78 Things I've Learned From Culinary School

    I've been extremely busy lately as things come down to the wire, so here is a comedic list of things I have learned during my two years at the CIA (in no particular order), hope you enjoy. 

1. Your kitchen shoes will smell no matter what you do. Under no circumstances should you leave your shoes in your car (especially if the windows are closed), or in your closet with your weekend attire. Place them in a well circulated environment or you will regret it. 
2. Which brings me to my next point, if you step in a puddle by the dish pit at the beginning of class and you can feel it in your socks for the entire day, its time for new kitchen shoes...
3. Side towels, aprons, and toques (chef hats), are the currency that will one day run this school. People will always steal them from your laundry, and they are fairly expensive to buy new ones at the bookstore.
4. Always do laundry late at night, or early in the morning otherwise #3 will occur. Side Note: I had my bed sheets stolen during the busiest three weeks before externship leaving me no choice but to turn my blanket into a cocoon to avoid sticking to the plastic mattress the school provides. 
5. It doesn't matter how shitty your dorm bed is. After a long day in the kitchen, every bed is the best bed you've ever slept in.
6. If your school I.D. is not in your pocket when you get to class, be prepared to wait outside your lodge at midnight in the rain for twenty minutes until someone walks by to let you in. 
7. HBO GO and illegal TV downloading sites are essential to your survival. Never in my life have I watched so many shows I've heard nothing about while making timelines and  writing down recipes in my room. 
8. Buy note cards in packs of five hundred.
9. Solo cups and disposable plates are your fine china.
10. The basketball court is full of the most nonathletic kids who all know how to make a decent hollandaise.
11. Never eat in a kitchen that is on its day one, especially pre-externship kitchens. We switch classes every three weeks and every day one is a shit-show. 
12. If your suite mates are on opposite schedules as you, chances are you will never know them. There used to be four of us in Juniper Lodge room 200, now its down to two of us. We have spoken to each other for a month now about classes and everything else under the sun, and I still don't know his name. I'd be willing to bet he doesn't know mine either. "Man" and "bro" always works. 
13. Save your culinary cash...you will need it when your real currency fails you
    
14. When your kitchen class needs a "volunteer" to take out the gigantic bag of dirty linen at the end of the night, don't be the guy to volunteer. Just don't. 
15. Every chef you ever have (except for one or two) completely forgets who you are once you are done with their class
16. AM schedule is the worst thing imaginable. 
17. You can never have TOO much fabreeze.
18. The scariest chefs are not that scary after three days.
19. If you do not fall asleep during the first hour of climbing into bed, your f*@ked.
20. When you wear your front of the house uniform (FOH), it does not matter how short your tie is because you wear a vest. Go for the fat double-winsor, or GO HOME. 
21. Only buy bars of soap if you really really trust your roommates.
    
22. NEVER buy disposable razors...
23. If you fold your laundry fresh out of the dryer, the iron in your closet will become the most useless thing you have ever bought.
24. To outside visitors you are just "part of their experience".
25. Chef Eglinski is the MAN. How a master baker puts up with class after class of culinary students fresh from externship blows my mind.
26. When you first get here, befriend a baking student.
27. The students who constantly name drop their externship site most likely got treated like dog shit and must constantly validate themselves in front of their peers. 
28. When your chef is on a rampage, tearing the entire class a new one....look not important. 
29. Never throw rubber gloves in the compost bin. Especially if your name is Clayton Nelson.
30. Have your school email forwarded to your real email account.
31. Always have a minimum of three sharpie markers at all times.
32. If you move your leg just the slightest during the night and your calf cramps from dehydration, DO. NOT. MOVE.
    
33. If your window doesn't have a screen, prepare for bugs...
34. Students complaining about the crappy knives in the knife kit we are GIVEN deserves a "first world problems" MEME.
35. Pay attention in wines class. The spit cup is mandatory, but its really optional. 
36. Zero absences on your transcript means nothing. 
37. Most of the people you meet will come and go in front of your very eyes. In fact, 98% of the people you meet at school you will never see ever again.
38. Noravirus is NO JOKE.
39. Parking is impossible unless its the weekend. If you're lucky enough to bag a spot in the front row, never drive your car again. 
40. You will get tired of the world's greatest college meal plan within a few months. 
41. If you spend more than a dollar on shower flip-flops you're not even looking. 
42. Dried pasta ain't that bad.
43. Your RA does not care what you do.
44. If your kitchen has a dishwasher, befriend him. He will save you more than your classmates most of the time. 
45. Neckerchiefs feel like you are slowly being strangled by a small baby.
46. Everybody looks better in a FOH uniform.
47. You have two towels for the shower, you only need one.
48. Buy shampoo, toothpaste, soap, shaving cream, and toilet paper BEFORE you run out....or get creative.
49. If you grab an oven door or pot handle without a side towel chances are you're going to have a bad time. 
50. Steam and blisters do not get along.
51. There is ALWAYS a secret staircase that gets you there faster. 
52. If you leave a ballpoint pen in your chef jacket when you do laundry, buy new chef jackets...
53. Stuffed pretzels from Apple Pie Bakery will blow your mind. 
54. The basketball court is closed every three weeks for graduation. 
55. Never use metal chopsticks.
56. Your mechanical pencil is always out of led. 
57. When serving customers, always serve from the RIGHT with the RIGHT. 
58. Aprons are reversible. 
59. The bread in the dining hall is almost always stale bake shop bread.
60. Your chef sees EVERYTHING. 
61. When walking in the halls, never walk in the middle. 
62. Tap water is drinkable. 
63. Printing requires culinary cash. 
64. Never walk near a flock of geese in the Spring. 
    
65. Special Project Days means no class. 
66. When you move in, pray for a floor close to the ground level. 
67. If there is a spider in your room...good luck sleeping. 
68. Customers are everywhere.
69. White V-neck Tees are your only clothing. 
70. Chef pants can also be pajama pants. 
71. Your knife better be able to cut through a sheet of paper. 
72. After extern, the group leader pin means nothing. 
73. Scrape out your pots before dropping them in the sink or everyone hates you. 
74. Always bring a water bottle to class. 
75. If you do not drink coffee, START. 
76. Label all your knives and utensils with unique colored tape. 
77. The smallest cuts bleed the most.
78. If you have a food blog, it will never get updated. 

The Prelude, Part I

This post is dedicated to the close friend 

who listened to my story

and told me to chase

my dreams

(Play me if you want music to go along)

    I read a book some time ago that would later become an underlying reason why I choose to do the things that I do. One dreary afternoon I stumbled upon a cardboard box of books that was tucked away in the back corner of my brother's closet. Intermingled with an extensive collection of philosophy books written by Nietzsche, and Stephen King's The Stand, I found a book with dark blue and violet water colors on it. The words The Alchemist appeared at the top as I brushed away the dust that had collected on the book's cover. There was something alluring about it. I couldn't help but feel drawn towards the mysterious item I had found. Why I was even in my brother's closet to begin with is something that to this day I still don't have an answer for. Maybe it was one of those bad weathered days where you were looking for something to do because all of your friends seem to be occupied with other things and nothing was on the tube except bad midday Judge Judy. 

    Sitting Indian-style in my brother Chris' small attic closet I examined the back of the book for clues on what in the hell this book was actually about. I can recall a few paragraphs discussing a character by the name of Santiago and his journey through the unknown to discover the hidden treasures of life. Each night thereafter I laid in bed with a flashlight at a time of the night where most of the world had gone to sleep, reading The Alchemist chapter by chapter. My initial fascination quickly blossomed into full fledged obsession. Soon the old pages were covered in sticky notes and neon yellow highlighter. There were days I would sit in class slouched down in my unforgiving steel chair and daydream about what could possibly happen next in the book. What was Santiago looking for? The text was as mystifying as its dark, unassuming cover, and I craved for more...

    I found Paulo Coelho's book at a time in my life when I too was searching for answers. Adolescence was walking out the door and the next chapter in the epic saga that is life needed to be written. Seemingly overnight I had to decide on a college and major to pursuit that would ultimately determine the outcome of the rest of my life (that's not quite how it works, but no one ever really tells you that). That's a tough pill to swallow for an seventeen year old kid who's biggest decision in life up to that point was which sport to play in the Fall. Sitting at my desk reflecting back on my teenage years while drinking vitamin water I can tell you I eventually chose a general business degree at the University at Buffalo because at the time I thought it was the safe bet, but I would be lying to you. What ultimately swayed my decision to attend a state school to study accounting, consumer behavior, and micro economics was the two men I shared a roof with.

    My dad went to UB some years ago to go on and spend six years in Rome studying to become an ER doctor for which he has been mastering ever since. My older brother had just graduated from one of the best colleges in America and was transitioning into a business field that would have him employed by the New York State Assembly with notions of big city living under the bright lights of New York City and company names you would find in the Wall Street Journal. On one hand I had a father who worked his ass off everyday so that his family could live comfortably in a safe neighborhood with a swimming pool; and on the other hand I had an older brother who was successful with everything he set his eyes upon: music, school, sports, and girls. I made my decision in hopes I could emulate the paths they had chosen, because in my eyes they represented the very essence of what success was.

    What I would discover, however, is that the more accounting classes I took and all the career fairs I would attend talking to suited business professionals about things I had known next to nothing about, the more I realized that being a desk jockey in an office somewhere was not the life I wanted to pursuit. I had traveled so far down the rabbit hole looking for answers only to ask myself: "why in the hell didn't I take the blue pill..."

"What I'm not going to tell you is that either way, you're f@%ked"

    Once again I found myself on the outside with no door to get back in. Over the next several weeks I thought more and more about The Alchemist and how Santiago was able to see the signs camouflaged by the world in order to find happiness. The book had religious undertones about finding the "omens" God leaves each of us to find the path we are destined to take, but for me it was less about destiny and more about finding the courage within yourself to navigate a sea of uncertainty in order to do what makes you happy. Through fear and necessity my passion for food and cooking was born like a phoenix rising from the ashes. An obsession with the Iron Chef, the Food Network, and taking summer jobs that always seemed to relate in some way to food were the hidden signs I was looking for.

    Akin to the way Dave Kujan discovers that Kevin Spacey is Keyser Söze in the classic film, The Usual Suspects, I was starting to put the pieces together and see the whole picture. Sgt Kujan was searching for answers about a crime only to find out that the clues were all around him the entire time, but by the time he discovered it, it was too late.

(SPOILER ALERT if you haven't seen this movie)

    Unlike Sgt Kujan, for me it wasn't too late. I was fortunate enough to see the signs early on and make a change to something that has brought me a mountain of happiness the likes I cannot begin to describe. With the support from those who are closest to me and the guidance of an old book found in a box on a rainy day, I am able to embark on a new journey, and continually be surprised every step of the way. If there is one thing I learned on my quest for answers it is this: "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail". 

  Do what you love. 

The Importance of Rabbits

    Let me start by saying I wholeheartedly expect this to me a somewhat shorter post, but you all know how I get. I sit down to share a few tidbits from class with everyone, and before I know it the post turns into a full fledged novel. The truth is, I am working on a much lengthier post for you all so this will be a little amuse bouche to get your palates excited.

    Last week the my class and I (what's left of us anyway) embarked on our journey through the homeland and beyond in Cuisines of the Americas, and I would like to take this opportunity to share with you all what exactly we have been doing for the past week and a half.

   Everyone has watched that one movie where the protagonist eats a meal in a foreign country and is taken back when something unusual such as monkey brains are brought to the table; i.e. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (picture below). The character looks on with troubling eyes as the natives gorge themselves on the "delicacy" of the land. The audience gasps, wondering if people eat that sort of thing in real life. Well I am here to tell you that they do, because yesterday I had the pleasure of willfully eating the heart, brain, and eyeballs of a goat. Yes, you read that right....

"Leftovers again..."

    There we were, setting up demo plates for the class (we only have service every other day so we can work the kinks out before we feed the masses) when I stumbled upon the head of a goat sitting on a cutting board. One of the teams in the kitchen were braising sections of the goats body for a curried goat dish, but what was the head doing there? Naturally I did the only reasonable thing I could think of and took my phone out to snag a quick photo. Chef Phillips gathered the class around the serving tables and explained what everyone had made. My eyes were fixated on the goat head chilling ominously in the corner; which looked oddly similar to the pig's head from Lord of the Flies. 

    Actually, after looking at it they look nothing alike. I guess its because I've never seen an animal's head detached from its body before. Anyway, Chef Phillips finally made his way to the end of the large silver prep table where the goat's head was resting. "So this is the head of the goat we braised earlier in class", he said as some of my classmates gasped in horror. Without hesitation Chef Phillips cut into the head with a large cleaver while simultaneously describing the benefits of eating the head. "Here in gringo land we usually toss this out, but south of the boarder they utilize EVERYTHING", he continued. Going to town on the noggin, he shaved off chucks of the cheeks to distribute to the class for tasting. "Funny, I've never tasted a goat's cheek before...", I thought while plunging the tiny morsel into my mouth. For some of the students in the class this was already too much to bare, but it did not stop there. I glanced over at my friend Kaitlin to see how she was doing right at the point where the goat's eyeballs were being plucked out. Her face was pale as Caspar the friendly ghost, and I could feel her soul die with every hack and chop of the head. When the jaw was removed, I thought she was going to faint, but she soldiered on. Now that the eyes were on the table, Chef Phillips cut them into tiny pieces for everybody to try. All eyes (including the goat's...) were on the always cheery Kaitlin Hill. I was curious myself to see if she would muster up the courage to eat a piece. She did not. For someone who just started eating pork again only a few months ago, seeing an eyeball chopped to smithereens can be a traumatic experience, so you really can't blame her. I on the other hand was far to curious to not eat some goat eye. It felt like the fatty grizzle on the end of a steak in my mouth, but was surprisingly delicious. 
    Our wild trip through the inner workings of Gary the goat's head was coming to a close but there still was one more part to try; the brain, or as the zombies would say: braaiiiiiiiinsss
    As with the eyes, the brain was chopped into bite-sized pieces for the class and we were again encouraged to try it. I did not hesitate (there goes that curiosity again...), but the question still remained, would Kaitlin give it a try. For the record she was not alone in her refusal to eat goat head parts. Alex, our group leader also was defiant in his stance against it. One of these two would step up and eat some brain. Now Kaitlin is a small blonde haired girl who on most days fancies eating bananas for dinner, and quivers at the thought of killing cute or small animals. Alex on the other hand is a 6"1' 230 pound (rough estimate) ex-lineman from New Jersey. Who do you think ate the brain? The Vegas odds were going off with Kaitlin at 50-1 and Alex at 3-1. Well if you're a lover of money I would not take this bet...Everyone in the class including Chef Phillips were cheering them on when finally Kaitlin grabbed a small chunk of the brain and ate it like a champ. Holding back vomit no doubt she swallowed it and forever will be able to say she knows what brain tastes like.

"GARSON! Be a doll and fetch me some brain"

      

   

    We as a society are conditioned to enjoy "beef" and "pork" as delicately fabricated pieces of meat cooked in a pan. We never see the happy cows lining up to be belted over the head with a mallet (its more humane these days I assure you, but still), or the chickens that are put into special machines designed to rip off all the feathers in one motion. Even fish served with the head on can freak some people out. There lies a disconnect between us as consumers and the animals we kill for food. Just ask my Sous Chef at Sperry's back home. He was asked by one of his purveyors one day to assist in the rabbit slaughtering process and its something that probably haunts him to this day. "I was fine when I got there", he said to me one day while chopping vegetables for stock. "but when you get into the pens were they keep them I started to loose it. You have to grab them by their hind legs, and these things really scream because they know what you're trying to do. It kind of messed me up for a while." This is coming from a guy I've seen fillet an eighty pound Halibut no problem...
    The point I am trying to make here is not to depict the modern day David & Goliath scenario of Kaitlin vs Alex in brain eating, but rather to explain how people feel about food when it suddenly has a face to go along with it. Its one thing to eat "venison", but its an entirely different thing to shoot Bambi in the neck and physically feel its heartbeat slow down before digging into its still warm body to remove the guts. Unless you're like my boy Clayton who has killed more ducks in real life than I have in Duck Hunt, than you probably will never see that part of the process. I've never been a part of the killing process but I hope one day I am. We all should. Not just as chefs, but as people. We all should be there to kill an animal before it is broken down for consumption. Taking the life of an animal creates a closer bond, an intimacy if you will, that Thomas Keller describes in a chapter of one of his books titled, The Importance of Rabbits (from which this post is named). Below is an excerpt from that chapter that I think you all should read if you want to understand the deeper bond I am talking about.

“From 1980 to 1983, I worked in the kitchen of a small restaurant near Catskill, New York, on a patch of the Hudson River Valley so remote it didn’t have an address.  The sixty-seat restaurant was owned by René and Paulette Macary (she remains its proprietor today).  La Rive, named thus because it sat on a wide running creek, was a fruitful training ground, and New York State had extraordinary livestock.  Beautiful veal came down from Utica.  I found a man who raised spectacular pigeons.  I began to ask these farmers for unusual items to experiment with, things like pigs’ ears, cockscombs, duck testicles.
One day, I asked my rabbit purveyor to show me how to kill, skin, and eviscerate a rabbit.  I had never done this, and I figured if I was going to cook rabbit, I should know it from its live state through the slaughtering, skinning and butchering, and then the cooking.  The guy showed up with twelve live rabbits.  He hit one over the head with a club, knocked it out, slit its throat, pinned it to a board, skinned it - the whole bit.  Then he left.
I don’t know what else I expected, but there I was out in the grass behind the restaurant, just me and eleven cute bunnies, all of which were on the menu that week and had to find their way into a braising pan.  I clutched at the first rabbit.  I had a hard time killing it.  It screamed.  Rabbits scream and this one screamed loudly.  Then it broke its leg trying to get away.  It was terrible.
The next ten rabbits didn’t scream and I was quick with the kill, but that first screaming rabbit not only gave me a lesson in butchering, it also taught me about waste.  Because killing those rabbits had been such an awful experience, I would not squander them.  I would use all my powers as chef to ensure that those rabbits were beautiful.  It’s very easy to go to a grocery store and buy meat, then accidentally overcook it and throw it away.  A cook sautéing a rabbit loin, working the line on a Saturday night, a million pans going, plates going out the door, who took that loin a little too far, doesn’t hesitate, just dumps it in the garbage and fires another. Would that cook, I wonder, have let his attention stray from that loin had he killed the rabbit himself?  No.  Should a cook squander anything ever?
It was a simple lesson.”

Where Brooklyn At?

                                        (Background music)

                     Yea I'm out that Brooklyn, now I'm down in TriBeCa

right next to Deniro, but I'll be hood forever

I'm the new Sinatra, and... since I made it here

I can make it anywhere, yea, they love me everywhere

I used to cop in Harlem, all of my Dominicano's

right there up on Broadway, pull me back to that McDonald's

Took it to my stashbox, 560 State St.

catch me in the kitchen like a Simmons with them Pastry's

Cruisin' down 8th St., off white Lexus

drivin' so slow, but BK is from Texas

Me, I'm out that Bed-Stuy, home of that boy Biggie

now I live on Billboard and I brought my boys with me

Say what's up to Ty-Ty, still sippin' mai tai's

sittin' courtside, Knicks & Nets give me high five

    It was 2009 when Jay-Z's much anticipated Blueprint III permeated into our mainstream culture. Universally adopted by frat bros, preppies, jocks, skater punks, and quiet types, Jay's Empire State of Mind quickly became the anthem of the summer. The flow of the song meshed perfectly against a vibrant piano backdrop and breathtaking chorus lead by Alica Keys. Listening to the lyrics, Jay describes his current success as he drives down Broadway in a luxury sedan. For Jay, the song was a nod to the city that transformed him from a hustler selling drugs in the housing projects of Brooklyn to a multi-platinum recording artist, CEO, and business tycoon. As my friends and I would cruise down our own Broadway with windows down and speakers blaring, the song meant so much more than just another rags-to-riches story. For a brief moment in time the song made you feel as if you were going to make it in this world whether you lived in the bright lights of NYC or upstate; whether you were rich or poor, black or white, or anything in between. It was a song for the youth because we had the whole world ahead of us...

    It had been five and a half decades since Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher, Danny McDevitt, got Dee Fondy to ground out in the ninth before the dodgers skipped town for LA (I am no Baseball aficionado, I had to look that up...) Over half a century went by as the citizens of Brooklyn watched teams flourish in the Bronx, Manhattan, Queens, and across the river in New Jersey. Fast forward to present day where Jay-Z recently finished christening the brand new Barclays Center with a series of concerts spanning eight nights (yes I said eight) that helped usher in a new era of professional sports for the city of Brooklyn. While the Nets were transitioning from New Jersey to their new home in Brooklyn, team owner, Mikhail Prokhorov had this to say about the new stadium:

"Not everyone, in their lifetime, gets to witness a project that changes the face and the destiny of the city," Nets owner and Russian billionaire Mikhail Prokhorov told news reporters at a ribbon-cutting ceremony last Friday. "Maybe those who were at the opening of the Brooklyn Bridge, they could say it. We saw a symbol being born, and I do believe that we're all the lucky witnesses to such an event, because Barclays Center arena is so much more than just a building.
"It will be the place where everything is happening and everyone is welcome. If you are from Brooklyn or Manhattan, from Miami or Moscow, Barclays Center will be the heart of Brooklyn."

    Say what you want about Jay's whopping less than one percent stake in the team, but you cannot deny that his brand is doing tremendous things for the new look Nets. He revamped the logo giving it attitude, and his music can often be heard blaring from the stadium's speakers during timeouts and halftime. You see for Jay, the this new arena is more than just "bricks and mortars" in the same way that his Empire State of Mind track was more than just another summertime anthem in the eyes of many listeners. The Barclay's Center was the perfect way to give back to the city that had made him so famous over the years. You're probably wondering by now what any of this has to do with me or this blog. Well this past weekend I took a trip down to the city to hang with my bro Brett Fuller to watch St. John's play in the new state of the art facility. This is that Story.

Gobbler Gluttony

    I probably should have washed my hands before I began this thanksgiving post, but to be frank, I'm just too damn tired to do so. Today was a monumental thanksgiving because it was the first time I got to prepare everything myself. While my parents spent thanksgiving in Long Island with my grandmother, aunt, uncle, and cousins, I was busy slaving away at a fairly ambitious menu. Initially I had planned to buy all the groceries the night before to get a head start on some prep work, but a wild night out in Saratoga prevented any trip to the supermarket.

    I woke up Thanksgiving morning fully clothed on the living room couch with my cone head of a dog staring right at me. As I sat up I noticed that my brain felt strangely similar to the Grinch's heart--two sizes too big. My mouth? Sand. Desperately I made my way to the frig in search of liquids. While on what seemed like an endless journey to the kitchen I fantasized about opening the refrigerator door to find an unlimited supply of blue Gatorade (for the record, if you like red Gatorade you're nuts. I've had Dimetapp that tastes better than that shit). Unfortunately, all that was in the frig to greet me was a half carton of OJ, and a gallon of skim milk. 

    Right from the start I knew milk was out of the question. What I longed for was juice, man! Staring at the carton of orange juice I remembered my good friend Toby Ostrov making the world's worst Screwdriver back in the tenth grade. My bros and I stayed up late one night, and Toby proclaimed that he knew how to make "the perfect Screwdriver". A generous pour of Svedka here (there was no measuring back then), a splash of OJ there, and voila! The perfect screwdriver. It was anything but. Thinking about it now, what Toby had effectively created was, "the perfect pile-driver". Maybe he was on to something? I can see market research teams now, conjuring up a way to introduce the drink to young college kids across the country. The Pile-driver: "heavy on the booze, light on the juice". I swear Toby, if you ever make money off of this, I'm getting a cut! Its the least you can do for forever tainting my love for orange juice...

  

"too..many...pile-drivers..."

    Through the marvels of modern time travel lets skip to the supermarket. By 2:30 I made it to Hannaford shopping list and all. "What time do you guys close today?", I asked; not wanting to hear the answer. The cashier lady looked at me with folded arms and replied spitefully, "in thirty minutes..." I could feel her devil-eyes piercing through the back of my head as I sprinted away. I must have done a half-way decent job of categorizing items based on their location in the store because it only took me twenty minutes to grab everything I needed. While two girls my age rang everything up I helped bag (it was my job when I was fifteen so do not lecture me on "eight to ten items per bag"), and briefly chatted with them about the girl in front of me who conveniently misplaced her I.D. when she tried to buy beer for her two siblings. I was eighteen once too so I can relate, but there are better ways to go about it, miss...

    Back at the house I preheated the two ovens and began to systematically break down my menu based on length of prep and cooking time required. I had planned to roast little cornish game hens and brussel sprouts, make stuffing from scratch, whip potatoes, and try my hand at some baking. I always detested those croissants and dinner rolls that you simply popped out of a Pillsbury can. They seemed so...I don't know...Susie-homemaker middle America? I'm taking a baking class currently and thought, well why not try a batch from scratch. If they came out wrong or did not rise properly, at least my older brother wouldn't know the difference.  

    Following the recipe I downloaded online, the directions asked me to cut the dough using a pastry ring two inches in diameter. Clearly there are no "pastry rings" lying around in the Hahm family kitchen so a little improv was needed.  

    That's what they looked like when I pulled them from the oven. I know they don't look anything like biscuits but at least they were warm and pillowy on the inside? In hindsight I probably would have been better off going with that pudgy little Pillsbury guy (seriously, what is he supposed to be? I swear in another life him and the "Michelin Man" are romantically involved)

I'm going to hell...

    I guess the point that I am trying to make here is that it doesn't matter that my biscuits looked like hockey pucks. I scrapped the idea of "pre-made", and just went for it. So what if it didn't look great, at least I had the courage to try. I mean c'mon, I took a stance against "canned dough" God Dammit!

    Way before I began my biscuit belittling escapade, I knew one of the first things I needed to do was bake off some homemade cornbread in order to incorporate it into the stuffing recipe I was using. Akin to the Pillsbury canned biscuits, boxed stuffing just makes my soul die. If you think about it, how often does one actually make stuffing? Once, maybe twice a year? No matter what season it is you can always find boxes of Stove Top stuffing at the grocery store. It could be mid July and if I have a hankerin' for boxed stuffing you better believe Stove Top will be right there to fill the void. Now that I think about it, I don't want to know how long those boxes stay on the shelves...I am going to go out on a limb and say all the boxed stuffing was made in the 80's and the world has been living off that same supply ever since.

    The thing that separates Stove Top from Pillsbury is that Stove Top is actually delicious. Sinfully delicious. Many a Thanksgiving night I can be found at the kitchen table eating leftover Stove Top in the dark in my boxers. Its fool proof. Anyone can make a simple biscuit; its just flour, fat, baking soda, baking powder, cut and bake. Boxed stuffing on the other hand, has barriers to entry. There's a severe learning curve advantage. Try to enter the market and people get nervous. During Thanksgiving dinner, biscuits tend to fall by the wayside, but screw up the stuffing and you might as well strap on the boxing gloves because you're in a fight; at least in my family. Seriously, if you forget the stuffing the ONE night out of the year people actually get to enjoy it and you better not walk home alone at night...

    After the cornbread was baked off, I cubed it up along with sourdough and baguette before baking it all off with sauteed chorizo sausage, roasted mushrooms, Granny Smith apples, and a bunch of other things. The video below is what a proper saute should sound like. I wanted you to be able to hear the sizzle because that is how you will achieve a good sear. The video is a bit amateur, I know; but that's mainly because I was sauteing with one hand and filming from my Iphone with the other. If you were expecting some Food Network quality video I am sorry to disappoint. The story continues with more pictures and humorous anecdotes after the jump so keep reading.  

   
    

     

basic cornbread

Stuffing!!!

The Ides of March

"Oh God! Why did it have to be daggers!?!?"

    Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears! I am hesitant to even discuss the things I am about to discuss in fear it will bring me more bad luck; but what the hell, I make my own luck *flips coin*. I guess that reference to Harvey Dent in The Dark Knight was a bad call because if your the one person on the planet who didn't see that movie this is what happens to him later...

    Poor Harvey. At least he gets to become a badass evil doer in the end, right? C'mon everyone has fantasized about being a sweet bad guy (or girl) at some point in their life. The good guys always win but I think we can all agree that the bad guys are just way cooler. Was batman even in this movie? Oh that's right, he was living in the shadow of the Joker the entire time. There is a kid named Anthony who works with me at Sperry's and whenever he screws things up we call him "Tony Bologna", as in "I wonder who is going to show up for work today. 'Tony A-team' or 'Tony Bologna'". Even Lee, our newest Saute Chef has his own version. When Bologna cleans oysters and clams he always leaves the shell fragments in the sink on the line so Lee has started calling Anthony "Barnacle Bill"--a nickname that to this day I cannot say out loud without laughing. I'm even laughing right now as I type this. The point I am trying to make here is that evil doers are not just found in the movies, they're all around us. I myself have an evil alter ago at work you all are probably unaware of. One day I left something out on Greg's prep table and he reminded me of it later. We had a humorous discussion about me needing an evil alter ego similar to Tony Bologna. It was through this discussion that "Petey Prosciutto" was born. Whenever I leave a pot of water on for too long or forget to do something I said I would do (which is rarer than blue Zebras) "Petey Prosciutto" comes out. I even have a voice that accompanies too (why wouldn't I, right?). Its the "Myeah ya see" wiseguy voice as in "Listen up BUCKO and listen good. You must think you're the cats meow around here, but there's a new sheriff in town ya see? Myeah!" We like to have fun. When you work in the same place for 60 hours a week you might as well enjoy yourself, right?

    Now lets return to our regular scheduled program shall we? The other day we needed to make a giant batch of Cesar dressing for our station. A cornucopia of Cesar dressing if you will. Yes a cornucopia. Since its track season everything that has a stable shelf life gets scaled up to infinity. I go to grab the lemon juice from the cooler and realize that there is none. That's ok, I know the hot side has some in their cooler I'll just borrow theirs. Nope they don't have any either. "Your gonna have to juice lemons by hand" I hear from the dessert station. *Record skips off the track* *jogs to dessert station* "did you say by hand?" I mutter to Greg. "Yeah, why how much do you need?", he asks.  *looks at ceiling* *does calculations in head* "four cups?" "Oh wow your gonna need probably 40 lemons for that. You can borrow my reamer only if you promise to wash it and personally deliver it to me when you're done." "Or you'll 'ream' me out, right??" This is the type of relationship Greg and I have. I mean seriously. One day I asked him if our chocolate lava cake was false advertising because the center of the cake doesn't ooze out like lava. His response? "Well that is why we smother it with chocolate ganache" For any normal individual that would be enough; but for me, its never enough. "So then shouldn't it be called a chocolate magma cake?" I ask with a shit eating grin on my face. "No because lava and magma are the same thing" he responds, equally engaged in the nonsensical conversation as I am. "Let the answerer of all answers get to the bottom of this", I say as I scroll through the internet on my phone. "AHA! magma is molten rock that exists inside a volcano in magma chambers. When the volcano erupts magma spews out in the form of lava" Let it be known from this day forward that Sperry's chocolate lava cake is actually a chocolate lava magma cake. This is groundbreaking science at its core (pun not intended...ok pun intended). Pete: 1 Greg: 0

    Lets fast forward. I just left the cooler with Greg's rough estimate of 40 lemons and began juicing them one by stinking one. I juice all 40 lemons through a chinois (or "fine mesh sieve" if you're a jabroni), before pouring the juice into a measuring cup. I bend down to read the measurement, and say "Goddamnit" before dropping the chinois on the table and going to grab the remaining ingredients. When I return Chef Michael, who was prepping next to me the whole time, says: "what was that all about just then?" "There was no lemon juice in house so I had to juice all these lemons by hand for the Cesar dressing" "Yeah?", he says looking confused. "Well I needed four cups, and Greg thought it would take me about 40 lemons to get that much juice...guess how many it took?" Chef Michael now smiling, "I'm guessing 40." I nod my head and we both look over at Greg who was displaying a "what?" type face. I guess when you're working with ingredients all day that if altered a tenth of a gram they can drastically affect your finished product you tend to have a good eye for things. Pete: 1 Greg: 1 (Greg also has an alter ego, but its not an evil doer alter ego. During Sunday brunch one day Greg cooked up the most delicious batch of glazed doughnuts I've ever tasted, and I HATE doughnuts. I made the executive decision to call him "Guru Greg" on Sundays...but that's for another post)

    I finished mixing the Cesar together with a mega immersion blender (or "stick blender"; again, if you're a jabroni), and was making my way to the cooler carrying the five gallons of dressing. I was almost to the cooler door when this happened:

   

     My fingers must've been oily from blending the dressing together because the giant Lexan of Cesar slipped right out of my hands and crashed to the floor. Close to five gallons of Cesar dressing and 40 hand juiced lemons down the drain. I had effectively created my own BP oil spill right outside the walk-in cooler...Quickly and quietly I grabbed one of the dishwashers to help with the spill (it was far to big of a mess to mop up so the shop vac was required) hoping no one else would come back and notice. "Don't let Chef Michael see this. We just cleaned the floor earlier today", the dishwasher explained. Sure enough within seconds Spaniard came waltzing by. "Whad you do!?!?" Chef Spain screamed, laughing hysterically. "SHHH! I spilled the Cesar dressing. Don't let anyone else see, ok?" "You got it, I won't tell a soul", he said to me as he walked away. Moments later people were running back to see what I did. "That little bitch!", I mutter to myself before Chef Michael arrived on the scene. He took one look at the spill, nodded his head, and walked away.

    After the mess was eradicated I walked over to the hot side and gave Chef Michael the damage results. Thankfully I had the foresight to pour some of the Cesar dressing into quart containers before I made an oops, otherwise we would've been screwed for service. When I told him how much we lost he laughed and told me to not worry about it. I cannot tell you how vital it is to have a Sous Chef who isn't a dick. He could have tore me a new asshole for my accident, and he would have been completely in the right. But he didn't, and my respect for him went up even higher than it was before.

    When I returned to my station, Chef Mark, my station partner, asked me what happened. I just looked at him and replied: "The Ides of March is what happened." He laughed and we set up our station. Later that night, whenever something went wrong Mark would shake his head and say to himself, "The Ides of March". I know what you're thinking. You're probably thinking, "doesn't he know its August?" Well I was making a reference to Julius Cesar from Shakespeare's play (who's name has nothing to do with Cesar dressing) where he was warned to "beware the Ides of March". I blame this whole mess on the soothsayers. Damn soothsayers...

    Even tonight, days after my great oil spill I noticed a sizzle plate lying on the ground next to the dessert station. Being the good employee that I am, I reached down to pick it up. "YIKES!!" I cry out. The sizzle plate must have been in the oven because it was scorching hot. When I returned to the salad station Mark asked me why I screamed. I replied to him: "God damn Ides of March". Towards the end of the night I found myself in the walk-in cooler shucking a dozen oysters for an order when all of a sudden I hear a crash from outside the cooler. I race out to see what happened only to find Mark bent over picking up a stack of sizzle plates that were scattered all over the floor. I asked Mark what happened and he stands up, looks at me and doesn't say a word. His mouth said nothing but his face said everything..."God damn Ides, man."

Side Note: Sorry Mom and Dad for all the foul language in this post (my Dad thinks its poor taste), but have you ever tried to watch Pulp Fiction on TV? "Snuff you!" I mean, come on already. You can't tell me you haven't watched a poorly edited movie on TV and weren't half hoping the editors slipped up and forgot to edit out one of the curse words...Although I will say Samuel L Jackson's line in the edited version of Snakes on a plane may be the funniest edited line in the history of movies. With a little TV magic, "I'm sick of these mother fuckin' snakes on this mother fuckin' plane!" suddenly becomes "I'm sick of these monkey fightin' snakes on this Monday to Friday plane!" I kid you not. But don't take it from me, just ask Samuel L Jackson himself...

    Its so epic that if you type "Snakes on a Plane" into YouTube, the 3rd search suggestion is "Snakes on a Plane TV edit". Its the type of perfection that this world needs right now. I don't wanna toot my own horn or anything but this post is awesome. I hope you have half as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Cheers.

The Countdown

"Let the games begin!"

    Every July our beautiful town of Saratoga Springs becomes inundated with wealthy elite, news teams, LA-type traffic, and hoards of out of towners. I am talking about the racing season that takes place here every summer. For most, the racing season is a blessing. Local shops and businesses flourish, and the night life can only be described as vivacious. For those of us who work in the service industry the racing season is anything but. These six weeks mean longer days, later nights, and a whole lot more stress. Not to mention you have to move fast. No fast is too slow, you have to move at ludicrous speed...

    After the first weekend of pulling in record numbers (close to 500 customers both Friday and Saturday) Chef Michael approaches me during some down time for a little chat. "How hungry are you?", he asks me straight-faced. "I'm not really that hungry Chef, I just ate a popover a little while ago". Realizing what I just said he begins to laugh. "I don't mean literally hungry, I mean how hungry are you?" Me now realizing what he is asking I begin to laugh myself. "Oh OH, I see what your saying. I'm very hungry Chef. I will do whatever is needed" I say to him, half hoping he wasn't about to drop something insane in my lap. "Ok well you saw how this first weekend went. We did record business and its only been two days. I need some people to start pulling six days a week around here, and I thought I would see if your up to it." I was about to give my answer but he continued. "Now I'm not pressuring you to say yes just so you know. I am going to have this same talk with Todd, Jill and the rest of the kitchen staff but I thought I would bring this to you first." Before he could finish I interjected. "I'll take it." His facial expression slightly changed and he asked me if I was up to it. "Don't even bother asking the others, I want it." "You're sure?" "Yes I'm positive" "You're sure you wont hate me or resent this place or get burnt out?" I can see he wanted some reassurance due to my quick response so I say to him, "Chef I'm 23, I'm single, I don't have a family or a child to look after, and I live with my parents. I knew when I started along this path that there would have to be sacrifices. I am willing and able to do whatever it is that is asked of me. Now give me the six days." Fully convinced he nodded his head and walked away...

    Later that night Chef Michael had me gather the entire kitchen staff around the huge silver prep table on the cold side of the kitchen. Everyone was wondering what he was about to say before he broke the silence. "You all saw what our first weekend of track season was like. It was crazy, and its only going to get worse here on out. 40 days. Give me your all for 40 days, that's all I ask. We are entering the busiest time for the restaurant and I need all of you to focus. Now that doesn't mean we still can't have fun, but you have to be willing to give it your all. You shouldn't be thinking of making dressings in quart batches anymore; you should be thinking in gallons. That's how busy we are going to be now. Sperry's is right up there with the best restaurants in town. If you put your head down and plug away for 40 days we will be the best. That's all I have to say" Everyone was about to go back to their separate projects until I said to them "wait, no hands in? No 'Go team go!' No team break??" Chef Michael rolls is eyes before telling everyone to put a hand in. "remember, its just 40 days and then we can relax. Sperry's on the count of 3. 1...2....3...SPERRY'S!!!" Laughs echo the room and everyone returns to their projects with a new sense of determination. 

    We were just two weeks in and I could already sense the low morale and frustration. Everyone was logging hours well into overtime and it was starting to show. People were cranky, and their eyes were glossy and bloodshot from the lack of sleep and late nights. I had to do something to bring the spirits back up. Around that time I had just downloaded a countdown app on my new Iphone and thought what better way to countdown the misery that is track season. I entered September third (the last day of the track) into the app and took a picture in the walk-in cooler for the apps background.

      
    The next day I made my way down into the kitchen after clocking in and gave my usual greeting to the kitchen staff. "CHEFS!!!! How are we this fine afternoon?" "Peter fucking Hahm. How are you?" Chef Michael says from the corner of the kitchen. We talk briefly about nonsense, upcoming events, the week, and the like. Before I made my way into the changing room I show him the new countdown I created the day before. Immediately his eyes widen and gaze at the seconds ticking away on the screen. "This is AMAZING!" He blurts out before laughing hysterically. "Go show that to Spaniard". I walk to the other side of the line and show Mike Spain (our grill Chef) the app. Displaying the same child-like bewilderment, Spaniard looks up to see a huge grin on my face. He too begins to laugh hysterically. At that point Chef Lee and the others wanted to know what it was on my phone that was causing all the commotion. One by one I make the rounds, showing everyone in the kitchen our new form of inspiration. The rest is history.

     I had no idea that the countdown to the end of the track juxtaposed against my middle finger would be the corner stone for getting the restaurant through difficult times but it seems to be working. Almost everyday at least one person comes up to me demanding to "see it". They don't even need to say what "it" is, I already know. A quick scroll through the phone and the countdown ticks away.  Originally I made the countdown as a joke to get some laughs and get spirits up for the day, but it has become bigger than that. The countdown has become a symbol. A symbol that only gets better with time because it not only shows us how far we have come, but how close we are to the promise land.

    This app gives me a tremendous sense of pride because I am not just interested in the food, or how many reso's we have for the night; I am equally interested in people. When I spend close to 70 hours a week with the same people I naturally want to know more. I want to know what makes them tick, what makes them laugh, what keeps them going through hard times and good times. Maybe I'm thinking too deeply about a stupid Iphone app but this app is not just a countdown. Its a compass. A compass that helps us navigate through dark and stormy times. What began as a joke has transformed into a beacon of hope...

   In the movie Zombieland, the characters find themselves against all odds in a post-apocalyptic zombie land. Struggling to soldier on they must find ways to stay happy even when things seem bleak. Throughout the movie Woody Harrelson's character is searching for the perfect twinky. For him the twinky isn't just a sugary snack, its a symbol of longevity and survival in this dark and dismal new world. After numerous failed attempts in the end he finds what he is searching for, and in turn, finds peace. Amongst all the chaos, all the late nights, all the running around, you have to have something that keeps you going. Something that reminds you that when the chips are down you have to keep moving. The countdown is what keeps us going. Its the glue that holds our kitchen together. It's our twinky...

Rule # 32: Enjoy the little things