what I have learned.....about kitchens and food

Part II in the series.

Finished up work yesterday, everyone was very nice to me and stayed for a few extra minutes in order for us to share a glass of prosecco and toast in my honor, which I appreciated a lot. However I was still perfectly happy to be walking out that door for good, and was greeted by the most amazing sight: it was snowing all yesterday evening, and while Florence isn't quite white, there has been a little bit of accumulation and this morning when I went out I was greeted by that perfect blue sky and crisp air that follows snow, and so someone must really love me. Snow is not common here; the city seems to be in a bit of a panic over it, and everyone is amazed at the wonder of this weather. Also the hills around the city are all dusted with snow now, which just creates this beautiful, powdered-sugar effect (photo not mine, but this is what I saw). Definitely leaving this city on a high note!

So what have I learned about kitchens and cooking? I have learned about the importance of cooking in a clean kitchen. "You don't know what you've got till it's gone..." Most people would not call the kitchen here dirty, but I've worked in very clean kitchens in the states, where you clean everything every day and clean the hard to reach spots, like under the shelves and the back corners of fridges, weekly. I worked for one month and we did those hard to reach spots once, and the daily clean we did was more focused on getting the stainless steel shined than on making sure that things were actually clean. I think it is just part of the whole quality control mentality. Making sure that your kitchen is of the best quality is just another part of making sure that the food is of the best quality. If you don't feel like you're standards of cleanliness are as  high as they can be, then it spills over into your food not needing to be the best it can be. Or maybe I'm going too much into the psychoanalysis on this one. Point being, I get why we clean the corners that can't be reached and why we keep things anally tidy in the states now.

I actually feel like I've learned quite a bit about medieval cookery, oddly enough. We did a lot of braises at the restaurant, and the way those dishes were structured was clearly traceable way back in time. Maybe Italian food just has good connections with its roots or something, but that is a cool bonus to the whole setup.

I think I've learned about sage as an herb and what it can do. I feel a lot more familiar with it, as it is suchc a crucial herb in the cooking here, and would be comfortable playing with it in the future. It also steeps nicely for a tea.

I've also gained a lot more respect and gratefulness for the stages I've done in the past. I was able to realize just how much I've learned from them, how they influenced me, and helped shape my perspective on kitchens in so many ways. I'm hoping that when I start searching for a job next month that this new vision will be able to help me find a place which fits well. I could handle a job I didn't love for a month, I would not be happy there for a year.

From the experience here more generally, I've learned how to make great breads, how to whip up a pasta sauce with anything in the fridge, a new appreciation for donuts, why the foam on a cappuccino matters, and the powers of gorgonzola.

As for this blog, it will be no longer about Italy as I'm about to leave, but if I have the chance I will be using it as I travel the middle east for the next few weeks. So to see pictures and hear news about the next adventure, continue to stay tuned!

what I have learned.....about myself

These next few posts are going to be a bit of a series. I'm trying to sum up my experiences here so I can leave with some recollection of what I've accomplished. Or at least something sentimental, emotional, and all that. So part I, below, is covering what I think I've learned about myself.  Deep, huh?

This is also a continuing part of my "think positive!" campaign, as work has not been a totally positive experience. There have been times when I wanted to just leave, and a large part of it wasn't anybody's fault. It was just that when there isn't enough business to keep one person busy, what do four people do? It was getting to the point where I started trying to work more slowly so that I would be bored less. And "slow" is never a compliment in the kitchen unless you're braising a piece of meat. There was also a passive-aggressive waitress who didn't like me. But I want to leave on a high note, and I don't think that I'm forcing myself to make a silver lining, but rather am just trying to remember the good times.

I've learned a little more about my problems with authority, and at the end of the day they're connected to my problems in dealing with incompetence. Because you see, most authority *is* incompetent. Clearly these problems are interconnected, and at work especially I have learned a lot about how incompetent authority can rub me the wrong way. While some things with Susanna got better, some didn't. A large part of the problem was just that I didn't have any standing instructions, which meant that at the end of almost every task I did for the restaurant I was left waiting. Once I was left alone in the kitchen for about twenty minutes with absolutely no clue where everyone else had gone, what I was supposed to be doing, and nothing to accomplish. So what could I do but stand there and wait? Not the best use of my time. But I was trying to be positive......oops. So I've learned more about my problems with authority, and how I bridle at it. It just aggravates me and I feel frustrated. I need to start accepting people in authority positions, listen better, and put my head down to work.

Additionally, slowing things down for me isn't good. I've begun to notice that even when I'm trying to work quickly, I'm not particularly fast. I would much rather get things done right, and my skills aren't up to the level they should be so that I can move quickly. I like to be precise, to get the cuts just square, to butcher the meats in such a way that I get the best possible cuts, but sometimes something just needs to get done, and I need to learn how to turn off the perfectionist switch so I can just do it.

The irony is that I actually enjoy tweaking and experimenting with things, and furthermore that I am horrible at doing anything with any sort of exactitude. I despise measuring. This makes me wonder in some ways what I'm a perfectionist at, and I think it might just be my knife cuts. Which, at the end of the day isn't too surprising to me. I've always known that I'm not the best baker because of how much I despise measuring, though I think I'm learning more about how to bake without measuring things, which is definitely making me think that I actually do like baking things. To the point where if I was producing interesting things I don't think I would mind working on pastry. I still prefer doing savory things, but I'm definitely becoming more interested in the other side. Speaking of which, if anyone has an idea on how to make something crunchy and very strongly olive oil flavored for a dessert, I tried the other day and failed miserably, and have yet to think of a new way to make this happen. I think it might require some heavy molecular gastronomy, but I'm not sure.....

Anyway I'm finding all this introspection to be quite tiring, and so I'm going to bed. Tomorrow is my last day of work, and then I'll be heading into the sunset! Yay!

Secret Ingredients

Some restaurants I've been to have secret ingredients which they put in almost everything to make it taste unified and delicious. One place in Boston keeps a container of pesto out on the counter, and every vegetable that gets sauteed on the hot line gets a dollop of pesto for some color and flavoring. It also adds a pretty flecked greenness and depth of flavor to everything.

I'll let you in on what our secret is at the restaurant here. We have these dried sweet peppers which we just call "pepperone" which is an ingredient from the south where Chef is from. They have a mild, kind of paprika-flavored sweetness to them, without the grassiness that you find in fresh peppers. When we do up all of our vegetables we always saute them up with a pepperone, our sauces as well get the pepper treatment. We deep-fry these things to use them as a garnish on dishes, and crumble up the deep fried ones to use as an ingredient in the egg portion of the veg platter. Pasta for staff meal is sometimes just made with a sauce of oil, garlic, and cooked pepperone. The only thing I'm surprised about is that we don't ever rehydrate them and make a paste to use as a sauce or rub on any of our meats. But if I were to look at the menu, I would guess that about 75% of it includes at least one dish with this random ingredient.

I can't believe I'm leaving in just one week! The time has been flying by, but I feel ready to head home, like I've gotten a lot out of my experience here. I'm going to be doing dinner with friends, celebrating my birthday somehow (maybe), packing up, going to a "graduation" ceremony at school, finishing my stage, and getting on a long flight to the states.....

What do I actually do from day to day?

So from the sounds of my complaining, whining, and moaning it probably sounds like I do nothing in the kitchen all day. However, I want to point out that this is anything but true. So for those of you who don't know much about what actually goes on in a real, live kitchen, I've put together a little list:


Broccoli rape (pronounced rah-pa, with a long 'a'): Every day the first thing I do when I get into the kitchen is prepare the broccoli rape for cooking. The way we do it is by peeling off all the outer leaves and stems, just leaving the tender core with a little floret of broccoli. I score the bottom of that stem with an x so it cooks all the way through, and then look through the leaves close to the core and also put the tender ones in the basket for cooking. The vegetable gets par-boiled and then sauteed with some oil, garlic, and pepperone (more on the pepperone in another post).

Garlic and parsley: Almost every single stage I have ever done involves garlic and parsley. Here, with the garlic, I usually peel about 2 or 3 heads of it daily. I learned a trick for this back at GZ, where you break off all the cloves and toss them in a tupperware. You then shake this tupperware for about three minutes like a maraca, and the garlic peels itself as it hits and rubs against the other garlic and the side of the tupperware. This works best when you have a lot of garlic that you need to peel, as with small amounts there isn't enough friction to make it work. But when done right, you open up the box and can just pluck out whole, peeled cloves of garlic for use. Chef gets a kick out of watching me shake the box, and I'm not sure if she likes it or thinks that I look like an idiot, but it is definitely a lot easier, not to mention the fact that this way you get less of that sticky garlic oil on your hands! As for the parsley, it is really straightforward. It reminds me of being in Trotter's kitchen, where the first thing I did, every day, for about an hour, was deal with parsley. You pick all the leaves off each stem, then you chop and chop and chop until the parsley is a soggy mess of finely chopped leaves. The other thing we do here is deep fry some parsley for a garnish. For that I need whole, perfect leaves, which pop like mad as the water evaporates from them in the fryer, and it leaves you with a nice, green, crunchy garnish that we use on several dishes. I actually like it a lot, though I dislike the way in which it gets the fryer a little dirty as you can never get all the parsley out that you put in.

Mussels: We get mussels in with the beards still attached, so I need to yank those off, cook the bivalves with some oil and garlic, and then, since we use them out of their shells, I pull each individual piece of meat out of the shell and check the inside of the muscle to make sure that the entire beard has been removed. There's something very disconcerting about dealing with the flesh of these things...

Blending things, whipping things: We do a lot of puree soups, and after staff meal I am often the one who blends them to a creamy smoothness in the food processor and seasons them. Also we do most of our small-batch whipped things by hand, which means I'm often recruited as a human kitchen-aid to make whipped cream or get egg whites to beautiful, soft peaks.

Cleaning: Cleaning is of course a central part to any kitchen, this one included. Furthermore I've discovered that I can start cleaning while they are putting out the last few plates, and this means we all get to go home earlier. Plus, usually by the end of service there isn't much for me to do, and so it's nice to have my hands busy.

That's day-to-day kitchen life for ya'....not the most exciting, but it can still be satisfying and I always have the opportunity to watch even when my hands are busy with something mundane.

By the way, it turns out we did not close the kitchen last night, and we actually had about a dozen guests! However we didn't do any prep during the day, and instead cleaned, which I was actually very happy to do....there was some nastiness that I found that made me appreciate how I used to clean like that every week at Green Zebra!

What it means to work in a small restaurant

The restaurant here is tiny. I don't mean space-wise; each table is well spaced out so you don't need to hear others' conversations while eating, but I think we can't seat more than about seventy total without some major cramping going on. Add that to the fact that since the Italian dinner time is very short, we only do one seating, maybe turning over a table or two to someone who is willing to eat really late (after 10 PM). This means that at our busiest we can only do at the absolute maximum 80, and it seems that right now, during the off season, we haven't been getting more than about 50 in on our busiest nights. And we haven't had very many busy nights. Friday last week was the party, Friday this week we saw thirty-some people. Saturday of both weeks has been really busy, and while last Sunday was slow, this one was also mid-paced.
Those are our busy nights. Our slow nights.....well, if this were the States, I would say that it is time for a change in the business model. We had a four-top on Thursday. One four-top. That means only one table of four people. Working that night, we had two cooks, one chef, one stage (me), a hostess, a waitress, and a dishwasher: seven people. That night in the kitchen I organized our folder of dessert recipes.

Furthermore, a small restaurant means a small kitchen--two people actually cooking with the chef stepping in only on the occasions when things get hairy. That means that by adding me into the kitchen I'm almost a 50% increase in labor force. But the space around the stoves is very cramped, and we only put out one cold appetizer, which chef does. That means that all there is for me to do once service starts is desserts, and maybe, at best, one out of every two or three tables orders desserts. So once service starts, besides the sweets I can pretty much help put the garnishes on dishes and that's about it. There just isn't enough to do otherwise!

I would love it if Keiji taught me how to run his station and then on a slow night chef said "take the evening off, Jenny will run your station". When you only have 10 people to serve, it really isn't much of a challenge for me to run a station, and everyone else in the kitchen would be there to catch any mistakes I might make. But I am positive that won't happen, which means I am left standing around once the first guests come in the door.

But the small size also means that people have a better feeling for what is going on in the kitchen overall. Keiji and Susanna are always aware of what the other is doing, and they don't even label their mise because they each know the menu so well that they can identify everything on sight (I still wish they labeled dates, but you can't win them all...). Such a small kitchen means things are coming out more consistently because it is always the same person doing everything, and the low number of people they serve means more opportunity to do things right. Generally speaking I like a kitchen just a little bit bigger, but I definitely see the advantages to having such a streamlined system!

(note: this was written earlier in the week. Last night was another 1-table night, and apparently tonight since we did enough prep yesterday for both days, we're doing a deep clean of the kitchen instead, possibly closing down entirely.)

(also, an update on knives, since that post was old as well: I pulled out their stone last night, and discovered that with a lot of elbow grease you can still get the knives sharpened on that stone, but it probably took me forty five minutes of work to get a useable edge on two knives. Now I should also admit that I am not an expert at sharpening knives, so maybe some part of that is me too....)

Knives

Anyone who has talked to me for ten minutes about cooking knows how I love knives. I like working with them, I like taking care of them, I like the objects themselves. I have a t-shirt with a large chef’s knife on it (pictured). If you have talked to me for twenty minutes about cooking, you probably know how much I hate dull knives, how they make me sad, how I would rather rip things apart with my teeth than use a dull knife (okay, maybe that’s a bit hyperbolic...). If you’ve talked to me for even longer, I have probably shown you the scar on my index finger from when I cut myself because I was using a dull knife and ended up going to the ER to have it stitched up (I finished making dinner first, one-handed, with the bleeding finger held up on top of my head to reduce blood flow. Butternut squash soup, roast chicken I think. Anyway, there wasn’t anyone home to drive me over, so I needed to wait, and what was I going to do, let the soup burn?)

Anthony Bourdain, in Kitchen Confidential, wrote that there are two things which belong to other people which you never touch when in a kitchen. One is a body part, and the other is a knife. Essentially, according to him, its okay for you to pilfer through someone’s wallet, as long as you don’t touch their knives.

In the US, at least in fine dining, each cook has their own knives for work. You buy them yourself, you take care of them, you love them, you use them, and when you leave, you take your knives with you. They are your instruments; just like a member of an orchestra will bring their own instrument to rehearsal, cooks bring their knives. And its actually a very apt analogy: knives vary slightly from maker to maker, in shape, weight, size, handle, etc; finding the right knife for you is in many ways like a violinist finding the right instrument for him, with the sound he likes, the response rates, the size, etc. For every stage I’ve done in the US, I’ve brought a chefs knife and a paring knife (which lives in my pocket in a little mini-case).

I asked on my first day when I was changing if I should bring my knives down too. Susanna said that unless I really wanted to, there were knives to be used downstairs. I figured that I would give their knives a try and see how their system works.

It was horrible! The objects with which they cut things hardly have edges, and should probably be called really thin hammers rather than knives. There was only one good knife in the drawer (they store all their knives in a drawer, on top of each other. This means every time you move one knife, you dull every other one in there as it bumps against everything) and I was chopping parsley, which needs a good knife, unless you’re making parsley pesto. So I grabbed this knife and started using it, thanking the kitchen gods that they had at least provided me with one useable instrument.

Five minutes later chef walked in. She set up her station, and then asked “Where’s my knife?” Oops. I rinsed it off and handed it over with chagrin. Apparently she doesn’t mind other people using that knife, as long as she isn’t in need of it herself. She finished her project and handed it back to me. Talk about culture shock!

I think it was day three where I had had enough of these knives. I started to notice that I was altering my chopping technique to use more force so that I could actually work my way through work, and that was scaring me. More force means that if you miss, there’s more likeliness of a trip to the ER. That’s why dull knives are dangerous.

So day three I asked if they had a sharpening stone. Chef laughed. “You like using the stone? What’s wrong with a steel?” Keiji nodded in approval that I would prefer a stone--that’s how the Japanese always do it, and probably part of the whole cultural thing which makes Japanese knives so awesome. They showed me where the stones were hidden, and I pulled them out to start working.

I picked the two main knives that we use in the kitchen for just about everything and started to sharpen them. Or at least try. These are the same knives that I got in my kit for culinary school, and while they are amazing value, the blades are thick and the metal is hard. This means that when sharpening them, especially since they had no edge left to speak of, you need a really rough stone to actually remove scraps of metal from the knife so that you can even create an edge to sharpen. These stones were both super fine. I would love to use them on my knife, but mine is thin and I am very careful to always maintain a good edge on it. Its the same with sandpaper: you can’t smooth down a rough edge on wood with super fine paper, you first use a rough paper to smooth things a little, and then progress to finer and finer grains until you have the polish you want.

Did I improve the knives? Marginally. Was it worth the work? Yes, because I will take every improvement I can manage. Did it do that much? No, not really.

At this point I’m sort of in a catch-22. I can bring my stone in, which is rougher, and have another go at sharpening these things. The question is, will I cause a fuss somehow by bringing in my own stone, saying that theirs aren’t good enough? Or, I can just keep using all their equipment, and be very careful with my fingers. The one thing I can’t do is bring my own knife in. I have two knives out here, but one is identical to all of theirs, meaning that I might not come home with it, and I can’t risk damaging my good knife by bringing it in. Anyone who treats knives that poorly shouldn’t come near my knife, which actually requires care and upkeep. Its the kind of knife which can’t be thrown in a drawer, needs regular washing, and shouldn’t be used for hacking. I’m not totally confident that I could communicate that well enough, and if I can’t get them to treat my knife with the love that I have for it, then they aren’t going to see it.

One more thing that proves how much I love knives? This post.
For more info on knives, you can read an excerpt from An Edge in the Kitchen on egullet.org.
Also, if you have ever been interested in early 20th century pig-butchering, check out this interactive flash program which was made from an old book.

Vegetable Platter Saga part II

So I had what I thought was a wonderful plan to change the vegetarian platter into something real. I would wait in ambush for when a veg platter got ordered, and then after the complaints that Chef would inevitably express, I would shake my head and say "I agree! Why don't we just have a normal dish for the veg platter that could be so much easier to do?". In my head the conversation turned into her agreeing with me and saying that since my hands were often sitting around the kitchen doing nothing, I could instead make a new veg dish next week and we would discuss what it should be as we plated the stupid platter, and at the end we would all go walking off holding hands, singing kumbaya, and rainbows would emerge from behind every cloud.

Well I did lay in wait for a veg platter to be ordered. Of course, unless you're a hungry vegetarian you don't order it, as a full meal can be made from a soup and a pasta, of which we have all sorts of options. And during the week people usually don't go for a huge, five-course meal. There aren't that many Italian vegetarians anyway. So it took about three or four days of lying in ambush for one to pop out of our ticket printer. But when it did, I was ready. I had rehearsed my lines and I delivered them with such grace that chef couldn't take any offense at what was, at the end of the day, a criticism of her menu. 

She smiled, and agreed. It would be easier to have a vegetarian main course. I said "so why don't you change it?" and she laughed. She then talked about how she has a friend who opened up a vegetarian place and did this awesome eggplant dish with cheese and indian spices and how she thought it was fabulous. And I suggested we do our own version of that. And she smiled at the memory of that dish. And then we plated. And nothing else was said about the vegetarian issue. Yeah, anticlimactic, without a hint of a rainbow peeking out from a cloud or fridge.

Well I don't give up easily, and that wasn't a no, so I lay in ambush for another opportunity, which arrived on Saturday night with us getting in four veg platter orders almost all at once. As the two of us were scrambling to get them together, I complained a little, and said that it would be so much easier if we just had a real vegetarian dish. I again got the smile, laugh, and "I agree." But it seems that despite all this nothing is going to happen. I've noticed first-hand how stubborn and adverse to change the Italians are, and I guess that this is just my witnessing it first-hand.

I have a feeling that my goal will not be achieved, as I'm not quite sure what else to do beyond asking straight up if I can make a different dish, and I think that would be interpreted as rude and is probably just a bad idea. Which means I'm at a standstill for at least a little while. If anyone has any ideas on what I can do to keep moving on this quest, let me know!

Dried tomatoes

This recipe comes from my host mom, who just pulled out a jar of these last night at dinner, and they're addictively good. They make your mind think there's a bit of heat to them, but the flavor is just sweet and acidic, and I can imagine them making a wonderful topping for a steak or burger, though we ate them just simply on bread, which was also fabulous. However, as with all things which are kept at room temperature for long periods of time, make sure that you use a clean jar, that you really do cover the tomatoes up all the way with oil, and that if you have any floating tomatoes you put something on top of them to make them sink down and to make sure they are actually covered.

2 lbs dried tomatoes
1 cup (large) of vinegar (red wine would probably work best, but anything which isn't balsamic works)
A bit of water

Cook the tomatoes in this water/vinegar mixture for about twenty minutes. Leave covered on the stove for 20 minutes to plump and steep. Strain the tomatoes out and dry them somewhat with a towel. Chop about 5 cloves of garlic and a big fistful of parsley. Slice tomatoes to a smaller size, mix these things together with some capers. Place in a clean jar and cover with olive oil. Put the lid on and leave sitting at room temperature for a month before enjoying these in any way possible. After opening again you can still leave them at room temperature.

Leadership style

One thing I’m getting the chance to learn a lot about in this stage is leadership style. It makes sense, since I’m ranked a half step below the dishwasher in this kitchen, which means I spend a lot of time being led, being told what to do and how to do it.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been the best at dealing with authority, in which case I’m possibly reacting to more than is actually going on. But nonetheless I’ve found Susanna’s conduct with me to be grating on more than one occasion, and trying to figure out why has been a learning experience  in and of itself.

Part of it is just the way in which she delivers instruction. I was once at a stage in Chicago where I was asked to cut asparagus on a bias. I started doing that, and after a few one of the chefs came over and explained that I was doing it wrong, but that I had gotten through so much that I should just keep going because it wasn’t a huge deal. He then went over to the cook who had assigned me the task and started scolding him, to explain that he should have checked on my work right away to make sure I had understood the instructions correctly, and that a stage should always be given full direction the first time she does anything because its new and she can’t be expected to know exactly what you want every time.

Compare this to Susanna, who the other day asked me to chop a large fish into smaller parts for broth. I did it, asked her if she needed anything else, and then went on to another project. As she was pulling the fish head out of the broth when it was finished, she called me over. “You didn’t remove the insides of the gills when you were prepping the fish.” Well how am I supposed to know that? I haven’t prepped stock with large fish before, and even if I had, the likelihood that I would have learned a different technique is quite high. So why was I getting scolded for this?

What she should have said could have gone more like this. “Jenny, forgot to tell you this when you were prepping, but for next time, make sure to remove the gills because they have some blood in them and can cloud the stock.” I had to ask her for an explanation of why it mattered if the gills were left in or not. And she shouldn’t have criticized my work, as I did exactly what she asked of me--it was her problem that she didn’t explain fully in the first place or check my work. And it is really, really grating to be talked at in this manner.

She doesn’t often give me good explanations of why we do things the way we do. Another story: we have a cured fish that we do in the restaurant, and part of the cure includes a lot of grated ginger. The first time I grated the ginger I didn’t wear gloves, which left my hand feeling like it was burning slightly for the next few hours. Not pleasant. Furthermore, the size grater she had me working with ended up getting clogged with ginger threads, which meant that I also ended up cleaning these threads out with a toothpick so that the grater could get used again, since it wouldn’t come out in the dishwasher.

The next time she asked me to do it, I asked why we don’t just put the ginger in the blender, since the grater essentially juices the pulp anyway, and this would not only be easier but faster and would mean that nobody had to waste time cleaning out the grater either. The answer I got was “It can’t do it.” Or something like that. Now maybe it was my language skills getting in the way, or something about how she speaks so softly that I often can’t hear her over all the other noise in the kitchen, but her explanation didn’t make sense to me. Is our blender not strong enough to break down the fibers? Did the ginger need some blood, sweat, and tears to taste better? I really wasn’t following, but apparently the whys of the kitchen aren’t really important for me. Except that I’m there to learn, not to just do her unpleasant work, and so the whys matter the most. So leadership lesson: always give a why with the instruction.

Something really annoyed me yesterday though. For one of our dishes, we boil chestnuts and then remove the pulp from the shells for a way of adding body to our squash soup. Susanna really dislikes removing the pulp, as it is messy and kind of feels unpleasant. Yesterday she asked for my help with it, and then after I had gotten started she walked off. For a few minutes she did something else, but then as I was standing there, doing her grunt work, I noticed that she had started stirring a sauce with a lot of attention. A sauce that usually doesn’t need any attention. She was trying to look busy so she didn’t need to do this unpleasant task. Then she stood around for a few minutes. As I did her work. So I started playing a game. I stopped working and had some water, standing around, for every minute that she wasn’t working. I am not in that kitchen to do her work. I am there to help, to make it so that things can be done better, or so that more things can get done. I refuse to just do something for her so she can avoid doing something she dislikes. It isn’t like it’s my favorite task either. While the other things she has done were somewhat grating, this actually felt disrespectful. Make use of me, don’t abuse me.

So I guess this needed to get off my chest, and while I wish I were learning things in a way that didn’t just illustrate what not to do, I’m still learning. And that’s what I’m here to do, no matter what. Plus, its good training for me to get used to holding my tongue a little better.

Also, look! I did make the veg dish with fennel, chickpeas, and radicchio. I topped it with some fresh fennel fronds and some shavings of parmesan. It wasn't the kind of dish that people would come back to the restaurant for over and over again, but it is still respectable, and I imagine with some professional kitchen dressing up it could get that lift it needs into the realm of awesomeness.

Stay Positive!

So perhaps I’ve been focusing overmuch on the negative aspects of my job. Its understandable, as those are the differences which are much more clear to me as it is easier to tell what doesn’t work than figure out why things do work. But even so there are some great things going on at work, and so partially as a positive thinking exercise (I’ve been going in with a bit of a negative attitude) and partially to just display the restaurant in as fair a light as possible, here are some things that are great about the restaurant.

They are willing to let me do any type of prep:
In my experience in the US, stages and low-level cooks prep almost entirely vegetables, sometimes helping out with meat, but only after it has been cut--seasoning, stuffing, etc. Here they are willing to let me try out anything myself, and so I’ve been breaking down piccione (squab) pretty often, and doing all the prep for it until it gets sent over to the stove for braising. They regularly break down a side of lamb during prep, and I want to do that one of these days, which I think will be possible, provided I ask.

Some really neat products:
On the subject of this lamb, the quality! According to Wikipedia, New Zealand lamb (and I think the US uses mostly that) has to be under 1 year old. The meat is definitely red, and the flavor has that distinct flavor that we associate with lamb. I think that the lamb we get here must be a few months younger than a year, because the meat is a very light pink, the flavor is extremely mild, and it is so much smaller. A lamb chop is about the same size as a silver dollar, and the rib bone which the chop attaches to is thinner than a pencil. While it is definitely a delicious product, I do miss that lamb flavor that you get with the older animals, but just like with suckling pig or any other very young meat, there is something exquisite about this.

The pigeons as well come a little differently than in the US. All that has been done to them is they’ve been plucked, and not well. So when prepping them it feels a lot more real, reminds you of exactly what you’re prepping. First I have to cut off their heads, claws, and wing tips, then burn away any feathers that might have been missed in the original plucking, then I cut off the tuchus of each bird so that I have access to the inner cavity of it. Next is the removal of all the giblets, and only at this point do I have a bird in my hands which resembles what you find for purchase in a US supermarket. It can get messy, but it is really gratifying. After all this, we finally break the birds down, removing the wings, separating the legs from the body, and filleting the breasts. The wings get stewed, the breasts get seared off, and the thighs get deboned and stuffed instead with a mixture of livers and hearts so that you have a little lollipop of meat on every drumstick.

Which brings me to another thing I like, which is that they have no fear of making a dish that takes up more time than any other. I think the pigeon is the most time-consuming dish to prepare (or maybe tied with the lamb), and that’s absolutely fine with everyone. I just above described all the work that goes into breaking down the birds--that takes me about an hour to do for eight birds, though I imagine I’ll get faster at it as I get more practice in--and then we cook them. The stew is what takes a long time, as we sear off the drumsticks and wings, then remove them from the cooking oil, drain that off, put the meat back in, do a wine reduction, add some broth, braise them until really tender, and then add a half-dozen different ingredients in. Its very different from some of our other braises, which are really just sear and stew kinds of processes.

I like how we make all of our breads in-house. (this picture is actually from an outing we had for class, not from the restaurant. But doesn't it look yummy?)

I like how much the waiters love my American plating styles for the desserts.

I like how I’m starting to get to know the kitchen such that I can just see what is out on the counter and know what needs to be prepped by me.

I like how when I suggest an idea on a dish people listen to me and take my opinion seriously, even if they don’t ever follow it. Usually it has to do with salt levels. I like things slightly less salty than they do.

I like how Keiji will correct me. Instead of saying that I’m not doing something right, he’ll come over and say: “Leave more skin on the breast, its the most important part for searing, and you’re cutting off too much there.” Whenever he corrects me I feel like I learned something and I get a better understanding of a dish.

I like having a coffee at the beginning of every shift and a glass of wine at the end. I really like that to be honest. And the wines are usually great. It has been a great way for me to learn more about Tuscan wines, because I think we drink almost all Chianti wines, and comparing them to one another has helped me understand quite a lot more about the genre.

It can be hard in a restaurant setting to get overwhelmed by the negatives and the little things which are done every day, and in exchange lose the big picture. I think it requires conscious effort to maintain a positive outlook and not get bogged down with chopping parsley, but if you lose that big picture then the work becomes less valuable and you start to wonder what you’re doing there. Even with this short a time I’ve had those moments, and I just need to keep reminding myself why I’m there and thinking about all the great things I’m exposing myself to.

Ideas for the Veg dish

I apologize for the funny formatting, I'm not on my own computer and that makes it harder.....
Stuffed eggplant:

could stuff it with the insides of the eggplant, breadcrumbs, egg, herbs, tomato or roasted tomato, cheese. Gets served kind of like a little boat, garnished with toasted pine nuts and some kind of sauce (I would like a mild garlic sauce, but I’m guessing that won’t fly. Tomato sauce probably would, and this is the one that reminds me the most of eggplant parm in the first place.)



Variation on stuffed eggplant:

We could up the ante a little by flavoring it with ginger and cardamom instead of garlic, parsley, and rosemary. I don’t think this one will happen.



Braised veggie:

Something like a braised fennel or leek could provide the kind of “central item” that this dish needs. There could be a whole variety of ways to serve this....



-braised fennel, roasted eggplant, potato puree, pine nuts, mint

-braised leek, sauteed mushrooms, herbed polenta, mushroom sauce, walnuts, rosemary

-braised fennel, sauteed radicchio, chickpeas, sauce(?)

-braised leeks, eggplant puree, chickpeas, parmesan, fresh cherry tomato



These dishes strike me as pretty generic, they rely completely on very common Italian ingredients, and the techniques are not fancy. I feel like we could step further out of the box with this dish, but its probably better to play it safe and just do something easy and good. I don’t think anyone wants to add more work to their prep time, so anything that takes much longer to make than an eggplant parmesan is probably out. One thing I like about all these dishes is that they are wintery and have a little more substance to them. I’m leaning towards the radicchio one just because it seems to have the best balance of flavors (braised fennel and leeks both are really sweet dishes to me), and so I’m going to try making it for lunch tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it turns out, and if it goes well I might take that to the chef as a proposal....