Is a completely different pepper, apparently.
I don't know who had the bright idea of renaming peppers once you've applied some sort of cookery to them (what's that, a smoked jalepeno? Noooo friend, *that* is a chipotle!).
Then again, we do it with meats too (I guess 'bacon' has a better ring to it than 'cold-smoked pork belly strips').
It's probably just the language barrier (you'd think a minor in Spanish would have prepared me to remember a few choice words), but I always have to think before I speak when talking about (or attempting to talk about, at least) peppers.
Of course, I can't stay mad long at something that yeilds such delicious spices and flavors. I've always been a fan of paprika. Granted, I've never really used it much (although it does make some delicious croutons at work, combined with a few other seasonings). Just for the record, paprika is a spice of dried sweet chilies. It has a very characterful aroma that makes me want to sit and ponder over the culinary possibilities.
Speaking of sweet chilies, though, I have to wonder - just how many aren't sweet? Now I know most people would classify most as "hot" rather than... well... anything else... but even those that will send you running toward the nearest fire hydrant generally have some sweetness to them. Peppers are, afterall, technically a fruit. Go figure.
Both the hottest (or rather, spiciest) and suprisingly sweetest (that is to say, most suprisingly sweet, not necessarily the sweetest) pepper I've ever eaten is the jabanero. Mind you, it was a very, very small piece, but when prepared for such I have somewhat of a tolerance for the Chuck Norris-style round-house kick to the throat that these things tend to provide. If you snuck one into my milkshake, then maybe I'd start to cry (or maybe not... keep reading).
So yes, there was a distinct burning sensation, but looking past that (or tasting past that, rather) I could actually taste the flavor and sweetness of the pepper. Of course, for those of you who aren't either Catholic or masochistic and like to enjoy the finer things in life (like dinner), there are ways around the heat. Namely, a sharp knife (and maybe a pair of disposable gloves).
See now, all that heat is packed into the seeds and inner membrane of the pepper; the flesh is actually very flavorful and sweet. So, if you want the flavor without the pain, all you have to do is cut out said seeds and membrane (that is, the weird looking white-ish stuff running along the insides of the peppers). This may not be completely foolproof (especially on some of the really fiesty ones), but it will definitely reduce the tears that follow.
And please, please please please, PLEASE - wash your hands. Twice. Okay, once will do it, but do it well. After fiddling with those seeds and pepper-insides and whatsuch, clean your hands, the knife, the cutting board, the cat that brushed by while you were working, all of it. Trust me, you do not want to clean out a jalepeno, forget about it, then rub your eyes. Unless, of course, you really *are* a masochist. Even then, though, I'd suggest working up to it. Maybe start with hot sewing needles first. Just trust me, you don't want those burnination chemicals to get spread around in unwanted places.
Also, if you find yourself in a nasty spot where one-too-many peppers got dropped in the pot and your tastebuds are being ravaged as a result, fear not; there is a cure. Sort of. It's been tested before (by other people, who get paid to do this sort of thing) and you'd be surprised by what works.
Chugging water is pretty useless - those chemicals that cause all the burn aren't water soluble - they're actually alcohol-soluble.
But don't let that make you think you have an excuse to down a six-pack (although it'd probably take that much). Unless you're reaching for grain alcohol, the content will be too low to do you much good before you're passed out anyway.
So what's the solution? Milk.
Yeah, I know, I thought it was weird too. Something in there binds with the burny stuff, and all other sorts of scientific things that I would only confuse you and myself by getting into. Long story short, if you swish some milk and spit it out, it should take the heat out with it.
Huzzah. The beast is dead. Long live the king.
So fear not, gentle readers, for the peppers before you can be calmed. Or not, maybe you like spicy. Either way, go forth and enjoy.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Fresh out of the gate
I remember the good ol' days, days when the first class of the term was spent looking over the syllabus four about ten minutes before we were all dismissed to ponder what to do with our newfound hour of freedom (usually this would be spent either sleeping or watching TV, depending on what time the class was).
Unfortunately these days are behind me, and now the first day of class not only includes going over the syllabus (with the same "don't be late, don't cheat" lecture repeated each time) but jumping right into the thick of things. It wasn't until yesterday that I found out just how thick that could be.
I stared blankly ahead of me as my fellow students started moving about, preparing for the task at hand. Had I really heard right? Create two salads, two plates each, from whatever you can find, using a protein selected by the teacher. Normally I'd jump at this sort of thing. As it stood, I had no idea what was available, would have to fight my way through a veritable zombie horde to find out, had only eaten duck once before (oh yeah, my protein was duck confit) and was running on roughly three hours of sleep.
Awesome.
My gaze turned to my cutting board. At least I had found the common sense to start setting up my workspace. Sadly its plain white surface wasn't giving me any inspiration. I look around again, blinking heavily.
Salad... lettuce... with... stuff...
Okay, so that was a start.
Knives were moving all around me, herbs being chopped, greenery being cajoled into whatever form deemed necessary, meats of all shapes and sizes being worked on to fit the greater design. I look again to my cutting board.
Still nothing.
Guess I have to fight my way through the zombie horde.
Luckily by this time most had returned to their own stations and were hard at work. I scanned the near-barren shelves in hopes of finding something to spark my interest. Boston Bibb. I remembered having seen some radicchio earlier... that could work together. My brain finally started to kick into gear, thinking of possible additions to that mix while still taking in what still remained on the shelves.
And then I saw it; Belgian endive. I'm rather a fan of stuffing things into endive. It's just about the perfect size for finger food, and comes in the perfect boat shape that just begs to be used to cradle something. So grab some endive, tuck in some dressed duck, and maybe throw something on top to give a little extra color.
That's one down, one to go. By now I was dimly recalling seeing some asparagus outside near my station. That could work as a good base. A little duck on top, a bit of something else over that, drizzle some dressing on and it's good to go.
Speaking of dressing, that was the next bit to figure out. At least by this time the gears had been turning long enough to bring me (somewhat) out of my stupor. There were enough fresh herbs that I couldn't resist an herb vinaigrette. Probably best to use that with the endive... find something a bit deeper to meld with the asparagus. Maybe a balsamic... best to see what's available in either case. So with greenery in hand I made my way to take stock of what I could use to make my dressings.
I was on a roll - white wine vinegar would work well with the herbs, and the asparagus would do well with a red wine vinaigrette.
Time to chop.
Herbs were minced, leaves were tripped, asparagus was snapped. Despite my lack of sleep, I managed to not do the same to any fingers.
Someone called out, asking if anyone needed red onion - a julienne of which would be the perfect garnish for my endive. I snag a piece, make the cut, and keep going. Later the same happens with a bit of leftover tomato. A bit of chopping later and my asparagus duck salad has its top layer.
A drizzle of dressing here, a quick circle around the plate there, and my plates are done. Two go off to be served in another room and two go in the reach in, awaiting the judgement of my peers. I'm pleased to say that I even had some time to clean up before time was called.
Getting to go home after ten minutes may have its perks, but pulling this was way more satisfying.
Now, though, it's time to get some more sleep.
Unfortunately these days are behind me, and now the first day of class not only includes going over the syllabus (with the same "don't be late, don't cheat" lecture repeated each time) but jumping right into the thick of things. It wasn't until yesterday that I found out just how thick that could be.
I stared blankly ahead of me as my fellow students started moving about, preparing for the task at hand. Had I really heard right? Create two salads, two plates each, from whatever you can find, using a protein selected by the teacher. Normally I'd jump at this sort of thing. As it stood, I had no idea what was available, would have to fight my way through a veritable zombie horde to find out, had only eaten duck once before (oh yeah, my protein was duck confit) and was running on roughly three hours of sleep.
Awesome.
My gaze turned to my cutting board. At least I had found the common sense to start setting up my workspace. Sadly its plain white surface wasn't giving me any inspiration. I look around again, blinking heavily.
Salad... lettuce... with... stuff...
Okay, so that was a start.
Knives were moving all around me, herbs being chopped, greenery being cajoled into whatever form deemed necessary, meats of all shapes and sizes being worked on to fit the greater design. I look again to my cutting board.
Still nothing.
Guess I have to fight my way through the zombie horde.
Luckily by this time most had returned to their own stations and were hard at work. I scanned the near-barren shelves in hopes of finding something to spark my interest. Boston Bibb. I remembered having seen some radicchio earlier... that could work together. My brain finally started to kick into gear, thinking of possible additions to that mix while still taking in what still remained on the shelves.
And then I saw it; Belgian endive. I'm rather a fan of stuffing things into endive. It's just about the perfect size for finger food, and comes in the perfect boat shape that just begs to be used to cradle something. So grab some endive, tuck in some dressed duck, and maybe throw something on top to give a little extra color.
That's one down, one to go. By now I was dimly recalling seeing some asparagus outside near my station. That could work as a good base. A little duck on top, a bit of something else over that, drizzle some dressing on and it's good to go.
Speaking of dressing, that was the next bit to figure out. At least by this time the gears had been turning long enough to bring me (somewhat) out of my stupor. There were enough fresh herbs that I couldn't resist an herb vinaigrette. Probably best to use that with the endive... find something a bit deeper to meld with the asparagus. Maybe a balsamic... best to see what's available in either case. So with greenery in hand I made my way to take stock of what I could use to make my dressings.
I was on a roll - white wine vinegar would work well with the herbs, and the asparagus would do well with a red wine vinaigrette.
Time to chop.
Herbs were minced, leaves were tripped, asparagus was snapped. Despite my lack of sleep, I managed to not do the same to any fingers.
Someone called out, asking if anyone needed red onion - a julienne of which would be the perfect garnish for my endive. I snag a piece, make the cut, and keep going. Later the same happens with a bit of leftover tomato. A bit of chopping later and my asparagus duck salad has its top layer.
A drizzle of dressing here, a quick circle around the plate there, and my plates are done. Two go off to be served in another room and two go in the reach in, awaiting the judgement of my peers. I'm pleased to say that I even had some time to clean up before time was called.
Getting to go home after ten minutes may have its perks, but pulling this was way more satisfying.
Now, though, it's time to get some more sleep.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Moving up in the world
Professional writing is one of those things where being in the right place at the right time is very important. Considering that you're facing a lovely catch 22 of no one wanting to publish your work until you can show them examples of your published works, it can be hard to get your foot in the door.
Luckily for me, I tend to be pretty lucky and have something of an uncanny ability to make the right connections. As such, I give you this, the rough draft of an article that will, after some revising, be seen in Charlotte's Uptown magazine.
New kid on the block
“So, what is there to do around here?” A harmless enough question, and one that was posed to all manner of people when I first moved to Charlotte. Roommates, classmates, and anyone else who seemed like they might have half a clue about something to occupy my time other than sitting in my room praying that my friends from back home would get online. Unfortunately for me, as often as not this question was answered with shrugs and blank stares. Of course, it doesn’t help that a lot of the square footage of the uptown area is devoted to bars. If the predominantly underage population of the Johnson & Wales student body did have an intimate knowledge of these establishments I think I might be just a touch concerned.
And so it came to pass that much of my time was indeed spent aimlessly checking facebook, E-mail, and otherwise praying that my friends from back home would get online. Before too long, though, it became apparent that I would have to join in on one of the oldest and greatest traditions of higher education; the search for a part-time job. Luckily, the question “Know any place that’s hiring?” tended to get better results than my previous inquiry. Among my meanderings to various coffee shops, restaurants of all sorts, and about anything else that I could find I was directed to the EpiCentre. At that point it was little more than one giant construction site. However, it did show some promise. Signs announcing what would soon be filling the vacant spots were everywhere. Cold Stone Creamery. Jason’s Deli. I felt like Jack Skellington when he found himself on that fateful trip to Christmas Town. What’s this? A bowling alley? And over there, a movie theater going in? Could this be the solution to my problems? Not only were the “Now Hiring” signs hanging around every corner, but the EpiCentre was looking to be the place to go for an early morning cup of coffee, a late night drink, and everything in between.
Fast forward to present day. Expectations have come to fruition. Turns out that you can indeed get that morning perk or partake of your favorite adult beverage; in fact, you can do it all under one roof. PJ’s Coffee and Lounge offers uptown about what you’d expect from a coffee shop during the day – a menu full of coffee selections, a few sandwiches and salads for lunch, and of course a window full of baked goodies to peruse. For those like me who aren’t big on coffee (heresy at its worst, I know), they make a pretty good spiced chai. But what’s a coffee shop without ambiance? Luckily for everyone involved this question need not come up at PJ’s. The (admittedly limited) space offers up a number of areas perfectly suited to a group of friends or to someone who just wants to sit and relax for a while. Soft lighting and music make it all the easier.
Of course there’s more than just coffee. When the sun goes down, bottles replace the beans, and the cocktails come out to play. Whether you’re into a nice wine, a signature martini, or care to try one of their specialty coffee drinks, PJ’s can hook you up for your after work happy hour (or two). If you’re feeling particularly sophisticated you can join in for one of their Wednesday night wine tastings.
Going out for dinner and a movie might be a little cliché, but Mez gives new life to this old standby. While lunch can be found here during the day, Mez offers a nighttime experience that’s not to be missed. The menu has been described to me as “world cuisine”, and offers an array of large and small plates along with a variety of sides that, combined, mean a lot of great food perfect for sharing. An open kitchen even allows you to watch your food being created.
So what about the movie part of this package? Tucked inside are five theaters, each showing their own movie. Better yet, along with your ticket from the downstairs box office comes a reserved seat, so you don’t have to worry about rushing through your meal to avoid a bad spot in the theater. Besides, the theaters are food friendly, and you can order items from the bar to take in with you. Skewers, steaks, drinks – and yes, even popcorn and other classic concessions – are available.
For the late night crowd, the music turns up and the lounge hits full swing. Hours after dinner service has ended the lounge stays open and the drinks flow freely (is anyone else seeing a trend here?). The mood is upbeat and highly energetic, and anyone trying to navigate the premises might have to avoid an impromptu dance party or two.
The last stop on this EpiCentre adventure is at Howl at the Moon. At first glance (and never having heard of this particular enterprise) I lumped it together with the rest of the bars that populate uptown Charlotte. Digging a little deeper showed me the error of my ways. Far more than just a place to grab a drink, Howl offers denizens of Charlotte a unique form of entertainment – dueling pianos. Talented musicians entertain the masses with popular songs and sing-a-longs that get nearly everyone out of their seat and into the action. If the traditional bar scene has started to get old, Howl at the Moon might be the answer to your troubles.
So it turns out that there’s a good bit to do around here after all. Looks like I’ll be closing facebook, shutting down my laptop, and getting out for a change.
Luckily for me, I tend to be pretty lucky and have something of an uncanny ability to make the right connections. As such, I give you this, the rough draft of an article that will, after some revising, be seen in Charlotte's Uptown magazine.
New kid on the block
“So, what is there to do around here?” A harmless enough question, and one that was posed to all manner of people when I first moved to Charlotte. Roommates, classmates, and anyone else who seemed like they might have half a clue about something to occupy my time other than sitting in my room praying that my friends from back home would get online. Unfortunately for me, as often as not this question was answered with shrugs and blank stares. Of course, it doesn’t help that a lot of the square footage of the uptown area is devoted to bars. If the predominantly underage population of the Johnson & Wales student body did have an intimate knowledge of these establishments I think I might be just a touch concerned.
And so it came to pass that much of my time was indeed spent aimlessly checking facebook, E-mail, and otherwise praying that my friends from back home would get online. Before too long, though, it became apparent that I would have to join in on one of the oldest and greatest traditions of higher education; the search for a part-time job. Luckily, the question “Know any place that’s hiring?” tended to get better results than my previous inquiry. Among my meanderings to various coffee shops, restaurants of all sorts, and about anything else that I could find I was directed to the EpiCentre. At that point it was little more than one giant construction site. However, it did show some promise. Signs announcing what would soon be filling the vacant spots were everywhere. Cold Stone Creamery. Jason’s Deli. I felt like Jack Skellington when he found himself on that fateful trip to Christmas Town. What’s this? A bowling alley? And over there, a movie theater going in? Could this be the solution to my problems? Not only were the “Now Hiring” signs hanging around every corner, but the EpiCentre was looking to be the place to go for an early morning cup of coffee, a late night drink, and everything in between.
Fast forward to present day. Expectations have come to fruition. Turns out that you can indeed get that morning perk or partake of your favorite adult beverage; in fact, you can do it all under one roof. PJ’s Coffee and Lounge offers uptown about what you’d expect from a coffee shop during the day – a menu full of coffee selections, a few sandwiches and salads for lunch, and of course a window full of baked goodies to peruse. For those like me who aren’t big on coffee (heresy at its worst, I know), they make a pretty good spiced chai. But what’s a coffee shop without ambiance? Luckily for everyone involved this question need not come up at PJ’s. The (admittedly limited) space offers up a number of areas perfectly suited to a group of friends or to someone who just wants to sit and relax for a while. Soft lighting and music make it all the easier.
Of course there’s more than just coffee. When the sun goes down, bottles replace the beans, and the cocktails come out to play. Whether you’re into a nice wine, a signature martini, or care to try one of their specialty coffee drinks, PJ’s can hook you up for your after work happy hour (or two). If you’re feeling particularly sophisticated you can join in for one of their Wednesday night wine tastings.
Going out for dinner and a movie might be a little cliché, but Mez gives new life to this old standby. While lunch can be found here during the day, Mez offers a nighttime experience that’s not to be missed. The menu has been described to me as “world cuisine”, and offers an array of large and small plates along with a variety of sides that, combined, mean a lot of great food perfect for sharing. An open kitchen even allows you to watch your food being created.
So what about the movie part of this package? Tucked inside are five theaters, each showing their own movie. Better yet, along with your ticket from the downstairs box office comes a reserved seat, so you don’t have to worry about rushing through your meal to avoid a bad spot in the theater. Besides, the theaters are food friendly, and you can order items from the bar to take in with you. Skewers, steaks, drinks – and yes, even popcorn and other classic concessions – are available.
For the late night crowd, the music turns up and the lounge hits full swing. Hours after dinner service has ended the lounge stays open and the drinks flow freely (is anyone else seeing a trend here?). The mood is upbeat and highly energetic, and anyone trying to navigate the premises might have to avoid an impromptu dance party or two.
The last stop on this EpiCentre adventure is at Howl at the Moon. At first glance (and never having heard of this particular enterprise) I lumped it together with the rest of the bars that populate uptown Charlotte. Digging a little deeper showed me the error of my ways. Far more than just a place to grab a drink, Howl offers denizens of Charlotte a unique form of entertainment – dueling pianos. Talented musicians entertain the masses with popular songs and sing-a-longs that get nearly everyone out of their seat and into the action. If the traditional bar scene has started to get old, Howl at the Moon might be the answer to your troubles.
So it turns out that there’s a good bit to do around here after all. Looks like I’ll be closing facebook, shutting down my laptop, and getting out for a change.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
How to Boil Water
No, I'm not talking about Emeril's old show. I'm actually talking about boiling water. Specifically, water for pasta.
Don't worry, I'm sure that you're fully capable of turning on both the tap and the stove and waiting until enough bubbles show up - there's more to perfect pasta than that.
When it comes to pasta, there are a few simple tricks that will rid you of the sticky, clumpy, messy noodles that you may have come into contact with in the past.
First of all, use lots of water. I mean lots. I'm talking a good gallon worth. Seem like a lot to you? Good. It is. It's supposed to be.
Pasta likes lots of room to float around, flip this way and that, and all manner of underwater acrobatics (they're quite the active little group once the water comes back to a boil). The bottom line is that if you don't give them enough room, you're going to end up with one giant tangled mess instead of a nice plate of noodles, and no one wants that.
I'll throw in here a bit about oil. Adding oil to the water is said to do a couple of things. First, it supposedly helps keep those noodles from sticking (it's a natural lubricant, afterall). Second, it helps to keep the water from boiling over (saving you a lot of cleaning later).
I can't say much about the bubbling over bit, but I can say that it won't help you in the sticking department. Fat floats on water. This is great if you're trying to clarify butter (that's for another day) but not so great if you expect the stuff floating around under water to get coated by something that will, inevitably, be stuck on top. And what's more, once you pour out water (even though some say not to do this - that starchy water can come in handy later) the fat on top is the first thing to go down the drain. Wonderful.
I will say this, though, on keeping the water from bubbling over. Agitation (such as stiring) when it starts to peak will break things up and keep everything in the pot. It's possible that the oil on top of the water will continually agitate any foam buildup, keeping it to a minimum.
I'll also mention salt, because this is where it should be mentioned. Most people like at least some salt on their food. It does, in fact, have this little habit of pleasantly flavoring things and making them taste (when used judiciously) a bit brighter and just more like themselves. So how are you supposed to evenly salt pasta? By salting the water. Considering that you have a lot of water in that pot, you'll need a lot of salt. I've heard more than once that you want to make the water taste like sea water. I don't quite go that heavy, but do keep in mind that not nearly everything you put into the pot will actually be absorbed into the pasta. With a standard iodized salt package I generally upend it and go for three or four turns around the pot.
Now you're ready to finally add heat to this equation. Easy enough - toss on the lid and turn up the gas. Bring it to a full rolling boil, and toss in the pasta. Make sure that it's all completely under, otherwise it won't cook evenly. Now's the time to start stirring, too. Until everything gets back to a boil and starts swimming around on its own (and I keep an eye on it even then) you want to make sure that nothing's sticking together.
Once you've reached a delicious al dente (for fresh pasta this should only take about three minutes), you're ready to evacuate pasta from water. Into a colander it goes, and if you want to give something new a try hold back just a bit of the water.
Now, proper tossing (and this is important). You've got your freshly cooked pasta, that bit of hot pasta water, and the sauce that you no doubt have hot and ready.
Grab a bowl and pour in the pasta. Now pour on a bit of the sauce - you don't want to drown the noodles, just give them a nice coating. And now, just a bit of that pasta water. The starch will help the sauce stick and give a little flavor boost. Also, if you're planning to use any fresh herbs or cheeses, now's the time. Give the bowl a quick flip to mix everything together, and you're good to go.
One noteworthy note - the shape of the pasta affects how much sauce the noodle will hold on to. Smooth pastas hold less sauce than ridged ones, and the deeper the ridge, the more sauce can soak in and stick. Fun fact, no? At least it's a tasty one.
A simple dish, but still one that deserves a little recognition. With minimal effort, your next plate of spaghetti will be a dish worth raving about.
Don't worry, I'm sure that you're fully capable of turning on both the tap and the stove and waiting until enough bubbles show up - there's more to perfect pasta than that.
When it comes to pasta, there are a few simple tricks that will rid you of the sticky, clumpy, messy noodles that you may have come into contact with in the past.
First of all, use lots of water. I mean lots. I'm talking a good gallon worth. Seem like a lot to you? Good. It is. It's supposed to be.
Pasta likes lots of room to float around, flip this way and that, and all manner of underwater acrobatics (they're quite the active little group once the water comes back to a boil). The bottom line is that if you don't give them enough room, you're going to end up with one giant tangled mess instead of a nice plate of noodles, and no one wants that.
I'll throw in here a bit about oil. Adding oil to the water is said to do a couple of things. First, it supposedly helps keep those noodles from sticking (it's a natural lubricant, afterall). Second, it helps to keep the water from boiling over (saving you a lot of cleaning later).
I can't say much about the bubbling over bit, but I can say that it won't help you in the sticking department. Fat floats on water. This is great if you're trying to clarify butter (that's for another day) but not so great if you expect the stuff floating around under water to get coated by something that will, inevitably, be stuck on top. And what's more, once you pour out water (even though some say not to do this - that starchy water can come in handy later) the fat on top is the first thing to go down the drain. Wonderful.
I will say this, though, on keeping the water from bubbling over. Agitation (such as stiring) when it starts to peak will break things up and keep everything in the pot. It's possible that the oil on top of the water will continually agitate any foam buildup, keeping it to a minimum.
I'll also mention salt, because this is where it should be mentioned. Most people like at least some salt on their food. It does, in fact, have this little habit of pleasantly flavoring things and making them taste (when used judiciously) a bit brighter and just more like themselves. So how are you supposed to evenly salt pasta? By salting the water. Considering that you have a lot of water in that pot, you'll need a lot of salt. I've heard more than once that you want to make the water taste like sea water. I don't quite go that heavy, but do keep in mind that not nearly everything you put into the pot will actually be absorbed into the pasta. With a standard iodized salt package I generally upend it and go for three or four turns around the pot.
Now you're ready to finally add heat to this equation. Easy enough - toss on the lid and turn up the gas. Bring it to a full rolling boil, and toss in the pasta. Make sure that it's all completely under, otherwise it won't cook evenly. Now's the time to start stirring, too. Until everything gets back to a boil and starts swimming around on its own (and I keep an eye on it even then) you want to make sure that nothing's sticking together.
Once you've reached a delicious al dente (for fresh pasta this should only take about three minutes), you're ready to evacuate pasta from water. Into a colander it goes, and if you want to give something new a try hold back just a bit of the water.
Now, proper tossing (and this is important). You've got your freshly cooked pasta, that bit of hot pasta water, and the sauce that you no doubt have hot and ready.
Grab a bowl and pour in the pasta. Now pour on a bit of the sauce - you don't want to drown the noodles, just give them a nice coating. And now, just a bit of that pasta water. The starch will help the sauce stick and give a little flavor boost. Also, if you're planning to use any fresh herbs or cheeses, now's the time. Give the bowl a quick flip to mix everything together, and you're good to go.
One noteworthy note - the shape of the pasta affects how much sauce the noodle will hold on to. Smooth pastas hold less sauce than ridged ones, and the deeper the ridge, the more sauce can soak in and stick. Fun fact, no? At least it's a tasty one.
A simple dish, but still one that deserves a little recognition. With minimal effort, your next plate of spaghetti will be a dish worth raving about.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The reviews are in...
Okay, so it's only one review, and as it's mine you might say it's a tad biased... but unless you're here to get my opinion, I'm really not sure why you're here. This is a review that I wrote for a small Indian place that I found downtown. It's kind of my new favorite hole-in-the-wall place (granted, it's really the only one that I know down here). If you're ever in the area and get a craving for Indian food, I highly suggest it.
Walking into Suruchi’s Indian Cuisine I had no idea what to expect. All I had to go by was a sign outside pointing me in the right direction and a recently renewed hankering for Indian food. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be me going home after a bad lunch and grabbing a quick PB&J, right? Okay, so the worst thing that could happen would be more along the lines of me going back home after a bad lunch and hugging the toilet for the rest of the day. But when I start jonesing for something, there can be but one cure. With this in mind I followed the sign toward my newest culinary conquest.
Upon entering the restaurant proper I took a quick look around to get my bearings. Simple café-style tables were arranged along the walls and would seat one or two persons, while more pushed together on the floor would accommodate larger parties. The chairs reminded me of my high school years, although (thankfully) they turned out to be far more comfortable than those of my youth. No servers were to be seen; instead orders can be picked up from the main counter once your number is called. At this point, your meal is handed to you on a plastic tray complete with individually portioned plastic flatware. The similarities to my high school days just keep on coming.
Then again, it takes more than a lack of linens to deter me. I grabbed a menu off of the counter and started looking over the selections. Thanks to a vast culinary vocabulary (and, no doubt, the pictures on the back) I was able to navigate the menu fairly easily. While I’ve never spent much (read: any) time over in India the menu seemed rather in tune with what I’ve come to associate with the cuisine. There are a few dishes sporting chicken, but the majority favored the vegetable cookery that is so common in the cuisine. This may explain why the vast majority of the customers were Indian themselves. Of course, the price is something anyone can enjoy, with entrees ranging from $5.99 to $7.99, lunch combos all hitting $8.99, and dinner combos going for $11.99. Being a fan of variety I went for Combo #1 which got me a plate of idli with peanut chutney and sambar, a fried samosa, and a mango lassi to drink.
After placing my order and patiently awaiting the sound of my number being called I was rewarded with a tray bearing my meal. Not wanting to miss out on anything I made a quick trip to a small condiment table before digging in. The choices here were limited, but considering the array of dips that I already held I wasn’t about to complain. One small tub held sliced red onions. The next, an odd mass of orange-brown stuff that, even after a small taste, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was actually in there. The third (and last) container held small green chilies that dared me to test my mettle merely by looking at them twice. I grabbed three and went to my table.
Now, if there is one thing that did not remind me of my high school cafeteria, it was the food. Three steamed rice cakes sat on my plate, each one soft and spongy – all the better for soaking up one of the no less than four dipping sauces that I had to choose from. The sambar was light and thin, but bursting with flavor that I can only describe as quintessentially Indian in the menagerie of spices that I could hardly hope to identify other than the distinct smokiness of cumin. The peanut chutney was a smooth puree, and while the pale grey-brown color might put some off, the rich texture and almost fudge-like sweetness kept me coating my idli.
In addition to what was listed on the menu I had two further sauces for which to dunk my rice cakes. The first was a green puree that had a sweet, pepper-like aroma and, despite insinuating a slight cooling property, hid a not entirely short-lived heat that snuck to the back of my throat like the worst kind of ninja (not unlike those three small chilies that I had picked up earlier). The last was a small amount of a very sweet brown liquid with an exotic flavor that I both recognized yet found nearly impossible to place. I find it difficult to remember a time when I was quite so happy to be eating things that, frankly, I couldn’t tell you what exactly they were.
And this is saying nothing of the samosa. A beautiful, flaky pastry shell encased deliciously seasoned potatoes and peas. I’ve always been a fan of simple pleasures. The lassi as well was rich and creamy with just enough mango to be pleasantly flavored and not overpowering.
So while the ambiance may be a bit lacking if you’re trying to impress a date, the food is sure to please. And, I’m happy to say, neither a PB&J nor a seat by the toilet will be necessary.
Walking into Suruchi’s Indian Cuisine I had no idea what to expect. All I had to go by was a sign outside pointing me in the right direction and a recently renewed hankering for Indian food. After all, the worst thing that could happen would be me going home after a bad lunch and grabbing a quick PB&J, right? Okay, so the worst thing that could happen would be more along the lines of me going back home after a bad lunch and hugging the toilet for the rest of the day. But when I start jonesing for something, there can be but one cure. With this in mind I followed the sign toward my newest culinary conquest.
Upon entering the restaurant proper I took a quick look around to get my bearings. Simple café-style tables were arranged along the walls and would seat one or two persons, while more pushed together on the floor would accommodate larger parties. The chairs reminded me of my high school years, although (thankfully) they turned out to be far more comfortable than those of my youth. No servers were to be seen; instead orders can be picked up from the main counter once your number is called. At this point, your meal is handed to you on a plastic tray complete with individually portioned plastic flatware. The similarities to my high school days just keep on coming.
Then again, it takes more than a lack of linens to deter me. I grabbed a menu off of the counter and started looking over the selections. Thanks to a vast culinary vocabulary (and, no doubt, the pictures on the back) I was able to navigate the menu fairly easily. While I’ve never spent much (read: any) time over in India the menu seemed rather in tune with what I’ve come to associate with the cuisine. There are a few dishes sporting chicken, but the majority favored the vegetable cookery that is so common in the cuisine. This may explain why the vast majority of the customers were Indian themselves. Of course, the price is something anyone can enjoy, with entrees ranging from $5.99 to $7.99, lunch combos all hitting $8.99, and dinner combos going for $11.99. Being a fan of variety I went for Combo #1 which got me a plate of idli with peanut chutney and sambar, a fried samosa, and a mango lassi to drink.
After placing my order and patiently awaiting the sound of my number being called I was rewarded with a tray bearing my meal. Not wanting to miss out on anything I made a quick trip to a small condiment table before digging in. The choices here were limited, but considering the array of dips that I already held I wasn’t about to complain. One small tub held sliced red onions. The next, an odd mass of orange-brown stuff that, even after a small taste, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what was actually in there. The third (and last) container held small green chilies that dared me to test my mettle merely by looking at them twice. I grabbed three and went to my table.
Now, if there is one thing that did not remind me of my high school cafeteria, it was the food. Three steamed rice cakes sat on my plate, each one soft and spongy – all the better for soaking up one of the no less than four dipping sauces that I had to choose from. The sambar was light and thin, but bursting with flavor that I can only describe as quintessentially Indian in the menagerie of spices that I could hardly hope to identify other than the distinct smokiness of cumin. The peanut chutney was a smooth puree, and while the pale grey-brown color might put some off, the rich texture and almost fudge-like sweetness kept me coating my idli.
In addition to what was listed on the menu I had two further sauces for which to dunk my rice cakes. The first was a green puree that had a sweet, pepper-like aroma and, despite insinuating a slight cooling property, hid a not entirely short-lived heat that snuck to the back of my throat like the worst kind of ninja (not unlike those three small chilies that I had picked up earlier). The last was a small amount of a very sweet brown liquid with an exotic flavor that I both recognized yet found nearly impossible to place. I find it difficult to remember a time when I was quite so happy to be eating things that, frankly, I couldn’t tell you what exactly they were.
And this is saying nothing of the samosa. A beautiful, flaky pastry shell encased deliciously seasoned potatoes and peas. I’ve always been a fan of simple pleasures. The lassi as well was rich and creamy with just enough mango to be pleasantly flavored and not overpowering.
So while the ambiance may be a bit lacking if you’re trying to impress a date, the food is sure to please. And, I’m happy to say, neither a PB&J nor a seat by the toilet will be necessary.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
When technology fails, cheesecake prevails
In other words, I was planning to put here something that I had saved on my flashdrive, but the powers that be have decided that it's not going to happen.
Rejoice and be merry, for we are in the computer age, and it is a righteous time of error messages and wingdings.
Thankfully, I am not (quite) a one trick pony, and come bearing news of one of my favorite desserts. Oh yes, I come to you with the knowledge and power of cheesecake.
Cheesecake seems to be one of those desserts that people love and hate in equal proportions. If it's good, it's really good. People "ooh" and "aah" and otherwise are swooned by your culinary prowess.
On the other hand, people seem to be put off by the (seemingly) daunting task of creating such an envied treat.
I'm not going to say that things can't go wrong, but I am going to say that, with a little forethought and good sense of what you're doing, you'll get the end result that you (and all the rest of us) so desperately crave.
So where's it all start? What makes this dish so touchy? What is it in the first place? The answer to this last question is the answer to all the rest. I remember a couple years back (now please, don't ask me how this actually happened, but...) I was watching the Martha Stewart show. This very question (or rather, "is cheesecake a cake or a pie?") came up. I was pleased with myself to be able to answer the question before Martha had a chance to pipe up.
It is neither. A cheesecake is, in fact, a custard.
Now what is a custard? The simplest and most basic answer to this is a simple equation: Egg + Dairy + Cooking = Custard. There are, of course, other common ingredients (sugar being a biggy).
Likewise, in the world of custard there are two families (luckily, no feud is going on here). On one side we have stirred custards (easy enough - they're stirred while you cook them) like pudding and zabaglione (which is actually made with wine rather than dairy). On the other side we have unstirred custards (take a guess how you pull that one off) like the cheesecake, creme brulee, and even savories like quiche.
To make the perfect cheesecake, one must first endeaver an anatomy lesson. Don't worry, there's not much to it. A simple cheesecake only has a few ingredients.
Cream Cheese: This is rather important, as it's a cheesecake you're making. Cream cheese is the bulk material you're working with. It gives a good, creamy texture and moderate (and easily altered) flavor. If there's one thing I've learned, it's to not skimp on quality. I've tried the cheap stuff. I've sat with my mixer (granted, not a stand mixer) for minutes on end (when you're mixing roughly four cups of something, it doesn't take a long time to be a long time), and even worked it all through a seive that could double as a fencing mask.
There were still lumps.
For the love of all that is right and good in the world, buy the good stuff. It will make a difference. It will make all of the difference.
Thank you.
Next up, the eggs: these guys are the structure. Proteins in the eggs (after mixing and baking) are laced throughout the custard, acting as I-beams. The thing is, egg protein isn't exactly a quick-drying cement (culinarily speaking, of course). You'll need to give it a nice, long rest in the refrigerator to make sure everything sets up (unless, of course, you were planning on serving soup for dessert). I'm talking hours here. Unless I'm in dire straights, I always let it set overnight. Toss a towel over the top to keep a film from forming (or wrap in plastic, aluminum, or whatever else you happen to have around), and let it set. Patience is a virtue, and will be rewarded.
Third, sugar: do I really need to talk about this one? It's sugar. It's sweet. It's a good thing.
Lastly, flavoring: For a "classic" cheesecake, this is as simple as a little vanilla (the good stuff is prefered). You can, of course, use anything you like. Chocolate, pumpkin, lemon, strawberry, shnozeberry... anything that you like.
Now, on to the method (and the tricks that will keep you in good custard til the end of time).
First comes assembly of the goods. First into the pan (I use a spring-form pan, but I also water-proof it) goes a nice layer of non-stick spray on the bottom. Then in goes the crust (I'm a fan of nuts, myself, but personal choice and other flavors involved make the end decision). This should be baked for 10-15 minutes before the custard goes in (otherwise it's not really going to get the attention it deserves).
Next spray the sides of the pan with the non-stick spray and pour in the custard. This then goes back into the oven. But first, we need to set ourselves up now to have the cheesecake of our dreams in the future.
Even cooking is important. Gentle even cooking is better. The best way to do this? Waterbath.
It's easy to set up. Grab your pan and some sort of vessel (roasting pans are nice) that said pan will fit in. Place the cheesecake pan* inside the large pan and then fill it (no, not the pan with the cheesecake in it) with boiling water. Make sure that the water is even with the cheesecake, otherwise it won't do you any good (the top, not surrounded by water, will cook differently than the rest). Then into the oven (preheated to 350) we go.
*As I mentioned before, I like to use a spring-form pan for easy removal later. This alone, however, does tend to lead to (at least partially) soggy dessert. Fear not, for I shall not leave you to tackle this task alone. Waterproofing your spring-form is as easy as ripping off a sheet of aluminum foil. The foil needs to be wide enough for the pan to sit in the middle of the square and have enough room on either side to come close to the top (at least higher than the water will come). Fold the foil up and push it as tight against the pan as you can - if possible, fold it over the top lip a bit. All you have to do is make sure that the crease on the bottom isn't actually touched by the water and you're good. I'll note that I've tried using the same method with plastic wrap and a rubber band to hold it in place, but the rubber band broke apart sometime during the cooking process. For me, foil is definitely the way to go.
Now a quick note on the waterbath. The point of it is that you won't actually be cooking at 350. Water boils at 212, and stays there. Ergo, the cheesecake is cooking at 212. It's very gentle, very even, and makes for a very smooth, creamy cheesecake. This is why having the water level up to the top is very important... I've made that mistake myself in the past (when I was first fidgiting with my existing recipe) and got something that was kind of a frankenstein half-smooth half-cakey concoction. Still tasted alright, but if you want that creamy texture, you'll want the waterbath.
For how long do you bake it, you ask? Well. For a normal (and by normal I mean 10-11" pan) cheesecake I set my timer for 40 minutes. At this point it shouldn't be done, but I like to err on the side of caution. It should take about 50 minutes to 1 hour to be fully cooked. Pleast note that "fully cooked" may not look (and in fact shouldn't look) "fully cooked". Like all things egg, "done in the pan is overdone on the plate". It should be firm to the touch, but just a tad jiggly. Practice makes perfect on this one. The waterbath (ie, the even cooking) will give you some leeway here.
If it does happen to overcook, you may get some breakage across the top. It's not pretty, but that's about the extent of it. It just means that the egg proteins tightened a bit too much during the cooking process and in the end pulled the custard apartin a few places. It can be covered with a topping of your choice (maybe a nice fruit glaze or sour cream topping). If you watch it, though, you won't have to worry about it in the first place.
Now, I said it before and I'll say it again - once it's out of the oven, let it rest. Overnight if possible. Those eggs need a lot of time to set up, and if you cut it too early you're shooting yourself in the foot.
That's really all there is to it. It takes a bit of work and a lot of patience, but with these and a few tricks along the way you'll have yourself a dessert that's well worth the effort.
Rejoice and be merry, for we are in the computer age, and it is a righteous time of error messages and wingdings.
Thankfully, I am not (quite) a one trick pony, and come bearing news of one of my favorite desserts. Oh yes, I come to you with the knowledge and power of cheesecake.
Cheesecake seems to be one of those desserts that people love and hate in equal proportions. If it's good, it's really good. People "ooh" and "aah" and otherwise are swooned by your culinary prowess.
On the other hand, people seem to be put off by the (seemingly) daunting task of creating such an envied treat.
I'm not going to say that things can't go wrong, but I am going to say that, with a little forethought and good sense of what you're doing, you'll get the end result that you (and all the rest of us) so desperately crave.
So where's it all start? What makes this dish so touchy? What is it in the first place? The answer to this last question is the answer to all the rest. I remember a couple years back (now please, don't ask me how this actually happened, but...) I was watching the Martha Stewart show. This very question (or rather, "is cheesecake a cake or a pie?") came up. I was pleased with myself to be able to answer the question before Martha had a chance to pipe up.
It is neither. A cheesecake is, in fact, a custard.
Now what is a custard? The simplest and most basic answer to this is a simple equation: Egg + Dairy + Cooking = Custard. There are, of course, other common ingredients (sugar being a biggy).
Likewise, in the world of custard there are two families (luckily, no feud is going on here). On one side we have stirred custards (easy enough - they're stirred while you cook them) like pudding and zabaglione (which is actually made with wine rather than dairy). On the other side we have unstirred custards (take a guess how you pull that one off) like the cheesecake, creme brulee, and even savories like quiche.
To make the perfect cheesecake, one must first endeaver an anatomy lesson. Don't worry, there's not much to it. A simple cheesecake only has a few ingredients.
Cream Cheese: This is rather important, as it's a cheesecake you're making. Cream cheese is the bulk material you're working with. It gives a good, creamy texture and moderate (and easily altered) flavor. If there's one thing I've learned, it's to not skimp on quality. I've tried the cheap stuff. I've sat with my mixer (granted, not a stand mixer) for minutes on end (when you're mixing roughly four cups of something, it doesn't take a long time to be a long time), and even worked it all through a seive that could double as a fencing mask.
There were still lumps.
For the love of all that is right and good in the world, buy the good stuff. It will make a difference. It will make all of the difference.
Thank you.
Next up, the eggs: these guys are the structure. Proteins in the eggs (after mixing and baking) are laced throughout the custard, acting as I-beams. The thing is, egg protein isn't exactly a quick-drying cement (culinarily speaking, of course). You'll need to give it a nice, long rest in the refrigerator to make sure everything sets up (unless, of course, you were planning on serving soup for dessert). I'm talking hours here. Unless I'm in dire straights, I always let it set overnight. Toss a towel over the top to keep a film from forming (or wrap in plastic, aluminum, or whatever else you happen to have around), and let it set. Patience is a virtue, and will be rewarded.
Third, sugar: do I really need to talk about this one? It's sugar. It's sweet. It's a good thing.
Lastly, flavoring: For a "classic" cheesecake, this is as simple as a little vanilla (the good stuff is prefered). You can, of course, use anything you like. Chocolate, pumpkin, lemon, strawberry, shnozeberry... anything that you like.
Now, on to the method (and the tricks that will keep you in good custard til the end of time).
First comes assembly of the goods. First into the pan (I use a spring-form pan, but I also water-proof it) goes a nice layer of non-stick spray on the bottom. Then in goes the crust (I'm a fan of nuts, myself, but personal choice and other flavors involved make the end decision). This should be baked for 10-15 minutes before the custard goes in (otherwise it's not really going to get the attention it deserves).
Next spray the sides of the pan with the non-stick spray and pour in the custard. This then goes back into the oven. But first, we need to set ourselves up now to have the cheesecake of our dreams in the future.
Even cooking is important. Gentle even cooking is better. The best way to do this? Waterbath.
It's easy to set up. Grab your pan and some sort of vessel (roasting pans are nice) that said pan will fit in. Place the cheesecake pan* inside the large pan and then fill it (no, not the pan with the cheesecake in it) with boiling water. Make sure that the water is even with the cheesecake, otherwise it won't do you any good (the top, not surrounded by water, will cook differently than the rest). Then into the oven (preheated to 350) we go.
*As I mentioned before, I like to use a spring-form pan for easy removal later. This alone, however, does tend to lead to (at least partially) soggy dessert. Fear not, for I shall not leave you to tackle this task alone. Waterproofing your spring-form is as easy as ripping off a sheet of aluminum foil. The foil needs to be wide enough for the pan to sit in the middle of the square and have enough room on either side to come close to the top (at least higher than the water will come). Fold the foil up and push it as tight against the pan as you can - if possible, fold it over the top lip a bit. All you have to do is make sure that the crease on the bottom isn't actually touched by the water and you're good. I'll note that I've tried using the same method with plastic wrap and a rubber band to hold it in place, but the rubber band broke apart sometime during the cooking process. For me, foil is definitely the way to go.
Now a quick note on the waterbath. The point of it is that you won't actually be cooking at 350. Water boils at 212, and stays there. Ergo, the cheesecake is cooking at 212. It's very gentle, very even, and makes for a very smooth, creamy cheesecake. This is why having the water level up to the top is very important... I've made that mistake myself in the past (when I was first fidgiting with my existing recipe) and got something that was kind of a frankenstein half-smooth half-cakey concoction. Still tasted alright, but if you want that creamy texture, you'll want the waterbath.
For how long do you bake it, you ask? Well. For a normal (and by normal I mean 10-11" pan) cheesecake I set my timer for 40 minutes. At this point it shouldn't be done, but I like to err on the side of caution. It should take about 50 minutes to 1 hour to be fully cooked. Pleast note that "fully cooked" may not look (and in fact shouldn't look) "fully cooked". Like all things egg, "done in the pan is overdone on the plate". It should be firm to the touch, but just a tad jiggly. Practice makes perfect on this one. The waterbath (ie, the even cooking) will give you some leeway here.
If it does happen to overcook, you may get some breakage across the top. It's not pretty, but that's about the extent of it. It just means that the egg proteins tightened a bit too much during the cooking process and in the end pulled the custard apartin a few places. It can be covered with a topping of your choice (maybe a nice fruit glaze or sour cream topping). If you watch it, though, you won't have to worry about it in the first place.
Now, I said it before and I'll say it again - once it's out of the oven, let it rest. Overnight if possible. Those eggs need a lot of time to set up, and if you cut it too early you're shooting yourself in the foot.
That's really all there is to it. It takes a bit of work and a lot of patience, but with these and a few tricks along the way you'll have yourself a dessert that's well worth the effort.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Pilaf shmilaf
Tonight I'm inspired by none less than my very own dinner plans. What am I having, you ask, that causes me to run to my computer posthaste to inform the world at large (well, a small part of it, at least) of my dining activities?
I am having a mushroom risotto stuffed green bell pepper.
That's a mouthful, both in the eating and in the typing.
Risottos are, in my opinion, fabulous. They're easy, they're delicious (when done right, of course), and can actually be used in a number of different ways.
Let me pause to give a bit of clarification. Risotto is not, in fact, synonymous with rice. Rice need not come anywhere near this dish. The term risotto refers to a cooking method, using low heat to slowly cook the (starchy) item of choice, gradually adding liquid as you go.
Rice just happens to be very well suited to this particular activity. It's packed full of starch, is pretty cheap to come by, and goes with just about anything else that you have lieing around in your kitchen.
So what's the deal with the starch? Risotto is without a doubt known for it's creamy, rich texture. This is caused by thickening, and thickening is caused by starch. How you ask? For this we look at the other part of the equation - the low, slow cooking style. As you cook the rice (or whatever else you've got in that pan), the starches leak out into the liquid and eventually absorb enough that they blow up. This sends tiny bits of starch all over the place which thickens the whole mess to a deliciously rich consistency.
I've heard people say that they'll get their first impression of a risotto just by looking at what dish it's served on. The proper consistency is not too thick, not too thin (descriptive, I know). It shouldn't hold its shape like play-doh, but it shouldn't run all over the plate, either. It should shmooze lightly (official culinary term, that one) after it's dropped, but should stay in the general location. If a chef will serve a risotto on a plate, (s)he is showcasing that perfect consistency. A bowl, on the other hand, might be a way to sneak an overly-runny product out of the kitchen.
As for an actual recipe, like I said - you can throw in about anything that you like. I'll give you something to go by, though.
Mushroom Risotto
Oil, for pan
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 c onion, diced
1/2 c Crimini mushrooms (baby portabellos)
1 c White basmati rice (the standard stuff)
Stock*
Milk (or dairy product of your choosing, up to heavy cream)
1/4 c Mozzarella cheese
2 T Parmesan cheese
1/2 T Butter
Salt and Pepper to taste
Saute garlic and onions in the pan. Add mushrooms and cook down (cook out any water that comes from the mushrooms).
Lightly saute the rice*. Add just enough stock to cover the rice, and continue to cook, stirring regularly. As stock reduces, add more (just enough to cover with each addition). Use milk (or other dairy) for the last addition.
When risotto is finished, remove from heat and slowly stir in cheese (cheese does not like to play with very high heat). Finish with butter, salt, and pepper.
Told you it was simple. A few notes, though.
On stock - I've heard that 3 cups of stock per 1 cup of rice is the proper amount. In my personal experience I've never had this come out to be exactly true (in fact, I often use much more than this). As a rule I like to keep 5 cups of stock (heated, of course) on hand and add as needed. I finish with maybe 1/2 cup of milk, although you could use more (reducing the amount of stock accordingly) if you want.
On sauteing - When it comes to risotto cookery, it's all about the starch. Stirring helps to release starches, and to make sure that you get the full thickening power that's available to you. Sauteing rice actually helps to lock in starch and to keep the grains separate (which is great for a pilaf). Sometimes I saute, sometimes I don't. I haven't noticed a huge difference. Although, I've never tasted two batches side by side to compare, which is often the only way that you'd be able to tell anyway. Proper stirring and other methodology is what's really going to give you that creamy consistency that you're after.
So, like I said before, there's more than one way to serve your risotto (rice or otherwise). It's fine on its own as a side or even an entree. You can take a note from me and use it as a stuffing (tomatoes, peppers, even meats). And, of course, there's the perfect use for leftovers. Frying. To be honest, I'd make up a batch and let it sit overnight just for this. Risotto fritters. Feel the love.
Equally simple, and equally delicious. Also great for parties and the like where you want to do as much as you can ahead of time so that you're not completely burnt out when you're supposed to be having fun. Make your risotto of choice. Move immediately to a cool baking sheet and store in the refrigerator (this has the same effect as running hot water over pasta - it will help to stop the cooking process). Let it sit and firm up. I'd suggest overnight for ease, but if you're in a rush you can check it as you go. The more spread out it is, the quicker it will cool down and firm up.
Once it's ready, form the risotto into patties. From here, it's the standard breading schtick - dredge in flour, a quick dunk in egg wash, and breaded with [enter your favorite breading here]. Breadcrumbs, panko, greated parmesan cheese... anything that'll stick and sounds like it's a good idea.
These guys can either be deep fried (I'd try at 375 - just need to reheat and brown up the crust), pan fried, or even baked for those of you who think "fry" is a four letter word (all good things in moderation, I say).
Sick of rice? Try for potatoes (sweet variety included). I'm actually of a mind to try out a dessert risotto based on bananas (nothing too ripe, or all the starch will have turned to sugars). I never claimed sanity.
Though you may not have given it much thought in the past, risottos can be easy, versatile, and delicious. I can't speak for everyone, but those are three words that I like to hear when it comes to my food.
I am having a mushroom risotto stuffed green bell pepper.
That's a mouthful, both in the eating and in the typing.
Risottos are, in my opinion, fabulous. They're easy, they're delicious (when done right, of course), and can actually be used in a number of different ways.
Let me pause to give a bit of clarification. Risotto is not, in fact, synonymous with rice. Rice need not come anywhere near this dish. The term risotto refers to a cooking method, using low heat to slowly cook the (starchy) item of choice, gradually adding liquid as you go.
Rice just happens to be very well suited to this particular activity. It's packed full of starch, is pretty cheap to come by, and goes with just about anything else that you have lieing around in your kitchen.
So what's the deal with the starch? Risotto is without a doubt known for it's creamy, rich texture. This is caused by thickening, and thickening is caused by starch. How you ask? For this we look at the other part of the equation - the low, slow cooking style. As you cook the rice (or whatever else you've got in that pan), the starches leak out into the liquid and eventually absorb enough that they blow up. This sends tiny bits of starch all over the place which thickens the whole mess to a deliciously rich consistency.
I've heard people say that they'll get their first impression of a risotto just by looking at what dish it's served on. The proper consistency is not too thick, not too thin (descriptive, I know). It shouldn't hold its shape like play-doh, but it shouldn't run all over the plate, either. It should shmooze lightly (official culinary term, that one) after it's dropped, but should stay in the general location. If a chef will serve a risotto on a plate, (s)he is showcasing that perfect consistency. A bowl, on the other hand, might be a way to sneak an overly-runny product out of the kitchen.
As for an actual recipe, like I said - you can throw in about anything that you like. I'll give you something to go by, though.
Mushroom Risotto
Oil, for pan
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 c onion, diced
1/2 c Crimini mushrooms (baby portabellos)
1 c White basmati rice (the standard stuff)
Stock*
Milk (or dairy product of your choosing, up to heavy cream)
1/4 c Mozzarella cheese
2 T Parmesan cheese
1/2 T Butter
Salt and Pepper to taste
Saute garlic and onions in the pan. Add mushrooms and cook down (cook out any water that comes from the mushrooms).
Lightly saute the rice*. Add just enough stock to cover the rice, and continue to cook, stirring regularly. As stock reduces, add more (just enough to cover with each addition). Use milk (or other dairy) for the last addition.
When risotto is finished, remove from heat and slowly stir in cheese (cheese does not like to play with very high heat). Finish with butter, salt, and pepper.
Told you it was simple. A few notes, though.
On stock - I've heard that 3 cups of stock per 1 cup of rice is the proper amount. In my personal experience I've never had this come out to be exactly true (in fact, I often use much more than this). As a rule I like to keep 5 cups of stock (heated, of course) on hand and add as needed. I finish with maybe 1/2 cup of milk, although you could use more (reducing the amount of stock accordingly) if you want.
On sauteing - When it comes to risotto cookery, it's all about the starch. Stirring helps to release starches, and to make sure that you get the full thickening power that's available to you. Sauteing rice actually helps to lock in starch and to keep the grains separate (which is great for a pilaf). Sometimes I saute, sometimes I don't. I haven't noticed a huge difference. Although, I've never tasted two batches side by side to compare, which is often the only way that you'd be able to tell anyway. Proper stirring and other methodology is what's really going to give you that creamy consistency that you're after.
So, like I said before, there's more than one way to serve your risotto (rice or otherwise). It's fine on its own as a side or even an entree. You can take a note from me and use it as a stuffing (tomatoes, peppers, even meats). And, of course, there's the perfect use for leftovers. Frying. To be honest, I'd make up a batch and let it sit overnight just for this. Risotto fritters. Feel the love.
Equally simple, and equally delicious. Also great for parties and the like where you want to do as much as you can ahead of time so that you're not completely burnt out when you're supposed to be having fun. Make your risotto of choice. Move immediately to a cool baking sheet and store in the refrigerator (this has the same effect as running hot water over pasta - it will help to stop the cooking process). Let it sit and firm up. I'd suggest overnight for ease, but if you're in a rush you can check it as you go. The more spread out it is, the quicker it will cool down and firm up.
Once it's ready, form the risotto into patties. From here, it's the standard breading schtick - dredge in flour, a quick dunk in egg wash, and breaded with [enter your favorite breading here]. Breadcrumbs, panko, greated parmesan cheese... anything that'll stick and sounds like it's a good idea.
These guys can either be deep fried (I'd try at 375 - just need to reheat and brown up the crust), pan fried, or even baked for those of you who think "fry" is a four letter word (all good things in moderation, I say).
Sick of rice? Try for potatoes (sweet variety included). I'm actually of a mind to try out a dessert risotto based on bananas (nothing too ripe, or all the starch will have turned to sugars). I never claimed sanity.
Though you may not have given it much thought in the past, risottos can be easy, versatile, and delicious. I can't speak for everyone, but those are three words that I like to hear when it comes to my food.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
I will do it... for science!
Molecular gastronomy is something of a buzzword these days. Tabasco sauce pearls to annoint clams, fruit and vegetable turned caviar by adding who knows what chemical (okay, so plenty of people do know, and I've heard what it is even if I can't remember).
Ferrera Adria changed the way that some people looked at food, and at cooking. It was revolutionary. It was incredible. It was the next big thing.
Or was it?
Now don't get me wrong, what he does, and much of what so many of his followers do, is very impressive. He, and some of them I'm sure, are charting new territory, breaking new ground.
But it's just not for me.
Call me simple, call me homey, call me whatever you want... but I don't think any of it is really necessary. The food I know, the food I love, is all that it needs to be. A strawberry, picked from a field, is enough to send me into a frenzy of adoration (this is, of course, in the height of strawberry season). Strawberry mousse-foam with CO2 chocolate capsules isn't bad, I'm sure, but it just doesn't hit me the same way.
This is, of course, just one man's rambling opinion. I personally don't feel the need to recreate my food in order to create it.
Along this same vein is a bit of cookery that is (at least relatively) new to the scene. One such implement that I've seen in use is the anti-griddle. Rather than heat, it freezes. It's a very (and I mean very) cold metal plate set on an almost absurdly large piece of machinery (all told, it's roughly the size of a moderate microwave... that is, the one that I came into contact with was).
The idea is that when making something like a lollipop (the only thing I saw it used for), the extreme cold leads to extremely fast freezing which leads to an extremely creamy end result. I've got nothing against a quick, easy, and good way of making a lollipop (or anything, for that matter), but would I buy a multi-thousand dollar piece of equipment for just such a purpose? The practical part of my brain has to consider its uses. As it's flat (with no edges), it is somewhat limited. Those lollipops (or maybe an ice cream pancake, if you're feeling frisky) are all I can come up with off the top of my head (although if you know anyone running an anti-griddle cooking class, I'd be open to more ideas).
The big question is "Can I do the same thing cheaper?". What if I keep a sheet tray in the freezer, drop some of the batter on that and slam it back in (gently, of course, to keep those perfect circles perfect) to freeze? Will I still be able to get the same product? Is it really that much better to be able to do it a la minute? Will holding them for a few hours really kill the flavor? Will the texture be noticeable enough to warrant that little piece of gear who's pricetag could feed me for a year?
All things to consider for those interested in starting up your own restaurant.
Of course, if you're a normal person and just want some ice cream, then sure, check it out. Go to a place with one, order something that uses it, and get a kick out of a frozen confection being made before your eyes in probably less than two minutes.
Another new method ("new" being the exact opposite of the truth, here) is sous vide. It's been around for a while, but Thomas Keller of The French Laundry (and much else) is bringing it back as the "hot new thing".
So what is sous vide? "Under pressure" is more or less a translation. Take whatever it is that you want cooked, toss it in a bag, put the whole mess in the machine, push the button, and walk away.
Ding, fries are done.
I have to be honest, when I think of this, I think of the bagged soups from my days at Ruby Tuesday.
And no, I'm not comparing the food at The French Laundry to anything from Ruby Tuesday. But when I first learned of sous vide, this is the context that I learned it in - commercial production of soups, sauces, and other such items.
Now maybe Chef Keller can take this method and use it to make some great new stuff, doing to sous vide what Adria did to food as a whole. Power to him, if he can do it.
On my end, if you ask me for a bowl of soup, expect it to come from a pot.
Ferrera Adria changed the way that some people looked at food, and at cooking. It was revolutionary. It was incredible. It was the next big thing.
Or was it?
Now don't get me wrong, what he does, and much of what so many of his followers do, is very impressive. He, and some of them I'm sure, are charting new territory, breaking new ground.
But it's just not for me.
Call me simple, call me homey, call me whatever you want... but I don't think any of it is really necessary. The food I know, the food I love, is all that it needs to be. A strawberry, picked from a field, is enough to send me into a frenzy of adoration (this is, of course, in the height of strawberry season). Strawberry mousse-foam with CO2 chocolate capsules isn't bad, I'm sure, but it just doesn't hit me the same way.
This is, of course, just one man's rambling opinion. I personally don't feel the need to recreate my food in order to create it.
Along this same vein is a bit of cookery that is (at least relatively) new to the scene. One such implement that I've seen in use is the anti-griddle. Rather than heat, it freezes. It's a very (and I mean very) cold metal plate set on an almost absurdly large piece of machinery (all told, it's roughly the size of a moderate microwave... that is, the one that I came into contact with was).
The idea is that when making something like a lollipop (the only thing I saw it used for), the extreme cold leads to extremely fast freezing which leads to an extremely creamy end result. I've got nothing against a quick, easy, and good way of making a lollipop (or anything, for that matter), but would I buy a multi-thousand dollar piece of equipment for just such a purpose? The practical part of my brain has to consider its uses. As it's flat (with no edges), it is somewhat limited. Those lollipops (or maybe an ice cream pancake, if you're feeling frisky) are all I can come up with off the top of my head (although if you know anyone running an anti-griddle cooking class, I'd be open to more ideas).
The big question is "Can I do the same thing cheaper?". What if I keep a sheet tray in the freezer, drop some of the batter on that and slam it back in (gently, of course, to keep those perfect circles perfect) to freeze? Will I still be able to get the same product? Is it really that much better to be able to do it a la minute? Will holding them for a few hours really kill the flavor? Will the texture be noticeable enough to warrant that little piece of gear who's pricetag could feed me for a year?
All things to consider for those interested in starting up your own restaurant.
Of course, if you're a normal person and just want some ice cream, then sure, check it out. Go to a place with one, order something that uses it, and get a kick out of a frozen confection being made before your eyes in probably less than two minutes.
Another new method ("new" being the exact opposite of the truth, here) is sous vide. It's been around for a while, but Thomas Keller of The French Laundry (and much else) is bringing it back as the "hot new thing".
So what is sous vide? "Under pressure" is more or less a translation. Take whatever it is that you want cooked, toss it in a bag, put the whole mess in the machine, push the button, and walk away.
Ding, fries are done.
I have to be honest, when I think of this, I think of the bagged soups from my days at Ruby Tuesday.
And no, I'm not comparing the food at The French Laundry to anything from Ruby Tuesday. But when I first learned of sous vide, this is the context that I learned it in - commercial production of soups, sauces, and other such items.
Now maybe Chef Keller can take this method and use it to make some great new stuff, doing to sous vide what Adria did to food as a whole. Power to him, if he can do it.
On my end, if you ask me for a bowl of soup, expect it to come from a pot.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Passing the buck (with extra bernaise sauce, please)
I was privvy to an interesting and, dare I say it, thought provoking conversation earlier today. The topic of said conversation was a question that came up after discussing Anthony Bourdain's piece My Miami, largely from the opening paragraphs when he speaks of a restaurant specializing in "beautifying food", meant to cleanse and purify and otherwise help the body from the inside out.
Bourdain was, shall we say, unconvinced that the nigh-unrecognizeable dishes (afterall, high heat and things like creating a beautiful sear destroy vital beautifying qualities in the food) were the wave of the future.
The question is a simple, but important one: is it the responsibility of chefs to provide healthful food?
My answer?
No. Not at all.
But...
And, mind you, this is a big one...
I do support the idea. I encourage the idea. I'd like to practice the idea.
See, there's this little thing called "real life" that has the habit of getting in the way of our best laid plans and aspirations. Even some of the best intentions. The bottom line is, conveniently enough, the bottom line. I'm talking dollars and cents, here. As much love and passion goes into the food that comes out of a kitchen, that food still costs money. That kitchen costs money. Those people in the kitchen, with or without that passion, aren't doing what they do for free.
The bottom line is that the food has to sell.
If the only thing that people will buy is butter-loaded, skinless mashed potatoes, peeled asparagus (with hollandaise, of course, that artery clogging combination of butter and egg yolks), and a 12-oz Prime cut steak (fat is flavor, afterall), then that is what you have to offer. Unless, that is, you like owing thousands (and thousands) of dollars to the bank even after everything you own is reposessed and sold to pay back your loans.
People have this little thing called free will, and tend to get a tad uppity when you try to take it away (and rightfully so, I think). A person can eat whatever they so choose. I encourage people to eat a healthful diet, and do try to do so myself, but if someone really, really wants to sit down and nosh on nothing but sticks of butter and maybe some cocoa powder for extra flavor, then that's their own perogative.
"Well then," you might say, "what about those that do want to have healthy options? Shouldn't chefs be expected to put those on the menu?"
Again, as before, I say no. No obligation at all.
But I do think it's smart.
In a world where even McDonald's makes at least an attempt to sort of offer healtier options (sorry Ronald, but I think I can do better than half a chicken breast rolled in a plain flour tortilla with some lettuce) it makes sense for other restaurants (read: the ones serving actual food) to follow this same line of thinking.
To some, "healthy" is a four-letter word. I don't believe that myself (far from it, in fact), but I do expect it to still taste amazing. Yes, this means that certain items won't be making it onto my plate every day. I'll have a tomato or anti-sauce with my pasta far more than an alfredo (but you'd better believe that I'll be enjoying that alfredo when I do have it). But I love a good salad. And I do mean love (and do, also, mean good).
Long story short, I am of the opinion that the words "healthful" and "delicious" can, and often do, go hand in hand. Far worse things could happen, I think.
So while I don't hold the guy (or girl, for that matter) in the tall hat responsible for my (theoretical, thank you) budding beer belly, I would give a word to the wise to offer up some more waisteline friendly foods.
Bourdain was, shall we say, unconvinced that the nigh-unrecognizeable dishes (afterall, high heat and things like creating a beautiful sear destroy vital beautifying qualities in the food) were the wave of the future.
The question is a simple, but important one: is it the responsibility of chefs to provide healthful food?
My answer?
No. Not at all.
But...
And, mind you, this is a big one...
I do support the idea. I encourage the idea. I'd like to practice the idea.
See, there's this little thing called "real life" that has the habit of getting in the way of our best laid plans and aspirations. Even some of the best intentions. The bottom line is, conveniently enough, the bottom line. I'm talking dollars and cents, here. As much love and passion goes into the food that comes out of a kitchen, that food still costs money. That kitchen costs money. Those people in the kitchen, with or without that passion, aren't doing what they do for free.
The bottom line is that the food has to sell.
If the only thing that people will buy is butter-loaded, skinless mashed potatoes, peeled asparagus (with hollandaise, of course, that artery clogging combination of butter and egg yolks), and a 12-oz Prime cut steak (fat is flavor, afterall), then that is what you have to offer. Unless, that is, you like owing thousands (and thousands) of dollars to the bank even after everything you own is reposessed and sold to pay back your loans.
People have this little thing called free will, and tend to get a tad uppity when you try to take it away (and rightfully so, I think). A person can eat whatever they so choose. I encourage people to eat a healthful diet, and do try to do so myself, but if someone really, really wants to sit down and nosh on nothing but sticks of butter and maybe some cocoa powder for extra flavor, then that's their own perogative.
"Well then," you might say, "what about those that do want to have healthy options? Shouldn't chefs be expected to put those on the menu?"
Again, as before, I say no. No obligation at all.
But I do think it's smart.
In a world where even McDonald's makes at least an attempt to sort of offer healtier options (sorry Ronald, but I think I can do better than half a chicken breast rolled in a plain flour tortilla with some lettuce) it makes sense for other restaurants (read: the ones serving actual food) to follow this same line of thinking.
To some, "healthy" is a four-letter word. I don't believe that myself (far from it, in fact), but I do expect it to still taste amazing. Yes, this means that certain items won't be making it onto my plate every day. I'll have a tomato or anti-sauce with my pasta far more than an alfredo (but you'd better believe that I'll be enjoying that alfredo when I do have it). But I love a good salad. And I do mean love (and do, also, mean good).
Long story short, I am of the opinion that the words "healthful" and "delicious" can, and often do, go hand in hand. Far worse things could happen, I think.
So while I don't hold the guy (or girl, for that matter) in the tall hat responsible for my (theoretical, thank you) budding beer belly, I would give a word to the wise to offer up some more waisteline friendly foods.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Addendum the second
I just want to take a minute to go back and make a few things clear.
First and foremost, I do respect the front of house staff and the work that they do.
Yes, I do throw around terms like FOHSOB.
Why?
Well, for one, I am one. Willingly, at that. So I have some sort of leeway when it comes to making fun of a group that I am a part of.
My reasons for taking this job were two-fold. The obvious is that I needed a bit of money (until grocery stores start giving me food for free, this will be a common need of mine). Furthermore, it's relatively easy money.
Relatively.
Another thing that I want to make clear - each individual part of the job is, in and of itself, easy. Polishing silverwear, not a big deal. Filling waters? No problem. Folding napkins and taking them out to the server's station, done. It's a matter of having to do twice as much work in half the time, and having any given number of servers needing help with their tables when it's busy, and anything and everything else that's happening all at once.
I'd say that I wish it were as simple as waiting on one table at a time, but then I'd be bored all day.
Reason number two: I actually want serving experience. I want to be able to say that I've worked out front, to have learned how (and just as importantly, how not) to do things. If I ever do open my own restaurant, I'm going to have to know a bit about the workings of the front side. No better way than to jump in and start swimming, so to speak.
Now, on the whole tipping thing. I don't mean to jump up and down ranting about how everybody in the world is a horrible person for not leaving a big tip. Most people are courteous and know the American tipping system. The people of whom I speak are, thankfully, a minority (afterall, if no one tipped well, no one would be willing to take the job). It's an admitted sore spot... but hey, if your tip share was $15 from working a weekend plus one or two nights during the week you'd have a few select words to say yourself.
Lastly, on the note of "knowing the chef".
That's cool. It's fun to be able to walk into a place and say "I know the guy (or girl, as the case may be) who runs this place".
But, let's be honest here, it's no reason to climb up on some elitist pedastle. Storytime, kids.
I was at work, just coming out of the kitchen and headed back to the upstairs dining area when i was stopped by two ladies. They asked for a glass of wine. "We're meeting with the sous chef" one said, with the tone and look that you'd expect from someone who just got promoted to Supreme Galactic Emperor.
I went to the bar, got them their drinks, and took them back with a smile. I wished them a good evening.
I like to think that I was pretty gracious, despite the hilarity of what they had just asked me to do.
"But isn't getting guests what they ask for your job?"
Well, sure, and I did. But there are a few details that are worth knowing.
These two ladies weren't seated at a table. They were standing.
In the bar lobby.
Roughly ten feet from the bar.
There was no line to speak of.
Considering that they were, in fact, standing, I can only be led to assume that they were both fully capable of leg movement. Despite this ability, they could not seem to bring themselves to take five steps to the bar, and if they so chose, the five that would take them back to the original position.
Isn't voluntary servitude just great?
And, just in case you were wondering, no, they did not see fit to slip anything my way for saving them that dangerous and hard-fought journey to the bar and back.
I don't mean to complain about following my job description, but it goes over better if you don't treat me like a lap dog.
First and foremost, I do respect the front of house staff and the work that they do.
Yes, I do throw around terms like FOHSOB.
Why?
Well, for one, I am one. Willingly, at that. So I have some sort of leeway when it comes to making fun of a group that I am a part of.
My reasons for taking this job were two-fold. The obvious is that I needed a bit of money (until grocery stores start giving me food for free, this will be a common need of mine). Furthermore, it's relatively easy money.
Relatively.
Another thing that I want to make clear - each individual part of the job is, in and of itself, easy. Polishing silverwear, not a big deal. Filling waters? No problem. Folding napkins and taking them out to the server's station, done. It's a matter of having to do twice as much work in half the time, and having any given number of servers needing help with their tables when it's busy, and anything and everything else that's happening all at once.
I'd say that I wish it were as simple as waiting on one table at a time, but then I'd be bored all day.
Reason number two: I actually want serving experience. I want to be able to say that I've worked out front, to have learned how (and just as importantly, how not) to do things. If I ever do open my own restaurant, I'm going to have to know a bit about the workings of the front side. No better way than to jump in and start swimming, so to speak.
Now, on the whole tipping thing. I don't mean to jump up and down ranting about how everybody in the world is a horrible person for not leaving a big tip. Most people are courteous and know the American tipping system. The people of whom I speak are, thankfully, a minority (afterall, if no one tipped well, no one would be willing to take the job). It's an admitted sore spot... but hey, if your tip share was $15 from working a weekend plus one or two nights during the week you'd have a few select words to say yourself.
Lastly, on the note of "knowing the chef".
That's cool. It's fun to be able to walk into a place and say "I know the guy (or girl, as the case may be) who runs this place".
But, let's be honest here, it's no reason to climb up on some elitist pedastle. Storytime, kids.
I was at work, just coming out of the kitchen and headed back to the upstairs dining area when i was stopped by two ladies. They asked for a glass of wine. "We're meeting with the sous chef" one said, with the tone and look that you'd expect from someone who just got promoted to Supreme Galactic Emperor.
I went to the bar, got them their drinks, and took them back with a smile. I wished them a good evening.
I like to think that I was pretty gracious, despite the hilarity of what they had just asked me to do.
"But isn't getting guests what they ask for your job?"
Well, sure, and I did. But there are a few details that are worth knowing.
These two ladies weren't seated at a table. They were standing.
In the bar lobby.
Roughly ten feet from the bar.
There was no line to speak of.
Considering that they were, in fact, standing, I can only be led to assume that they were both fully capable of leg movement. Despite this ability, they could not seem to bring themselves to take five steps to the bar, and if they so chose, the five that would take them back to the original position.
Isn't voluntary servitude just great?
And, just in case you were wondering, no, they did not see fit to slip anything my way for saving them that dangerous and hard-fought journey to the bar and back.
I don't mean to complain about following my job description, but it goes over better if you don't treat me like a lap dog.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
FOHSOB's
The culinary world tends to have witty little abbreviations for things (afterall, who can be bothered to waste time with things like pronouncing full words in the middle of a dinner rush?).
FOH is one such acronym, refering to front of house. Generally this refers to people working out front (servers, host(esse)s, and whoever else might be found running around). The astute among us can probably deduce that BOH refers to the Back of House (cooks, dishwashers, and other friendly vermin).
SOB... well, you can refer to everyday vernacular for that one.
Now why is any of this important? Well... it's not... not the name, anyway. It's the distinction that matters.
In any given industry there's bound to be friction between the different areas of operation. Restaurants are no different. Servers often get the blame for an ill-prepared dish, and cooks (at least sometimes) view servers as people who carry their hard-made food to the tables (ie, not much of a job).
You can see how this can lead to... let's call it less-than-friendly confrontation.
Currently I myself am a front of house employee. I work as a server's assistant, which in a lot of ways is just a fancy way of saying "busboy". Essentially, to get paid, I rely on the generosity of the people that already are relying on yours.
No, it's not pretty.
Despite all of this, though, I do have respect for the servers (and other front of house staff) of the world. It's been said before, and I fully agree, that everyone should have to spend some time as a server. You may think that "carrying food" is easy... and if that's all there was to it, it would be. Trust, there's plenty to keep us occupied other than waiting on you hand and foot.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for getting the food out in a timely fashion (whether I'm working behind the line or taking it out), but please, have a touch of patience. Try not to glare too much if you get your neighbor's plate (it's an easy enough fix if you just tell them). And please, please don't get all high and mighty because you're "friends with the chef". You're meeting with him after dinner? That's nice. I see him every day that I go in to work.
And, I hate that I even think saying this is necessary, tip.
One might think that this would be common sense. Afterall, servers only make about $2.15 an hour. But it seems that, at least in my neck of the woods, people need reminding of this little post-dinner act.
What's a good tip? Standard is 20%, based on the actual cost of the meal and drinks (not tax). If the service really is bad, then sure, tip less. But make sure it's actual bad service. Everybody makes a mistake now and then - it's how you recover from it that counts. And hey, feel free to tip more if they go above and beyond - my own paycheck will thank you.
I have seen people leave $6 on a $50 tab. I've also seen them stiff a waiter completely on $30.
If you can't afford to leave a decent tip, then you really can't afford to eat out in the first place. It really should be considered as part of the cost.
As they say, sharing is caring. What say we put that into practice?
FOH is one such acronym, refering to front of house. Generally this refers to people working out front (servers, host(esse)s, and whoever else might be found running around). The astute among us can probably deduce that BOH refers to the Back of House (cooks, dishwashers, and other friendly vermin).
SOB... well, you can refer to everyday vernacular for that one.
Now why is any of this important? Well... it's not... not the name, anyway. It's the distinction that matters.
In any given industry there's bound to be friction between the different areas of operation. Restaurants are no different. Servers often get the blame for an ill-prepared dish, and cooks (at least sometimes) view servers as people who carry their hard-made food to the tables (ie, not much of a job).
You can see how this can lead to... let's call it less-than-friendly confrontation.
Currently I myself am a front of house employee. I work as a server's assistant, which in a lot of ways is just a fancy way of saying "busboy". Essentially, to get paid, I rely on the generosity of the people that already are relying on yours.
No, it's not pretty.
Despite all of this, though, I do have respect for the servers (and other front of house staff) of the world. It's been said before, and I fully agree, that everyone should have to spend some time as a server. You may think that "carrying food" is easy... and if that's all there was to it, it would be. Trust, there's plenty to keep us occupied other than waiting on you hand and foot.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for getting the food out in a timely fashion (whether I'm working behind the line or taking it out), but please, have a touch of patience. Try not to glare too much if you get your neighbor's plate (it's an easy enough fix if you just tell them). And please, please don't get all high and mighty because you're "friends with the chef". You're meeting with him after dinner? That's nice. I see him every day that I go in to work.
And, I hate that I even think saying this is necessary, tip.
One might think that this would be common sense. Afterall, servers only make about $2.15 an hour. But it seems that, at least in my neck of the woods, people need reminding of this little post-dinner act.
What's a good tip? Standard is 20%, based on the actual cost of the meal and drinks (not tax). If the service really is bad, then sure, tip less. But make sure it's actual bad service. Everybody makes a mistake now and then - it's how you recover from it that counts. And hey, feel free to tip more if they go above and beyond - my own paycheck will thank you.
I have seen people leave $6 on a $50 tab. I've also seen them stiff a waiter completely on $30.
If you can't afford to leave a decent tip, then you really can't afford to eat out in the first place. It really should be considered as part of the cost.
As they say, sharing is caring. What say we put that into practice?
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