Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Back
It's been a long time since I've written. I'm living in Soragna, a tiny town sort of near Parma. My town has a park, a fruit store, a bakery, a bodega, a castle, and a few other random things. it feels like a real place where regular folks just live, and that's nice. I've been cooking here for a little less than three weeks now? something like that. I feel better than i was feeling at my old job.
I remember going to the Brooklyn Public Library sometime in early March this year, before I started culinary school, and looking through a book by Jacques Pepin (La Technique). In this book I found an interesting way of rolling out and cutting fresh pasta. I made a version of this pasta for a couple friends of mine a few days later. A month or two after that, I found myself watching Jacques Pepin cook live right in front of me. Now, I'm living in Italy and using that same Jacques Pepin method of making fresh pasta to feed tagliatelli to Italians. This is something that I feel proud of.
I felt a little low last night because my chef gave me a huge amount of vegetables to dice, and he challenged me to finish within ten minutes. I'm still not as fast as I want to be, and as my ten minute time limit passed, my chef came up next to me and showed me how he is able to cut vegetables extremely quick. I know that it's unrealistic for me to expect to be as fast as my head-chef who has been working in kitchens since he was fifteen, but the truth is that I do want to be just as fast as him or anyone else. practice practice practice...
A waiter was listening to a soccer game on the radio in our kitchen, and when his team scored a goal, he danced around like that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine dances all funny flailing her arms and legs around. He didn't imitate her intentionally. It was just his way of celebrating a goal. I can never really share information like this with anyone because nobody here speaks English. My chef speaks a little English actually, and that's been really helpful for me in terms of knowing what's going on in the kitchen and participating. But I doubt he's seen that particular Seinfeld episode.
My chef is a huge guy from Naples. HUGE. He looks like Charles Barkley. He's the sort of guy who will give you a friendly pat on the back and you'll accidentally fall a few feet forward. He's a nice guy.
I roll out sheets of pasta dough three feet long. When someone orders a pasta dish, I take a handful of dough and get to work. When lots of people order pasta all at once, I feel happy and busy, and I make 35 tortelli in a few minutes, and they look nice.
When I was in between jobs I ate burrata cheese in front of the Adriatic Sea in the town of Bari. I slept on the beach one night with another traveling cook and his friends. I saw Southern Italian folk music in the Salento Peninsula, wild tambourines and old men singing and violins and accordions. People danced till sunrise, others too tired to keep dancing slept all throughout the town square and it looked like a dream, so many strangers draped sleeping over fountains and church steps while others danced and sang.
I remember going to the Brooklyn Public Library sometime in early March this year, before I started culinary school, and looking through a book by Jacques Pepin (La Technique). In this book I found an interesting way of rolling out and cutting fresh pasta. I made a version of this pasta for a couple friends of mine a few days later. A month or two after that, I found myself watching Jacques Pepin cook live right in front of me. Now, I'm living in Italy and using that same Jacques Pepin method of making fresh pasta to feed tagliatelli to Italians. This is something that I feel proud of.
I felt a little low last night because my chef gave me a huge amount of vegetables to dice, and he challenged me to finish within ten minutes. I'm still not as fast as I want to be, and as my ten minute time limit passed, my chef came up next to me and showed me how he is able to cut vegetables extremely quick. I know that it's unrealistic for me to expect to be as fast as my head-chef who has been working in kitchens since he was fifteen, but the truth is that I do want to be just as fast as him or anyone else. practice practice practice...
A waiter was listening to a soccer game on the radio in our kitchen, and when his team scored a goal, he danced around like that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine dances all funny flailing her arms and legs around. He didn't imitate her intentionally. It was just his way of celebrating a goal. I can never really share information like this with anyone because nobody here speaks English. My chef speaks a little English actually, and that's been really helpful for me in terms of knowing what's going on in the kitchen and participating. But I doubt he's seen that particular Seinfeld episode.
My chef is a huge guy from Naples. HUGE. He looks like Charles Barkley. He's the sort of guy who will give you a friendly pat on the back and you'll accidentally fall a few feet forward. He's a nice guy.
I roll out sheets of pasta dough three feet long. When someone orders a pasta dish, I take a handful of dough and get to work. When lots of people order pasta all at once, I feel happy and busy, and I make 35 tortelli in a few minutes, and they look nice.
When I was in between jobs I ate burrata cheese in front of the Adriatic Sea in the town of Bari. I slept on the beach one night with another traveling cook and his friends. I saw Southern Italian folk music in the Salento Peninsula, wild tambourines and old men singing and violins and accordions. People danced till sunrise, others too tired to keep dancing slept all throughout the town square and it looked like a dream, so many strangers draped sleeping over fountains and church steps while others danced and sang.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
my head and heart
the challenge is learning to speak italian better
the challenge is feeling comfortable in a new place, all by myself
I can be patient with myself
I can feel successful
the challenge is feeling comfortable in a new place, all by myself
I can be patient with myself
I can feel successful
reflection
what do i want?
I want to be a part of a social movement focused on access to local, seasonal, organic meals. I want to cook in spaces that encourage strangers to sit together, talk together, enjoy together. I want to cook food that makes people say "wow!" I want to cook with like-minded people. I want collaboration. I want food to blend with revelry, I want revelry to be found within a life of hard work and focus and dedication, I want to live amongst friends, I want time for myself, I want beauty and adventure, I want to share my favorite things with you, I want knowledge of cooking deep within my bones so that I can conjure food magic at any moment, with my eyes closed if I felt like it. I want to feed a hundred hungry new yorkers with speed and grace, i want to feed a few dear friends slowly and with grace.
Now, this is gonna feel like a non-sequitur, but it will come back around to "what i want," so just hang on...
Certain foods in Italy are given the status of "denominazione di origine controllata" (DOP). DOP status is given to regional specialty foods in order to recognize these foods as unique and to prevent competitors from misleading consumers with imitation products. For example, Parmigiano-Reggiano must by law be made in a specific way and come from the specific region around Parma, or else it cannot be called Parmigiano-Reggiano (there are inspectors and regulators and everything, it's all very official).
When a food gains DOP status, something is gained (the celebration of a unique regional product, the outlawing of imitators) but something is also lost, as DOP status often leads to an increased level of mass-production and standardization. There can be a decrease in artisan skills, ancient tools and methods, variety. The word sterilization comes to mind.
Now, DOP products are certainly much better than the average food you will find in the average supermarket in the United States (processed foods made with corn syrup, factory farm produce treated with a healthy dose of chemicals, genetically modified food). And DOP status does not always signify a subtle movement towards standardization and mass production (I had an absolutely beautiful DOP balsamic vinegar from Reggio Emilia that was aged for years and years in wooden barrels in the attic of an old farmhouse and sold in small batches), but I believe it often does.
The exciting part - there are food bandits in Italy. Local artisans who do not care to be widely recognized and do not seek DOP status. All they do is make beautiful cheese or wine or salumi, and share it with their neighbors and friends. I've been lucky enough to have raw milk goat cheese from Tuscany, white wine from the mountains of Veneto, handmade salumi from Le Marche. But, stumbling upon these products requires luck, knowledgable friends, and more luck. Additionally, these food bandits seem to be spread thin throughout the country of Italy. They're like isolated beacons of hope and goodness.
I yearn for more collaboration among food bandits, I want restaurants run by food bandits or at the very least run by friends of food bandits. And I'm not sure that this sort of culture or collaboration exists in Italy.
Where are the food bandits and the local markets and the restaurants all intertwined? Where do cooks and artisans and farmers seem to inspire one another and create what feels like a tangible food movement? Brooklyn! My home! All the inspiring people seem to know each other, the green market folks and the artisan chocolate makers and the butchers of local animals and the cooks and the rooftop gardeners and the pirate radio people and the food truck vendors and the farmers. I think that something is happening in New York that doesn't exist in Italy. Or al least, if it exists in Italy, I have not been able to find it in sustained doses. The sad part is, I no longer expect to find it in sustained doses. I think I feel defeated on that front.
I don't know what I expected to find here in Italy. A legion of grandmothers who could teach me fantastic culinary secrets in only two months despite my inability to speak or understand very much italian. Communities of young folks who cook with inspiration using bandit ingredients and methods. Young bandits and old grandmothers working together to teach me all their secrets. This does not exist.
So, why am I in Italy? That's what I've been asking myself. I've learned about local products, cooking techniques, the balancing of flavors and textures and colors, presentation, professionalism. But what do I want to learn? In the absence of the food bandit culture which I want so badly, I will learn fresh pasta. I will work hard, try not to feel too lonely or isolated, and gain some skill. Unfortunately, I think that's the best I can hope for.
Starting soon, I'll be working in a tiny town (4,500 people) sort of vaguely near Parma. My school tells me that I'll have the chance to learn fresh pasta here.
I hope that the food in my new kitchen is exciting, imaginative, and inspired. But who knows.
The most exciting part about food, for me, is sharing it with people, and telling the story of the bandits and farmers and artisans and cooks who made it all possible. For this, I might have to wait until November, when I come home.
I want to be a part of a social movement focused on access to local, seasonal, organic meals. I want to cook in spaces that encourage strangers to sit together, talk together, enjoy together. I want to cook food that makes people say "wow!" I want to cook with like-minded people. I want collaboration. I want food to blend with revelry, I want revelry to be found within a life of hard work and focus and dedication, I want to live amongst friends, I want time for myself, I want beauty and adventure, I want to share my favorite things with you, I want knowledge of cooking deep within my bones so that I can conjure food magic at any moment, with my eyes closed if I felt like it. I want to feed a hundred hungry new yorkers with speed and grace, i want to feed a few dear friends slowly and with grace.
Now, this is gonna feel like a non-sequitur, but it will come back around to "what i want," so just hang on...
Certain foods in Italy are given the status of "denominazione di origine controllata" (DOP). DOP status is given to regional specialty foods in order to recognize these foods as unique and to prevent competitors from misleading consumers with imitation products. For example, Parmigiano-Reggiano must by law be made in a specific way and come from the specific region around Parma, or else it cannot be called Parmigiano-Reggiano (there are inspectors and regulators and everything, it's all very official).
When a food gains DOP status, something is gained (the celebration of a unique regional product, the outlawing of imitators) but something is also lost, as DOP status often leads to an increased level of mass-production and standardization. There can be a decrease in artisan skills, ancient tools and methods, variety. The word sterilization comes to mind.
Now, DOP products are certainly much better than the average food you will find in the average supermarket in the United States (processed foods made with corn syrup, factory farm produce treated with a healthy dose of chemicals, genetically modified food). And DOP status does not always signify a subtle movement towards standardization and mass production (I had an absolutely beautiful DOP balsamic vinegar from Reggio Emilia that was aged for years and years in wooden barrels in the attic of an old farmhouse and sold in small batches), but I believe it often does.
The exciting part - there are food bandits in Italy. Local artisans who do not care to be widely recognized and do not seek DOP status. All they do is make beautiful cheese or wine or salumi, and share it with their neighbors and friends. I've been lucky enough to have raw milk goat cheese from Tuscany, white wine from the mountains of Veneto, handmade salumi from Le Marche. But, stumbling upon these products requires luck, knowledgable friends, and more luck. Additionally, these food bandits seem to be spread thin throughout the country of Italy. They're like isolated beacons of hope and goodness.
I yearn for more collaboration among food bandits, I want restaurants run by food bandits or at the very least run by friends of food bandits. And I'm not sure that this sort of culture or collaboration exists in Italy.
Where are the food bandits and the local markets and the restaurants all intertwined? Where do cooks and artisans and farmers seem to inspire one another and create what feels like a tangible food movement? Brooklyn! My home! All the inspiring people seem to know each other, the green market folks and the artisan chocolate makers and the butchers of local animals and the cooks and the rooftop gardeners and the pirate radio people and the food truck vendors and the farmers. I think that something is happening in New York that doesn't exist in Italy. Or al least, if it exists in Italy, I have not been able to find it in sustained doses. The sad part is, I no longer expect to find it in sustained doses. I think I feel defeated on that front.
I don't know what I expected to find here in Italy. A legion of grandmothers who could teach me fantastic culinary secrets in only two months despite my inability to speak or understand very much italian. Communities of young folks who cook with inspiration using bandit ingredients and methods. Young bandits and old grandmothers working together to teach me all their secrets. This does not exist.
So, why am I in Italy? That's what I've been asking myself. I've learned about local products, cooking techniques, the balancing of flavors and textures and colors, presentation, professionalism. But what do I want to learn? In the absence of the food bandit culture which I want so badly, I will learn fresh pasta. I will work hard, try not to feel too lonely or isolated, and gain some skill. Unfortunately, I think that's the best I can hope for.
Starting soon, I'll be working in a tiny town (4,500 people) sort of vaguely near Parma. My school tells me that I'll have the chance to learn fresh pasta here.
I hope that the food in my new kitchen is exciting, imaginative, and inspired. But who knows.
The most exciting part about food, for me, is sharing it with people, and telling the story of the bandits and farmers and artisans and cooks who made it all possible. For this, I might have to wait until November, when I come home.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
changes
there are some good things here. i like being near the sea. there's a pine forest that i rode my busted bike through this afternoon (it reminded me of the bike trail in cape cod, i kept waiting for my favorite sandwich place to appear around the next corner but it never did). there's some good camaraderie in my kitchen. i generally feel accepted and comfortable at work. we eat really well. but, i'm going to find another kitchen. i can participate more somewhere else, i can learn more somewhere else, i can be inspired more. i'm not gonna settle. i'm gonna always aim as high as i can. i crave heroes, local and seasonal ingredients, food that inspires a sense of community. when and where does food inspire a sense of community? how can i be a part of this? that's the path i'm ultimately on. that's the quest.
no more ants in the kitchen, cigarette smoke in the kitchen, fathers fighting with sons, a roommate with an alarm that goes off over and over again in the morning. no more fourteen hour days? we'll have to see about that one. enough standing and watching other people cook. there's nothing happening in the La Pineta kitchen that I couldn't do myself if given the chance (except maybe read the meal tickets, shorthand italian chicken-scratch, yikes). so, i'm leaving. if i'm not learning, participating, and being inspired, then i must go somewhere else. and i'll miss the sea, the familiarity of the routines i've learned here, the comfort of having gotten the hang of a a fair amount of stuff.
i'll always welcome the chance to take a risk in order to find something great.
off again into the unknown. a whole new set of people and routines and organization systems and recipes, a whole new kitchen to learn. i don't know where i'll be going. i should know in a few days.
i have to say that La Pineta is strikingly pretty, right by the sea, and their food is as fresh as it gets, with really nice strong flavors. it's very good, simple food in a beautiful place. not a lot more you can ask for. but, their kitchen is not uplifting. i know that uplifting kitchens exist. i will exist in uplifting kitchens.
lasting memories... backdoor deals with shady fishermen that result in the purchase of huge, beautiful, fresh tuna fish. eating the belly meat from the tuna as soon as it is filleted - cooks eating the best part themselves, love it. the son arguing with the father (again) and holding a pretty big fish in his hand, a whole fish, and waving it around wildly as he argues. the moon and the sea. eating watermelon with the matriarch one night after serving the usual sixty people for dinner - she sits outside slumped in a chair, watermelon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, smiling because it's her kitchen, her world, and all we can do is hope to sling food as fast as her when we're her age. not sleeping enough, becoming very weary and then pretty sad. feeling strong again, remembering to take better care of myself. first arriving here, sunset. riding on the back of motorbikes, feeling like jack nicholson in Easy Rider.
i have no idea if i'll end up somewhere better. i hope this works out. i know what it feels like to work in a kitchen and feel very happy. it doesn't feel right here. i hope i can achieve that good kitchen feeling here in italy even though i still don't speak italian very well. wish me luck...
no more ants in the kitchen, cigarette smoke in the kitchen, fathers fighting with sons, a roommate with an alarm that goes off over and over again in the morning. no more fourteen hour days? we'll have to see about that one. enough standing and watching other people cook. there's nothing happening in the La Pineta kitchen that I couldn't do myself if given the chance (except maybe read the meal tickets, shorthand italian chicken-scratch, yikes). so, i'm leaving. if i'm not learning, participating, and being inspired, then i must go somewhere else. and i'll miss the sea, the familiarity of the routines i've learned here, the comfort of having gotten the hang of a a fair amount of stuff.
i'll always welcome the chance to take a risk in order to find something great.
off again into the unknown. a whole new set of people and routines and organization systems and recipes, a whole new kitchen to learn. i don't know where i'll be going. i should know in a few days.
i have to say that La Pineta is strikingly pretty, right by the sea, and their food is as fresh as it gets, with really nice strong flavors. it's very good, simple food in a beautiful place. not a lot more you can ask for. but, their kitchen is not uplifting. i know that uplifting kitchens exist. i will exist in uplifting kitchens.
lasting memories... backdoor deals with shady fishermen that result in the purchase of huge, beautiful, fresh tuna fish. eating the belly meat from the tuna as soon as it is filleted - cooks eating the best part themselves, love it. the son arguing with the father (again) and holding a pretty big fish in his hand, a whole fish, and waving it around wildly as he argues. the moon and the sea. eating watermelon with the matriarch one night after serving the usual sixty people for dinner - she sits outside slumped in a chair, watermelon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, smiling because it's her kitchen, her world, and all we can do is hope to sling food as fast as her when we're her age. not sleeping enough, becoming very weary and then pretty sad. feeling strong again, remembering to take better care of myself. first arriving here, sunset. riding on the back of motorbikes, feeling like jack nicholson in Easy Rider.
i have no idea if i'll end up somewhere better. i hope this works out. i know what it feels like to work in a kitchen and feel very happy. it doesn't feel right here. i hope i can achieve that good kitchen feeling here in italy even though i still don't speak italian very well. wish me luck...
Friday, August 13, 2010
chaos kitchen
i remember being in spanish class in 7th grade. we used to do these practice exercises where the teacher would tell us things in spanish like, touch your pencil, touch your desk, touch the wall. one day, the teacher called on a kid to touch the door. he looked at her, not really understanding what she had asked him to do. she said it again in spanish, touch the door, only this time she encouraged him by saying "rapido, rapido!" jolted by this, the kid shot up from his desk, looked around confusedly for a second, ran towards the door, ran through the open door and into the hallway and slammed the door behind him. we all laughed. a lot. he didn't exactly understand what was being asked of him and he made a mistake. touch the door, do not run outside and close the door. i'm telling this story because at work people will sometimes frantically tell me something in italian, and i feel a little like that kid from spanish class, understanding the gist of what i am being told but not necessarily executing tasks with precision. But (!) something really cool has been happening recently. it happened once. and then again. and now it happens fairly regularly. someone will say something to me in urgent kitchen italian, and i will magically understand every single word they have said to me. it's weird and great.
sometimes at the end of the day our kitchen reminds me of one of the trashed hotel rooms from the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Maybe not as trashed as that, but perhaps similar in feel and spirit. the sense that utter mayhem has just occurred. random things strewn around the kitchen.
i'm still not learning or participating in the ways that i want to. the seafood tastes good though.
sometimes at the end of the day our kitchen reminds me of one of the trashed hotel rooms from the movie Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Maybe not as trashed as that, but perhaps similar in feel and spirit. the sense that utter mayhem has just occurred. random things strewn around the kitchen.
i'm still not learning or participating in the ways that i want to. the seafood tastes good though.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
work
all i do is work, eat, and sleep. i dont feel very alive. that's the negative side of things.
unrelated - every once in a while, a total wing-nut beach character will walk into our kitchen. not the restaurant, the kitchen. our chef is a stoic guy, and we cook some serious food, and the wing-nut will invariably be welcomed in with open arms, kisses on the cheek, huge hellos, everything. it reminds me of coney island, how no matter how strange a person might be, they won't be out of place. our characters include old hairy men wearing nothing but speedo underwear, old women with hacking cigarette coughs, a pair of middle-aged bald identical twins who may also be brothers of the chef. we feed the men from Senegal who sell trinkets on the beach.
my co-workers think that trying to speak to me in english is the absolute funniest thing in the world. in the middle of the dinner rush, when we typically feed about 60 people, one of the kitchen guys will shout out something like, "Yoshua! Looook! The salt, is on, the table!" "Good!" I reply, as the kitchen worker is utterly consumed by hysterical laughter. i spent 10 minutes the other day explaining to someone how to say the word 'oven.' "haaven?" "uh-vin." "haa-ven."
There is not a lot of room for me in the kitchen. i observe, i help when i can, i don't get in the way. i work with fish sometimes, filleting big fish and small fish, i cut vegetables, do other random stuff, fry things sometimes, i don't get to cook with fire enough or plate dishes enough. the less engaged i am, the less happy i am, and i'm not super happy right now. There's a matriarch in the kitchen who is not interested in teaching me. some guys look out for me though, and show me things from time to time, let me try things. i assert myself more and more though as i feel more comfortable, as i understand more, as i learn things in italian. i recognize that the seafood is very fresh (despite the messy, chaotic kitchen - we feed the alley cat. there is an ant problem that nobody seems to care about). we receive beautiful whole fish, red shrimp and scampi shrimp that don't exist in new york as far as i know.
i managed to wrangle for myself a junk bike that i can ride to work. at night i have to travel through a patch of unpaved road - there are no lights, just trees and stars. i have to walk the bike. i can barely see my hands on the handlebars. i like this part of my day. the beach is right in front of me but i don't get to enjoy it, although i'm glad it's there. i worry that i'm not learning as much as i could somewhere else. i dont feel like this restaurant is using me effectively. but then again, i dont speak or understand italian very well, and there is not that much time for them to show me every little thing, i need to just keep watching and memorizing and ask to step in when i know how to do things. i want to learn pasta and cook with fresh seasonal produce and be exposed to interesting cheeses and i dont have any of that. i'm learning seafood, which is certainly something, but i dont feel inspired. and i'm very tired.
unrelated - every once in a while, a total wing-nut beach character will walk into our kitchen. not the restaurant, the kitchen. our chef is a stoic guy, and we cook some serious food, and the wing-nut will invariably be welcomed in with open arms, kisses on the cheek, huge hellos, everything. it reminds me of coney island, how no matter how strange a person might be, they won't be out of place. our characters include old hairy men wearing nothing but speedo underwear, old women with hacking cigarette coughs, a pair of middle-aged bald identical twins who may also be brothers of the chef. we feed the men from Senegal who sell trinkets on the beach.
my co-workers think that trying to speak to me in english is the absolute funniest thing in the world. in the middle of the dinner rush, when we typically feed about 60 people, one of the kitchen guys will shout out something like, "Yoshua! Looook! The salt, is on, the table!" "Good!" I reply, as the kitchen worker is utterly consumed by hysterical laughter. i spent 10 minutes the other day explaining to someone how to say the word 'oven.' "haaven?" "uh-vin." "haa-ven."
There is not a lot of room for me in the kitchen. i observe, i help when i can, i don't get in the way. i work with fish sometimes, filleting big fish and small fish, i cut vegetables, do other random stuff, fry things sometimes, i don't get to cook with fire enough or plate dishes enough. the less engaged i am, the less happy i am, and i'm not super happy right now. There's a matriarch in the kitchen who is not interested in teaching me. some guys look out for me though, and show me things from time to time, let me try things. i assert myself more and more though as i feel more comfortable, as i understand more, as i learn things in italian. i recognize that the seafood is very fresh (despite the messy, chaotic kitchen - we feed the alley cat. there is an ant problem that nobody seems to care about). we receive beautiful whole fish, red shrimp and scampi shrimp that don't exist in new york as far as i know.
i managed to wrangle for myself a junk bike that i can ride to work. at night i have to travel through a patch of unpaved road - there are no lights, just trees and stars. i have to walk the bike. i can barely see my hands on the handlebars. i like this part of my day. the beach is right in front of me but i don't get to enjoy it, although i'm glad it's there. i worry that i'm not learning as much as i could somewhere else. i dont feel like this restaurant is using me effectively. but then again, i dont speak or understand italian very well, and there is not that much time for them to show me every little thing, i need to just keep watching and memorizing and ask to step in when i know how to do things. i want to learn pasta and cook with fresh seasonal produce and be exposed to interesting cheeses and i dont have any of that. i'm learning seafood, which is certainly something, but i dont feel inspired. and i'm very tired.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
bibbona
ok, lasting memories from the past week or two... riding home on the back of a co-worker's motorcycle in the middle of the night after my first day of work in the tiny town of marina di bibbona and thinking how life has taken me to such completely unexpected places. watching a real tornado swirl over the mediterranean sea and proceed to rain hail on the restaurant and momentarily knock the power out while we hardly stopped cooking lunch for our guests. sunsets. adventures into the mountains to attend farm parties with the best food, friends, community, and homemade wine and beer i could ever hope for (fantastically inspiring, beautiful, must write more about this later). a whole roasted pig. dancing. my last days cooking in colorno until my final exams in october.
i sliced my finger today, so typing is hard. today was my third day in my new kitchen. the rhythm of the day has been getting slightly smoother. everything is in italian. i get slightly more responsibility each day. i like my co-workers. my apartment is a dump. i have a roommate who is a talented cook and a good guy. we can sort of communicate with one another in italian. it's actually really hard to type with this cut finger (don't worry mom it's not too bad).
the internet doesnt work here very well at all, so writing may continue to be haphazard. my new kitchen is busy, hectic, dirty, pretty fun, somewhat confusing, and not fantastically inspiring but i'm gonna give it a little more time before passing final judgment.
this is such a bare minimum update. i'd like to write much more soon. i have very little time though, i've literally been working 13ish hour days, maybe longer. tired. hurt finger. off to bed i go. next time i wanna write about the funny cast of characters i'm now involved in with my new restaurant, the work i do, the food, the scenery, how we all wear these bandanna things at work that look pretty dang good and make me feel like a pirate, other random thoughts, insight, feelings, general brilliance and trueness of heart.
i sliced my finger today, so typing is hard. today was my third day in my new kitchen. the rhythm of the day has been getting slightly smoother. everything is in italian. i get slightly more responsibility each day. i like my co-workers. my apartment is a dump. i have a roommate who is a talented cook and a good guy. we can sort of communicate with one another in italian. it's actually really hard to type with this cut finger (don't worry mom it's not too bad).
the internet doesnt work here very well at all, so writing may continue to be haphazard. my new kitchen is busy, hectic, dirty, pretty fun, somewhat confusing, and not fantastically inspiring but i'm gonna give it a little more time before passing final judgment.
this is such a bare minimum update. i'd like to write much more soon. i have very little time though, i've literally been working 13ish hour days, maybe longer. tired. hurt finger. off to bed i go. next time i wanna write about the funny cast of characters i'm now involved in with my new restaurant, the work i do, the food, the scenery, how we all wear these bandanna things at work that look pretty dang good and make me feel like a pirate, other random thoughts, insight, feelings, general brilliance and trueness of heart.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
final days in colorno
Just got back from the Adriatic Sea. Got there yesterday and got home today, a quick trip but lots of fun, and my friends and I are getting good at using the Italian trains.
This is my last week here in Colorno. To prepare for tomorrow I'm gonna iron my chefs jacket. I'm gonna clean up my beard. I'm gonna come to the kitchen tomorrow like i always come to the kitchen, professional and ready to do my best (one variable that may change from time to time is the amount of sleep I get, but that's life. also, i've alluded to this before but i'm not the best at ironing things. the bottom line, however, is really attitude).
We're reaching a point now where we can make dishes that taste and look exquisite. But the trick is to be able to do this again and again, exactly the same. The thousandth carrot must look exactly like the first. We have to arrive in the kitchen ready to cook tomorrow just as we arrived ready to cook two months ago. Consistent excellence is what I want, and I'll have it.
This is my last week here in Colorno. To prepare for tomorrow I'm gonna iron my chefs jacket. I'm gonna clean up my beard. I'm gonna come to the kitchen tomorrow like i always come to the kitchen, professional and ready to do my best (one variable that may change from time to time is the amount of sleep I get, but that's life. also, i've alluded to this before but i'm not the best at ironing things. the bottom line, however, is really attitude).
We're reaching a point now where we can make dishes that taste and look exquisite. But the trick is to be able to do this again and again, exactly the same. The thousandth carrot must look exactly like the first. We have to arrive in the kitchen ready to cook tomorrow just as we arrived ready to cook two months ago. Consistent excellence is what I want, and I'll have it.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
changes
Dear internet,
I know that I have been neglecting you. But you knew from the beginning that my heart lies in other places, that it can never truly work between us. I've been busy exploring Tuscan cities, visiting farms, and cooking in the kitchen for goodness sake. So, I'm sorry internet for not paying enough attention to you, but i don't think it can really be any other way.
I found out where i'll be doing my restaurant internship. I'll be at a restaurant called "La Pineta" on the coast of Tuscany, near Livorno. The head chef is named Luciano Zazzeri, and he's been awarded one Michelin star, which is a big deal. I know very little about this place besides the fact that I'll be doing lots and lots of fresh seafood, and that it is literally right next to the water. Apparently, the head chef used to be a fisherman. While searching the internet for more information about where I'll be going, I found a picture of Chef Zazzeri holding a whole huge fish with just one hand while standing in the middle of his restaurant dining room. And that sounds promising, right? I leave Colorno in about a week, and hopefully I will find myself in a place that uses fresh, local, seasonal ingredients, and a place that cooks with heart, passion, and humility. Only time will tell.
I'm feeling sad about leaving my friends. There are people here that I have seen literally every single day for the past nine weeks (not to mention the two months we spent cooking together in new york), and who I would gladly continue seeing every day if I had the chance (also, there are those who i would gladly not see for a very long time, but let's not get into that). We've cooked together, lived in the same house together, and spent our free time together. And I get this sinking feeling in my heart when I think about the end of all of this. But, change always comes, and I will continue forward with an open mind and an open heart, because what else can a person really do. Plus, I am excited for the next adventure (even if I still can't speak Italian very well).
Yesterday was our final time cooking in Central Kitchen. We were also there one time last week, and I don't think I wrote about it. I'll jumble both experiences into one and summarize quickly - had to clean a huge and infinite-seeming amount of baby calamari but it was fun to cook them quickly and delicately (they turned out very tender), worked with fillets of red mullet, roasted a bunch of birds that weren't chickens but were similar to chickens, carved the birds up and served the meat, but was able to save a few of the best tiny juicy bites for me and my friends in the kitchen. Teamwork, "Vai tutti!," successes.
I put all of my heart and soul into a risotto the other day in an effort to try and match the risotto our head chef had made for us a few weeks earlier. And i think i came quite close to his example. It felt nice.
This past weekend I was inspired by some very dedicated farmers in Tuscany who make the best goat cheese I've ever tasted. I was also inspired by the stars above me in the town of Siena.
I know that I have been neglecting you. But you knew from the beginning that my heart lies in other places, that it can never truly work between us. I've been busy exploring Tuscan cities, visiting farms, and cooking in the kitchen for goodness sake. So, I'm sorry internet for not paying enough attention to you, but i don't think it can really be any other way.
I found out where i'll be doing my restaurant internship. I'll be at a restaurant called "La Pineta" on the coast of Tuscany, near Livorno. The head chef is named Luciano Zazzeri, and he's been awarded one Michelin star, which is a big deal. I know very little about this place besides the fact that I'll be doing lots and lots of fresh seafood, and that it is literally right next to the water. Apparently, the head chef used to be a fisherman. While searching the internet for more information about where I'll be going, I found a picture of Chef Zazzeri holding a whole huge fish with just one hand while standing in the middle of his restaurant dining room. And that sounds promising, right? I leave Colorno in about a week, and hopefully I will find myself in a place that uses fresh, local, seasonal ingredients, and a place that cooks with heart, passion, and humility. Only time will tell.
I'm feeling sad about leaving my friends. There are people here that I have seen literally every single day for the past nine weeks (not to mention the two months we spent cooking together in new york), and who I would gladly continue seeing every day if I had the chance (also, there are those who i would gladly not see for a very long time, but let's not get into that). We've cooked together, lived in the same house together, and spent our free time together. And I get this sinking feeling in my heart when I think about the end of all of this. But, change always comes, and I will continue forward with an open mind and an open heart, because what else can a person really do. Plus, I am excited for the next adventure (even if I still can't speak Italian very well).
Yesterday was our final time cooking in Central Kitchen. We were also there one time last week, and I don't think I wrote about it. I'll jumble both experiences into one and summarize quickly - had to clean a huge and infinite-seeming amount of baby calamari but it was fun to cook them quickly and delicately (they turned out very tender), worked with fillets of red mullet, roasted a bunch of birds that weren't chickens but were similar to chickens, carved the birds up and served the meat, but was able to save a few of the best tiny juicy bites for me and my friends in the kitchen. Teamwork, "Vai tutti!," successes.
I put all of my heart and soul into a risotto the other day in an effort to try and match the risotto our head chef had made for us a few weeks earlier. And i think i came quite close to his example. It felt nice.
This past weekend I was inspired by some very dedicated farmers in Tuscany who make the best goat cheese I've ever tasted. I was also inspired by the stars above me in the town of Siena.
Monday, July 12, 2010
last week was a good week
hello world. it's too bad that the times i find to write to you are generally when i'm totally exhausted. i'd like to be more zing-bang-boom if you know what i mean, but i feel like a turtle right now. s-l-o-w.
in any event, here i am, safe and sound, happy and healthy, rough and tumble, wiggle and jiggle, wild rumpus with pancetta. i was on the island of Elba this weekend, and it was absolutely beautiful. i know i like to use hyperbole (a lot) but in all honesty, it was breathtakingly beautiful. mountains and sparklingly clear blue sea. and i drove stick-shift successfully through curvy mountain roads with steep cliffs. at night i drank wine under the stars with the very dear friends i've made since starting school, i swam, explored, ate very good seafood, and didn't get sunburned. perfecto.
last week we had central kitchen twice. the more the better as far as i'm concerned. it's the best way to learn. doing the same task over and over again under time pressure in order to feed 200 people is the way to internalize that task very well. I now feel very confident working with lamb shoulder, rabbit, and any type of bird (chicken, pheasant, pigeon, whatever). also, if anyone needs help preparing string-beans or tomatoes for a very large crowd, just let me know.
On Monday after central kitchen, our chef looked around and said, "well, we were almost in the shit today." And it was true, we just barely got the food out in time. and it was fine quality, just a little too close to missing lunch for comfort. we heard lots of "vai vai vai" that day in the kitchen, which means "go go go." On Friday we did much better, getting the food ready with enough time to spare that we got to individually plate and serve certain dishes. our chef had this in mind as a goal for us that day, and accomplishing that goal felt really good.
we focused on food from Calabria last week, which was a lot of fun. spicy! there's a product in Calabria called Nduja (pronounced inn-doo-ya) that is leftover pork meat scraped from the bones after a pig is fabricated, then mixed with pork fat and a significant amount of spicy pepperoncinio pepper. We ate the nduja on slices of crunchy bread, and it tasted like creamy pork fire. delicious. also, the version we had was apparently some sort of mild version. woah! Also, if you're a foreigner and you want to marry a woman from Calabria, you have to first successfully eat a healthy dose of nduja in front of the woman's father. so, if you don't like spicy food, do not fall in love with a woman from Calabria.
On Thursday we sat wide-eyed while a guest chef from Friuli, Antonia Klugmann, put on a show. She dazzled us with dish after dish, simple dishes with so much flavor and creativity, using local and seasonal ingredients (some of which came from the woman's own personal garden). a seppia dish using lemon and fresh chamomile (so fragrant). a beet salad with cherries, caramelized radishes and shallots, beet greens and stems, and fresh wild fennel. a sausage dish featuring seared pieces of fresh pork sausage from Slovenia, a homemade honey mustard, and lemony greens called wood sorrel. I could go on, but i don't think my words could do justice to her dishes. she cooked with heart and humility, grace and poise, warmth and precision. i think my body is tired from being inspired and speechless so often. or maybe it's just the lack of sleep.
in any event, here i am, safe and sound, happy and healthy, rough and tumble, wiggle and jiggle, wild rumpus with pancetta. i was on the island of Elba this weekend, and it was absolutely beautiful. i know i like to use hyperbole (a lot) but in all honesty, it was breathtakingly beautiful. mountains and sparklingly clear blue sea. and i drove stick-shift successfully through curvy mountain roads with steep cliffs. at night i drank wine under the stars with the very dear friends i've made since starting school, i swam, explored, ate very good seafood, and didn't get sunburned. perfecto.
last week we had central kitchen twice. the more the better as far as i'm concerned. it's the best way to learn. doing the same task over and over again under time pressure in order to feed 200 people is the way to internalize that task very well. I now feel very confident working with lamb shoulder, rabbit, and any type of bird (chicken, pheasant, pigeon, whatever). also, if anyone needs help preparing string-beans or tomatoes for a very large crowd, just let me know.
On Monday after central kitchen, our chef looked around and said, "well, we were almost in the shit today." And it was true, we just barely got the food out in time. and it was fine quality, just a little too close to missing lunch for comfort. we heard lots of "vai vai vai" that day in the kitchen, which means "go go go." On Friday we did much better, getting the food ready with enough time to spare that we got to individually plate and serve certain dishes. our chef had this in mind as a goal for us that day, and accomplishing that goal felt really good.
we focused on food from Calabria last week, which was a lot of fun. spicy! there's a product in Calabria called Nduja (pronounced inn-doo-ya) that is leftover pork meat scraped from the bones after a pig is fabricated, then mixed with pork fat and a significant amount of spicy pepperoncinio pepper. We ate the nduja on slices of crunchy bread, and it tasted like creamy pork fire. delicious. also, the version we had was apparently some sort of mild version. woah! Also, if you're a foreigner and you want to marry a woman from Calabria, you have to first successfully eat a healthy dose of nduja in front of the woman's father. so, if you don't like spicy food, do not fall in love with a woman from Calabria.
On Thursday we sat wide-eyed while a guest chef from Friuli, Antonia Klugmann, put on a show. She dazzled us with dish after dish, simple dishes with so much flavor and creativity, using local and seasonal ingredients (some of which came from the woman's own personal garden). a seppia dish using lemon and fresh chamomile (so fragrant). a beet salad with cherries, caramelized radishes and shallots, beet greens and stems, and fresh wild fennel. a sausage dish featuring seared pieces of fresh pork sausage from Slovenia, a homemade honey mustard, and lemony greens called wood sorrel. I could go on, but i don't think my words could do justice to her dishes. she cooked with heart and humility, grace and poise, warmth and precision. i think my body is tired from being inspired and speechless so often. or maybe it's just the lack of sleep.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
looking down at my hands
There's a cut on my thumb and I don't know how it got there. This isn't so surprising though, since most of the time when I cut myself it's not even with a knife during cooking. I can be clumsy sometimes when it comes to my limbs. This new cut is probably from trying to break apart and eat lobster with my bare hands during our 4th of July celebration this past Sunday.
The very first cut I ever got in cooking school happened in the kitchen, but it was a paper cut. We had a practical exam that day and I was turning through the pages of my textbook to find the necessary recipe for our exam, and i sliced a finger.
I cut myself the other day in class with an actual knife, and I immediately apologized to my partner. "Hey man, sorry, I cut myself." I knew the cut wasn't very bad. It just meant two minutes of me not working while I washed the cut and put on a band-aid so as not to bleed on the food. Our head chef cut himself the other day while demonstrating a recipe, and he didn't even stop what he was doing. He sent someone else to bring him a band-aid and a rubber glove for his hand while he continued with the preparation.
Back to this past weekend - it felt uplifting to be surrounded by cooks who all decided to cook during their free time. I remember back in New York, waking up on a Saturday after having cooked every day that week, starting my morning relaxed and slow, and then all of a sudden becoming consumed by an idea or inspiration and deciding to cook! To my delight, this past weekend, I and my fellow cooks all seemed to feel this way - it was our free time, and we all used it to create something. And the result of our work was a 4th of July feast that lasted for hours.
In other news, I must confess that I spend a moment or two on the 4th of July fondly remembering past nostalgia and nonsense and debauchery by listening to Against Me, "You watched in awe at the red, white & blue on the 4th of July..." If nothing else, we had heart back then.
Also, I miss baseball. And even though the Mets suck, I miss them especially.
The very first cut I ever got in cooking school happened in the kitchen, but it was a paper cut. We had a practical exam that day and I was turning through the pages of my textbook to find the necessary recipe for our exam, and i sliced a finger.
I cut myself the other day in class with an actual knife, and I immediately apologized to my partner. "Hey man, sorry, I cut myself." I knew the cut wasn't very bad. It just meant two minutes of me not working while I washed the cut and put on a band-aid so as not to bleed on the food. Our head chef cut himself the other day while demonstrating a recipe, and he didn't even stop what he was doing. He sent someone else to bring him a band-aid and a rubber glove for his hand while he continued with the preparation.
Back to this past weekend - it felt uplifting to be surrounded by cooks who all decided to cook during their free time. I remember back in New York, waking up on a Saturday after having cooked every day that week, starting my morning relaxed and slow, and then all of a sudden becoming consumed by an idea or inspiration and deciding to cook! To my delight, this past weekend, I and my fellow cooks all seemed to feel this way - it was our free time, and we all used it to create something. And the result of our work was a 4th of July feast that lasted for hours.
In other news, I must confess that I spend a moment or two on the 4th of July fondly remembering past nostalgia and nonsense and debauchery by listening to Against Me, "You watched in awe at the red, white & blue on the 4th of July..." If nothing else, we had heart back then.
Also, I miss baseball. And even though the Mets suck, I miss them especially.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
sunday
It's July now. I'm sitting on the floor writing this, the table is no longer here because it's gonna be used for feeding tons of people downstairs for our 4th of July celebration. I think we're about to eat very, very well...
I stayed in Colorno this weekend, and it was extremely nice to have a slow couple of days. Sun, sleep, friends. The heat has been thick and humid, and last night we simply sat outside in front of the castle that is our school, amongst many other families and groups of people, little kids running wild, and us drinking wine and watching the river flow by.
In class we've been focusing on food from Sardinia. We made ravioli filled with a semi-soft cow's milk cheese and a little bit of lemon and orange zest. We then fried the ravioli golden, and drizzled the final product with a slightly bitter Sardinian honey. The savory oozing cheese worked well with the contrasting yet complimentary flavors of the honey and zest.
Our chef de-boned an entire lamb for us the other day, leaving the meat completely intact. It was interesting to see this done after just having de-boned a whole rabbit ourselves a few days earlier. All the body parts were basically the same, just bigger on the lamb.
I've been thinking a lot about the way we carry ourselves as cooks, and the way we are taught to carry ourselves as cooks. Uniforms must always be ironed and pressed. The men can't have stubble. We are trained implicitly to carry our heads high, to exude confidence, and to embody skill and professionalism. Now, my uniform may not always be completely free of wrinkles (perhaps it rarely is), but I like this way of thinking, and I like this way of carrying myself. We are skilled. We are professionals.
I stayed in Colorno this weekend, and it was extremely nice to have a slow couple of days. Sun, sleep, friends. The heat has been thick and humid, and last night we simply sat outside in front of the castle that is our school, amongst many other families and groups of people, little kids running wild, and us drinking wine and watching the river flow by.
In class we've been focusing on food from Sardinia. We made ravioli filled with a semi-soft cow's milk cheese and a little bit of lemon and orange zest. We then fried the ravioli golden, and drizzled the final product with a slightly bitter Sardinian honey. The savory oozing cheese worked well with the contrasting yet complimentary flavors of the honey and zest.
Our chef de-boned an entire lamb for us the other day, leaving the meat completely intact. It was interesting to see this done after just having de-boned a whole rabbit ourselves a few days earlier. All the body parts were basically the same, just bigger on the lamb.
I've been thinking a lot about the way we carry ourselves as cooks, and the way we are taught to carry ourselves as cooks. Uniforms must always be ironed and pressed. The men can't have stubble. We are trained implicitly to carry our heads high, to exude confidence, and to embody skill and professionalism. Now, my uniform may not always be completely free of wrinkles (perhaps it rarely is), but I like this way of thinking, and I like this way of carrying myself. We are skilled. We are professionals.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
days go by
Time is speeding up. Each week has a pattern and a rhythm that I now know well. I suspect that time is going to keep going faster and faster until i'm off to the next adventure, the next challenge.
I handed in a sheet of paper yesterday stating my preferences for the type of restaurant i'd like to stage at. I wrote about local and seasonal cuisine, farms and farmers, cooking with heart and humility, food that is rustic, creative, and accessible all at the same time. I wrote about my desire to become an expert pasta maker.
I feel a gravitational pull towards the south of Italy, Puglia or Campania, we'll see if I end up there.
I worked with a whole octopus today, and then later a whole rabbit. And that sentence makes me smile, because of how completely comfortable and relaxed I felt all day long. I know that I would have felt differently six months ago. But today was simply business as usual, as I've already worked with both those animals before. The octopus got stewed with fresh tomato, garlic, and olive oil for over two hours. It released a lot of liquid during that time, creating a flavorful broth that tasted like fresh summer tomatoes, the sea, and garlic. I never needed to add any salt. Later, I butchered the rabbit (which, interestingly, didn't gross me out too much - rabbits have basically the same parts as pigs, cows, and lambs, and butchering a whole rabbit offers a good opportunity to learn how many of the animals we eat are structured). The rabbit meat was later seared and then braised in a sauce with fresh tomatoes and olives. The meat was delicious and tender. I remember being a little uncomfortable the first time I ever ate rabbit, but today I got very good feedback on my dish from our head chef and so then proceeded to happily eat the whole plate of food I'd just made.
I had a risotto that changed my life today. And I'm not sure how to begin explaining its perfection. Tons of tiny details that, when examined one at a time may seem inconsequential, but when taken together created something that should be used as a model for all other risotto. Our chef explained that the stars of the show should always be the rice and whatever other main ingredient or ingredients are being added. Often times, people cook their risotto rice in broth or stock, and so the true taste of the rice becomes masked. And our chef proceeded to cook his risotto using water instead of stock.
The risotto pot always had just enough liquid to prevent the rice from sticking and burning, and never more than that. He said the rice must always be dancing, and that this is how a maximum amount of starch gets released, allowing the risotto to be as creamy as possible.
At the end of the cooking process, butter and cheese are traditionally added off the heat. In Italian, this moment is called Mantecare, and it's a crucial step. But, the trick is to add butter without having the final product taste like butter, and to add cheese without having the final product taste like cheese. These ingredients are added to help bring the dish together, but not to overpower. The final product should taste silky, with a balanced melding of flavors. Our chef used a few drops of white wine vinegar to help balance the butter, and the acidity elevated the dish, and without leading to a final product that tasted like vinegar.
At the end of class today, I told our chef that he raised the bar for risotto as far as I'm concerned. He said that often times, when he tells a class that they will be preparing risotto, the reaction is a groan - everyone has cooked risotto before, why do it again. But, he said it is not about how many times you've cooked risotto, it's about how many times you've tasted the perfect risotto. He said that this is a taste that must be ingrained in your mind, just as the visual image of the risotto's creaminess should be ingrained in your mind. He said that risotto should ideally be cooked with a wooden spoon and with a copper pot. Everything counts, he said.
On monday we were back in central kitchen, and I did pasta with a lamb ragu for 200 people. I spent a lot of time de-boning lamb shoulders, trimming away fat, and then cutting the meat into tiny cubes. The final dish was really flavorful and delicious, and it was a cool feeling to know that every single little piece of tender, juicy lamb that was eaten that day was the result of my work.
I handed in a sheet of paper yesterday stating my preferences for the type of restaurant i'd like to stage at. I wrote about local and seasonal cuisine, farms and farmers, cooking with heart and humility, food that is rustic, creative, and accessible all at the same time. I wrote about my desire to become an expert pasta maker.
I feel a gravitational pull towards the south of Italy, Puglia or Campania, we'll see if I end up there.
I worked with a whole octopus today, and then later a whole rabbit. And that sentence makes me smile, because of how completely comfortable and relaxed I felt all day long. I know that I would have felt differently six months ago. But today was simply business as usual, as I've already worked with both those animals before. The octopus got stewed with fresh tomato, garlic, and olive oil for over two hours. It released a lot of liquid during that time, creating a flavorful broth that tasted like fresh summer tomatoes, the sea, and garlic. I never needed to add any salt. Later, I butchered the rabbit (which, interestingly, didn't gross me out too much - rabbits have basically the same parts as pigs, cows, and lambs, and butchering a whole rabbit offers a good opportunity to learn how many of the animals we eat are structured). The rabbit meat was later seared and then braised in a sauce with fresh tomatoes and olives. The meat was delicious and tender. I remember being a little uncomfortable the first time I ever ate rabbit, but today I got very good feedback on my dish from our head chef and so then proceeded to happily eat the whole plate of food I'd just made.
I had a risotto that changed my life today. And I'm not sure how to begin explaining its perfection. Tons of tiny details that, when examined one at a time may seem inconsequential, but when taken together created something that should be used as a model for all other risotto. Our chef explained that the stars of the show should always be the rice and whatever other main ingredient or ingredients are being added. Often times, people cook their risotto rice in broth or stock, and so the true taste of the rice becomes masked. And our chef proceeded to cook his risotto using water instead of stock.
The risotto pot always had just enough liquid to prevent the rice from sticking and burning, and never more than that. He said the rice must always be dancing, and that this is how a maximum amount of starch gets released, allowing the risotto to be as creamy as possible.
At the end of the cooking process, butter and cheese are traditionally added off the heat. In Italian, this moment is called Mantecare, and it's a crucial step. But, the trick is to add butter without having the final product taste like butter, and to add cheese without having the final product taste like cheese. These ingredients are added to help bring the dish together, but not to overpower. The final product should taste silky, with a balanced melding of flavors. Our chef used a few drops of white wine vinegar to help balance the butter, and the acidity elevated the dish, and without leading to a final product that tasted like vinegar.
At the end of class today, I told our chef that he raised the bar for risotto as far as I'm concerned. He said that often times, when he tells a class that they will be preparing risotto, the reaction is a groan - everyone has cooked risotto before, why do it again. But, he said it is not about how many times you've cooked risotto, it's about how many times you've tasted the perfect risotto. He said that this is a taste that must be ingrained in your mind, just as the visual image of the risotto's creaminess should be ingrained in your mind. He said that risotto should ideally be cooked with a wooden spoon and with a copper pot. Everything counts, he said.
On monday we were back in central kitchen, and I did pasta with a lamb ragu for 200 people. I spent a lot of time de-boning lamb shoulders, trimming away fat, and then cutting the meat into tiny cubes. The final dish was really flavorful and delicious, and it was a cool feeling to know that every single little piece of tender, juicy lamb that was eaten that day was the result of my work.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
the good life
In the book i'm reading, a chapter is called, "All respects to heaven, I like it here." I read this and nodded my head slowly. I understand.
This chapter title rang true for me because the things I do with utmost casualness these days, with total nonchalance, are in actuality feats of supreme excellence that deserve their own parade. For example, my day in the kitchen the other day was fulfilling, eventful, busy. I could have gone home, read a book, gone to bed, and been quite content. But, upon returning home, a housemate decided to oh so casually take out a fantastic piece of cheese that she bought from the artisan cheese-maker we visited near the adriatic sea last week, and she took out some fresh green figs, and all of a sudden we were in the lap of luxury, eating a cheese that is both fantastic and utterly unique in this world with some of the most beautiful green figs i've ever seen.
And all of this made me think about the moment during my family's Passover celebration when we sing Dayenu. The word Dayenu literally means, "it would have sufficed." It's a song of thankfulness and humility, where great accomplishments are listed and after each accomplishment the whole table says, "dayenu!" And in my head i'm thinking, I get to go to cooking school - Dayenu. I have good friends and we feed each other using fresh local produce - Dayenu. We play soccer against the italian chefs, and even though we don't win, we play well and we don't lose by too much - Dayenu. And I could go on and on.
More examples - yesterday, after a long day of class, I ended up going out with friends for a quick snack of local Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and local red wine. Why not, right? Then, we had a soccer game to play. After the game, back at the house, food was being cooked in honor of the Greek world cup team (which lost, but who cares). A fellow cook of Greek heritage grilled kebabs and served them with flat bread, homemade yogurt sauce, and a lovely salad. And, because yesterday was a holiday (the festa di san giovanni, I will explain more in a moment) we ultimately ended up leaving the house and heading into the middle of our tiny town in the middle of the night, where a party was happening. Although the party was not very exciting, the moon was out, and riding my bike for a few minutes into town felt very good after eating all that kebab.
The festa di san giovanni is a holiday that get's celebrated by eating tortelli with ricotta and fresh herb filling. There's some religious reason why this holiday exists, but i'm not sure exactly what it is, something about six months before Jesus was born. In any event, literally every restaurant in town had signs advertising their tortelli, and we even made a batch in class as it's considered good luck to do so. apparently, every family has their own slightly different recipe, and there is always great debate about whose tortelli are the absolute best. secret ingredients for the filling may include some combination of nutmeg, marjoram, tarragon, parmesan, marscapone, and who knows what else. I actually didn't end up eating any tortelli on this day, but I made some and froze them, so hopefully that's good enough.
This chapter title rang true for me because the things I do with utmost casualness these days, with total nonchalance, are in actuality feats of supreme excellence that deserve their own parade. For example, my day in the kitchen the other day was fulfilling, eventful, busy. I could have gone home, read a book, gone to bed, and been quite content. But, upon returning home, a housemate decided to oh so casually take out a fantastic piece of cheese that she bought from the artisan cheese-maker we visited near the adriatic sea last week, and she took out some fresh green figs, and all of a sudden we were in the lap of luxury, eating a cheese that is both fantastic and utterly unique in this world with some of the most beautiful green figs i've ever seen.
And all of this made me think about the moment during my family's Passover celebration when we sing Dayenu. The word Dayenu literally means, "it would have sufficed." It's a song of thankfulness and humility, where great accomplishments are listed and after each accomplishment the whole table says, "dayenu!" And in my head i'm thinking, I get to go to cooking school - Dayenu. I have good friends and we feed each other using fresh local produce - Dayenu. We play soccer against the italian chefs, and even though we don't win, we play well and we don't lose by too much - Dayenu. And I could go on and on.
More examples - yesterday, after a long day of class, I ended up going out with friends for a quick snack of local Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and local red wine. Why not, right? Then, we had a soccer game to play. After the game, back at the house, food was being cooked in honor of the Greek world cup team (which lost, but who cares). A fellow cook of Greek heritage grilled kebabs and served them with flat bread, homemade yogurt sauce, and a lovely salad. And, because yesterday was a holiday (the festa di san giovanni, I will explain more in a moment) we ultimately ended up leaving the house and heading into the middle of our tiny town in the middle of the night, where a party was happening. Although the party was not very exciting, the moon was out, and riding my bike for a few minutes into town felt very good after eating all that kebab.
The festa di san giovanni is a holiday that get's celebrated by eating tortelli with ricotta and fresh herb filling. There's some religious reason why this holiday exists, but i'm not sure exactly what it is, something about six months before Jesus was born. In any event, literally every restaurant in town had signs advertising their tortelli, and we even made a batch in class as it's considered good luck to do so. apparently, every family has their own slightly different recipe, and there is always great debate about whose tortelli are the absolute best. secret ingredients for the filling may include some combination of nutmeg, marjoram, tarragon, parmesan, marscapone, and who knows what else. I actually didn't end up eating any tortelli on this day, but I made some and froze them, so hopefully that's good enough.
Monday, June 21, 2010
central kitchen
We cooked for real people today, and it filled me up with all the goodness of why I chose this life for myself. Bustling teamwork, excitement, a sense of urgency, finesse in the face of frenzy, a certain degree of improvisation in order to make things work - I was in the middle of making 16 liters of bechamel sauce (which is a huge quantity) while simultaneously trying to fine-dice 25 spicy red pepperoncino peppers, and I looked up and saw my fellow friends and cooks at different stations throughout the kitchen searing chicken, filleting fish, making fresh pasta dough, and doing who knows what else to get us ready to serve lunch for 200 people. And I smiled at my friend, and I said, "I love this." "Good," she said, "because this is why you're here."
We were in Central Kitchen today, cooking lunch for the entire school. It felt like all of our previous days in the kitchen were simply practice for days like today. Today is what we want to do every day. Feed people, feed them well, and have their food arrive exactly when it is supposed to. I was on pasta station, and we made a traditional lasagna with bechamel and meat ragu, as well as orecchiette in a broccoli cream sauce. In order to cook these dishes, we first broke them down into their tiniest parts. For example, even the simple task of blanching broccoli for the sauce, when multiplied by 200 people, becomes something quite significant. and so we all became responsible for tiny parts of each dish, and because we worked quickly and accurately, because we communicated as a team and helped each other out, all of those disparate parts came together smoothly to form dishes that were flavorful and of a very high quality. We've been practicing in a room somewhere for a while now, eating our own food, presenting dishes one at a time. And today we brought ourselves and all we have learned to the kitchen, and we cooked on a much greater scale then we ever have before, and we did well.
At the very end of lunch today, we sat down and ate the food we had cooked. we sat in chairs, at a table, and ate the food leisurely. and i realized that pretty much every dish i've cooked so far has been eaten while standing, rushing, cleaning, or continuing to cook another dish. It is very rare for me to be able to really sit and comfortably eat my own dishes. To be able to do that today, to really enjoy my own food, only increased my sense of triumph.
We had a slow afternoon of playing cards while waiting for a late wine class at 5:30 in the afternoon (we have classes to learn about regional wines). We play an Italian card game called Briscola. There's a tiny coffee shop on the grounds of our school, and this shop is always filled with old Italian men sitting around tables, drinking coffee, and playing cards. We show up in our chef's uniforms, we sit at a table off to the side, and we play cards too.
I was glad to come home today feeling hungry (which is fairly rare after a long day of cooking and eating) and also feeling like I wanted to do some cooking for myself (this dorm-style housing we live in has made me feel less inclined to cook). I sauteed eggplant with spring garlic shoots and basil, and topped it with spicy chili oil and grated smoked scamorza cheese (scamorza is somewhat similar mozzarella). I also made bucatini pasta with fresh garlic, tomatoes, black pepper, and stracciatella cheese (stracciatella is like shredded strands of fresh mozzarella swimming in cream, it's the filling for burrata cheese which i described in a previous post). It was nice to feed my friends. We climbed to the roof and saw sunset. I am very lucky.
We were in Central Kitchen today, cooking lunch for the entire school. It felt like all of our previous days in the kitchen were simply practice for days like today. Today is what we want to do every day. Feed people, feed them well, and have their food arrive exactly when it is supposed to. I was on pasta station, and we made a traditional lasagna with bechamel and meat ragu, as well as orecchiette in a broccoli cream sauce. In order to cook these dishes, we first broke them down into their tiniest parts. For example, even the simple task of blanching broccoli for the sauce, when multiplied by 200 people, becomes something quite significant. and so we all became responsible for tiny parts of each dish, and because we worked quickly and accurately, because we communicated as a team and helped each other out, all of those disparate parts came together smoothly to form dishes that were flavorful and of a very high quality. We've been practicing in a room somewhere for a while now, eating our own food, presenting dishes one at a time. And today we brought ourselves and all we have learned to the kitchen, and we cooked on a much greater scale then we ever have before, and we did well.
At the very end of lunch today, we sat down and ate the food we had cooked. we sat in chairs, at a table, and ate the food leisurely. and i realized that pretty much every dish i've cooked so far has been eaten while standing, rushing, cleaning, or continuing to cook another dish. It is very rare for me to be able to really sit and comfortably eat my own dishes. To be able to do that today, to really enjoy my own food, only increased my sense of triumph.
We had a slow afternoon of playing cards while waiting for a late wine class at 5:30 in the afternoon (we have classes to learn about regional wines). We play an Italian card game called Briscola. There's a tiny coffee shop on the grounds of our school, and this shop is always filled with old Italian men sitting around tables, drinking coffee, and playing cards. We show up in our chef's uniforms, we sit at a table off to the side, and we play cards too.
I was glad to come home today feeling hungry (which is fairly rare after a long day of cooking and eating) and also feeling like I wanted to do some cooking for myself (this dorm-style housing we live in has made me feel less inclined to cook). I sauteed eggplant with spring garlic shoots and basil, and topped it with spicy chili oil and grated smoked scamorza cheese (scamorza is somewhat similar mozzarella). I also made bucatini pasta with fresh garlic, tomatoes, black pepper, and stracciatella cheese (stracciatella is like shredded strands of fresh mozzarella swimming in cream, it's the filling for burrata cheese which i described in a previous post). It was nice to feed my friends. We climbed to the roof and saw sunset. I am very lucky.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
everything counts
sunday night, and it's raining in this small town of Colorno, Italy. I think I'm starting my fourth week here tomorrow? Who knows really. Time flies, very fast. The experiences I have on a daily basis seem enough to fill a whole week, and the experiences i have throughout a whole week are dizzying. I told my dad today (happy father's day, by the way) that in any given year i'm lucky to eat one or two food items that I can say are the absolute best versions i've ever had in my life. And in the past 48 hours I think I've had three or four specific foods that are the best i've ever had.
There is a lot that needs to be mentioned, so I'm gonna do it rapid-fire style. Tuesday, I walk into the demonstration room and there is an old woman with gray hair sitting in a wooden chair, patiently making orecchietti by hand. This old woman's daughter, chef Antonella Ricci, is standing in front of the stove, ready to represent the region of Puglia. We were treated to homemade cured meats and fresh burrata cheese (burrata cheese is like a bath of creamy mozzarella strands inside a pouch of shiny fresh mozzarella skin, or basically heaven). I had ricotta gnocchi on this day that may have changed my life. They were so soft and delicate, I feel like the stakes have been permanently raised as far as gnocchi is concerned.
Wednesday we were in the kitchen all day, and I feel like although this is the reason I'm here, I have hardly talked about it. The kitchen. Home. Our classroom. One thing that our chef-instructor mentioned over and over again in our first few days in the kitchen was "everything counts." He kept saying this, sometimes loudly, sometimes under his breath. He meant that there are countless distinct moments in the process of making a dish, and they all matter equally. We aim for perfection, which is never fixed, it's elusive and always changing. But with attention to every detail, we aim to achieve consistently excellent food. that's the goal.
Yeesh, I'm losing steam quickly and I've barely covered anything. A lasagna dish we made featuring tiny hand-cut pieces of seared tender meat, the best fritto misto i've ever eaten in my life (and it was made by me, a sole that I filleted myself, red mediterranean shrimp that are so fresh and sweet, artichoke, eggplant, tomato, sage and parsley leaves, all fried delicately in a very gentile rice-flour batter that barely clings to the food). Late night adventures in Parma with a visiting chef from New York and another head chef from Italy, 25 year old aged balsamic vinegar that is transcendent and beautiful and aged in wooden barrels. A master cheese maker in a tiny town near the adriatic sea. Hundreds of culatello hanging in the basement of Chef Massimo Spigaroli's castle... I need to stop. The Italian world cup game was this afternoon and the truth is i've been drinking wine since noon. I'll try and write more frequently. I'm dazzled, inspired, unable to fully describe all that i've seen and experienced, and now i'm gonna go to bed.
There is a lot that needs to be mentioned, so I'm gonna do it rapid-fire style. Tuesday, I walk into the demonstration room and there is an old woman with gray hair sitting in a wooden chair, patiently making orecchietti by hand. This old woman's daughter, chef Antonella Ricci, is standing in front of the stove, ready to represent the region of Puglia. We were treated to homemade cured meats and fresh burrata cheese (burrata cheese is like a bath of creamy mozzarella strands inside a pouch of shiny fresh mozzarella skin, or basically heaven). I had ricotta gnocchi on this day that may have changed my life. They were so soft and delicate, I feel like the stakes have been permanently raised as far as gnocchi is concerned.
Wednesday we were in the kitchen all day, and I feel like although this is the reason I'm here, I have hardly talked about it. The kitchen. Home. Our classroom. One thing that our chef-instructor mentioned over and over again in our first few days in the kitchen was "everything counts." He kept saying this, sometimes loudly, sometimes under his breath. He meant that there are countless distinct moments in the process of making a dish, and they all matter equally. We aim for perfection, which is never fixed, it's elusive and always changing. But with attention to every detail, we aim to achieve consistently excellent food. that's the goal.
Yeesh, I'm losing steam quickly and I've barely covered anything. A lasagna dish we made featuring tiny hand-cut pieces of seared tender meat, the best fritto misto i've ever eaten in my life (and it was made by me, a sole that I filleted myself, red mediterranean shrimp that are so fresh and sweet, artichoke, eggplant, tomato, sage and parsley leaves, all fried delicately in a very gentile rice-flour batter that barely clings to the food). Late night adventures in Parma with a visiting chef from New York and another head chef from Italy, 25 year old aged balsamic vinegar that is transcendent and beautiful and aged in wooden barrels. A master cheese maker in a tiny town near the adriatic sea. Hundreds of culatello hanging in the basement of Chef Massimo Spigaroli's castle... I need to stop. The Italian world cup game was this afternoon and the truth is i've been drinking wine since noon. I'll try and write more frequently. I'm dazzled, inspired, unable to fully describe all that i've seen and experienced, and now i'm gonna go to bed.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
settled
lots of days have gone by now, and this journal/blog has certainly not done justice to all that i have seen and done. not even remotely close. pesto made in a hundred-year-old marble mortar and pestle using a unique type of basil grown only in Liguria. A guest chef who butchered a lamb from his own farm in front of us and then served an 8 course feast featuring all the different cuts of meat. Another chef from Rome who served dishes that were so decadent and rich, I would feel guilty feeding such dishes to loved ones as i do not wish to do them serious harm (think risotto alla carbonara featuring multiple very fatty cuts of pork, butter, cheese, crispy sweetbreads, and on top of it all en egg yolk from a local chicken meant to be mixed into the risotto as the dish is served).
The kitchen is becoming familiar to me now. In my mind I can see my station exactly the way I like it, I can see where the cutting board is, my mise-en-place trays on either side, a few metal bowls in front, the salt, pepper, and olive oil always in the same place. Familiarity, confidence, rhythm, it's building now each day. We're learning regional dishes, and we're learning how and why these dishes came to be. The sailors in the port town of Genoa did not want to eat fish when they returned home from long trips at sea. They missed their homes and their gardens. And so even though Genoa is right on the sea, they are not known for fish, but for pesto and foccacia, herbs and bread, land and home after a long journey away. When a cook knows the story behind a dish, something meaningful is transferred to the food during the cooking, and the difference in care and attention paid to the food can be measured in the final taste.
this weekend we went swimming in the Mediterranean Sea and explored the five towns of Cinque Terre. Houses layered upon cliffs, gardens, flowers, winding roads like thin ribbons strewn over the mountains, and the sea. An absolute pleasure, many forms of transportation were used to get around (car, boat, train) and it all went smoothly.
I'd like to write more frequently, but who knows. Days feel so packed full, long and fruitful, but then time feels very elusive. Tomorrow we go back to work in the kitchen, and i'm glad.
The kitchen is becoming familiar to me now. In my mind I can see my station exactly the way I like it, I can see where the cutting board is, my mise-en-place trays on either side, a few metal bowls in front, the salt, pepper, and olive oil always in the same place. Familiarity, confidence, rhythm, it's building now each day. We're learning regional dishes, and we're learning how and why these dishes came to be. The sailors in the port town of Genoa did not want to eat fish when they returned home from long trips at sea. They missed their homes and their gardens. And so even though Genoa is right on the sea, they are not known for fish, but for pesto and foccacia, herbs and bread, land and home after a long journey away. When a cook knows the story behind a dish, something meaningful is transferred to the food during the cooking, and the difference in care and attention paid to the food can be measured in the final taste.
this weekend we went swimming in the Mediterranean Sea and explored the five towns of Cinque Terre. Houses layered upon cliffs, gardens, flowers, winding roads like thin ribbons strewn over the mountains, and the sea. An absolute pleasure, many forms of transportation were used to get around (car, boat, train) and it all went smoothly.
I'd like to write more frequently, but who knows. Days feel so packed full, long and fruitful, but then time feels very elusive. Tomorrow we go back to work in the kitchen, and i'm glad.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
so much
the air smells sweet like summer grass and flowers. the sun is gently warm, enveloping. june is my favorite month. it's basically been nothing but blue sky since we gt here.
me and a fellow cook biked to parma yesterday. we knew which general direction to go in, but had to wend our way through farm roads, small towns, and (unfortunately) a few roads that were not really safe to bike on. we made it though, and as we entered parma, a nice bike lane greeted us, and we were able to ride triumphantly into the center of town. the whole ride took a little more than an hour.
they had one of the finest markets i've ever seen. the farm stand selling fresh cheese was like a gift to me from the heavens. i'm not sure i've ever tasted mozzarella di buffala so good. in fact, the way we've been eating here, such a steady stream of fresh and delicious food, sometimes i dont even know what to do with myself. i'll feel the need to roll on the floor giggling with delight or squeeze my friends as tight as i can, and i dont know what tiny sliver of sanity prevents me from doing so. between the food our chef-instructor cooks, our own dishes at school, going out to eat, and the guest cook we saw last week (who cooked like 8 courses for us that day, absolutely fantastic, i promise i'll say more about this later), it's just unreal. And, imagine what 16 cooks in one house can do with fresh produce like this! we feed each other in our spare time, and we eat really, really well. thanks to the parma farmer's market, last night we ate fresh roasted porcini (i've never had fresh porcini before and it was AMAZING), black truffle risotto (with real black truffles, also a first for me), mozzarella di buffala, fresh summer tomato salad with fresh basil, grilled zucchini, tons of wine (always, yeesh), salumi, fresh bread, grilled pork, beautiful pasta. and think about the way we snack at 2 in the morning...
the bike ride home was fun. after leaving parma, we got hopelessly lost. the sun was setting, and getting home did not feel like a certainty. just as desperation and dejection were starting to set in, we saw a solitary motorcycle man, standing in the middle of a farm road, 100 feet away. who knows why he was standing there, but it was very lucky for us that he was. we biked towards him and asked for help. thanks to his directions, we ended up finding one of the most beautiful little roads i've ever biked on. we were next to a tiny river the whole time, winding through farms, the sun was setting. and we saw otters in the river, three of them!
it's hard to keep track of everything that has happened, and it's hard to believe we've only been here a week. i just wrote this whole post without even mentioning our last few days in the kitchen. so much to say. but it will have to come another time.
one final thing, a block away from our apartment is a very fine gelato place, where you can get 4 flavors for 6 euro. a group of us may or may not have eaten that for dinner on friday night. and it may or may not have been really, really good. you see how we live? woah.
me and a fellow cook biked to parma yesterday. we knew which general direction to go in, but had to wend our way through farm roads, small towns, and (unfortunately) a few roads that were not really safe to bike on. we made it though, and as we entered parma, a nice bike lane greeted us, and we were able to ride triumphantly into the center of town. the whole ride took a little more than an hour.
they had one of the finest markets i've ever seen. the farm stand selling fresh cheese was like a gift to me from the heavens. i'm not sure i've ever tasted mozzarella di buffala so good. in fact, the way we've been eating here, such a steady stream of fresh and delicious food, sometimes i dont even know what to do with myself. i'll feel the need to roll on the floor giggling with delight or squeeze my friends as tight as i can, and i dont know what tiny sliver of sanity prevents me from doing so. between the food our chef-instructor cooks, our own dishes at school, going out to eat, and the guest cook we saw last week (who cooked like 8 courses for us that day, absolutely fantastic, i promise i'll say more about this later), it's just unreal. And, imagine what 16 cooks in one house can do with fresh produce like this! we feed each other in our spare time, and we eat really, really well. thanks to the parma farmer's market, last night we ate fresh roasted porcini (i've never had fresh porcini before and it was AMAZING), black truffle risotto (with real black truffles, also a first for me), mozzarella di buffala, fresh summer tomato salad with fresh basil, grilled zucchini, tons of wine (always, yeesh), salumi, fresh bread, grilled pork, beautiful pasta. and think about the way we snack at 2 in the morning...
the bike ride home was fun. after leaving parma, we got hopelessly lost. the sun was setting, and getting home did not feel like a certainty. just as desperation and dejection were starting to set in, we saw a solitary motorcycle man, standing in the middle of a farm road, 100 feet away. who knows why he was standing there, but it was very lucky for us that he was. we biked towards him and asked for help. thanks to his directions, we ended up finding one of the most beautiful little roads i've ever biked on. we were next to a tiny river the whole time, winding through farms, the sun was setting. and we saw otters in the river, three of them!
it's hard to keep track of everything that has happened, and it's hard to believe we've only been here a week. i just wrote this whole post without even mentioning our last few days in the kitchen. so much to say. but it will have to come another time.
one final thing, a block away from our apartment is a very fine gelato place, where you can get 4 flavors for 6 euro. a group of us may or may not have eaten that for dinner on friday night. and it may or may not have been really, really good. you see how we live? woah.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
italy
i think i can use this space best by writing some quick thoughts now and again. days are really full right now, everything feels new, and so quick thoughts will be the best way to let people know how i'm doing and what has been happening.
milan was saturday, a long plane flight, barely made my connection in rainy dublin, got to italy and it was sunny but my body felt like it was four in the morning. it's five days later and i feel like i only just now am catching up on sleep. that's because 16 cooks are living together, and it feels like some kind of mix between freshman year of college and mtv real world. but, i must admit, ten of us in the hotel in milan on saturday night was a good time.
sunday we arrived in colorno, a small town near parma. it's been beautiful here, blue skies and farm roads, little bridges crossing lazy rivers. we cook in a castle that's drenched in sunlight, old and tall on the outside, modern on the inside.
tuesday was our first real day in the kitchen. each week we will be focusing on recipes from a specific region of italy - this week we are cooking recipes from liguria. amazingly, to prepare for this lesson, our chef-instructor had driven to his mother's house in liguria and picked from her garden an array of wild herbs that would be used in a filling for triangular shaped ravioli called pansoti. to use fresh and local ingredients like this from his mother's garden was amazing. and more amazing was watching our chef demonstrate the dish - he made the pasta dough and rolled it into thin sheets with such ease, grace, and poise, and his final dish was honestly one of the most subtle and delicious things i've ever eaten. i got a little down on myself when i couldn't exactly duplicate what he'd just done. but i know i'm here to learn, and even when i don't make a dish as perfectly as i would have liked to, this learning process is what's important.
it was hard to be in a new kitchen with a new teacher, not knowing where to find things, not yet knowing the rhythms of the day. i was also thrown off by the fact that the two pasta dishes we did that day were both made with an uncooked sauce. rather than boiling the fresh pasta and transferring it to a saute pan with sauce, we took the pasta out of the water, put it in a bowl with a little olive oil, plated it, and drizzled our uncooked sauce on top. i feel comfortable finishing my pasta in a saute pan with sauce. plating unsauced pasta and drizzling an uncooked sauce on top was new for me. but, adjusting to new kitchens and new chefs is all part of the deal, and it's something i should get good at.
ohh, and i almost forgot, on monday night we had dinner in parma, and i was eating prosciutto di parma in parma! and we were served plates of parmigiana cheese to go along with it. so nice.
milan was saturday, a long plane flight, barely made my connection in rainy dublin, got to italy and it was sunny but my body felt like it was four in the morning. it's five days later and i feel like i only just now am catching up on sleep. that's because 16 cooks are living together, and it feels like some kind of mix between freshman year of college and mtv real world. but, i must admit, ten of us in the hotel in milan on saturday night was a good time.
sunday we arrived in colorno, a small town near parma. it's been beautiful here, blue skies and farm roads, little bridges crossing lazy rivers. we cook in a castle that's drenched in sunlight, old and tall on the outside, modern on the inside.
tuesday was our first real day in the kitchen. each week we will be focusing on recipes from a specific region of italy - this week we are cooking recipes from liguria. amazingly, to prepare for this lesson, our chef-instructor had driven to his mother's house in liguria and picked from her garden an array of wild herbs that would be used in a filling for triangular shaped ravioli called pansoti. to use fresh and local ingredients like this from his mother's garden was amazing. and more amazing was watching our chef demonstrate the dish - he made the pasta dough and rolled it into thin sheets with such ease, grace, and poise, and his final dish was honestly one of the most subtle and delicious things i've ever eaten. i got a little down on myself when i couldn't exactly duplicate what he'd just done. but i know i'm here to learn, and even when i don't make a dish as perfectly as i would have liked to, this learning process is what's important.
it was hard to be in a new kitchen with a new teacher, not knowing where to find things, not yet knowing the rhythms of the day. i was also thrown off by the fact that the two pasta dishes we did that day were both made with an uncooked sauce. rather than boiling the fresh pasta and transferring it to a saute pan with sauce, we took the pasta out of the water, put it in a bowl with a little olive oil, plated it, and drizzled our uncooked sauce on top. i feel comfortable finishing my pasta in a saute pan with sauce. plating unsauced pasta and drizzling an uncooked sauce on top was new for me. but, adjusting to new kitchens and new chefs is all part of the deal, and it's something i should get good at.
ohh, and i almost forgot, on monday night we had dinner in parma, and i was eating prosciutto di parma in parma! and we were served plates of parmigiana cheese to go along with it. so nice.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
odds and ends
two posts in one day, i promise this won't be a regular phenomenon.
First things first. Some people may wonder why this blog doesn't have beautiful pictures or fancy links to other blogs and stuff like that. The truth is, it's a miracle that I have a blog at all. Honestly.
I don't have an ipod, i don't have a camera, i don't even have a wallet. i have my knives for cooking, shirts, socks, underwear, pants, and a rain jacket. and i like existing this way. i feel refreshed and light, simple and glad. now, it's true that I did have intentions of buying some new clothes, some nicer clothes, before leaving for italy, and it's true that I still might in fact try and go shopping tomorrow morning before I get on a plane tomorrow evening. and that's fine. nice even. But, am I glad to be leaving tomorrow with just a duffel bag, a backpack, and myself? yes i am glad.
For dinner tonight, I had a slice of pizza and four garlic knots. Then I texted a friend, saying that it's rare nowadays to find four garlic knots for a dollar. You'll see three for a dollar now, or maybe five for a dollar fifty.
A really good, regular new york slice of pizza, and some back-in-the-day-style four for a dollar moist and oil-soaked garlic knots. fantastic. We all have our foundations, the base that our very being exists upon. And I think that that new york slice and those garlic knots are a significant part of my base. The core of who I am. and it meant a lot to have that meal, in brooklyn, right before departing to foreign lands. it reminded me of who i am, where i come from, and the pride i feel for this place i call home.
First things first. Some people may wonder why this blog doesn't have beautiful pictures or fancy links to other blogs and stuff like that. The truth is, it's a miracle that I have a blog at all. Honestly.
I don't have an ipod, i don't have a camera, i don't even have a wallet. i have my knives for cooking, shirts, socks, underwear, pants, and a rain jacket. and i like existing this way. i feel refreshed and light, simple and glad. now, it's true that I did have intentions of buying some new clothes, some nicer clothes, before leaving for italy, and it's true that I still might in fact try and go shopping tomorrow morning before I get on a plane tomorrow evening. and that's fine. nice even. But, am I glad to be leaving tomorrow with just a duffel bag, a backpack, and myself? yes i am glad.
For dinner tonight, I had a slice of pizza and four garlic knots. Then I texted a friend, saying that it's rare nowadays to find four garlic knots for a dollar. You'll see three for a dollar now, or maybe five for a dollar fifty.
A really good, regular new york slice of pizza, and some back-in-the-day-style four for a dollar moist and oil-soaked garlic knots. fantastic. We all have our foundations, the base that our very being exists upon. And I think that that new york slice and those garlic knots are a significant part of my base. The core of who I am. and it meant a lot to have that meal, in brooklyn, right before departing to foreign lands. it reminded me of who i am, where i come from, and the pride i feel for this place i call home.
hi
So, here I am.
I'm writing this blog so that family and friends will know where I am and what I've been doing. A few months ago I decided to try and make a life for myself as a cook. I'm very glad to be pursuing this life.
I want to celebrate the connections between food and community. I want to explore and magnify these connections. I want to live within these connections.
Through cooking, I hope to share joy, love, and enthusiasm. I am dedicated to using local, seasonal, organic ingredients as much as possible, and creating relationships with the farmers who grow our food. I am committed to cooking food that is wholesome, delicious, and fantastically accessible to all.
Tomorrow I leave for Italy.
I'm writing this blog so that family and friends will know where I am and what I've been doing. A few months ago I decided to try and make a life for myself as a cook. I'm very glad to be pursuing this life.
I want to celebrate the connections between food and community. I want to explore and magnify these connections. I want to live within these connections.
Through cooking, I hope to share joy, love, and enthusiasm. I am dedicated to using local, seasonal, organic ingredients as much as possible, and creating relationships with the farmers who grow our food. I am committed to cooking food that is wholesome, delicious, and fantastically accessible to all.
Tomorrow I leave for Italy.
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