique. Roasting, perhaps, would imply work with vegetables or meats. And I have to say that, despite my newfound knowledge, I still see (and in all likelihood continue to use) these terms switched and swapped and otherwise confounded into one general idea.

So I should guess that you may be asking "What is this all powerful difference that grants cooks across the globe the right to call it something completely different, and is it really that important?"

Why, it's elevation, my dear Watson!

Be it via rack or a large diced mire poix (an aromatic combination of one part carrot, one part celery, and two parts onion), elevating the item in question changes the heat transferance method from conduction (hot thing - in this case the pan - touching the food directly) to convection (hot air from hot thing - in this case still the pan - wafting around the food and cooking it).

The end result is largely the same, with a couple of differences along the way. Roasting tends to be more even, since it's circulating hot air doing the work instead of a hot pan on one side (imagine trying to cook a steak without ever flipping it - by the time the top was anywhere close to done your fire alarm has been going off for five minutes). Of course baking isn't quite as disastrous as that no-flip technique would be, but the principle remains. Also, there's the matter of the juice. I love me some drippings. They make a great sauce (which I'll get to later). What I don't like, though, is the idea of whatever's in that pan simmering in it (I'm roasting here, not braising). Elevating the roast means that the drippings can actually drip down, gathering flavor from any mire poix in the bottom of the pan, and otherwise waiting patiently for your wondrous saucemaking skills.

Now, the actual technique of roasting? It's pretty simple. For simplicity's sake, we'll talk about roasting some form of meat, rather than vegetables (which, by the way, is probably the most common culprit when it comes to calling something roasted when it's actually baked... but let's face it, "baked red potatoes" just doesn't have the same ring to it).

A) Sear the meat. This can be done either in a pan on the stove, or by using high heat (maybe 450) for maybe 10-15 minutes in the oven to give it a nice brown crust.

B) Cook to the proper temperature - 145 (for 15 minutes), or 165 if stuffed. Note that poultry still should hit 165 regardless.

C) Remove from oven and let it rest. How long depends on the size of the thing. Sure, you can tent some foil over it or put it into a warm oven (200 or so degrees) if you want to be extra-super-duper-sure that it won't go cold.

D) Devour with a vengeance.

If you think about it, this largely means turn on the oven, insert item, and let cook. It doesn't get much simpler than that. Roasting is a beautiful thing.

There are, i'm afraid to say (or would be, at least, if they weren't so handy and/or delicious), footnotes to check out along the way.

First off, trussing. This just means wrapping some butchers twine around the meat to hold it in the shape you want while it cooks. In the case of a bird, this can help to keep the legs closed to hold in any stuffing that you may have (and hopefully did) put inside. Please note that by "stuffing" I don't necessarily (or at all, really) mean the classic Turkey Day bread stuffing - I mean something as easy as throwing in some butter, herb stems, and maybe some lemons.
For a roast (meaning pig, cow, llama, you name it), not only will it hold in any stuffing but can also be used to form the whole thing into a nice uniform shape, which means even cooking, which means even deliciousness.

I'd try to describe the actual proceedure, but I just don't feel that simply writing it would get the idea across. But hey, if you've made it here that means that you've got internet access (go you) and you should be able to find a video demo out in cyberland pretty easily. Trust, it's not that hard to do.

Next, we talk sauce. I like this part.

There are those who tell you that a roasted item is not complete without an accompanying sauce. In any case, my practical tomorrow isn't. So here's the deal. There are three types of sauce that you have to choose from.

Jus - Basically just drippings from the roast, maybe fortified with some stock. Add any other flavorings you want (onions, garlic, fresh herbs, you know the drill)

Jus lie - Same thing, just slightly thickened with pure starch. Cornstarch or arrowroot are the main choices. Arrowroot has a lot of extra benefits, but is of course more expensive as a result. I suggest a simple slurry (cornstarch plus just enough water to give the consistency of heavy cream) to thicken it up a bit. It won't take much - one tablespoon of slurry is enough to bring two cups of liquid to a "medium viscocity". Yeah, saying "medium viscocity" is kind of like saying "medium yellow". Just know that it doesn't take much, and you can always add more if you want.

Pan gravy - This time the drippings are thickened with flour (there will be plenty of fat in the drippings to smooth it out). This is done by what's called "singer" (pronounced 'sahn-zjay'). Essentially you're just dusting the pan with flour, then mixing it in. Then add your stock, or whatever liquid you choose. Note that any aromatics (like that garlic and onion) should be tossed into the pan before the flour.

And always, always deglaze the pan (usually wine, but anything acidic works) first. That's how you get the fond (the little black bits of delicious) up from the bottom of the pan.

Roasting is pretty simple, all told (but hey, most good food is). Toss it in the oven, fix up the sauce while it's resting, and you've got an impressive dinner on your hands.

Call it baking, call it roasting, for all I care you can call it mommy, but I call it delicious.

Let's talk about someone else for a change

My first assignment (other than having to read 60 pages by Tuesday in the book that I can't purchase until Monday) for my food writing class is to review an article. Seems pretty simple, and, well, it is. I'm rather a fan of Anthony Bourdain and also conveniently have his book The Nasty Bits, a collection of his writings. I'm not one to make life unnecessarily hard on myself, so I re-read a few of the pieces and picked one to do my assignment on.

I'd put up the original article, but I don't really feel like getting sued. And, I can't seem to find a link to an online version. Short version, it's about Bourdain's distaste for a lot of the classic fine dining service styles, the strict dance and etiquette performed by the service staff, and the joy of new restaurants that ignore it all and still bring you the best food possible.



I hate ties. Not so much ties in particular, but more so getting dressed up in general. I’m just not a formal sort of person. So you might say that there was a bit of personal significance for me when I read Anthony Bourdain’s article Counter Culture, which talks about chefs opening new restaurants with a dumbed down dress code.
And beyond the clothes it’s the entire atmosphere that Bourdain talks about, with the pomp and circumstance of fine dining service giving way to a casual air with, as the title suggests, sometimes even diner-style countertop seating.
When it comes to food, it’s about (you guessed it) the food. Yes, good service is nice. I like a bamboo bar top and cool lighting as much as the next guy. But if the best pommes frites you’ve ever eaten are served on a paper plate by a guy in a sweaty baseball cap and a food-stained t-shirt, they’re still the best pommes frites you’ve ever eaten. And after all, all that strict service can get a little stuffy. Bourdain writes in his article about how he had the various attributes and qualities of different bottled waters dutifully explained to him. In the same sitting, after asking for the restroom, he was not only escorted through the restaurant but to inside the stall itself. He was then educated as to how he might operate the commode. I can’t speak for everyone, but I don’t normally invite company into the stall with me. And I’m pretty sure that I can figure out how to use a toilet on my own. All in all, the idea of keeping the great food but dropping some of the over-the-top service is plus in my book.
Of course, it’s not just my opinion that matters. So what makes these words ring true in more ears than just my own? It’s because the experience is about sharing good food with good friends, not being afraid to sneeze in the wrong direction. Relaxing, talking, laughing, and being proud that at the end of the night you made it without actually busting the button off of your pants.
Bourdain is known for his up front, no-holds-barred writing. He doesn’t sugarcoat things, he doesn’t try to hide anything in the back room. In fact, he’s more likely to bust down the door and point out each and every gritty grimy little speck. And in this case, despite being a seasoned chef, having served in multi-star restaurants, he’s here to say that he could care less about the difference between Dasani and Evian. So ditch the napkin service, forget about the restroom tour guide, grab some friends, and bring on that plate of frites because that’s what we came for.

A new term, a new world

Today marked the beginning of my second term at Johnson & Wales. It promises to be interesting, to say the least.

My first lab is New World Cuisine, which focuses on deep frying, broiling, roasting, and grilling. Regionally, the class looks at the Americas and the (relatively) nearby island areas. Speaking of regions, the first assignment (a small paper on the South American country of our choice - and accompanying cuisine) is due Thursday. And yes, I really should be working on that rather than writing this. But like I said, it's been a while, and I do hate to deprive the gathered masses.

I have to admit, whenever I think of - or rather try to think of - "American cuisine" I come up short. South America, sure. Mexico... while my experience is largely that of the US's commercialized version (and by "largely", I mean completely... maybe minus the salsa I've made a time or two which I like to think is a fairly accurate representation, and either way goes great with blue corn chips), I at least get the general idea.

That's the problem, I think. So much of what we eat is supposed ethnic cuisines from around the world. We take bits and pieces and americanize them to our tastes. Pizza here is nothing like what you'd find in Italy. Tacos are street food in Mexico. I really don't even want to think about what a true Chinese connoisseur would say about the buffets that, I've heard, outnumber McDonald's in quantity. I know that they at least do in my hometown.

Is it wrong to borrow things and combine and meld them into our own culture, our own cuisine? Of course not. I'm not saying that I don't like american pizza. I've never even been to Italy to try the original (a sad fact in my eyes) so I can't offer some longwinded explanation as to the varying differences. But it does give me pause whenever I think of what "our food" really is.

Then again, at the same time there are a few things that strike me as classically American. This list also seems to fall under the category of comfort foods. Not mine, so much... oddly enough I don't feel that there are any particular foods that inspire in me thoughts of home and a happy childhood... a bit odd considering that overall I spend way too much of my time thinking about food. But there are certain items that are pretty common on the Everyman's list of comfort foods. You know, the Family Feud Top 5. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, chicken and noodle soup. Of course, this could be because I'm from Indiana. The US is, as you may have been aware, a rather large landmass. This often leads to varying cuisines in different areas.

Just as the foods of Peru will differ from those of Brazil, Californian dishes are going to look a lot different than those from the South. That's another problem of mine. I'm looking at too large an area, expecting the tastes of 50 states to accumulate into a few simple dishes. Down here in Charlotte comfort food is just as likely to be fried chicken, biscuits, and bar-b-que. Let me tell you, I have no complaints about that idea. I do love me some good biscuits.

I suppose that I feel that, as a country, we should be more united in our culinary endeavors. I've come to expect it. Afterall, Classical French Cuisine is its own class - why not Classical American?

Is it really a bad thing to be this diverse, though?

You know what, I think I'll manage to suffer through it. There is, as it turns out, something to be said for variety.

Turkey troubles

Another November is here, and you all know what that means - Turkey Day approaches. In fact, I'm already enjoying an extended Thanksgiving break (for which, I might add, I am indeed very thankful).

I do love me a good Thanksgiving dinner. Lots of food, family, and (forgive the overuse of alliteration) fun. Unfortunately, there seems to be this nasty little habit of serving a turkey that's about as dry as last year's spackle. Sure you can toss some gravy over it, but why not go for something that's good and delicious on its own?

Here are a few tips to get you a nice juicy bird...

First of all, you want a good slow roast. Especially on a large bird (or large anything for that matter) too high heat will result in a black outside and a raw inside. Also, higher heat causes more contraction and shrinkage. A slow roast will leave you with more once you're finished.
Now actual cooking temp and time will depend on just how big of a bird you've got. The bigger you go, the longer it will take. If this takes you below 300 degrees, be warned - sugars don't caramelize unless the temperature is 300 or higher. No worries, though, if you're roasting at 275, just kick on the broiler for a few minutes at the end to crisp things up a bit.

It's worth talking about temperature, too. Internal temperature, that is. Most people have heard that poultry needs to hit 165 F to be safe. Alright, that's fine by me. But know this - food doesn't stop cooking right when you pull it out of the oven/pan/fryer/coals/other-cooking-method-of-choice. There's an old saying, "an egg done in the pan is overdone on the plate". The larger the item in question, the more heat it's holding, and the more it will continue to cook. With an individual steak, you may be looking at a degree or two. With a big turkey (or other large roast) you could be looking at a solid 10 degrees of continued cooking.
So let's say you pull the turkey out at 165 (and really, who ever catches it right on the dot like that?). After it sits on the counter waiting to be carved (and I'll explain why it's not already sliced in just a minute) it's up to, say, 175. Maybe even 180. Why is this a bad thing? Well, proteins fully coagulate at 185 F. And to fully explain why that's not the greatest thing in the world, I need to talk about that rest from before.

Why should you always (and I do mean always) let meat rest after it's cooked? It's all in the juice. You can imagine protein strands as kind of like a spring. As they cook they tighten, stretching out and squeezing out liquid. When you hit 185 and they're fully coagulated, they've pretty much squeezed out every last drop of juice that they once held, and that's a sad thing indeed. Now, let's say that we haven't cooked every last glimmer of hope out of that piece of meat. What happens when you give it a minute to relax and cool back down just a tad? The proteins recurl (at least a bit) and reabsorb some of that juice. Some will drip off (which should by all means be saved for some sort of sauce, be it jus, gravy, or just a quality hot beverage), but the proteins will soak back up plenty. This means juicy, flavorful meat. Cook that meat into oblivion, and the juices are going to go that way too. Also, if you cut into the meat before it's had a proper resting time, all of those juices are going to spill out (they're just sort of hanging out in the space between the cells and all that). Sure that gives you more to make a sauce out of, but the meat itself will be dry, and no one wants that.

One last thing, but definitely not least. There's a right way (and as such, lots of wrong ways) to take the temperature of that turkey. The idea is pretty simple, really. You need to get into the thick of the meat. There are two good spots to do this - the breast, and the joint between the thigh and the body. Of these, the joint is probably your best bet. You can't go straight down into the bird from the breast or you risk hitting the cavity (at which point you're measuring the internal temperature of the oven moreso than the temperature of the meat). You have to go sideways into the breast. The only downside to this is that juices can start to leak from the hole. It's not going to make or break your dinner, but hey, I'll do whatever I can to keep things as juicy as possible. So dig into that joint - just make sure you're getting the temperature of meat, not of bone.

And one more last thing. I have two thermometers, one digital and one dial-style, both instant-read. The only thing I want to mention is that the spot on the probe where temperature-taking starts is different. On the digital version, the temperature is taken basically from the tip. On the other, though, it doesn't start reading until nearly two inches up (it's marked by some divets on the probe). Make sure to take a note when you buy yours (and yes, it is absolutely a requirement that you have a good thermometer for this, in case you haven't picked that up by now) so that you know how to make the best use of it. However, if you've long since thrown away the package, there is still hope. The easiest way I know to calibrate your thermometer is to fill a glass with ice, then cold water. Let it sit for a minute to get good and cold. Then stick in the thermometer and make sure that it's reading 32 degrees. Now, if the thermometer starts reading from the tip, you'll get a different reading if the probe is touching the bottom of the glass as opposed to being suspended in the icewater.

It's really not too difficult to get a nice juicy turkey for dinner. Just keep an eye on the temp and plan for residual heat to carry you through. Here's hoping you a happy Thanksgiving, and a good turkey.

A belated introduction to plate design

I thought that it may be a good idea to take a minute to talk about the powers that be behind putting together a good plate. According to my FFP lecture there are five areas that you have to take into account, and I feel like these pretty much cover the bases of it myself.


First up to bat is color. This one is pretty obvious, and I would imagine would be one of the first things that someone off the street would mention if they were asked what goes into a fancified plate. Having a variety of colors on the plate does more than look good (go ahead, imagine a plate of poached fish, mashed potatoes, and cauliflower... pretty nasty, yeah?), it's a good indicator that you're getting a variety of nutrients, too. Set that albino plate next to something else, say, seared pork rib chop (with a nice pan sauce, of course) with mashed sweet potatoes and haricot verts. You've got a rather nice orange, a vibrant green, and a kind of pinky browny porkish color. Overall a nice variety.

Next up is texture. No one wants to look down and see a plate full of mush. It's boring, and in the case of "mush" particularly disturbing. Salmon tartar, creamed cauliflower, and carrot puree might offer a range of colors on a plate, but it all has the same sort of mouthfeel. It's all more or less a smooth puree. Take that same tartar and pair it with some good pommes frites (light and fluffy inside, wonderfully crispy skin) and a small bed of nice crunchy greens and you've got yourself a winner.

Shape is our next consideration. Some good meatballs beside whole roasted red potatoes and creamed pearl onions would go quite well together, I think, in terms of flavor, but you've just got one huge pile of circles. Why not stir things up a bit. All it takes is reforming the meat into another shape (ground beef is pretty easy to work with in that respect), and cutting up the potatoes pre-roast. Now you have a bit of variety on the plate.

Height is another fun thing to play with. Sure you can just throw everything onto the plate and send it out, but what's the fun in that? There are plenty of ways to give something a bit of height. Items can be stacked into one central tower, or gently laid over one another for a more supple approach, or even topped with an extra little garnish to add that extra oomph.

And speaking of garnish, we come to our final item of note. A good garnish doesn't need to be some hugely elaborate piece of whatever that takes up half of the plate. Food can look good enough on its own without adding anything else. Those clean grill marks? That bone sticking up above the rest of the plate? That is the garnish, and boy does it look good. Not that I'm going to say to never add anything. Just don't go overboard. As a rule a garnish should be edible, and furthermore something that works with the rest of the plate flavorwise (usually something already used in the dish). Of course, grill marks are also cheaper than adding another item to the plate, which is especially nice if you're serving 400 people for lunch.

It's said that people eat with their eyes first. If you really want to get down to it, I'd wager that at least sometimes it's smell that wins that race... but that's getting picky. The point is that taste actually comes fairly late to the game. The plate has to capture the attention before the fork is even in hand. If something looks bad, it's just not going to have the same effect (even if it does taste great).

Sure you may not dress up everything that you eat, but it can be fun to do it sometimes. And at least knowing more about it helps you to appreciate the time and effort that goes into designing all of those plates that you see coming out of the kitchen.

Gone but not forgotten: The missing plate

So I finally got some pictures of that third plate presentation, and it's high time I finished this little series. Just as a refresher, this was the third plate, done after the salmon filet dish. Let's get right to it then.

This time around I went with a pork tenderloin with a honey mustard jus (basically flavored drippings/thin sauce... this was essentially kicked-up chicken stock), mashed potatoes and grilled zucchini.

I had planned to use a single cut, in the neighborhood of one to one-and-a-half inches thick, but unfortunately by the time I got to the meat it had all been sliced. Thankfully even my limited time in the business has taught me to be quick with a plan B. So I took two of the smaller cuts and layered them on top, as shown.

There are a few things that I like about this dish, and a few that I'd like to change if done again. I like the general look of the plate, and would want to keep the same basic design going. I'd probably go for a thicker sauce next time around (even just a little bit of reduction would be nice), and the plate cries out for more color. Maybe instead of the zucchini, which get a bit squashed between the potatoes and pork, a layer of dark greens, or even red cabbage. Something to really stand out and add some of that proverbial eye candy. I wasn't fully satisfied with the height on this one, but I didn't want to use the same fried shallots that I had the day before (I think it'd do the job and taste good along with everything else, but I didn't want to fall into a rut). I think that, if said greens (or reds, depending on how you look at it) formed a layer about a half inch thick, that it would be good. Barring that, something on top would be nice. I'd rather start with the upgraded veg and see where that takes me, though. Granted, the more I look at it the more I want to put something on top. To me it just begs to be finished. Again, those shallots would look great, I just don't want to become a broken record.

Something to think about, though. I'll let you know if I come up with any good toppers.

Once more, with feeling: the final round

Today we had our last go at designing plates. Tomorrow marks the end of class, the end of the term, and the start of a much needed vacation.

This one, while maintaining the same basic principle, was not at all what I had planned out. As such, there are a number of changes that I would make. We'll start with a reference point.

So what was running around in my head in the first place? Well, I had intended to use three lamb chops, arranged around a central mound of the rice. Between these three chops were supposed to be fanned-out snap peas (or green beans, or whatever was green, long-ish, and in the refrigerator at the time). Sadly calling dibs on the three pieces early in the day wasn't enough, and most was taken so that people could practice for the final. Blast you education system.

So what would I change? Like I said, the idea is there. I like the bone-up presentation, and the sauce under the mini-steak (although it could be a bit cleaner). I'd swap out the green beans for haricot vert in a heartbeat (aka, baby green beans). They're more uniform, skinnier, and overall just a tad fancier. The rice bores me. It was supposed to be surrounded by beautifully seared lamb, but the way it turned out it's a bit of an eyesore. If I were to keep it, maybe some tomato concasse on top would be nice, or really about anything to give some color. Switching the rice out for a quenelle of mashed potatoes (garlic chive... mmm...) would provide a more stable platform for the lamb, offers its own garnish, and all sorts of good times.

Lastly the plate itself. Since the original concept was circular, a round plate would have been great. For this I'd much rather have a longer, rectangular plate, and stretch the whole thing out in a straight line. I don't much care for the angle on this, and it's an awkward balance trying to get the lamb in the center without pushing everything else out of sync.

I just want to say that I love bones. They look awesome. And not just that, but they add amazing flavor, especially if you take the time to roast whatever it is that you're working with.

A fun class overall (granted I say this before the written final and practical take place). I definitely like having the chance to practice playing with my food. I'm not going to say that this sort of work is something that I'll be doing every day for myself, but it can be fun to mess around a bit here and there to get a few "ooh's" and "aah's" from the crowd.

Plate three the second

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday in class. It's very hard to take pictures when you forget to bring your camera with you.

I will hopefully be getting some copies in the near future, but to ease your voracious appetites I'll show you my plate from today. I took a step back from the entree work and decided to go with a small appetizer plate. This worked out fairly well considering we moved to sauteing today (way more fun than "baking") so we were crunched for time.

It's really simple, and it could be some tasty stuff if done right (remember that bit about how they don't actually have to taste good, or even be edible? I may have taken a shortcut or two with this dish). Enough talk, time for those photos.

I give you stuffed roasted mushroom caps on a bed of dressed spinach leaves.

The chef made a note that it'd be nice to have maybe a sauce (balsamic reduction?) along with this, and that could be nice. I'd originally planned for a bit of parmesan cheese over the top, and a nice bit of fresh chive to garnish... but even things that were on the requisition list were already used up. Lovely.

One thing to perhaps try would be to pipe in the filling. I wanted to try more of a freeform thing, just to see how it would look. I don't hate it, but I'd like to compare it to the piped version at least. A star-tip may be a bit froo-froo for what I'm going for, but a nice round tip just to keep it clean might work.

Maybe some different greens, too. I don't want to turn it into a salad, but maybe some frisee or even just a spring mix to add a little fluff and variation might not be a bad idea.

A bit of a work in progress, but a decent start.

Presentation Extravaganza: Round 2

Back again with the second of my plates for FFP. This time around I went with a more standard dinner service entree. This one turned out a bit differently than I had originally intended, so I'll just start with some pictures.

So what are we looking at exactly? A pan seared filet of salmon with mashed potatoes and grilled zucchini, served with a lemon beurre blanc. The niblets on top are a bit of fried shallot, added at the end because I wanted a bit more height.

Now, how did this change from the original idea? Originally I had been wanting to go for a skin-on filet, but there were some technical difficulties (read: sticking), so I scrapped that idea, removed the (remaining) skin, and went for a fresh sear on the filet. Turned out alright, although there's a speck or two of black on there.

I also had originally planned on a triangular stack of zucchini strips (and higher), but this way is a lot more... let's say realistic. For one, it takes a lot less product, and two in a restaurant setting you don't want someone to take five minutes to build a log cabin of vegetable. Four strips makes a nice base, lifts it off the sauce, and gives a decent serving. I was trying to decide where to put the potatoes... either in the middle of said stack or around the outside. Changing the stack to something more manageable allowed for the potatoes to just go on top and act as a further socle (fancy-speak for "food that lifts other food higher").

Now I'm not about to say it's perfect, but I'm pretty pleased with it, and the chef was too. The sauce is a bit heavy (granted this is after a good 2 hours of seeping over the plate), the grill marks on the zucchini are a little weak (if I were to do it again I'd just go for a single set of lines and make sure they're solid), and again the sear on the fish didn't happen as planned. It did, however, take second place (did I mention that they get judged at the end of class? Usually by a group vote, but Friday we were short on time and the chef picked the ones he liked best out).

Back to the drawing board for me, though... with Monday comes plate #3.

A note on naan

Just a quick note.

About a week ago I wrote about, among other things, the difference between naan and pita, and how a certain educational facility had tried to pass off one as the other.

Well... sometimes my foot has a nasty habit of inserting itself into my own mouth. Naan and pita really are pretty much the same thing.

In the interest of keeping the world at large well informed, I'm here to admit my lapse in judgment.

Ah well, the best of us have our moments.

Time for a little arts and crafts

I have spent the past 5 days in Fundamentals of Food Service Production (aka FFP). First off let me say that I am way too used to having three-day weekends, especially when I'm looking at a career path that features 70-80 hour weeks as a relative norm. Bad habit or no (but it definitely is, trust me) getting up at 6:00 on a Friday is not what I consider a good start.

Be that as it may, the class is pretty nice. The general idea is to focus on good techniques and basic knife skills and the like. It's very "cooking 101", but even if you've had more experience it's good to get the practice. And speaking of practice, one of the things that we do (on a now daily basis, as of yesterday) is to practice plate presentations. The rules are simple:

1) You don't tell anyone about Fight Club.

Wait, wrong set of rules. Good movie, though.

1) It's all about the looks. It need not be edible, fully cooked, or much of anything other than pretty. Case in point, using a scoop of shortening in place of ice cream.

2) You have 30 minutes out of the day to prepare your plate.

3) You can bring things from home (the selection is a tad lacking in this room), pre-cooked if you so choose.

That's really about it. It can be breakfast, lunch, dessert, appetizer, or anything else. Saute, fried, seared, take your pick.

I figured that I'd do a bit of a series on my plate designs. Give you a chance to get a feel for the ideas bouncing around in my head, and give me a good reason to not slack off... I mean, of course I'd never give anything less than 110% for a class... never...

On to day one.

I thought that I'd start simple, especially given the choice of ingredients to work with. Such was born a delightful bowl of tomato cream soup. And just for the record, no, these aren't exactly magazing-quality pictures... but I don't exactly have a food stylist on staff and a thousand dollar camera to work with.

Overall I'm pretty happy with the way it turned out. Well, with what I had to work with, that is. I'd prefer to have more than four roma tomatoes to use (I'd like a bit more tomato and a little less "cream"). I had to bulk out with chicken stock, which did taste great (oh yeah, this one was completely edible and delicious, if I may say so myself), but I'd prefer to use veggy broth just to keep it animal-friendly. Maybe a chiffonade on the parsley instead of a mince.

In case you're curious (which you should be about all things cheese related), those are gruyere shavings floating on top (a bit melted at this point... pictures happen about 2 hours after the fact). It's a very parmesan-esque cheese, with a bit of swiss influence when it comes to flavor. Still very much a hard cheese, and I'd love to have a nice fresh bit on top here, but that's what happens when food sits untouched for hours.

Also, were there a scrap of bread in that room other than Texas Toast, you can bet about anything you like that there'd be some crouton action, or maybe a piece of bruschetta floating on top.

So there you go, dish number one from my mind to your table.

Which came first, the chicken or...

I can't answer the age old question, nor can I answer who's bright idea it was to try eating that weird little thing that the chicken left behind. Nevertheless, the world is greatful.

You'd be hard pressed to come up with an ingredient that's more versatile. Off the top of my head, we have...

Scrambled
French Omelete
"Normal" Omelete
Frittata
Sunny-side up
Over light/easy/medium/hard
Quiche
Hard/Soft/Medium Boiled
Coddled

... and that is just a short list of ways that eggs alone can be cooked. Add in a few other ingredients and you have one of the greatest things ever made - custard. But that's a story of its own. Baked goods wouldn't be the same without eggs, and without it's emulsifying power mayonaisse (the real stuff, now) wouldn't ... well... exist.

So what is an egg, really? There are a suprising amount of layers to something that to many is just a quick breakfast. The key is to remember that, given fertilization, it's going to grow into a chicken. This explains why there's so much protection going on.

If you get a fresh egg (and I mean right out of the chicken fresh) there will be an outer membrane coating the shell. This is removed for commercial sale. The shell itself is actually really durable. I've heard that it's impossible to break an egg by squeezing it in your hand (before you try this at home, this doesn't work if you squeeze against the sides... it only takes the pressure if applied against the top and bottom). Now I have seen first hand that it takes something like 25 lbs (in the form of bench press weights) to crush an egg (again, with the egg standing up). The shell is porous enough to allow air in, but will keep out bacteria. Yes, this means that salmonella is at least originally found on the outside of eggs. Washing them before use can help you there, but so can proper cracking (keep going).

Inside is an air pocket, which happens to be a good way to tell how old an egg is. Young eggs have a smaller air pocket. On some older eggs you can hear the insides rattling around if you shake the egg (plenty of spare room). Also, older eggs can sometimes float in water if the air pocket is big enough (you know, because air is lighter than water and all that).

Just on the inside of the shell is another membrane. You've probably seen this before. A lot of times a piece of the shell will break off and the membrane will tear free, leaving you with a limp, dangly, membrane-y thing hanging off. More protection for the little chicky-to-be (well, in theory) inside.

Next up we have the albumen, more commonly called the white. There are actually two parts, the thick and thin albumen. You'll need a fresh egg to tell the difference (AA being the freshest, which will degrade to the next stage, A, in about a week... next up is B, and it'll stay like that for much longer than you should feasibly have the same carton of eggs in your refrigerator). The thick albumen is closer to the yolk and will stand up a bit more than the thin albumen, leaving you with a discernible separation between the two. On older eggs these simply run together (and hardcore egg cooks may be wanting to tell you that at that point, they're only good for scrambling).
The albumen is the good-for-you part when it comes to eating. Lots of good proteins, no fat... it's great. All-white egg applications, however, will dry out and overcook easily, so if you're going that route be sure to watch the heat and your eggs carefully.

There's a special part of the albumen (two parts, actually) called the chalazae. These are those little strandlike parts that hold the yolk in place (especially easy to pick out of the egg is scrambled, since they won't break up with the rest).

Next up is the yolk (which is surrounded by its own membrane). All the fat and cholesterol that a growing chicken needs. Yum. All the cholesterol that a growing (or grown) human needs... well, close. Two egg yolks will give you more than your recommended daily allotment of cholestrol (remember, we make enough on our own).

So that's an egg in a nutshell... or may an eggshell... or maybe I'll just stop with the bad puns. Either way, now that you've got the gist of what makes an egg, let's get to a few tips on how to use them.

Time to get cracking... literally. Sorry, I'm really done this time.
There is a right way and a wrong way to crack an egg. Unfortunately it seems that lots of people learn the wrong way and pass it on.
The wrong way is to crack the egg against the edge of the bowl, or any sort of corner or corner-like thing. This causes a jagged break which often drives bits of shell inward along with the side of the bowl. This is bad for a number of reasons.

Like I said before, salmonella starts on the outside. Ground beef is the most dangerous because meat is the same way - bacteria and such sits on the exterior. With a steak, you sear the outside and it's all killed. With ground beef, what used to be the outside (and in truth, the outside of about 100 or so different animals) is now all mixed in.

Nasty foodborne illness aside, no one likes bits of shell in their egg (at least no one that I've ever met). Save yourself the time of scraping all of those little pieces out. Plus, good old fashioned dirt and grime can get inside too, not just foodborne illnesses.

Another bad thing - all of those membranes keeping the egg together are pretty easy to break. Bits of shell, or even just the edge of that bowl, can jab through and break the yolk open. Not fun when you're trying to fry an egg with a nice round yolk in the middle.

So enough about that, what's the right way? Crack it on a nice clean flat surface. If you're lucky, one or two quick taps will give you a clean crack all the way around and the egg will practially fall out on its own. If not, rotate the egg a bit and give it another go. It'll separate easily enough. This method gives you a nice clean break. No bits of shell going everywhere, no broken membranes. Just a nice, beautiful egg falling into the pan.

As for actual cooking, there are a few things to keep in mind.

First off, as with anything, residual heat is going to continue cooking even once the egg is out of the pan. If it looks done in the pan, it's going to be overcooked by the time you eat it (especially true if said cook is waiting on a server to pick it up and bring it to you). You want it to be a bit underdone, a tad juicy in the pan. It'll finish up on its own.

You don't need much fat in the pan. Just a tad to keep it from sticking (and given that the only good use for a non-stick pan is egg cookery, you should be using one of those too). Properly high heat will help with this as well. Especially for omeletes, heat will help the egg release from the pan for a good clean flip.

There's a bit on eggs... and I do mean just a bit. There is a ridiculous amount of ways that eggs can be prepared and still be considered a true egg dish. This is before you get into the rest of its culinary applications. I'll have to save that for later, though. As it is, you've got something to think about the next time you crack open an egg.

Quick and good? The possibilities are endless...

As much as possible I encourage people to take time with their food, to put effort into it, to do things the way they're meant to be done. However, I do understand that people get busy and don't always have a spare hour to spend over the stove every night. Even so, I hate to see people abandon all hope of having a home cooked meal and instead just go for chinese take-out for the 4th time that week.

Today's effort is to put out some ideas for a nice, quick, easy meal that will keep you eating well when you're in a bit of a time crunch.

Let's start with a baked potato. Sure, it takes a while for it to cook, but does it really get any easier than putting something in the oven and walking away? Okay, so this one's more for when you do have time, but are too worn out to put too much effort into anything (we all have lazy days). Of course, if I were just here to say "put a potato in a hot oven", I wouldn't be doing a very good job of getting you to expand your horizons now would I? So what can we do? We can bake it twice.

Twice-baked potatoes are simple, easy way to really amp up your average spud. They taste great and are a fun way to really impress your friends.

For this application, I suggest the good ol' russet potato (or Idaho, or baker, or whatever other name you care to call it).

Start off the same way you would with a standard baked potato. Pre-heat the oven to 400, then give the potato a nice rinse and a little scrub to get the outside nice and clean. This can be done ahead of time if you really want to, but know that even scrubbing can be enough to break the skin to let in oxygen. Potatoes will oxidize in the same way that fruit does, and you'll be left with nasty brown spots. With fruit, some citrus juice will keep this from happening (the acid counters it). I don't particularly want my potatoes to taste like lemon, so instead of citrus just put them in a tub of water. Make sure they're fully covered and they'll stay for hours.

Next up is the coating. So many people ignore the potato skin and just eat the insides. Considering that the skin has most of the nutrients (same as with about any fruit or vegetable) your body's not going to be giving you any props for leaving that behind. The easy way to take care of this is to make the skin tasty too. Pour just a tad bit of oil onto the potato and give it a nice rub down. You don't want it to be dripping, but you want a decent coat. The oil will keep the skin nice and soft, so you're not spending half an hour trying to chew through it. Next, toss on some salt. It'll stick nicely to the oil, and you'll have a tasty skin to go along with the rest of your potato. Though you may be tempted to keep adding other seasonings, be warned. This is going into a very hot oven. Salt is a rock, and it's not going to burn. Pepper on the other hand? It'll just be a flavorless little black speck by the time you pull that potato out, so wait until it's out of the oven.

Once your oven is heated properly, toss in the spuds. It'll take somewhere around an hour to be done properly, depending on size. If you've got a smaller one, it may only take 45 minutes. A really small one may even take 30. Just give it a poke with a fork - if you don't meet any resistance all the way through to the middle, you're good to go. A mealy mess of delicious is waiting for you inside. If it's a bit hard near the middle (or anywhere else for that matter) leave it in.
Once you've got your potatoes all baked and ready, it's time to transform them into the twice-baked variant. The easiest way to look at this is that you're making mashed potatoes out of the insides, and re-stuffing them back in.

First, cut the potatoes in half lengthwise. Using a spoon, scoop out the inside. I suggest leaving a bit of a rim, maybe 1/2", so that it's not just skin. Get all of the potato-guts into a mixing bowl. From here, make mashed potatoes however you care to. I'm a fan of just some milk, butter, salt and pepper. A bit of mozzarella cheese is good, as is garlic or maybe chives. There are a lot of possibilities when you're looking at mashed potatoes.

If you want an idea, though, here you go. For each cup of potato you have in the bowl, try about 2 tablespoons each of butter and milk. Next add one clove of minced garlic, 1/2 tablespoon of fresh chives (snipped with shears or chopped with a very sharp knife), and 1/2 tablespoon of fresh parmesan cheese. Whip this up good - you want to incorporate some air and make it light and fluffy. Incorporating air also increases volume, and this means that you'll have a nice mound of whipped potatoes on the inside of your baked potato rather than just a re-filled potato.

After re-stuffing, it's time for another quick shot in the oven. This is just to reheat, and give a bit of brown to any cheese that you may have put on top as a garnish. A little bit of chive looks nice too, but don't send fresh herbs through high heat unless you want shriveled twigs in the end.

Nice and easy, and incredibly versatile. Baked potatoes make a nice accompaniament to quite a few dishes, and can be a meal in their own right. Twice-baked potatoes keep this versatility while jumping off of the plate a little more in terms of appeal. Serve as-is, or if you care to beside a nice bowl of soup or maybe a sandwich.

On to plate #2. I do love a good pasta dish, and they can be really easy to pull off. For now I'm going to suggest something that you may not have tried, but trust me, it's delicious.
When people hear the word pasta, they almost always jump to sauce as well. There's nothing wrong with a good alfredo (or marinara, or a lot of other things), but today I want you to look at anti-sauce. Anti-sauce is just a fancy word for "stuff". It's quick, it's easy, and it's whatever you have on hand. You can put pretty much anything you want in with noodles. Here are a couple of suggestions, and the best part is that all of the prep can be done while the water is coming to a boil.

So first, let's get that water going. Fill a stock pot with water and put it on high. The first plate is going to be a nice Spaghetti Caprese (feel free to substitute another pasta if you feel like it). Now the most classic caprese that you can make is simply fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil. Maybe season a bit with salt and pepper. I'd be happy with that, but I'd be happy with a little minced garlic and finely diced onion, too. The amount of any given ingredient here is strictly up to your own personal tastes. I personally would probably start with one clove of garlic and about a quarter of a medium onion diced fine per serving (also note that my serving is about two of the label's servings, but that's just me). If you have fresh garden tomatoes, good for you. If not, there are some options. You can go for a roma (I'd cut each half into about 12 pieces), or even grab some grape or cherry tomatoes to use whole or cut in half. If you can get your hands on balls of fresh mozzarella, they're about perfect for this. However, if you get a log and cut some of it into bit-sized pieces, I won't tell on you. A bit of fresh basil chiffonade (ie, cut into thin strips... just stack the leaves, roll them up, and slice thinly with a very sharp knife) and you're good to go.
Note that you can give the garlic and onion some time in a skillet (say, while the pasta's cooking) to bring out the natural sugars and enhance the flavors.

So now you've got your tomatoes cut, garlic and onions cooked, pasta's freshly out of the pot, and your stomach is grumbling at you to hurry up. No worries, this'll be done in just a minute (really, it takes no time at all).

Put the pasta into a mixing bowl, or even back into the stock pot (just be careful not to burn anything - yourself included - on the residual heat). Drizzle a bit of extra virgin olive oil over the pasta and toss to coat. Next, a bit of salt and pepper (freshly ground, of course) to taste. Again, mix to coat evenly. Then we add all of our ingredients. Tomatoes, basil, cheese, garlic and onions all go in. Just toss it around, mix it up, and throw on a plate. Dinner is served. Well, maybe with a piece of garlic bread.

The next version is similar in practice, just with a different anti-sauce. This time around we're basing our anti-sauce on eggplant.

First of all, if you're using eggplant (or zucchini, or another really wet squash) be sure to pull some moisture out of it first... unless you like mushy food, that is. It's easy to do - just salt either side of your slice, lay between paper towels, and weigh it down (I usually put the slices between dinner plates and put something heavy on top). The salt will pull out excess moisture, and the paper towels will absorb it. The weight just helps things along. This can be done well in advance (just keep it all in the refrigerator) or could probably be done along with everything else if you do this first, and check it when the water starts to boil (ie, allow 10-15 minutes to pull the moisture out).

On to the fun part, though. This version is going to have a few of the same things. Garlic and onion, salt and pepper, and the same extra virgin olive oil to coat the noodles. However we're going to add in the eggplant, parmesan cheese, and some olives (kalamata would be great, but black would also work in a pinch).

So let's start from the beginning.

The water is on and the eggplant slices are prepping themselves (you can slice into rounds or lengthways, just think of how you want to use the rest of the eggplant. I'd use about three 1/2" rounds for my own serving). While that's going you can mince the garlic and dice the onion. Once the water comes to a rolling boil, throw in the pasta and start the garlic and onions in a pan. Go ahead and pull out the eggplant to let it start coming back to room temp. The eggplant can cook in the same pan as the garlic and onion, just push them of to the side of the pan and put the eggplant down in the middle. I'd say give it about 2 minutes on either side. You just want a nice sear and even heating.
When the eggplant is done, remove it from the pan and cut into strips (about 1/2" wide). They'll be small enough to be manageable, but will give you a nice focus in the dish. If necessary you can throw the strips back into the pan to keep them warm while the pasta finishes.

After that it's the same story. Coat the pasta with the olive oil, season with salt and pepper to taste, and mix in the olives, eggplant, garlic, and onion. Just mix and serve. Done in the time it takes to cook pasta.

So there you have a few ideas, at least. As you can tell, you can really put anything into an anti-sauce pasta dish that sounds good to you. A little olive oil for flavor and to make the ingredients stick, and you've got dinner. Plus, with just a little work some old classics can be an exciting meal of their own.

So here's to putting down that take-out menu. Do it quick, but do it right.

Oats and groats and other such things

Most classes here at JWU require some sort of outside project, often a small research paper. The latest of these that I did had a subject that many people probably wouldn't consider for academic study. My subject was oats. More specifically, rolled oats, quick oats, and kasha groats.

Largely oats are thought of as kind of a boring food. You'd be hard pressed to find a person who can suffer through a bowl of oatmeal without dumping half a bag of brown sugar into it first. In fact, the vast majority of oats in our country are used for livestock feed.

That said, our fast and furious food culture is somewhat to blame for our upturned noses. While the difference between rolled and quick oats is really very little, there's going to be a definite difference in taste and texture. First, let me explain the difference.

Rolled oats are just that. The groat (ie, the edible grain) is rolled and we have 'oat flakes'. With quick oats (think Quaker brand) the groats are cut up a bit (if you stop production there you have steel-cut groats, which are more popular in Ireland and Scotland) and then rolled (often thinner, too). In essense, quick oats are just smaller than rolled oats. Both are often steamed to par-cook. Rolled oats will have something like a 15 minute cook time, whereas quick oats are done only a few short minutes after being put into boiling water.

I'm not going to try to convince anyone to wake up 15 minutes early to make old-fashioned oatmeal for breakfast, but it's definitely something to try if you've got a few spare minutes. The rolled oats have more flavor (and given that oats are often said to be rather bland, this is a good thing), and also will have more of a texture (in any application, but especially oatmeal). Oats are very starchy, kind of like rice, which is why oatmeal is so creamy. Starch likes to absorb water, and with enough heat (and after absorbing enough liquid) they blow up. Those tiny little bits of starch are what thicken the oatmeal and give you that nice creamy consistency. The main difference in texture here is that, rather simply, the smaller quick oat grains are pretty easy to miss when they're prepared like this. Yeah, you know they're there, but that's about it. Rolled oats, on the other hand, are a bit thicker, and just overall larger, so it gives you more of something to sink your teeth into.

But let's not forget the third subject of research, the kasha. Take some buckwheat groats, roast them, and you've got kasha. Contrary to what you might think, buckwheat is not a wheat. It's not even related to wheat. Actually, it's not even a grain at all. It's a little berry. So what do kasha and oats have in common? That's a good question.

It really comes down to culinary use. Kasha is a big staple in the Middle East and Russia, and sneaks into other cuisines (such as being one of the main ingredients in soba noodles, a nice little noodle from Japan). They can be eaten raw (where they're a bit crunchy and have a slightly nutty flavor), or cooked in water to give a nice fluffy texture.

Now oats and kasha aren't fully interchangeable. I'd throw some kasha in a nice green salad to add a bit of crunch (or even use kasha as a main ingredient in a salad, maybe with orzo), but I wouldn't do the same with oats. They do have some similar uses, though.

Both can be ground into flour and used to add both nutrition and flavor to... well, just about anything you'd put flour in. Note that since it's not wheat you won't have enough gluten to really make a good bread (or rather, a well leavened bread... you'd have a small, very dense loaf), but you can use some of either along with a high protein wheat flour if you want.

Overall a fairly interesting project, if only for the fact that it got me to look at an ingredient that doesn't get a lot of attention.

Allow me to elaborate

I feel the need to explain my last post here.

I've said before that one of my biggest pet peeves is calling vegetable broth vegetable stock. It's a simple matter of misinformation.

While that particular example sticks out, the general idea of telling people the wrong thing is just irksome.

I've come across this problem in a few different ways.

Sometimes people just don't know any better. If you've never been told the difference between stock and broth, it's understandable that you might confuse the two.

Sometimes it's a marketing gimmick. This one is, as far as I'm concerned, a bit of a dirty trick. To say, for example, that a certain vegetable is cholesterol free is essentially implying that others aren't. This is probably worse when it's done with a product (like a certain type of peanut butter), where consumers might buy that brand for that reason. It's taking advantage of ignorance.

Sometimes it's straight up lieing to make more money. Saying that the spread on a bagel is neufchatel sounds a bit nicer than calling it cream cheese. There is extremely little difference between the two (in fact today I tasted them side by side and was hard pressed to notice much of anything). But they're not the same thing. I've also seen this happen with people calling sour cream creme fraiche. Again, these are two very similar products, however you'd probably be able to tell a difference when eating them side by side (and those more acquainted may know the difference anyway). There's nothing wrong with sour cream, and calling it something else just so that you can charge more is plain wrong.

So much of the time people do this because "They don't know the difference". This is, unfortunately, true. But that is also the absolute worst reason to do it. Instead of using someone's lack of knowledge to slide something past them, you should educate them so that they can tell the difference, or at the very least so that they know a difference exists.

This is why seeing that bit about cholesterol-free veggies in a culinary textbook set me off. This is an educational facility. And they're pawning off misleading information. And I'm paying for it.

It's not the first time, either. When the culinary students are in a lab that's not an actual kitchen lab (such as the beverage service class, or meat cutting) we'll eat in one of the dining rooms. If I remember correctly the appetizer was naan with a tomato cucumber salad and baba ghanoush. That's what it said, anyway. Rather than naan, a thin, almost wafer-like bread, I was given pita. Now I will say that this particular dish was one of, if not the best dishes that I have had in either that dining room or the advanced dining room (with an equally advanced class cooking the food).

But it wasn't naan.

Incredible as it was, they lied to me. Now I know what naan is, but not everyone who ordered that is going to. So what happens now? You have culinary students who are taught that naan and pita are the same thing.

Editor's Note - Okay, so I may have gotten ahead of myself on the naan thing... and by "may" I mean "completely". Naan and pita are, by and large, the same product. Naan is Indian in origin and pita is Mediterranean. Pita can be made to rise more, but not always. But hey, that's why I'm in school. In any case, the point stands (which, in part, is why I'm taking the time to correct myself).

People who accept the responsibility of teaching, regardless of subject, have to present viable material.

And I paid how much for this book??

This is going to be short, and it's going to be very much a rant.

You have been warned.

I decided to take a look over my assigned reading for tomorrow, figuring that it might be a good idea that I at least know what I was supposed to have read for class.

Vegetables, it seems. 20 pages, plus some other stuff. Glad I saved that precious time, for facebook sleeps for no man.

One of the vegetables mentioned is rutabaga.

Under 'nutritional advantage', it is listed as being cholesterol free.

Really? A vegetable is cholesterol free? Cholesterol free? You mean, that substance that is found only in animals and animal products, because it is only produced naturally by animals, is not found in rutabagas?

Oh my! The world is saved! Rutabaga's won't increase you're cholestrol levels!

I feel so confident in my education. My $30,000 education. That is teaching me that rutabagas, a completely non-animal item, contain no cholesterol, which is manufactured naturally only in animals.

I can't wait for class tomorrow.

A tip of the hat and a turn of the plate

Today I'm writing to show my love for a few of the classic dishes out there. I'm not talking coq au vin here, just good simple food. Emphasis on the "good" part. Case in point, my first dish.

Grilled Cheese.

Something of an American standby, good on its own or beside a big steamy bowl of tomato soup. Now, if you're going to make a tomato soup that requires more than a can opener and a microwave, shouldn't the sandwich match?
Step one to any great sandwich is great bread. I want something that's going to add a lot of it's own flavor. As much as I love good cheese (and believe me, I do love good cheese) simply cheese does not a great sandwich make. So for this, I'm breaking out the sourdough. A couple of nice big slices, I'd say just under half an inch thick.
Of course, you've got to butter your bread for a grilled cheese, but using plain butter just isn't going to cut it here. Flavor is your friend. I'd suggest a nice garlic-herb compound butter. A little garlic, salt and pepper, a bit of oregano... it's really up to you. If you're one who likes a nice crunchy pickle along side your sandwich, you might consider some dill in there.
Before the cheese hits, we need a spread. Today that spread is mustard. Good mustard. I'm a big fan of a nice dijon myself, and a good stone ground wouldn't go wanting either.
And now the finale... the cheese (thought it'd never come, didn't you?). If I had my way, one side would get fresh mozzarella and the other some good provolone. The middle layer would be some shavings of fresh parmesan (it won't take much, that stuff is pretty potent).

Throw both sides down over medium heat until the cheese is good and melted and the bread is beautiful and brown, then slap them together. Give it just enough time that the two halves start to melt together and make friendly, then move it to a plate and serve.

Next up, a dish that's a bit more fine-dining friendly (not that I wouldn't serve that grilled cheese at a nice place). Caprese salad - traditionally a salad of fresh mozzarella, plum tomatoes, and fresh basil - is an italian classic. Now, hand me a plate of fresh vine-ripened tomatoes, true fresh mozzarella cheese, and good fresh basil that was picked earlier that day and I will say nothing but "thank you". That said, I do like to play with my food... so here's my take on it.

Toasted Caprese (yeah, it's a sandwich).

This round we're starting off with a nice french baguette. Does it seem odd to combine french bread and italian ingredients? Maybe, but it tastes pretty awesome, so I'm not going to stop.
Here again a toasted sandwich means buttered bread, and here again we're not going to settle for just plain butter. A bit simpler this time, I suggest a nice garlic butter (I don't want to take away from the fresh basil by adding a bunch of other herbs).
Different bread, same spread. Give this one a bit of mustard (dijon is great) just like before.
And now the fun begins. Once again we're going to throw both slices of bread down over medium heat. One side gets fresh mozzarella and a nice slice of good ripe tomato. The other gets provolone and some whole pitted olives (I like a mix of black and green).
Same as before let the cheese get melty and the bread get golden-delicious. Just before you bring the two halves together into a beautiful case of culinary matrimony, throw down some fresh basil leaves. As soon as the greenery goes down, you want to get it out of the pan as soon as you can (no one wants wilty herbs). So grab it out, grab a plate, and get ready to enjoy.

Classics can be found anywhere from the finest restaurants to our fondest childhood memories. Some may not be thought of as fine dining fare, but if you give it a little love and some good ingredients, just about anything can be made to grace the best of tables.

But hey, this is coming from someone who eats half of his meals while sitting on his bed and playing on his computer. I may not have the best linens, but that doesn't mean I can't have the best food.

Ask and you shall receive... eventually

Every once in a while I check this little corner of cyberspace for comments... and once in a while I actually get one. As it is, it seems that I've been asked to provide a good animal-friendly tomato soup recipe.

On that note, please feel free to drop a line here and ask questions... whether you're looking for a specific recipe idea, something more general, info on an ingredient or technique, piece of gear, or anything in between (or even to the sides).

On to the goods, though.

The key to good tomato soup (along with just about anything else) is fresh ingredients. This means fresh tomtatoes. Sadly we're coming up on the time of year when the really good stuff just isn't available anymore. Ah well, if we didn't have out of season, we couldn't have in season, and in season really is worth it.

It's still possible to find fresh tomatoes, at least, and that's a start.

First off, a note on guestimeasuring fruits and veggies. If a recipe calls for 1 cup of chopped onion, just how many do you need to chop up? What about green pepper? Things like onions are pretty easy. If the whole vegetable looks like it's about the same size as your measuring cup, it's going to yield about that much. Hollow stuff like the green pepper... go for about half. Not an exact rule, but it'll give you an idea.

Seasoning aside (which will be pretty simple) we're only looking at a handful of ingredients. Fresh tomatoes, butter and flour for a roux, garlic and onion because I almost always use garlic and onion, sugar to cut the acidity of said tomatoes, some good fresh parmesan cheese, and a bit of heavy cream to finish. It may not sound like much, but trust me, it'll be delicious. The following is an admittedly untested version, but hey, I encourage you to put your own spin on it anyway.

4 Tbsp Butter
4 Tbsp Flour
2 clove garlic
1/2 med Onion (about 1/2 c if you prefer)
4 cups worth of whole tomato (a standard 3" globe should be around a cup's worth)
4-5 parsley stems (you bet we use the scraps)
1/4 c grated parmesan
1/4 c heavy cream
2 Tbsp Sugar
Salt & pepper

We've got the what, now for the how.

Start by melting the butter down over low heat. Once it's good and liquified you can turn it up to medium and toss in the diced garlic and onion. Saute for a few minutes until it's good and translucent. Sprinkle the flour over everything and mix it up to form a roux.

Assuming you've quartered the tomatoes, squeezed the liquidy insides out into a container and given the flesh a rough chop already you can now pour in the tomato juice (seeds are fine). You'll want to keep stirring this occasionally (your pan will thank you) and once it starts boiling let it go for a good minute while stirring. This will assure that all the starches have mixed throughout the liquid, giving you all the thickening power possible.

At this point add in the diced tomato pieces, parsley stems, and a bit of salt. All you're looking to do here is cook those tomatoes, which shouldn't take long (of course exact time depends on how large the pieces are). You can also add in the sugar. Be sure to give it a taste and make sure that you've got enough in there to cut the acidity down. Once the tomatoes are good to go, remove the pot from the heat and add the cheese. Once that's stirred in you can go ahead with the cream. Now comes the fun part.

First, take out the parsley stems and toss them in the trash - they've done their job. Now start removing the pieces of tomato from the soup into a food processor (even a blender will work... not as well, granted, but so be it). Pulse the tomatoes until they're good and pureed, adding only as much liquid as necessary (trust me, too much liquid will leave you with little bits that just swim around the bowl). Once you've got a good puree going, start adding liquid and keep going with it. You'll never get it perfectly smooth (and who would want it to be?) but you do want it to be a good uniform consistency.

Add a bit of freshly ground black pepper, and serve it up (you did double-check to make sure all of the seasonins were good, didn't you?). If you care to garnish, a bit of parmesan (in shred or flake form), a leaf or two of fresh parsley, or maybe a couple of fresh croutons will all do quite nicely.

Next time I'm at the store I'll see if I can't find any decent tomatoes to try this out. I'll let you know how it goes.

Gear-love: Know thy pan

Have you ever taken a good look at the pans that you use? Ever wonder why people can go so crazy over cast iron, or why some stores charge hundreds of dollars for a single saute pan? There are reasons for all of these things, of course.

Before we get into the actual materials, let's look at the pots and pans themselves. What do you really need? The answer? Not a lot, really. Here are a few basics that will get you pretty close to anywhere you need to go.

Saute pan: These come in various sizes, and what size you need is dependent on how much you're cooking (food for one generally takes up less room than food for four), how big your stove is (you want something that will easily sit over one burner, not crowd the entire surface), and such things. They've got sides (a couple of inches or so) that generally move out from the base a bit.

Sauce pan: Again, various sizes. This is one that I wouldn't mind you having two of (I have three myself, actually). These are measured by the volume that they hold rather than the diameter of the pan, and should always come with a lid (in fact, a lid for any given pot or pan is not a bad idea... or better yet, one nice universal lid for all those that don't come with them normally). If the sides are flared instead of coming straight up, what you're looking at is a saucier pan. The sides are flared in order to give a larger surface area so that sauces and the like will reduce faster.

Stock pot: Big. Really big. I think mine is about 14" tall. Get the biggest thing that will fit on both your stove and in your sink (for easy washing purposes).

Why am I happy with just three types of pots and pans? You really can do a lot with this list. The saute pan is generally my go-to item. You can cook a steak, a pile of green beans, cabbage, throw together a (small amount of) sauce... in fact there's very little that you can't do with it. Get one that's oven safe and the opportunities are nigh endless. Sauce pans are great for larger batches of sauce, small to moderate batches of soup, and other related liquid endeavors. Add a nice metal bowl that fits on top (you want most of the bowl to actually fit inside the pan) and you've got a double boiler to beat anything you'd buy from a store. A mesh strainer that fits snugly inside (with a lid to fit over) is a great steamer. Stock pots are great for not only stock, but will make enough soup to feed an army, and are the only pot that I ever use for pasta.

That's all well and good, but the right pan is only half of the battle. What the pan is made of is going to determine a lot.

Aluminum: Relatively cheap, durable, and light weight. They're not without flaws, though. Aluminum isn't the most effective conductor, and you'll have hot spots in the pan. Likewise, unless it's iodized (which isn't hard to find) acidic ingredients like tomatoes will mess with the pan (and the pan will mess with the food... and no one wants that).

Copper: Ah copper, how sweet it is. It's pretty much the best conducter available. For quick, even heating it can't be beat. It's not overly weighty... although it's not overly cheap either. More importantly it's a tad bit (and by a tad bit I mean more than just a tad) poisonous if you cook food in it (which is why you'll so often see copper-bottomed pots lined with stainless steel).

Stainless steel: Decent conductor, pretty durable... overall pretty good. Not as cheap as some, and still not completely devoid of hot spots.

Cast iron: Another lovely thing. True they're heavy and brittle (don't drop it, please), but they're solid conductors. Being a very dense metal they hold a lot of heat (this does also mean that it takes a bit longer to heat up), and so when you slap down cold food there's enough heat in the pan already to keep going. Lighter metals (such as aluminum) will lose a lot of their heat to the food, and will need time to come back up to speed to continue cooking.

A special note on non-stick pans. What are they good for? Eggs. What else, you ask? Nothing, really. If no bit of that steak sticks, no fond is left in the pan (those tasty little black bits just bursting with good flavor). This means that you won't be making any pan sauces (at least not as good as they could be). You've got to be incredibly careful with them, too. No harsh scrubbing (not even the green side of those little sponges), no oven time, and I wouldn't care to run them through the dish washer either, just in case. But, if you're an omelete lover, I wouldn't begrudge you a small one.

There's a short list, at least, of what makes a pan. While this won't fully outfit your kitchen, it's sure to be a good start.

Lifting the veil

If there's a food-related topic quite so bound up in controversy as veal, I haven't heard of it.

Go ahead, google it, see what happens.

Chances are the front page will look something like this: a few sites on straight information (ie, neutral in viewpoint), a few cooking sites and related items with recipes, and a few talking about how cruel the practice is.

I'm not going to try to convince you of one viewpoint or another. In fact, I won't even talk about my own personal stance. I'll just put out some information, and you can do with it what you wish.

First of all, a quick note about why we started using the mini-moo's in the first place. Veal is actually a by-product of the dairy industry. Cows (that's an actual category of cattle, by the way, meaning females used for dairy) need to give birth about once a year in order to continually produce milk. As it is, this leaves us with a surplus of baby cattle. Female calves can be taken to be raised as the future dairy-producers of America, but the males are just taking up space. Being the thrifty little people that we are, we slaughter them (generally around 9-10 months of age) and sell the meat as veal. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting that we're the first society to come up with veal - far from it, really. On to the topic at hand, though.

While animal right's activist groups such as PETA oppose all sorts of animal-raising practices, veal has it's own special little spot on the shelf. It's not only big groups like this, though. Many people are turned off by veal. While Americans consume in the neighborhood of 60 pounds per year apiece of chicken and beef, veal consumption is less than a single pound per person per year. Even lamb, which is another "baby-version" that is sometimes found on our plates, does not have near the amount of protest. So what makes veal so special? Check out how it's raised.

Granted, here in the states we're not exactly known for giving our slaughter-animals acres of roaming grounds. It's more efficient to use the factory-farm setting, and it produces a more consistent product (in fact, the factory farming technique is why pork isn't graded by quality - it's so consistent now that there's little point). There are 3 categories of veal, from a packaging standpoint.

Baby veal (aka Bob veal): Slaughtered at an age of 3-30 days. These are actually the lowest quality of veal because we haven't had a chance to produce that pale flesh that gives veal it's unique character.

Non-formula veal (aka Barn raised, and many other names): These are veal, but only just. Because they're fed a diet of grains, grass, and/or other examples of "real food" they don't have that pale flesh and the flavor will be more pronounced (not a good thing with veal). Often these guys will be hutch-raised (think calf-sized dog houses) or even maybe in larger yards or barn settings.

Formula-fed (aka Special fed): This is, in essense, the real deal. What is "special feed", you may ask? Liquid milk replacer. In large part it lacks iron in order to keep the meat pale. The calves are commonly raised in small stalls about 2'x6' (about enough room to stand up and maybe lie down). They're not given water so that they're encouraged to eat more (it is liquid, so they're not dehydrated). This leads to a larger slaughter-weight. On the downside, an all-liquid diet does often lead to chronic diarrhea. And of course eating a diet nearly void of iron does have its own side effects.

It's worth noting that about a year ago Europe got rid of the last of these crate-raised veal facilities. Over there it's all hutches and barns and the like. In fact, all animals over there must be raised "in the environment in which they would naturally be found" (quote may not be word for word, but you get the idea). Long story short, our four-legged friends across the pond enjoy a lot more outside time than those over here do.

However, in the case of veal this means that the meat just isn't what most people consider to be good veal. It's going to have more color, and be at least slightly less tender (although with an animal that young, it's not going to be tough by any stretch of the imagination). Case in point, in the past six months our veal exports to Europe have increased by about 70%.

Take it as you will. Love it or hate it, that's what veal is. If nothing else, it's good to know what's really on your plate.

Soup's on

As the weather turns cooler (yes, even here in the Queen City) thoughts turn to the warmer things in life. A crackling fireplace, a big poofy blanket, a steamy mug of hot chocolate... all wonderful things.

Not to be left behind, though, is a big, hot, delicious bowl of soup.

Cold weather aside, soup really is a wonder-food. Let's take a look at this for a moment.

For starters, it can be deadly simple. Veggies, stock (you do have a stockpile of frozen stock that you've made, right? No? Oh goodness, we're going to have to talk), seasonings, heat, done. Deliciousness in the making.

It's good for you. No matter what the cooking method (even the oft-hailed steaming) you're going to lose some nutrients from the food. Some more than others, but always some. One of the benefits of soup is that any nutrients that leak out of the ingredients are leaking out into the soup itself. So drink up, kids, it'll make ya grow up big and strong.

It's economical (which, especially now, is a good thing). For one, you can make soup out of pretty much anything you have (much like a casserole). I don't advocate throwing things into the pot without even bothering to take a look at them, but you can start with pretty much any given foodstuff and go from there. In the case of stew (largely soups with meat, often thicker in consistency) you are able (and even encouraged) to use tougher (and as such, cheaper) cuts of meat. Prime rib eye is wasted here. Give me brisket, and to you I will give stew. In case you're wondering, brisket is essentially the breast cut of beef. The long time/low heat cooking method of stewing is perfect for these cuts. The collagen (connective tissues that can be broken down) will gradually melt away, allowing the meat to absorb moisture and flavor from the liquid (again, hopefully homemade stock). That same collagen will do good things for the stew, like adding richness and creamy mouthfeel without the need for extra fat.

Like I said, wonder-food.

I said we'd talk about stock, so here's me talking about stock. The difference between a 'stock' and a 'broth' is that stock is made by pulling collagen out of bones to create gelatin within the liquid. Broth is simply flavored water. As such, you can never truly have "vegetable stock" (one of my greatest culinary pet peeves).

Stock is a wonder-food all its own. It's great for the aforementioned soups, and also can be used in small amounts to finish a sauce (or in larger amounts to be the base of one). Because there's a relatively large amount of collagen pulled from the bones, the end result has a great creamy mouthfeel without any extra fat. All in all, I'd say it's one of our finer creations.

And the best part - if you thought making soup was easy, just wait until you hear about stock.

Grab a bunch of (preferably uncooked) bones. If you're making chicken stock, use chicken bones. Beef stock? Beef bones. You get the idea. Throw them in a big pot. Cover them with water (just enough). Put it on heat and bring to a boil.

You see how easy this is? If you can boil water, you can make stock. Brilliant.

There is another thing or two, though, but believe me it's nothing really bad.

As the water boils, it'll start pulling collagen out of the bones. This is good. It'll start pulling a few other things out, too, and this isn't quite as awesome. These things tend to cause foaming on top of the water. It's easy to deal with, though, just find a way to scoop it off (slotted spoon, ice cream scoop, or as Alton Brown likes you can use one of those little nets used to catch fish in pet stores).

And now, we flavor. The classic approach would be a simple mirepoix (that's a classic blend of aromatic veggies - two parts onion, one part carrot, and one part celery). You don't even have to chop it up, really. Cut the onions in half, break the carrots, snap the celery, and toss it all in. Salt and pepper can go in, or if you prefer you could wait until you're actually using the stock for a dish to season it.

At this point turn it down to a simmer (that's 160-185 degrees, if you're curious). You'll know you've got a simmer going if small bubbles are floating regularly to the top, but not really breaking the surface. Simmering is good because it's a more gentle method and will leave us with a clear stock in the end.

So how long do you simmer? The longer you go, the more collagen you'll extract (and that's the whole point). This is likely to be an all-day process (I said easy, not quick). The stock is completely done when you can easily crush the bones with tongs. When it's done, strain it into a new container (carefully, mind you, you're working with a hot liquid) and store it in the refrigerator. You can freeze it if you like, and keep it up for a year (if it's properly stored in an airtight container).

A couple of notes.

Be ready to refill the pot as needed. Water does tend to evaporate, and you'll want to keep the bones fully submerged. Keeping some warm water handy will allow you to add more in without dropping the temperature of the pot by too much (which would just make it take longer as it would have to reheat).
Don't add herbs and such at the beginning of the process. Eight hours in a simmering pot will absolutely destroy them. Save them instead for the last few minutes. On that note, using stems rather than leaves will give you a little more leeway in this area, as they'll give you the same flavor but will stand up to more damage, and will be a lot easier to strain out to boot. A good way to do greenery for something like stock is to use a bouquet garni. All this is is a bunch of herbs tied together, or wrapped in cheesecloth, so that you can just pull them out when you're done.

Stock... it's a wonderful thing, isn't it? Yeah, it really is. I say soup is economical, but it's got nothing on stock (made with bones, and just as easily scrap-bits of any veggies and herbs that you care to throw in).

The next time you start to throw away that bit of onion, consider throwing it into the refrigerator instead and saving it for stock. Grab a few bones (either from carving a bird yourself, or - if you're lucky - the local butcher), and make a day of it. You won't be sorry.