Kitchen Retard #1

I have one piece of advice for all you crab cleaning novices, like myself: when you lose your virginity to the cleaning of your very first crab, point the crab AWAY from you.

You can only imagine what happened next.

This was one of many new things I learned yesterday with The Teacher. Boy, she is a patient woman.

The first item on my prep list yesterday was to make a curd to go with her homemade ricotta. So, I hear curd and think of Little Miss Muffit, a spider, and her curds and whey. I thought to myself, Why don't you just get them at Beecher's like you always do?

But, no, she meant lemon curd. Ohhhhhhhhh. I could definitely do that. IF I knew how. Or, if I wasn't so dense!

So, I have concluded that I am a not only a Kitchen Bitch (#2, of course), but I have also have earned the extra (self) title of Kitchen Retard (#1).

I begin to zest the fresh lemons on a microplane for the curd, and stir in my "pretend" superfine sugar that I pulsed in a food processor to make smaller. Then I juiced the lemons, whisked in the farm-fresh brown eggs, and put three ounces (6 tbsp.) of unsalted butter into the mixture. I placed it over my makeshift double boiler to be babysat by my wooden spoon until thickened, for about 20 minutes. Easy.

I only say easy because it turned out, okay.

This is another detail that enlightened me yesterday: 1 ounce= 2 tbsp.

I know what you are thinking. You didn't know that?

No, math nerds. I did not. I am a Kitchen Retard, and on top of that, not really the measuring type.

Remember?

The Teacher probably spent 5 minutes trying to explain this concept of ounces to tablespoons to cups, until I finally got the very simple concept. Like I said, she is a extremely patient woman.

I think I need to go back to school.

One redeaming part of yesterday was that I got to recreate my Dungeness crab and local asparagus brown butter pasta. I actually got to cook, serve, taste AND season the dish this time. I learned from my mistakes from yesterday, and was elated with the turnout. Too bad it was the most boring, and basic, course of six. A slight embarrasment, and a 1st place trophy to my lack of skills. I mean, how hard is it to make brown butter, squeeze lemon and season it with Kosher salt?

People. This is Cooking 101. Maybe cooking 110.

I watched as The Teacher made a Salmon Rouillade from an old Julia Child cookbook. She skinned, deboned, and butterflied a Copper River Sockeye, stuffed it with braised leeks, patted it with cracked black pepper, and wrapped foil around it as she rolled the fillet. Then! Then! She cooked it, wrapped in the foil cylinder in peanut oil turning, a 1/4 of a turn clockwise every couple of minutes, until it was perfectly medium-rare. She cooled it, removed the foil, and sliced it thin into little rounds. It was topped with a cucumber and tomato creme fraiche sauce and a garnish of finely minced gazpacho-like vegetables.

This was a sexy dish!

And, I can make brown butter.

I think I am in over my head here.

Lemon Curd

Serves 24

3 large lemons, zest and juice

9 oz. superfine sugar

6 large eggs

6 oz. unsalted butter

Mix the lemon zest and sugar in a metal bowl. In another bowl, whisk the lemon juice together with the eggs. Pour this mixture over the sugar. Cut butter into small pieces and add this combination to the mixture. Place in a metal bowl over a pan of barely simmering water. Stir until thickened, about 20 minutes, until it coats the back of a spoon. Cool and refrigerate for up to a week. 

The Mistakes

"Stage! You on vacation?"

I was in hysterics as I got this text message right when I was coming home after working with The Teacher for 8 hours. The Sous thought I had "chickened out" of The Restaurant and wrote me a message making sure I was coming back.

Do I really seem like that type of girl that would give up that fast? The Sous has no idea.

But, I do have to say, the work with The Teacher and the work at The Restaurant could not be different. The Teacher gets frantic at times, having to plate meals for 12 all at once, timing large quanitites of food, and having to manage most food related problems all by herself. However, at The Restaurant, it is a well-oiled machine, and everyone has their specific task and nothing faulters from that. The Teacher basically is working a miniature restaurant all by herself. And, boy, does she do it well.

Yesterday, my first task for The Teacher was to bake a flourless cake.

I am thinking, oh great, all I have gotten to actually cook for this woman is a gazpacho that I messed up and now a baking item, which I will surely mess up. This is a great way to start the day.

Let me first just tell you, I dislike baking more than anything. I have a sweet tooth, don't get me wrong, but I just hate the process of having to be so exact and reading a recipe over and over and over again making sure that you are doing the right thing. Although I enjoy specific direction, there is a little more room to fudge when you cook.

The Teacher and I were talking as I made the cake. My first mistake. This made me nervous because I had to multi-task in my mind as I separated eggs, zested oranges, chopped Callebaut chocolate, and perfectly toasted blanched almonds and pine nuts. I kept re-reading the same lines again and again: unable to move forward, even though I already knew what it said.

I was obviously distracted.

She taught me how to heat eggs, gently, over a pot of shallow simmering water to bring the cold ones to room temperature. I whisked them with a mixer that sounded like a 747 was taking off in her kitchen, and then folded the Callebaut chocolate batter inside. Then, I also heated the cold egg whites over the simmering water, forming them into stiff peaks with sugar. Then, slowly folding each half separately into the dark brown batter.

She had buttered and parchmented a round cake pan, she preheated the oven to 350 degrees for me because I forgot to do that (second mistake), and we stuck the cake inside.

That was the last time I thought about it (third mistake).

All of a sudden, The Teacher realized that she had not set the timer, and to be quite honest, I didn't even remember that I MADE the cake.

She took the cake out, and luckily it was not yet burnt, but it was definitely dry and not as appealing as it had the potential to be.

Right after she had originally put the cake in the oven, just seconds before I would forget that I have created it, she had told me that she would be telling her clients that I made the cake (her 1st mistake).

Well, shit. Now, because I am not an intuitive baker, and we forgot to set the timer, my cake was going to taste like a piece of construction paper with whipped cream on top. I had to think fast.

Really fast.

I decided that just in case because it was really dry, we should poke holes in it with a toothpick, make a simple syrup and gradually drizzle the syrup over it for the next couple of hours. That would salvage it. She like that idea, and let me do it.

I made a simple syrup, equal porportions sugar to water, and slowly drizzled the syrup over the cake. I would have to wait hours at this point to see if this solution would actually salvage my cake.

The rest of the night seemed to also be filled with faux pas. She let me make a brown butter (which I have now perfected because of The Restaurant) that she wanted it tossed with her homemade angel hair pasta, Dungeness crab that was just cracked by one of her diners, and blanched local asparagus. I took the lead on the dish.

I knew if was not a good sign when the angel hair was looking sloppy as I was tossed all of the ingredients together in the giant All Clad. Normally, I would have tasted the pasta like I learned at The Restaurant, but I had to plate it as quickly as possible with the biggest tongs that I had ever seen. I am talking GRILLING TONGS. Not condusive to methodical plating.

The angel hair slipped multiple times from the tongs as I tried to swirl the pasta precisely onto the plates. The crab and the asparagus were difficult to pick up with the giant tongs, and so some plates had more and some had less.

As the plates were given to the diners, I just thought to myself: that needed more lemon, I should have tasted it for salt, why did I not have a wet rag to clean the sides of the plates? The Restaurant has ruined me.

Later that evening, after washing way too many dishes, and listening to her diners get louder as they filled their glasses with perfectly balanced Cabernet, it was finally time for the flourless chocolate cake.

She cut the cake, and slyly gave me a small taste. I anticipated tasting a cotton ball like substance in my mouth that I would probably have to spit out on my kitchen towel, but somehow the cake was moist. She smiled at me, and said, that it was definitely going to be good!

I felt a sense of pride, and let out a huge sigh of relief. She let me plate the dish on little white plates. We cut the cake in half, and set them on top of each other to make a bow, and topped it with whipped cream and first of the season strawberries. The diners had no idea the cake was an overbaked-disaster salvaged by a simple syrup. All they could think about was the chocolate and orange combination.

I think I am finally earning The Teacher's trust. This might be her mistake.

Therapy and A Saffron Lesson

Today started out like any other day. I woke up tired, I drank chugged my grande Americano from a corporate coffee shop, and drove Erik to work. I had no idea it would end with such a sense of satisfaction, inspiration, and accomplishment.

I walked 2 miles down to Internship #2 early this AM, not knowing what to expect. The Teacher immediately greeted me, picked up her reusable shopping bag, and walked me to Pike Place Market. Her other kitchen.

She was like a honey-bee, buzzing around the shops and stands, saying hello to everyone by first name, and picking up ingredients as she went. She knows the best places for each item she needed: DeLaurenti's for pine nuts and pancetta, Market Spice for Spanish Saffron, Frank's for a giant beefsteak tomato and lemons, and The Spanish Table for Jamon, 3-month old Manchego, and a Paella pan.

I am in awe.

While in Market Spice, she explained to me the intricate process of how saffron is harvested. A person, single-handedly picks each stigma from a saffron crocus. It takes about 225,000 single stigmas to make a pound. She also told me to buy ALL of my spices for Market Spice because they turn over their entire product weekly.

Now hold onto your keyboard for this one:
Disturbingly, grocery stores generally have their spices on the shelf for 15 years. And, to boot, they are filled with preservatives to make them last longer. Gross.

Actually, Disgusting. Buy local, and in bulk. I am.

On her menu today was a Spanish theme inspired from The Spanish Table Cookbook. Her simple masterpiece included: Portugese limonade made with piri piri peppers, lemons, San Pelligrino and local orange-blossom honey; Summer gazpacho with beefsteak tomatoes, English cucumber, red pepper, and stale bread; the simple but satisfying snack of jamon y melon; and lastly, my absolute favorite, an orange chocolate torta with a saffron simple syrup and saffron whipped cream.

Today, she taught a cooking class for twelve. And, as usual, her brilliance was captivating. After giving them a one-hour tour of the Market, she came back to teach them (and me!) about the menu, and how to cook all of her dishes.

After filling water glasses with Portugese limonade, doing dishes to keep up with the mess, and cutting Macrina potato bread to dip in olive oil, I got my second "chance" to cook. I got to make the second, unplanned, batch of the gazpacho!

Of course, mine was not as good as hers. But, I followed her recipe. I promise.

To a tee.

I let her taste my creation out of a small metal ramekin with a sterile spoon. She let the flavors hit her palate. Made an "mmm" sound, and promptly told me to add more Walla Walla's for bite and to use less bread next time because of color. I agreed with her.

I am learning.

I learned a little more about her kitchen, too. It is like a mantra for me. I whisper her directions in my head so that I do not forget them: Metal nesting bowls under the counter, short glasses double-stacked in dishwasher on the right.

When the class left, she smirkingly said, "I know you want to try that torta."

We stood at the counter: The Teacher and Kitchen Bitch #2. We ate with our fingers, sharing the last slice of chocolate deliciousness, while licking Saffron whipped cream from our upper lips. We cleaned up, making small talk, and hashing out the vibe of the cooking class. Then, as the cleaning was coming to an end, we started talking about jobs, passions, energies, and the universe. A normal Wednesday conversation at 1:00 in the afternoon. Don't ya think?

The Teacher explained to me that the best way to be happy and fulfilled in life is to always be doing what is your greatest love and passion. She said that what I put out into the world, will eventually come back to me, good or bad. And, she emphasized the importance of having a quiet place to go to. When I need to think.

Especially when you are an artist, as she is.

How did I find this woman? A cooking teacher and a therapist?!

Now, I sit at the end of this fulfilling Wednesday, belly full of brown-rice sushi, a green garden salad, a half-glass two glasses of Gruner Veltliner, and one-bite of (by mistake) raw carrot cake from PCC.

I have passed my Food Handler's test with a 100 percent score, I have the sharpest knives a girl could hope for, I have a newly purchased brown and blue polka-dot knife bag (that I was so trying to avoid getting), and I am anxiously awaiting a date with my pillow as I read "Tender at the Bone".

Life is truly good.

I am excited for what tomorrow will bring. The Teacher wants to me call her, as soon as I can, and give her the run-down of my first evening at The Restaurant.

I will definitely be taking her up on that, and maybe begging for some more "couch time".

Saffron Whipped Cream

1 c. heavy cream

2 tbsp. sifted confectioner's sugar

1/8 tsp. crumbled Spanish Saffron

1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

Whip the heavy cream together in a cool metal bowl with a hand mixer or a standing mixer until it forms soft peaks.

Makes 1 cup

About Salad

As I was laying in bed, drudgingly trying to get through page 81 of the Julie & Julia, I remembered that I promised you a blog post today.

Yes. I promised I would blog here EVERY DAY.

But, the thing is, besides eating brunch (and peeking at the open kitchen) of the ever so elegant restaurant The Corson Building, I didn't do much in "internship-kitchen-bitch" department.

But, what I did do was remember some things that The Teacher had said to me about salad last week.

So, I thought it was appropriate to share a couple of tips with you:

Numero Uno: When using shallots in a salad, there is no need to season the salad with pepper. The shallots are the substitute for that peppery bite, and pepper just makes that taste become redundant. Who wants to be redundant. NOT I.

B: You know that dressing that is left in the bottom of your salad bowl when you are done tossing your greens? That is what you use to toss the nuts, dried cherries, and cheese in. Then you put all of those little elements ON TOP of the salad. Genius.

And trois: Always use the best quality of each ingredient that you use. Then, at least you know you are starting at a good place. And, if you can, buy LOCAL.

Taste of Washington Salad

Recipe courtesy of *The Teacher

Serves 4

4 c. organic baby greens, cleaned and dried

2 tbsp. Pipitone Farms organic shallots, finely minced

3 tbsp. Napolean Brand White Balsamic Vinegar

3 tbsp. Apres Vin Lime Riesling Grapeseed Oil

3 tbsp. Holmquist Orchards Dry Roasted Hazelnuts

3 tbsp. Chukar Dried Tart Cherries

In the bottom of a large bowl, combine the shallots and the vinegar and let sit for 10 minutes. Whisking constantly, slowly add the grapeseed oil. Emulsify completely. Season to taste with salt, if needed. Add the greens and toss. Plate the salad in a big mound on a chilled plate. Dress the hazelnuts and the cherries with the dressing left in the bottom of the bowl and place on top of the greens.

This salad is simple, and clean. Just the right way to end a week, or start a new one.

Kitchen Bitch #2

Although it may seem untrue, this was not a "Devil Wears Prada" kind of experience, I assure you. But, within the first five minutes, I was rapidly told that my job title was Kitchen Bitch #2. Not even #1, but #2. I was the Kitchen Bitch to the Kitchen Bitch. The girl who was #1 had been through the ropes many times before, and taught me quietly along the way (as to not disturb the flow of the evening). I watched, learned as I went, and received all the information I could. I was losing my virginity to my first restaurant.

While watching The Teacher prep her 5-course dinner for 12, I swept, cleaned counters, and filled votives, realizing that cooking for people every night is really what I am meant to do. Like me (before ALL of my dinner parties), The Teacher was frazzled, and frantically preparing for her performance later that evening. Going through her mental check list out loud. Though, once she got in front of her audience, she stole the show. I envied her.

I watched her seamlessly remove the skin from a 5-lb. Halibut fillet and pair it with a rhubarb compote, and steamed asparagus. She handmade Creme Fraiche and created a cold potato salad with pancetta and ramps. She sauteed domestic lamb loin chops and composed an artichoke, caper, lemon and parsley "salsa" to garnish it. She made her "Taste of Washington" salad with the Apres Vin lime riesling grapeseed oil. Next came the cheese course of artisan cheeses she had picked up from the market, and to finish, she created a lavender short cake with homemade honey ricotta and fresh blackberries. All local. All right in front of my eyes. I knew I adored her.

I was not allowed to touch or help with the food, and for the most part, not even addressed by name. I was the second in command to Kitchen Bitch #1, but suprisingly this did not bother me. I do know what it is like to be the "lowest man" on the totem pole. I enjoyed the feeling of starting again from the ground up. Proving my worth to someone new. Being humbled.

The only time I was addressed was once, when Kitchen Bitch #1 was not around. She called me by Kitchen Bitch #1's name, and I was asked to slice the lavendar short cakes in half. I was elated! Of course, I was secretly hoping and praying that I wouldn't mess up and crack and crumble the delicate cakes in my hands. This could be my one and only chance.

I made sure I kept my cool, not to showing any sign of weakness or of pride. As my hands shook, I took the first shortcake in my hand (about the size of a half golf-ball) and cut it with her Wustoff serated knife. Phew. It didn't crumble. I was a kitchen genius! Then I took the next one, and sliced it a little more rapidly. Shit! Part of it crumbled in my palm. I cleverly pressed it back together, and plated it so it didn't show my mistake. Then, slower this time, I finished the rest of the shortcakes, plating each one as the one before.

I prayed to the gods of butter and flour that they would not break in my shaky hands. When I was done, I inconspicuously crept away, keeping my low-profile. This was my moment.

At the end of the night, when all the guests had gone on their way, she thanked her two Bitches for all of our hard work, and we sat around chatting and having a glass of a 2004 Cedergreen Thuje. I was in a blissful state after The Teacher let me observe her doing what she does best, for a few hours.

I absolutely adore The Teacher. Miss Anna Wintour could learn a thing (or two) from her.

The Teacher

Yesterday, I met someone who I can already predict is going to inspire me right out of my comfort zone in cooking. Who knew this would happen before I even started at The Restaurant?

Right when I wasn't expecting it, I think I found The Teacher.

It started first when she taught me that to sweat vegetables for a soup, it should take 40 minutes. 40 minutes! I have NEVER taken that much time. Then, she introduced me to flavored Grapeseed oils from this company. I have a new love affair with the Lime Riesling!

She educated me on what local companies to look for when I go to Pike Place Market: sprouted almonds from Stackhouse Orchards for snacking, Chukar dried tart cherries, Holmquist orchards dry roasted hazelnuts, and Pipitone Farms Organic Shallots (that are so sweet, and have no bite what-so-ever!)

I learned that Napoleon Vinegars have been based in Seattle since 1903, and soaking Radicchio in a bowl of cold ice water for an hour to remove its bitterness. She also taught me that instead of flour and buttering a pan before baking, you should butter and sugar it.

People. This was all in 2 hours.

I can't wait for what comes next.

The fun part? More is already planned.