Ready, Set, Cook

The final began with a mad scramble to grab the necessary pots, strainers, cooling racks, roasting racks, bowls and ingredients to make your two assigned dishes. After the initial noise of clanging metal, unzipping of knife bags and the shuffle of feet, a quiet fell over the kitchen. I think everyone took a collective deep breath. Then slowly a steady chop, chop, chop began to beat out its sound, followed shortly by the sizzling sound of ingredients as they hit a hot pan. I love the sound of a professional kitchen, I liken it to a symphony. First its quiet, you tune up as you get your ingredients ready and prepped. Then, as you start to cook, it gets louder and louder and then when the orders start rushing in (as you hope they do) its show time! It's a fury of pots banging, oven doors slamming, metal spoons stirring frantically, its the clash of cymbals! It stays at this wild pitch for awhile and then it begins its refrain, to slow down, and then its quiet. All the players in a kitchen have to work together to create the perfect score. The kitchen is a delicious symphony.

For me, on that final night, lets just say I had the right tempo but no rhythm. I wasn't a symphony, I was a one woman band. I felt myself falling behind as the clock ticked away and precious minutes were lost forever. I had vowed not to be late in presenting my two dishes, so I really pushed myself. Plus I had the added benefit of Chef Jason yelling in my ear to speed it up! Get going, watch your sauce!!!

I strained the consomme, unmolded the mushroom flan and carefully and delicately, chopped chervil. First dish was on time but barely. Then it was on to my second dish, the stuffed pheasant. I worked as fast as I could to finish it, constantly watching the clock. I was just about to present the dish when I realized there was something missing. I had forgotten about the warm fig with butter and thyme. SHIT!! DAMN! I scrambled to quickly put it together and moments later the fig was on the plate, completely undercooked and lopsided, leaning unsteadily against the pheasant, like it was inebriated. That hiccup in my careful plan had cost me, I was now a few minutes late. I was terribly disappointed. Damn that fig!! I had placed them on a shelf below the countertop out of the way in an attempt to be uber orgznized. But you know what they say - out of sight, out of mind. Which is exactly what happened, fig - what fig? I was out of my mind stupid alright. As my dishes were sent off to the judges, I could not stop thinking about that cold sad looking fig. And I love figs! Nothing against them. I certainly had eaten my fair share of them the past few months, practicing my recipe. Luckily the feeling of relief, of just being done and completing the final, slowly took over, and that fig became a distant memory. I enjoyed the accomplishment of the evening with my classmates, while we sipped champagne (maybe that helped with the distant memory part). We were then critiqued by four judges who had volunteered their taste buds and stomachs for the night. My dishes did quite well, thank goodness and best of all, they didn't seem too concerned about my fig fiasco. I let out my breath and finally truly relaxed. Fini!

Even though its been almost two months since the final, whenever I see a fig staring back at me in the grocery store, its a different story. It's a love hate thing now. I guess it's going to take some time.

The Final Exam

In February, right when I was falling into the black hole of writing denial and temporarily abandoning my blog (lets just be blunt about it) I was soothing my Irish catholic guilt with the fact that I was too busy to blog. Please, I was preparing to graduate from the French Culinary Institute. After ten months and 600 hours of work, the home stretch needed all my attention! After long, busy days at the office, in the evening I would practice my sauces on the stove while something baked in the oven. I read my recipes over and over again and studied my plan of attack for the final exam, I was militant in my focus. Pastry dough first, start stock second, oven on and chop fast! I would keep one eye on the clock, and the proctors would be keeping an eye on me. Just slightly daunting for someone like me who disdains competition and pressure as much as a trip to the dentist. As the end of the month started to close in on me, I tried not to panic. I didnt want all my hard work to end on a bad note...I firmly told myself that there were worse things than if I didnt properly peel an onion or have the serving plate hot enough! I was going to bed every night envisioning myself presenting two perfectly plated, properly seasoned, on time delicacies. My biggest goal, I told myself, was to finish on time. Not to be one minute late presenting either plate, a serious deduction of points. Then I focused on the eight recipes that I could possibly get. I made my husband join me in pray every day as I stated my mantra, "please don't have me draw the slip of paper with consomme and pheasant", my two most dreaded dishes. The night of the final came and while I headed down to school on the subway, I closed my eyes and saw my dishes arriving on time, looking like they belonged on the cover of a French magazine. More importantly, I envisioned a consomme and pheasant free night. The world is my universe, I have all I want and need. It's all going to work outI was the master of my destiny, success and a toque were in my sights. Positive thinking all around. So, as I sat perched on an uncomfortable stool that snowy blustery Thursday night in school, as it came my turn, I calmly reached into the basket and grabbed my fate, slowly unfoldeding the little piece of white paper. Consomme and pheasant. What?? I literally gasped when I saw the typewritten words...how is it possible? This is ridiculous. Excuse me but did the universe forget about me and my NO pheasant or consomme guideline? I haven't read The Secret, but I get the basic prinicple. Hadn't I done my work, put my request faithly out there to avoid this? Where was my happy ending. I wasn't asking for money, perfect health or a miracle. Just no pheasant of consomme, excuse me for being so specific. I trudged into the kitchen for the final practical exam, cursing mind over matter, metaphysics, The Secret, and feeling just a little bit screwed.

Happy Easter!

Easter is here and its my favorite holiday. More so than Christmas (too much running around!)Thanksgiving (hard to believe given my propensity for highly caloric side dishes!) and even a long summer three day weekend (too hot!).

This Sunday is a time of rebirth, new beginnings. Which I feel is so appropriate for how I feel this gorgeous sunny morning. A chance to start fresh, a clean slate. Who doesn't like that? Or want that?

I wish everyone a happy Easter or Passover. However you celebrate, I hope its special and with dear family and friends.

Cheers - to new beginnings!

April 1st, and yes, I have been a fool.

But this is no joke. I didn't even want to look, not even take a peek...like when you get on a scale and hope to God that its not going to be as bad as you think. Or when you are in school and getting an exam grade back and you know the night before you were out when you should have been studying and cracking the books. You pray that the professor bought your tangled lines of confusion, at least a little bit. You hope for the best.

But finally, I had to look. And there it was, in front of me. The date, crystal clear and the countdown clock still diligently working, turning over the numbers...tick, tick, tick. The last time I posted on my blog was in February. I felt guilty and even embarassed in a funny way. Not because I feel like people are logging on to read my thoughts first thing in the morning, but because I had made a promise to myself and this plastic keyboard. I was going to write about this year, this transformational year. This blog was going to be my AA meeting, keeping me honest and on track. Hello my name is Bridget, and yes, I am a blogger. I fell off the wagon. Actually, it feels like I jumped off. So my to do list has only one item right now. (The know it all sister was right - always only have three!) Get back to blogging and figure out why I strayed. It's April for crying out loud. A quarter of the year has passed me by...this needs some serious reflection. And perhaps back up support. I'll let you know the plan when I know the plan. Luckily, the past few months have been very good ones, I have plenty of material. Which also begs the question ala Jay Leno to Hugh Grant - what was I thinking? How could I have walked away when the best was about to unfold.
Well, stick with me as I figure it out. Trust me, I have some wonderful stuff to share. All of a sudden, I am feeling very chatty...

Walking in a winter wonderland...

Yesterday, the East coast braced for yet another snowstorm. For us in New York City though, yesterday was the blizzard that wasn’t. Old man winter didn’t come to the party like I had secretly hoped for. The snow came, but not so much of it and it was cold wet snow wrapped in a ferocious wind. The kind that feels like little pin pricks on your face. Mean snow, not the fluffy floating snowflakes that land lightly on your hair and face and can be easily brushed off your coat. I must be a California girl at heart, because I really don’t care for the cold weather that comes every winter. Dan teases me that when the seasons change and the thermostat plunges, I always act surprised, as if it’s my first winter here in New York City. I just always wish the fall could last a little longer. He likes the cold. It’s refreshing, he says. No, refreshing is an icy cold drink on a hot sticky summer day. Not 23 degrees. 23 degrees is just cold. He did manage to drag me out for a walk last night, after the snow was winding down. I ventured out in the cold, long enough so I could get some fresh air and take a picture or two. It’s hard to see, I realize my camera skills are lacking, but the picture posted is the front door of our building. I was tying not to shake from the cold as I took it.

Tonight, it’s back into the cold, headed to school. Yesterday, the lucky Wednesday students had a snow day. Not often you get one of those as a grown adult! Tonight is my last night at the canapé station. On the first night, I had to come up with what to serve. We presented a goat cheese, roasted red pepper and radicchio salad mix on a homemade potato chip with a basil reduction sauce. The sauce was a beautiful green swirl on the plate. It was a simple colorful dish, but quite tasty. On Tuesday night, Jim made a gorgeous and sophisticated Thomas Keller creation. A hollowed out egg, filled with savory custard topped with a veal reduction sauce. Into the custard went a homemade potato chip with a chive center. The egg sat perfectly perched in an egg cup. It was a canapé to be proud of, it was decadent and rich. Tonight is Joe’s night. He has yet to share his recipe, so it remains a mystery. I’ll make sure to take a picture of it and to share tomorrow. I’ll also get back to my usual blogging too…it was a crazy week of school, studying, tests and work. Those are my truthful, if lame excuses. Like I have said before, I am a work in progress!

It's a bird, it's a plane...

No, it’s the beautiful plump blueberry. Some call it the perfect food. I am inclined to agree. When time permits, I like to pick up a pint at the fruit stand on the corner as I head to work in the morning. They are delicious right out the container, with no embellishments. I nibble on them all day. The blueberry does keep good company with other super hero foods such as oatmeal, honey, bran, mangoes, and yogurt. Often at the top of a nutritionist’s list, they beat out numerous other fruits and vegetables in their antioxidant super powers, able to neutralize free radicals that can damage your cells in ways that lead to cancer, heart disease and the effects of aging. Anything that aids in anti aging is my personal hero. High in fiber and low in calories make them guilt free. And who needs more guilt in this world. In my effort to become healthier this birthday count down year, the blueberry has become a good friend. Right up there with my old stand by broccoli, long known to be a super veggie. I have always said that broccoli is going to save me from all my evil ways, since I have been eating it like its going out of style since college.

Blueberries are delicious with a little honey drizzled on top. On Sunday mornings when I have extra time (a screaming blender isn’t so jarring at 10am) I love to put them in the blender with vanilla yogurt, honey and milk. Toss in some ice and blend away. The ingredients swirl and combine together to make a pale violet colored smoothie that tastes decadent.

Tonight I think I’ll see if I can find a nice healthy recipe for a muffin or scone to go with my coffee in the morning. Perhaps not the ideal healthy breakfast, but those perfect blueberries will certainly help balance the scales.

Bread 101

One of the best things about school is the bread kitchen. In fact it might be the best thing. If I have time, I can’t resist sneaking upstairs and grabbing a baguette or two. Some nights there’s a variety of breads, all equally delicious. Pullman loaves, croissants, rye bread, sometimes even a little chocolate works its way into a recipe. I love to place the crusty bread right under my long nose and inhale deeply, the warm comfortable smell of baked bread filling my nostrils with such an aroma, it almost feels therapeutic.

After my brief therapy, I wrap the bread up and take it home. Slicing it for sandwiches, I never get tired of it. The bread makes the best sandwiches, especially the ones that go on the panini press. The mozzarella, tomato and arugula sandwiches I find mouth-watering are now hugged by two slices of homemade love. Warm and gooey on the insides, it’s surrounded with the perfect crunch on the outside.

Lately though there hasn’t been time to run upstairs and grab a loaf or two, so I am left with the bread we pick up at the grocery store. It just doesn’t compare. It doesn’t have the crunch, the tanginess, the texture. I hate to say it, but I am utterly and completely spoiled. Apparently man cannot live by bread alone, but if he had bread from the French Culinary Institute, he might have a fighting chance.

With that thought and the realization that getting to the third floor is difficult in Level 6, I attempted yesterday to make my own bread. The process isn’t difficult, its just time consuming.
I was delighted when I first saw the bread as I pulled it out of the hot steamy oven. I had resisted peeking and instead paced around the apartment, hoping the bread would rise and develop a crust. Well, it did both. I tapped on it for that familiar hollow sound but it sounded more like knocking on a door. A solid door unfortunately. An ominous start…After the bread cooled, I sliced into it still hoping for the best. The taste was there but the texture wasn’t. The bread was all good looks, but no substance. Certainly not like the baguettes from school. I’ll have to work on the recipe, perhaps I overworked the dough. Or used too much flour, who knows? Of course, Dan said it was fine for consumption, kind and loyal tester that he is. I didn’t tell him, but that bread is headed right into the food processor. The loaves may not make for a great sandwich but they will be delicious bread crumbs!