What's happened since my last post? There's a baby in the belly, I'm unemployed, Brian finally got his bonus, my GI Bill finally came in, and I've started Christmas shopping!
We found out I'm pregnant in the middle of last month. I think I'm about 9-10 weeks. My first ultrasound is Friday, and we'll know more then. I'm really looking forward to it. I think it will make this feel "real" to see something on a screen. I had morning sickness pretty bad for about three weeks. I'm almost afraid to say it, but I think it's going away. Or, I've learned what to eat to keep it from rearing it's ugly head. Food cravings hit me like a ton of bricks, and need to be fulfilled immediately. Current obsessions include salad, peanut butter sandwiches, grapefruit, and bean burritos from Taco Bell. I think I'm over the pizza kick. Things I refuse to put in my mouth that I loved in a former life: GARLIC, coffee, and poultry. Speaking of poultry....
Thanksgiving is at our place this year. Mom is coming up. I've invited Daddy, as well as Rhonda. I put this plan together pre-pregnancy, when the thought of roasting and basting a bird for hours sounded like fun. It's quite possible that mom will have to handle the turkey. I get really excited when I think about all the other yummies that go along with Thanksgiving dinner. Fresh green beans, mashed potatoes, stuffing, corn! Is my baby a vegetarian???
On the job front, Brian and I have talked. I'm not going to look for a job until after the new year. We're much better financially now that he got his bonus and my GI Bill is coming in. Here's my logic...I have two HUGE projects I need to do for school (one involving 32 recipes, cost analysis for each one, and development of 4 restaurants). More than that, the reality that our lives are getting ready to change in a big way has hit me pretty hard. We've only been married for a couple of months. I want to take this time to get closer to my husband (not that there's a problem there in any way). I'm also looking forward to having a significant amount of time off around the holidays, something I haven't had since I joined the military. Basically, I want some "me" time before it becomes a bit harder to do so. I'd been kicking the idea around in my head. I'm just lucky enough to have a husband who agrees with me!
I started my Christmas shopping today. Bought some cute decorations for the apartment that I'm dying to put up. I actually contemplated it, the decided I didn't want to hear my husband poke fun at me for decorating before Thanksgiving. Soooo....I will decorate on Black Friday. I'm totally looking forward to it.
I think that's all the news from Richmond today. I have class all day tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed for me...I'm hoping we don't have to use garlic in any recipes. Hope all is well in your neck of the woods.
It is said that the present is pregnant with the future. ~Voltaire
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Oysters
This week has been interesting to say the least. Let's start with Monday evening. Chelsea wanted to work, so I gladly gave up my p.m. shift to her. It would have been my fourth double in a row. Yuck. Brian and I decided to have a cheap date night and headed to The Hard Shell (nice to work in a restaurant...cheap food and wine). All was going well. Brian enjoyed his crab legs. I did a tasting of some of our wines so that I could explain them to customers. And then came the plate from the kitchen.
A pristine white, square appetizer plate beautifully garnished with micro greens and a lemon wedge. And a raw Chesapeake oyster.
Brian looks at me in disgust. I look at the guys in the kitchen, who are smiling with anticipation at me. I think Brian says something like, "You aren't really going to eat that, are you?" Yes. Yes, I am.
All the guys in the kitchen know I'm in culinary school. We talk about it all the time. Sunday, I asked Andre to show me how to shuck an oyster. It's difficult, by the way. We got it open, and he asked me if I had ever eaten a raw oyster. I walked away. Monday morning, I told him that I really did want to try oysters. I'm going to be a chef. I need to stop being afraid of food. That's how the single oyster ended up in front of me.
I take it over to the kitchen so they can give me a pep talk. One. Two. Three. Slimy. Funky. Yuck. The guys are laughing. And then I told them that I wanted to try a Blue Point oyster. I mean, let's just get this oyster tasting business out of the way all at once. That was my theory. The guys couldn't believe I actually wanted to eat another one. I go into the kitchen and help Cory shuck it. I didn't put lemon on it, or cocktail sauce, or anything else.
One. Two. Three.
Delicious!
It tasted like sea water. Like summers in Ocean City. Like vacationing at Chincoteague. Like warm, lazy days. I'm hooked. And proud of myself for trying something so repulsive looking. The key is to not chew. Just drink it.
A pristine white, square appetizer plate beautifully garnished with micro greens and a lemon wedge. And a raw Chesapeake oyster.
Brian looks at me in disgust. I look at the guys in the kitchen, who are smiling with anticipation at me. I think Brian says something like, "You aren't really going to eat that, are you?" Yes. Yes, I am.
All the guys in the kitchen know I'm in culinary school. We talk about it all the time. Sunday, I asked Andre to show me how to shuck an oyster. It's difficult, by the way. We got it open, and he asked me if I had ever eaten a raw oyster. I walked away. Monday morning, I told him that I really did want to try oysters. I'm going to be a chef. I need to stop being afraid of food. That's how the single oyster ended up in front of me.
I take it over to the kitchen so they can give me a pep talk. One. Two. Three. Slimy. Funky. Yuck. The guys are laughing. And then I told them that I wanted to try a Blue Point oyster. I mean, let's just get this oyster tasting business out of the way all at once. That was my theory. The guys couldn't believe I actually wanted to eat another one. I go into the kitchen and help Cory shuck it. I didn't put lemon on it, or cocktail sauce, or anything else.
One. Two. Three.
Delicious!
It tasted like sea water. Like summers in Ocean City. Like vacationing at Chincoteague. Like warm, lazy days. I'm hooked. And proud of myself for trying something so repulsive looking. The key is to not chew. Just drink it.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
The sharper your knife, the less you cry
That's the name of the book I finished two minutes ago. It's by Kathleen Flinn, who got fired from her job at 36 and decided to go to Le Cordon Bleu. I cried. I can't remember the last book that reduced me to tears.
I've been reading it between work and studying for the past week. It has me dreaming of Paris, eating at little cafes, and shopping for baguettes every day. Sigh. Is that something I will ever get to do? I thought I'd gotten all my wanderlust out of the way. It appears I have not.
I loved the book for more than the Paris brain candy. She went through a (much tougher) version of what I'm doing. It's nice to know I'm not the only culinary student to get lost in knife cuts. I can do it all day. Peel, square, trim, slice, julienne, brunoise, repeat. Very cheap therapy. It's also nice to know that not everyone starts culinary school with a clear goal in mind.
Because honestly, I don't know what I want to do with all this learning. Ask the majority of my class what they want to do, and you will get one answer. "I want to own my own restaurant." I've managed one, and I've got to tell you...It's a TON of work. Kiss the family life good bye. Be prepared to work 60-80 hours a week. And by the way, it will take you at least six months to start making money. If you're any good.
I've become increasingly interested in the farm-to-table movement. I grew up blissfully unaware of fois gras and duck confit, and I really don't feel I've missed anything. Isn't the beauty of cooking making something fantastic out of something simple? And does fantastic have to be elaborate? Why not let the green beans speak for themselves? My husband requests my meat loaf more than anything else I make. I think I want to make the food that people really eat.
But, all that is two years down the road. I mentioned moving after graduation to Brian last night. He was tentative, but not opposed. He said he'll need to know where I want to go so he can find a job. He instantly said, "The valley!" No. I'm not taking my cooking skills to Harrisonburg to cook for students and townies who don't know sea salt from kosher. (That's awfully snarky of me. I apologize.)
Off to read about eggs for school.
I've been reading it between work and studying for the past week. It has me dreaming of Paris, eating at little cafes, and shopping for baguettes every day. Sigh. Is that something I will ever get to do? I thought I'd gotten all my wanderlust out of the way. It appears I have not.
I loved the book for more than the Paris brain candy. She went through a (much tougher) version of what I'm doing. It's nice to know I'm not the only culinary student to get lost in knife cuts. I can do it all day. Peel, square, trim, slice, julienne, brunoise, repeat. Very cheap therapy. It's also nice to know that not everyone starts culinary school with a clear goal in mind.
Because honestly, I don't know what I want to do with all this learning. Ask the majority of my class what they want to do, and you will get one answer. "I want to own my own restaurant." I've managed one, and I've got to tell you...It's a TON of work. Kiss the family life good bye. Be prepared to work 60-80 hours a week. And by the way, it will take you at least six months to start making money. If you're any good.
I've become increasingly interested in the farm-to-table movement. I grew up blissfully unaware of fois gras and duck confit, and I really don't feel I've missed anything. Isn't the beauty of cooking making something fantastic out of something simple? And does fantastic have to be elaborate? Why not let the green beans speak for themselves? My husband requests my meat loaf more than anything else I make. I think I want to make the food that people really eat.
But, all that is two years down the road. I mentioned moving after graduation to Brian last night. He was tentative, but not opposed. He said he'll need to know where I want to go so he can find a job. He instantly said, "The valley!" No. I'm not taking my cooking skills to Harrisonburg to cook for students and townies who don't know sea salt from kosher. (That's awfully snarky of me. I apologize.)
Off to read about eggs for school.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Chiffonade, Brunoise, and Tourner this!
Life as a student is progressing nicely. I'm over the uniform. It doesn't feel so bad when I'm in class with 30 other people dressed like me, and it's pretty cool to have students from "smart people" majors ask me how cooking is going.
Yesterday was an interesting day. We've learned the basic knife cuts (julienne, brunoise, chiffonade, etc.). Time to learn to tourner. Why do I hate tourner? First and foremost, it's a veggie cut into the shape of a football. Please explain to me how football has taken over not only my husband, but also my schoolwork. The irony is too much to handle. Beyond that, it's a pain in the arse. Take a potato, give it seven even sides, and make it look like a football. It sucks. And I suck at it. Everyone sucks at it. I went to the grocery store this morning and bought 2 pounds of potatoes for practice, in addition to the Red Bliss potatoes I already had. The later I used for practice/dinner tonight. I did 13 of them. One was maybe close to being correct. I will get this right if it takes me 20 years.
We also made clarified butter. (Which I hate because I work in a seafood restaurant with an all-you-can-eat crab leg night.) I burnt mine. Yay me. It was quite disheartening to have Chef Maxwell take my pan off the burner and show other groups as "what not to do." Awesome. Give me some potatoes to tourner and butter to burn and I'm good to go!
And I still love it. I love that class gets me thinking about food in a completely different way. Instead of asking if something tastes good or bad, we speak in terms of spice, seasoning, specific flavors, texture. It's really, really cool. Chef has relaxed a little. He's still difficult, but in a good way. I can't believe I'm actually doing this. It feels......right.
Wine of the moment....Kluge Estates Cru. Unfortunately for most of you, this is a Virginia wine. It's a Chardonnay, fortified with VA brandy, and aged in Jack Daniels barrels. It's beyond sweet. It's fantastic. Who needs dessert when you can have wine? Very fruity, vanilla, almond, creme brule. My sister would love it. And so do I.
Yesterday was an interesting day. We've learned the basic knife cuts (julienne, brunoise, chiffonade, etc.). Time to learn to tourner. Why do I hate tourner? First and foremost, it's a veggie cut into the shape of a football. Please explain to me how football has taken over not only my husband, but also my schoolwork. The irony is too much to handle. Beyond that, it's a pain in the arse. Take a potato, give it seven even sides, and make it look like a football. It sucks. And I suck at it. Everyone sucks at it. I went to the grocery store this morning and bought 2 pounds of potatoes for practice, in addition to the Red Bliss potatoes I already had. The later I used for practice/dinner tonight. I did 13 of them. One was maybe close to being correct. I will get this right if it takes me 20 years.
We also made clarified butter. (Which I hate because I work in a seafood restaurant with an all-you-can-eat crab leg night.) I burnt mine. Yay me. It was quite disheartening to have Chef Maxwell take my pan off the burner and show other groups as "what not to do." Awesome. Give me some potatoes to tourner and butter to burn and I'm good to go!
And I still love it. I love that class gets me thinking about food in a completely different way. Instead of asking if something tastes good or bad, we speak in terms of spice, seasoning, specific flavors, texture. It's really, really cool. Chef has relaxed a little. He's still difficult, but in a good way. I can't believe I'm actually doing this. It feels......right.
Wine of the moment....Kluge Estates Cru. Unfortunately for most of you, this is a Virginia wine. It's a Chardonnay, fortified with VA brandy, and aged in Jack Daniels barrels. It's beyond sweet. It's fantastic. Who needs dessert when you can have wine? Very fruity, vanilla, almond, creme brule. My sister would love it. And so do I.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Why are chef's pants so ugly?
My school uniform finally arrived on Tuesday. It's definitely something. My chef's jacket is way too big. It covers the majority of my hands when the sleeves are rolled down. They sent me the wrong apron. And the pants....I understand that I'm working in a kitchen. Does that mean that my pants have to be high-waisted, tapered-leg monstrosities? I mean really. Food is art. Fashion is art. Can't one be fashionable while making food? I'd be happy with a boot cut pant. That's all I'm asking for.
Kelly Sue's first day at school went well. I was really nervous at first. It's a big class. About 30 of us. I'm not the oldest. I'm not the youngest. I wasn't the only one in those awful, dreadful pants. And it was awesome! Everyone in there loves food the way I do! We talked about knife skills, different kinds of knives, different ways to cut veggies, the difference in various types of salt, seasoning vs. spice, and the need to have a cookbook and food magazine obsession. It was awesome! My only gripe is that we were only in the kitchen for about 2 hours. Considering the class runs from 9 am to 9 pm, that's not much.
There's not much else that's new to report. I worked a ton last week. I'm starting to feel like I fit in a little better there.
Oh!
I bought myself some wine this evening. Geyser Peak Reserve Cabernet. I normally wouldn't spend as much as I did on wine. I won't tell you how much. But it's super, duper yum. It's certainly a big, California cab. Every time I take a sip, it tastes different. I've not had a wine of this caliber before. Good stuff.
That's all the news for now.
Kelly Sue's first day at school went well. I was really nervous at first. It's a big class. About 30 of us. I'm not the oldest. I'm not the youngest. I wasn't the only one in those awful, dreadful pants. And it was awesome! Everyone in there loves food the way I do! We talked about knife skills, different kinds of knives, different ways to cut veggies, the difference in various types of salt, seasoning vs. spice, and the need to have a cookbook and food magazine obsession. It was awesome! My only gripe is that we were only in the kitchen for about 2 hours. Considering the class runs from 9 am to 9 pm, that's not much.
There's not much else that's new to report. I worked a ton last week. I'm starting to feel like I fit in a little better there.
Oh!
I bought myself some wine this evening. Geyser Peak Reserve Cabernet. I normally wouldn't spend as much as I did on wine. I won't tell you how much. But it's super, duper yum. It's certainly a big, California cab. Every time I take a sip, it tastes different. I've not had a wine of this caliber before. Good stuff.
That's all the news for now.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Dinner this evening
Dinner tonight...Roasted Chicken with Spicy Herbed Olivada, Green Bean and Tomato Salad, and Orzo with pine nuts and feta. Yum. Wish I could say I made it all up, but epicurious.com had a lot to do with it. The husband loved it, though. "This chicken is so perfectly cooked!" I think he's a little biased. But, I'll take it. :-)
I'm loving the new job. Not only is the atmosphere nicer, but the hours as well. I don't have to work again until Saturday (a double). I have all this time off to clean house and cook fancy-schmancy dinners. It's lovely.
I got an e-mail from Sissy yesterday. She's in Paris, and loving every minute. Apparently, she's loving it in spite of her luggage being lost, getting stuck on the metro, being attacked on the metro (to this, I demanded more details and the use of taxi's for the rest of the trip), her credit card isn't working there, and the hotel didn't have her reservation. And all she could follow up with was that she loves Paris. I'm glad she's having a good time. I'm also jealous that I'm stuck in Richmond. I did a quick restaurant search for her and found a place called Il Vino. The menu lists only wine. The chef plans your menu based on what wine you order. How cool is that?!?!? I told her that she better take notes if she goes. I want details!
Oh! How could I forget? I have a beautiful new cookbook. It's actually a textbook from the CIA. But that just means it's a big, beautiful, helpful cookbook. It was WAY more that I would ever spend on a book. Or a pair of shoes. Or jeans. But I love it. I figure it will come in handy during school. I can't stop looking at it. Over 400 pages of recipes and instructions. I'm such a geek.
Wine of the day...Twin Fin Sunset Rose (I paid $6 for it, so we're not talking serious stuff). I've been reading about rose's lately. They're supposed to be great summer wines. It is not what I expected, which was sweet and light. This thing is full of flavor. Think strawberries and raspberries. A very light, chilled Merlot. I say Merlot because you can taste some tannins. Nice. Different. Good on a hot summer night.
That's all the excitement from downtown Richmond. Two more days of playing house until work on Saturday morning. Off to chat with the husband. Love you all!
I'm loving the new job. Not only is the atmosphere nicer, but the hours as well. I don't have to work again until Saturday (a double). I have all this time off to clean house and cook fancy-schmancy dinners. It's lovely.
I got an e-mail from Sissy yesterday. She's in Paris, and loving every minute. Apparently, she's loving it in spite of her luggage being lost, getting stuck on the metro, being attacked on the metro (to this, I demanded more details and the use of taxi's for the rest of the trip), her credit card isn't working there, and the hotel didn't have her reservation. And all she could follow up with was that she loves Paris. I'm glad she's having a good time. I'm also jealous that I'm stuck in Richmond. I did a quick restaurant search for her and found a place called Il Vino. The menu lists only wine. The chef plans your menu based on what wine you order. How cool is that?!?!? I told her that she better take notes if she goes. I want details!
Oh! How could I forget? I have a beautiful new cookbook. It's actually a textbook from the CIA. But that just means it's a big, beautiful, helpful cookbook. It was WAY more that I would ever spend on a book. Or a pair of shoes. Or jeans. But I love it. I figure it will come in handy during school. I can't stop looking at it. Over 400 pages of recipes and instructions. I'm such a geek.
Wine of the day...Twin Fin Sunset Rose (I paid $6 for it, so we're not talking serious stuff). I've been reading about rose's lately. They're supposed to be great summer wines. It is not what I expected, which was sweet and light. This thing is full of flavor. Think strawberries and raspberries. A very light, chilled Merlot. I say Merlot because you can taste some tannins. Nice. Different. Good on a hot summer night.
That's all the excitement from downtown Richmond. Two more days of playing house until work on Saturday morning. Off to chat with the husband. Love you all!
"Dandelion wine. The words were summer on the tongue. The wine was summer caught and stoppered."
RAY BRADBURY, Dandelion Wine
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Gratitude
For those of who who don't know, money has been extremely tight for Brian and me this summer. There was the wedding, my hours being cut at Stool Pigeons, new job, car problems, and high gas prices. All made me think about a return to ramen noodles. Thankfully, it hasn't reached that point, but you get the idea. We have been broke.
We decided to withdrawal some money from Brian's retirement to help pay for my classes and get caught up on some bills. We filled out all the paperwork. Apparently, Brian's bosses have to approve any withdrawals. Don't know why. We're grown-ups, and it's our money. But whatever. Yesterday, Lin and Oren came to Brian to talk about this. They disapproved the request, saying it was not wise to take money out based on taxes and the like.
Instead, they are giving him a bonus on this Friday's paycheck equivalent to the cost of my tuition. This bonus is above, beyond, and in addition to the performance-based bonus the whole company might receive in October. I cried. This is a huge weight off of our shoulders. My husband must really be valuable to Brown Greer for them to offer us help like this. And I've never met either of them. Their generosity is overwhelming. And it only makes me believe even more that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing in culinary school.
What's even more ironic is that this news came ten minutes before my last training shift at The Hard Shell. It was my kitchen shift. Our chef, Matt, has worked all over Richmond. Most notably at Lemaire in the Jefferson Hotel. The executive chef there is Walter Bundy, who has worked with Thomas Keller. Those of who who don't know who he is, Google him. Long story short, my chef has run with the big boys. The really big boys. And some how, Matt knew as soon as I walked into the kitchen yesterday that I will be going to culinary school in August. How? I don't know. We'll get to why this is important in a minute.
Chef walked me through every inch of that kitchen. What is in the leek creme fraiche, the difference between the Chesapeake and Blue Point Oysters, the fried plantains, all the sauces and dressings, how he comes up with the nightly specials, and on and on and on. All the while, he's turning out course after course of yummy looking food. Every time he makes a dish, he throws on an extra piece for me to taste.
I think most of you know how I feel about seafood. I want to like it. Honest. I just haven't really liked anything that I've ever tried. Since I started working there, I've made an effort to be open minded about seafood. My theory is, if anyone can turn me on to it, this will be the place. Nothing is frozen. Everything is from scratch. I will develop a taste for it here, or never. Let's go back to the chef knowing I want to be a chef. This means I must eat without fear. I must eat like a chef. What's the first thing he makes me taste?
Calamari.
Are you kidding me? Can we start out easy? Maybe a scallop or some fresh tuna? You really want me to put squid in my mouth? All the guys are watching me. I have to eat it. I HAVE to eat it! "Here, try it with the sauce," he says. I count to three. I dip it in the sauce. I put it in my mouth. I put the chewy, chewy squid in my mouth. And chew. And chew. They laugh. "What do you think?" I'm still chewing. Swallow. The taste isn't bad, but that texture is not OK. Chef reassures me that it's not for everyone. Up next?
Fried oysters.
Come on! Are you trying to break me? Mind you, I haven't told him that I don't like seafood. I've only said that I haven't eaten a lot of it. I stare at it. He gives me some sauce. I dip. I get ready to take a bite, and he says, "Don't bite it in half. You have to eat it all at once." Ew. You know what? Not bad. Not great, but not bad. The night continued on like this. I had scallops, tuna, salmon (yum), ribs, potato croquettes, lobster bisque, she crab soup, and Alaskan king crab. It was amazing. Not only (some of) the food, but just watching him.
One of the specials for the evening was a scallop pasta. Six scallops, seared to a beautiful brown on top of linguine tossed with artichokes, roasted tomatoes, and garlic with a leek cream/white wine sauce. I watched him make it, watched him sear the scallops, deglaze the pan with wine (which makes big, fun flames) and toss all that stuff together. He finished it and I said, "I need that in my life."
He kept asking me if I had any questions. I really couldn't think of any. I was just in awe. And full of gratitude. Thankful to be standing there. Thankful to be working in a place where food is what's important. Thankful that I'm allowed to be in the kitchen for two short hours. Thankful that my husband's hard work has been noticed by his bosses. Thankful that I have a husband who is fully supportive of my dreams. Thankful for my time managing at Stool Pigeons, which allowed me to discover that THIS is what I want to do. Thankful that I had the guts to apply for a new job and go back to school. Just all around grateful to be heading, finally, towards something that feels good and right and honest and true. I have no more words. This feeling is bigger than language.
"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity.... It turns problems into gifts, failures into success, the unexpected into perfect timing, and mistakes into important events. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow."
~Melodie Beattie
We decided to withdrawal some money from Brian's retirement to help pay for my classes and get caught up on some bills. We filled out all the paperwork. Apparently, Brian's bosses have to approve any withdrawals. Don't know why. We're grown-ups, and it's our money. But whatever. Yesterday, Lin and Oren came to Brian to talk about this. They disapproved the request, saying it was not wise to take money out based on taxes and the like.
Instead, they are giving him a bonus on this Friday's paycheck equivalent to the cost of my tuition. This bonus is above, beyond, and in addition to the performance-based bonus the whole company might receive in October. I cried. This is a huge weight off of our shoulders. My husband must really be valuable to Brown Greer for them to offer us help like this. And I've never met either of them. Their generosity is overwhelming. And it only makes me believe even more that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing in culinary school.
What's even more ironic is that this news came ten minutes before my last training shift at The Hard Shell. It was my kitchen shift. Our chef, Matt, has worked all over Richmond. Most notably at Lemaire in the Jefferson Hotel. The executive chef there is Walter Bundy, who has worked with Thomas Keller. Those of who who don't know who he is, Google him. Long story short, my chef has run with the big boys. The really big boys. And some how, Matt knew as soon as I walked into the kitchen yesterday that I will be going to culinary school in August. How? I don't know. We'll get to why this is important in a minute.
Chef walked me through every inch of that kitchen. What is in the leek creme fraiche, the difference between the Chesapeake and Blue Point Oysters, the fried plantains, all the sauces and dressings, how he comes up with the nightly specials, and on and on and on. All the while, he's turning out course after course of yummy looking food. Every time he makes a dish, he throws on an extra piece for me to taste.
I think most of you know how I feel about seafood. I want to like it. Honest. I just haven't really liked anything that I've ever tried. Since I started working there, I've made an effort to be open minded about seafood. My theory is, if anyone can turn me on to it, this will be the place. Nothing is frozen. Everything is from scratch. I will develop a taste for it here, or never. Let's go back to the chef knowing I want to be a chef. This means I must eat without fear. I must eat like a chef. What's the first thing he makes me taste?
Calamari.
Are you kidding me? Can we start out easy? Maybe a scallop or some fresh tuna? You really want me to put squid in my mouth? All the guys are watching me. I have to eat it. I HAVE to eat it! "Here, try it with the sauce," he says. I count to three. I dip it in the sauce. I put it in my mouth. I put the chewy, chewy squid in my mouth. And chew. And chew. They laugh. "What do you think?" I'm still chewing. Swallow. The taste isn't bad, but that texture is not OK. Chef reassures me that it's not for everyone. Up next?
Fried oysters.
Come on! Are you trying to break me? Mind you, I haven't told him that I don't like seafood. I've only said that I haven't eaten a lot of it. I stare at it. He gives me some sauce. I dip. I get ready to take a bite, and he says, "Don't bite it in half. You have to eat it all at once." Ew. You know what? Not bad. Not great, but not bad. The night continued on like this. I had scallops, tuna, salmon (yum), ribs, potato croquettes, lobster bisque, she crab soup, and Alaskan king crab. It was amazing. Not only (some of) the food, but just watching him.
One of the specials for the evening was a scallop pasta. Six scallops, seared to a beautiful brown on top of linguine tossed with artichokes, roasted tomatoes, and garlic with a leek cream/white wine sauce. I watched him make it, watched him sear the scallops, deglaze the pan with wine (which makes big, fun flames) and toss all that stuff together. He finished it and I said, "I need that in my life."
He kept asking me if I had any questions. I really couldn't think of any. I was just in awe. And full of gratitude. Thankful to be standing there. Thankful to be working in a place where food is what's important. Thankful that I'm allowed to be in the kitchen for two short hours. Thankful that my husband's hard work has been noticed by his bosses. Thankful that I have a husband who is fully supportive of my dreams. Thankful for my time managing at Stool Pigeons, which allowed me to discover that THIS is what I want to do. Thankful that I had the guts to apply for a new job and go back to school. Just all around grateful to be heading, finally, towards something that feels good and right and honest and true. I have no more words. This feeling is bigger than language.
"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos into order, confusion into clarity.... It turns problems into gifts, failures into success, the unexpected into perfect timing, and mistakes into important events. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today and creates a vision for tomorrow."
~Melodie Beattie
Sunday, July 27, 2008
New job, new outlook
I can't tell you how lovely it is to work at The Hard Shell. It's a completely different atmosphere. People visit for the food. We are conisistantly rated the top seafood restaurant in Richmond. They don't visit to drink whatever is on special, or to eat what's cheap during happy hour. They come because the food is amazing (I just might have to start eating seafood).
Case in point...This evening, the section I worked was empty for the majority of the evening. Every table ordered, at least, an appetizer, entree, and drink. Average ticket was $175. Average ticket at Stool Pigeons...$30. Welcome to a whole new world, Kelly Sue.
We close at 11 on the weekends. I'm home, typing this, at midnight. Stoolies is still open, and right now the kitchen is slammed with orders for chicken wings "fried hard, shorty, and can I get a Strong Island?" They have two more hours of this to go before last call, and another three hours after that before they leave.
Everyone I work with is passionate and knowledgeable about food. Every guest is excited to be there. Every employee is there to help everyone else. I am on day two of my new job. And I am in love. So much so that I will give you this....http://www.thehardshell.com. Check it out.
And by the way, the WOMAN CHEF that started (and is part owner) also graduated from the school I start in August. I met her Thursday. The staff seems to dislike her. I, on the other hand, am in awe of what she's accomplished. Google "Richmond Restaurant Group" if you are curious. We are not her only restaurant. I am where I need to be. I am where I want to be. I am excited, encouraged, and home. And it feels great!
On a different note... new favorite wine. Whitehaven Sauvignon Blanc. Not to sweet, not too dry. It's from New Zealand. Don't be put off by the screw cap. Lots of vineyards are moving towards these for various reasons. Let's talk flavors....YUMMY! Check it out. I refuse to be a wine snob and write about "finishes, and hints of grapefruit," and all that jazz. It's good. Try it.
"The wines that one best remembers are not necessarily the finest that one has ever tasted, and the highest quality may fail to delight so much as some far more humble beverage drunk in more favorable surroundings."
H. Warner Allen
(From the wine list of Commander's Palace in New Orleans, LA courtesy of John McDonald, Dallas, TX)
Case in point...This evening, the section I worked was empty for the majority of the evening. Every table ordered, at least, an appetizer, entree, and drink. Average ticket was $175. Average ticket at Stool Pigeons...$30. Welcome to a whole new world, Kelly Sue.
We close at 11 on the weekends. I'm home, typing this, at midnight. Stoolies is still open, and right now the kitchen is slammed with orders for chicken wings "fried hard, shorty, and can I get a Strong Island?" They have two more hours of this to go before last call, and another three hours after that before they leave.
Everyone I work with is passionate and knowledgeable about food. Every guest is excited to be there. Every employee is there to help everyone else. I am on day two of my new job. And I am in love. So much so that I will give you this....http://www.thehardshell.com. Check it out.
And by the way, the WOMAN CHEF that started (and is part owner) also graduated from the school I start in August. I met her Thursday. The staff seems to dislike her. I, on the other hand, am in awe of what she's accomplished. Google "Richmond Restaurant Group" if you are curious. We are not her only restaurant. I am where I need to be. I am where I want to be. I am excited, encouraged, and home. And it feels great!
On a different note... new favorite wine. Whitehaven Sauvignon Blanc. Not to sweet, not too dry. It's from New Zealand. Don't be put off by the screw cap. Lots of vineyards are moving towards these for various reasons. Let's talk flavors....YUMMY! Check it out. I refuse to be a wine snob and write about "finishes, and hints of grapefruit," and all that jazz. It's good. Try it.
"The wines that one best remembers are not necessarily the finest that one has ever tasted, and the highest quality may fail to delight so much as some far more humble beverage drunk in more favorable surroundings."
H. Warner Allen
Thursday, July 17, 2008
New job?
I've told you all about my boss' less-than perfect behavior, and the crazy rumor mill that is Stool Pigeons. Two days ago, I came into work and said hello to Frank. He was very curt in his response. He immediately asked if he could have a word with me.
Frank then told me there was a nasty rumor going around that I had taken pictures of his parking lot with my phone. Which I have not, and would not, because this thing will reveal itself. He said he couldn't believe that I would do that to him, given how "generous I've been with you, being patient while you figured out what you wanted to do." Also that it would be very disrespectful and what he does is HIS business and no one else's. There was something in his tone and body language that was very, very threatening. I simply told him that I hadn't taken pictures. He then said I needed to find out who was spreading this rumor and address them. Here's the deal....
That rumor isn't about ME. And I really don't care who's spreading it, or who it gets to. Because I didn't do anything wrong. If there was no truth to it, you wouldn't have threatening conversations with me, and Maria wouldn't have to put in her two weeks. I don't know who told or how. I don't care. And I'm not going to be threatened by you. I lost what little respect I had for him the moment we had that last conversation. Worked with Maria last night and she completely ignored me.
My resume is all over downtown Richmond. I got a call back from The Hard Shell yesterday. A girl I used to work with is now a manager there, so I think I might start training next week. Just have to wait to do the interview with the general manager when he gets back from vacation.
I really, really want to address this situation with Matt, our district manager. I honestly feel threatened. Frank has no right to imply that I've not been a valuable employee. The fact of the matter is, I've worked NUMEROUS hours for them without clocking in, so that he doesn't have to pay overtime. Illegal and stupid on my part. I'm also the only other person besides him who understands that restaurant. I could and have managed the bar, the servers, and the kitchen. I've stayed even after he called me "the worst of his managers" in front of other employees. I've stayed after he left his evaluation sitting out on the desk in the office over a long weekend. The first line of that evaluation said "I have to say I'm surprised and disappointed in the way things have worked out with Kelly." Any one who went into the office could see it. I've worked every holiday without complaint. I rarely request off. And he threatens me???? Suggesting that I basically owe my experience to HIM and should shut up because of it??? I don't know how to address this situation, but I've found myself in a hostile work environment.
My hours have been cut in half. All this right before I have to pay my tuition. How lovely. I can't quit until I have another job. I don't want to be the one to bear this responsibility, but I feel like I have to now. Any and all advice welcome.
Frank then told me there was a nasty rumor going around that I had taken pictures of his parking lot with my phone. Which I have not, and would not, because this thing will reveal itself. He said he couldn't believe that I would do that to him, given how "generous I've been with you, being patient while you figured out what you wanted to do." Also that it would be very disrespectful and what he does is HIS business and no one else's. There was something in his tone and body language that was very, very threatening. I simply told him that I hadn't taken pictures. He then said I needed to find out who was spreading this rumor and address them. Here's the deal....
That rumor isn't about ME. And I really don't care who's spreading it, or who it gets to. Because I didn't do anything wrong. If there was no truth to it, you wouldn't have threatening conversations with me, and Maria wouldn't have to put in her two weeks. I don't know who told or how. I don't care. And I'm not going to be threatened by you. I lost what little respect I had for him the moment we had that last conversation. Worked with Maria last night and she completely ignored me.
My resume is all over downtown Richmond. I got a call back from The Hard Shell yesterday. A girl I used to work with is now a manager there, so I think I might start training next week. Just have to wait to do the interview with the general manager when he gets back from vacation.
I really, really want to address this situation with Matt, our district manager. I honestly feel threatened. Frank has no right to imply that I've not been a valuable employee. The fact of the matter is, I've worked NUMEROUS hours for them without clocking in, so that he doesn't have to pay overtime. Illegal and stupid on my part. I'm also the only other person besides him who understands that restaurant. I could and have managed the bar, the servers, and the kitchen. I've stayed even after he called me "the worst of his managers" in front of other employees. I've stayed after he left his evaluation sitting out on the desk in the office over a long weekend. The first line of that evaluation said "I have to say I'm surprised and disappointed in the way things have worked out with Kelly." Any one who went into the office could see it. I've worked every holiday without complaint. I rarely request off. And he threatens me???? Suggesting that I basically owe my experience to HIM and should shut up because of it??? I don't know how to address this situation, but I've found myself in a hostile work environment.
My hours have been cut in half. All this right before I have to pay my tuition. How lovely. I can't quit until I have another job. I don't want to be the one to bear this responsibility, but I feel like I have to now. Any and all advice welcome.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
My husband has just given me reason to believe we need another TV. I've adamantly opposed the idea since we moved in together. I don't want it to turn into us constantly watching different things in separate rooms. Surely we can find something both of us can enjoy. Then again, my husband watches sports.
It doesn't matter what it is. Football reigns supreme, followed by baseball and basketball, followed by any other sporting event that is not soccer. He'll even watch golf. He's currently sitting in the recliner with a beer, telling our television how to play baseball. It's rare that we have a Sunday off together. I'm reminded of why. Sunday is the day of sports. The reason we fought so much when we first started dating until I had an epiphany and started working Sundays. But I don't like to work on Sundays. I like to go to brunch. I like to read the newspaper (NY Times, all of it). Who wants to work on Sundays? No one. All that being said, I just decided that I will see what is coming on on the Food Network once the baseball game is over. And the TV will be mine. He can watch with me or not. I don't care. I want to watch food.
Anyone with advice on this is welcome to leave comments. How to engage husband in conversation when sports are on. Find a hobby? I'm making rosemary cheese bread right now. Time consuming, but the dough has to rise. So then what? Blog! I can only type so much.
Let's see....what to type about?
Things I love right now (Kelly's favorite things for summer....aka...eat your heart out Oprah)
1-Old Crow Medicine Show. A new bluegrass band, and Brian happened to go to high school with one of the guys. We saw them play at the National. Awesome. Favorite song? "Wagon Wheel" or "Down Home Girl."
2-My wedding ring
3-the magnolia trees with big, fragrant white flowers on them
4-Fig Leaf and Cassis body wash, perfume, and lotion from Thyme's. Mandy is a sales rep for the company and is generous with her discount. Thanks Mandy!
5-Hanover Tomatoes from the farmer's market.
6-My husband, sports freak and all.
The timer's going off. That means my bread is done rising and needs to go in the oven. Hope everyone had a great weekend.
"It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato." ~Lewis Grizzard
It doesn't matter what it is. Football reigns supreme, followed by baseball and basketball, followed by any other sporting event that is not soccer. He'll even watch golf. He's currently sitting in the recliner with a beer, telling our television how to play baseball. It's rare that we have a Sunday off together. I'm reminded of why. Sunday is the day of sports. The reason we fought so much when we first started dating until I had an epiphany and started working Sundays. But I don't like to work on Sundays. I like to go to brunch. I like to read the newspaper (NY Times, all of it). Who wants to work on Sundays? No one. All that being said, I just decided that I will see what is coming on on the Food Network once the baseball game is over. And the TV will be mine. He can watch with me or not. I don't care. I want to watch food.
Anyone with advice on this is welcome to leave comments. How to engage husband in conversation when sports are on. Find a hobby? I'm making rosemary cheese bread right now. Time consuming, but the dough has to rise. So then what? Blog! I can only type so much.
Let's see....what to type about?
Things I love right now (Kelly's favorite things for summer....aka...eat your heart out Oprah)
1-Old Crow Medicine Show. A new bluegrass band, and Brian happened to go to high school with one of the guys. We saw them play at the National. Awesome. Favorite song? "Wagon Wheel" or "Down Home Girl."
2-My wedding ring
3-the magnolia trees with big, fragrant white flowers on them
4-Fig Leaf and Cassis body wash, perfume, and lotion from Thyme's. Mandy is a sales rep for the company and is generous with her discount. Thanks Mandy!
5-Hanover Tomatoes from the farmer's market.
6-My husband, sports freak and all.
The timer's going off. That means my bread is done rising and needs to go in the oven. Hope everyone had a great weekend.
"It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato." ~Lewis Grizzard
Saturday, July 12, 2008
My husband cooked dinner!
For those of you who know him, this is a big deal. He does not cook. Tonight, he made jerk chicken with mashed potatoes and corn. The chicken was perfectly cooked! I've thanked him over and over again. He insists that it was only good because I told him what to do. Who cares? It was great! My husband is awesome. We've been together over two years. This is the first time he's cooked me dinner. Mark the calendars! Alert the press! Brian cooked dinner.
I can't tell you how happy I am to be going to culinary school. I feel like, suddenly, it's OK to think about food. There's a freedom in it. I can sit on the sofa and wonder what to do with the left-over chicken from dinner tonight. I know that sounds strange. But, it always felt like an indulgence to think about food constantly. I mean to really, really think about it. For example, what do I have in the house that will complement the chicken that Brian made tonight? I want to make a chicken salad to show him how versatile cooking can be. Another example...What can I do with the bacon I bought? I'd like to make a quiche, and I have smoked Gouda, and will the Gouda work in a quiche, even though it doesn't melt well?
I met with my adviser Thursday afternoon. His office is literally covered in cookbooks. I could spend hours and hours, maybe even days, reading them. I got a glimpse of the classrooms. They're all heavy-duty mixers and steel. So exciting! I now have my permission numbers for registration (it's limited). He let me see the knives that will be available in the bookstore. I really think I want to get my own elsewhere. I don't want to drop $150 on mediocre knives, only to have to spend another couple hundred to get the really good knives. It's like buying a suit. You can buy something to get you through wedding season, or you can buy something to last you a lifetime. It's a Coach bag vs. Target bag. I'm sure you understand.
I'm going to address Zuppa for a moment. My co-worker worked there for a while. He said I should try it, since they make everything from scratch. Promised the food was great. So, I went. One o'clock on a busy Friday. I ordered the grilled cheese and a cup of gazpacho. It was a religious experience. Not only do they make their own soups, they make their own BREAD. They took grilled cheese to another level with fresh basil, tomato, mozzarella, prosciutto. Good lord! All of that on big, fat slices of toasted brioche. These people know what they're doing. I had to ask the server if they made their own bread. She confirmed my suspicions. As well as my theory....
You can put great product on crap bread and have an OK sandwich. You can put OK product on great bread and have a great sandwich. If you put stellar ingredients on outstanding bread, you have a toe-curling, mind-boggling experience. Note to self....drop off resume at Zuppa. I can learn something there.
That's all for now. No work tomorrow or Monday. That means plenty of time to find a new job. Because I can no longer stand the hypocrisy. Happy Saturday Night. I hope you wake up, and feel the need for brunch tomorrow morning. Make it yourself. It's better that way.
Peace.
I can't tell you how happy I am to be going to culinary school. I feel like, suddenly, it's OK to think about food. There's a freedom in it. I can sit on the sofa and wonder what to do with the left-over chicken from dinner tonight. I know that sounds strange. But, it always felt like an indulgence to think about food constantly. I mean to really, really think about it. For example, what do I have in the house that will complement the chicken that Brian made tonight? I want to make a chicken salad to show him how versatile cooking can be. Another example...What can I do with the bacon I bought? I'd like to make a quiche, and I have smoked Gouda, and will the Gouda work in a quiche, even though it doesn't melt well?
I met with my adviser Thursday afternoon. His office is literally covered in cookbooks. I could spend hours and hours, maybe even days, reading them. I got a glimpse of the classrooms. They're all heavy-duty mixers and steel. So exciting! I now have my permission numbers for registration (it's limited). He let me see the knives that will be available in the bookstore. I really think I want to get my own elsewhere. I don't want to drop $150 on mediocre knives, only to have to spend another couple hundred to get the really good knives. It's like buying a suit. You can buy something to get you through wedding season, or you can buy something to last you a lifetime. It's a Coach bag vs. Target bag. I'm sure you understand.
I'm going to address Zuppa for a moment. My co-worker worked there for a while. He said I should try it, since they make everything from scratch. Promised the food was great. So, I went. One o'clock on a busy Friday. I ordered the grilled cheese and a cup of gazpacho. It was a religious experience. Not only do they make their own soups, they make their own BREAD. They took grilled cheese to another level with fresh basil, tomato, mozzarella, prosciutto. Good lord! All of that on big, fat slices of toasted brioche. These people know what they're doing. I had to ask the server if they made their own bread. She confirmed my suspicions. As well as my theory....
You can put great product on crap bread and have an OK sandwich. You can put OK product on great bread and have a great sandwich. If you put stellar ingredients on outstanding bread, you have a toe-curling, mind-boggling experience. Note to self....drop off resume at Zuppa. I can learn something there.
That's all for now. No work tomorrow or Monday. That means plenty of time to find a new job. Because I can no longer stand the hypocrisy. Happy Saturday Night. I hope you wake up, and feel the need for brunch tomorrow morning. Make it yourself. It's better that way.
Peace.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Hypocrasy
About two months ago, I went into work at 8 am thinking that this was just another day managing at Stool Pigeons. Things changed rapidly. My general and district managers were standing at the end of the bar. They didn't even let me say, "good morning." We immediately sat down at a table, where they explained to me that Daiva, one of the other managers, was fired because she had a relationship with one one the cooks. It sucked. It was also nice to know that I worked for a company that followed the rules set forth by corporate office. We have fraternization rules for a reason.
Well, that was until two weeks ago. The same general manager that fired Daiva is BLATANTLY having a relationship with one of the servers. How do I know? It started with me noticing that the supervisor/employee interaction had changed between the two of them. She would stay at work until he got off, and vice versa. She went to the bank with him. And then, she just stopped caring what people thought. She's admitted that she's sleeping with him to several other employees. People keep asking me what's going on with the two of them. And he just moved into the apartment building right in front of mine. Her car was there at noon on Saturday. Her car was there when I went to work at 6 am this morning.
I know I shouldn't care. Grown ups can do what they want. BUT, when other employees are coming up to me and voicing their concerns, specifically citing the reason Daiva was fired...I have a serious moral problem with it. She makes her own schedule. She shows up late to work with no repercussions. And apparently, she's making $10 and hour, a figure WILDLY outside of the typical 2.13 an hour servers make.
I have no respect for either of them. This situation has changed the way I see the company as a whole. Is it up to me to say something to my district manager? Do I love Stool Pigeons so much that I will rat them out? Or, do I find a new job, put in my two weeks, and thank my blessings that I was able to work for a company that allowed me to hold so many positions in two years? I'm leaning towards the latter. If I mention that her car is at his apartment constantly, they both will know where that information came from. I'm the only other one that lives in this area.
I don't even want to work there anymore. I understand that drama is a part of the restaurant business, but this is over the line for me. And really, how much can I learn working there? I'm torn. All I know is my heart is no longer in the company. And that says a lot. I'll keep you posted.
Well, that was until two weeks ago. The same general manager that fired Daiva is BLATANTLY having a relationship with one of the servers. How do I know? It started with me noticing that the supervisor/employee interaction had changed between the two of them. She would stay at work until he got off, and vice versa. She went to the bank with him. And then, she just stopped caring what people thought. She's admitted that she's sleeping with him to several other employees. People keep asking me what's going on with the two of them. And he just moved into the apartment building right in front of mine. Her car was there at noon on Saturday. Her car was there when I went to work at 6 am this morning.
I know I shouldn't care. Grown ups can do what they want. BUT, when other employees are coming up to me and voicing their concerns, specifically citing the reason Daiva was fired...I have a serious moral problem with it. She makes her own schedule. She shows up late to work with no repercussions. And apparently, she's making $10 and hour, a figure WILDLY outside of the typical 2.13 an hour servers make.
I have no respect for either of them. This situation has changed the way I see the company as a whole. Is it up to me to say something to my district manager? Do I love Stool Pigeons so much that I will rat them out? Or, do I find a new job, put in my two weeks, and thank my blessings that I was able to work for a company that allowed me to hold so many positions in two years? I'm leaning towards the latter. If I mention that her car is at his apartment constantly, they both will know where that information came from. I'm the only other one that lives in this area.
I don't even want to work there anymore. I understand that drama is a part of the restaurant business, but this is over the line for me. And really, how much can I learn working there? I'm torn. All I know is my heart is no longer in the company. And that says a lot. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Gluttony
I made pie. Lemon Curd Pie. I saw it in Gourmet and had to try it. I was off on Tuesday, so that's what I did. And it was beautiful. The crust was perfect (it has almonds in it). I ate a slice after dinner on Tuesday. Brian refuses to eat it, by the way. Hates lemon. Freak of nature. Anywho.....I came home this afternoon, opened up the fridge to see what I should make for dinner, and there it was. Pie!
I cut myself a piece. Delicious. So delicious that I decided to have another. Why not? Brian won't eat any of it. Second piece was soooooo good. The third piece was fantastic as well. I don't know why I did it. It was just so damn good. Nice and cold when it's so hot outside. So that was my dinner this evening. Three pieces of pie. My tummy loves me right now. Gluttony is a sin for a reason. I have a pie hang-over. More on this later. While I was eating, I reminded myself of the Sex and the City episode where Miranda eats chocolate cake from her trash can.
Off of food for a moment. Brian's brother and his family are now officially in the continental US. They called and surprised everyone Monday evening. We went to his mom's house and hang out for a while. Kaylina has grown so much. We made tentative plans to go to a baseball game Tuesday evening. They were playing in Norfolk, and not Richmond. Everyone came over to our place. Matt brought beer. I attacked wine with a fury. Gluttony is a sin for a reason. Wine + hang-over + working in a kitchen at 8 am = need for easy dinner when you get home from work. Three pieces of pie is just as bad as four glasses of wine. Gluttony is a sin for a reason. I've stated my case.
Work was awful and wonderful today. We were VERY busy. I made so many orders of fish and chips (hung-over!) that I don't know how we had any left for the night crew. Order after order after order. It amuses me when people ask for extra tartar sauce. "Can have some more fat for my huge order of deep fried Pollock and french fries? And another Diet Pepsi, please." I won't go into too much detail on this. I'll just say.....gluttony is a sin. I had to remake one order of wings three times because they weren't "fried hard" enough for a table. They were in the grease for ten minutes the final time. How can wings cooked that long be enjoyable? Why not just order chicken tenders tossed in sauce? And don't people understand that even if I fry your wings so hard they turn into solid bricks, all that effort will be lost once I coat them in a vinegar-based SAUCE. It defies my comprehension. Those wings were the first thing I've cooked that was sent back. Wings. You kidding me? I make good wings. Lady needs to get a clue.
Brian's been working, working, working. I don't know how he does it. I would stab my eyeballs out with thumb tack if I had to sit at a desk for ten hours a day. Hopefully, everyone else that he works with has been doing the same thing so they can reach all the parameters for this bonus. I mean really. Momma needs a shopping spree. Or a house. That would work, too. Or how about just not being so stressed out about moo-la. Seriously though, it sucks that I'm not working so much now and he is. Go figure. I miss my husband.
Well, enough musings and rambling on for this evening. I'm going to try to put both of my hang overs to bed. Sleep is necessary. Night, y'all!
I cut myself a piece. Delicious. So delicious that I decided to have another. Why not? Brian won't eat any of it. Second piece was soooooo good. The third piece was fantastic as well. I don't know why I did it. It was just so damn good. Nice and cold when it's so hot outside. So that was my dinner this evening. Three pieces of pie. My tummy loves me right now. Gluttony is a sin for a reason. I have a pie hang-over. More on this later. While I was eating, I reminded myself of the Sex and the City episode where Miranda eats chocolate cake from her trash can.
Off of food for a moment. Brian's brother and his family are now officially in the continental US. They called and surprised everyone Monday evening. We went to his mom's house and hang out for a while. Kaylina has grown so much. We made tentative plans to go to a baseball game Tuesday evening. They were playing in Norfolk, and not Richmond. Everyone came over to our place. Matt brought beer. I attacked wine with a fury. Gluttony is a sin for a reason. Wine + hang-over + working in a kitchen at 8 am = need for easy dinner when you get home from work. Three pieces of pie is just as bad as four glasses of wine. Gluttony is a sin for a reason. I've stated my case.
Work was awful and wonderful today. We were VERY busy. I made so many orders of fish and chips (hung-over!) that I don't know how we had any left for the night crew. Order after order after order. It amuses me when people ask for extra tartar sauce. "Can have some more fat for my huge order of deep fried Pollock and french fries? And another Diet Pepsi, please." I won't go into too much detail on this. I'll just say.....gluttony is a sin. I had to remake one order of wings three times because they weren't "fried hard" enough for a table. They were in the grease for ten minutes the final time. How can wings cooked that long be enjoyable? Why not just order chicken tenders tossed in sauce? And don't people understand that even if I fry your wings so hard they turn into solid bricks, all that effort will be lost once I coat them in a vinegar-based SAUCE. It defies my comprehension. Those wings were the first thing I've cooked that was sent back. Wings. You kidding me? I make good wings. Lady needs to get a clue.
Brian's been working, working, working. I don't know how he does it. I would stab my eyeballs out with thumb tack if I had to sit at a desk for ten hours a day. Hopefully, everyone else that he works with has been doing the same thing so they can reach all the parameters for this bonus. I mean really. Momma needs a shopping spree. Or a house. That would work, too. Or how about just not being so stressed out about moo-la. Seriously though, it sucks that I'm not working so much now and he is. Go figure. I miss my husband.
Well, enough musings and rambling on for this evening. I'm going to try to put both of my hang overs to bed. Sleep is necessary. Night, y'all!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Burnt chicken and Coop Samplers
Chicken sliders, when cooked correctly, are mini chicken sandwiches straight from heaven. Think of Chick-fil-e on steroids. Juicy, lightly breaded pieces of chicken that are sandwiched between sublimely soft dinner rolls with honey mustard and some pickles. Order four if you're hungry. Eight if your serious. Add cheese if you're in it to win it. These lovely bites of manna are relatively new to the menu, and we do not have a timer button for them on the fry station. You set the timer for chicken tenders, then hope for the best if you have a lot of tickets. Like I did this evening. Lots and lots of tickets for Coop Samplers (more on those demonic creations in a minute).
I set the timer as I hear a really long ticket come in on my station. Two Coop Samplers, 20 wings, onion rings, and fried green beans. I also have to make six chicken tenders, a 30 count of wings, and Fish and Chips. In a kitchen, you must never be idle. I throw everything in the fryer, and begin to set up plates for all the orders. The timers start to go off. Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep! Fries done. Mozzarella sticks done. Wings done. And finally, the tenders/chicken sliders done. I pull the chicken out of the grease. All eight of them are black. Not just on the edges. Lumps of coal black. You should also know that chicken sliders are not something that we prep. They are cut and cooked to order. Every time I get an order, I walk to the grill station, pull out one or two raw chicken breasts, cut them in quarters, bread them, drop them in the grease, pull off my gloves, put on new gloves, clean my knife, walk back to the grill station, pull out four or eight dinner rolls, cut them, toast them,put them on a plate with pickles in the center, honey mustard on the bottom of the buns, turn around and look at the chicken in the fryer, see if the chicken has stopped making the grease bubbly (which means they're close to done), and continue getting plates ready for the Coop Samplers.
I got so wrapped up in plating that I forgot to keep an eye on the chicken sliders. That's why they were burnt. An approximate timer works only if you are either experienced enough to remember to check on them (and I'm not), or if you are not busy and have time to stare at them while they cook (and I didn't). Hockey pucks. A waste of two chicken breasts. Have to repeat the entire process. By this time, the timers for all those Coop Samplers are going off. They say to me, "you're not fast enough. And if you don't stop what you're doing and pull me out of the grease, I'm gonna look like the chicken sliders." People in the restaurant industry call this "the weeds." You have lots of stuff to do, and not enough time or hands to do it.
And here is why I absolutely love my job...I made it through the weeds. Nothing was sent back. I fed people. They liked it. I was pushed out of my comfort zone, and made it through to the other side. And I cannot believe that I am getting paid to feed people. There is something soul satisfying about getting paid to do something you feel is...important (everyone must eat), slightly narcissistic ("I made that!"), and honest (it's done, or it's not; it's raw, or cooked; ticket times are good, or you're behind). I have never, ever left work feeling so complete and happy. I have found what I am supposed to be doing. And it feels really, REALLY good. All this lovely stuff being said....Let's have a little conversation about things you REALLY shouldn't do when you eat in a restaurant....
1- order the sampler. You know what I'm talking about. The smorgasborg of unhealthy goodness on the appetizer menu that you feel would be a good sprinkling of what your restaurant of choice has to offer. Here's why....
a- it's usually not good for you
b- it's a pain in the butt as far as timing is concerned, and I'm pretty confident in saying that every cook, EVERYWHERE hates seeing tickets for these. Especially when they come in back to back to back.
c- Never a good idea to piss off the person making your food. Just not. They control a lot of your dining-out experience.
d- You WILL get stereotyped by your server, who will then not give you the attention you rightly deserve, because you have ordered "the sampler." And only certain people order that. And they usually don't tip well. And your server will judge you in this category and respond to you in kind. I type the truth.
2-A lesson on special orders.....it's fine to want your steak medium, with a salad instead of potatoes, and to have the salad as an appetizer. It is not fine to want your steak medium, with your salad as an appetizer and add bacon and egg with an extra side of ranch and egg, light seasoning on the steak, add sauted onions and peppers on the side, please grill the veggies instead of nuking them, and a side of au jus please. And then, after your server has put your order in, change it to a well done steak, no ranch and sub balsamic, no veggies and sub fried green beans, and please add some blue cheese to the steak. And then complain that your order is taking so long. This is not ok. Doing things like this will win you a seat at the nerdy table. Cooks hate it. Servers hate it (because they have to go tell the cooks). It slows down service. Any more than two special requests will get you a reputation. And that's not good. Refer to lesson one.
3- Don't be the angry customer. There is a correct way to complain in a restaurant.
a-ask for the manager. Your server will explain the situation to them before you speak to them.
b-don't be nasty. don't expect anything for free. don't say anything about anything for free, or about money. The manager wants your business, and will handle the situation as they see fit.
3- Make reservations, for the love of God. If you know a group will show up, call a head of time. Restaurants need reservations to survive. reservations dictate staffing. Good staffing means a great experience for you and your guests. Do not show up with any more than six people during busy hours (noon-two or five-eight) and expect stellar service. You can crash a kitchen if you do so. Especially if those in your party do not adhere to the standards listed above. But most importantly.....
4- Tip well. Look around you. Is your food late because it's noon on Friday, and everyone in a real office wants to eat out to celebrate the end of the week? Or is your food late because the kitchen got it wrong? PLEASE remember that your experience is closely tied to your attitude towards your server. They can make or brake it. If a manager speaks with you, the server made them aware of the situation.
5- control your kids. This, I know, will get a response. Fact of the matter is, a server, bartender, or cook, sees kids and fears the worst. Know what you want for them to eat when the server comes for the order. Don't ask the child what they want to eat when the server shows up. Don't let the kid play with food. Servers and managers see extranious food on the floor and judge the parents as people lacking control. And for the love of all that is good and holy....don't order drink after drink with your kids in tow. Restaurant employees will say things like this..."I can't wait till I have kids so I can take them out to a bar while I drink and then drive them home." It's common. Don't be surprised.
And it's after two and I haven't addressed the Samplers the way I wanted. That can happen later. I hope you learned something valuable, or were entertained.
Peace,
Kelly Sue
Thanks for reading the b#@%C-fest. I hope you take some of what I wrote into consideration.
c-
I set the timer as I hear a really long ticket come in on my station. Two Coop Samplers, 20 wings, onion rings, and fried green beans. I also have to make six chicken tenders, a 30 count of wings, and Fish and Chips. In a kitchen, you must never be idle. I throw everything in the fryer, and begin to set up plates for all the orders. The timers start to go off. Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep! Fries done. Mozzarella sticks done. Wings done. And finally, the tenders/chicken sliders done. I pull the chicken out of the grease. All eight of them are black. Not just on the edges. Lumps of coal black. You should also know that chicken sliders are not something that we prep. They are cut and cooked to order. Every time I get an order, I walk to the grill station, pull out one or two raw chicken breasts, cut them in quarters, bread them, drop them in the grease, pull off my gloves, put on new gloves, clean my knife, walk back to the grill station, pull out four or eight dinner rolls, cut them, toast them,put them on a plate with pickles in the center, honey mustard on the bottom of the buns, turn around and look at the chicken in the fryer, see if the chicken has stopped making the grease bubbly (which means they're close to done), and continue getting plates ready for the Coop Samplers.
I got so wrapped up in plating that I forgot to keep an eye on the chicken sliders. That's why they were burnt. An approximate timer works only if you are either experienced enough to remember to check on them (and I'm not), or if you are not busy and have time to stare at them while they cook (and I didn't). Hockey pucks. A waste of two chicken breasts. Have to repeat the entire process. By this time, the timers for all those Coop Samplers are going off. They say to me, "you're not fast enough. And if you don't stop what you're doing and pull me out of the grease, I'm gonna look like the chicken sliders." People in the restaurant industry call this "the weeds." You have lots of stuff to do, and not enough time or hands to do it.
And here is why I absolutely love my job...I made it through the weeds. Nothing was sent back. I fed people. They liked it. I was pushed out of my comfort zone, and made it through to the other side. And I cannot believe that I am getting paid to feed people. There is something soul satisfying about getting paid to do something you feel is...important (everyone must eat), slightly narcissistic ("I made that!"), and honest (it's done, or it's not; it's raw, or cooked; ticket times are good, or you're behind). I have never, ever left work feeling so complete and happy. I have found what I am supposed to be doing. And it feels really, REALLY good. All this lovely stuff being said....Let's have a little conversation about things you REALLY shouldn't do when you eat in a restaurant....
1- order the sampler. You know what I'm talking about. The smorgasborg of unhealthy goodness on the appetizer menu that you feel would be a good sprinkling of what your restaurant of choice has to offer. Here's why....
a- it's usually not good for you
b- it's a pain in the butt as far as timing is concerned, and I'm pretty confident in saying that every cook, EVERYWHERE hates seeing tickets for these. Especially when they come in back to back to back.
c- Never a good idea to piss off the person making your food. Just not. They control a lot of your dining-out experience.
d- You WILL get stereotyped by your server, who will then not give you the attention you rightly deserve, because you have ordered "the sampler." And only certain people order that. And they usually don't tip well. And your server will judge you in this category and respond to you in kind. I type the truth.
2-A lesson on special orders.....it's fine to want your steak medium, with a salad instead of potatoes, and to have the salad as an appetizer. It is not fine to want your steak medium, with your salad as an appetizer and add bacon and egg with an extra side of ranch and egg, light seasoning on the steak, add sauted onions and peppers on the side, please grill the veggies instead of nuking them, and a side of au jus please. And then, after your server has put your order in, change it to a well done steak, no ranch and sub balsamic, no veggies and sub fried green beans, and please add some blue cheese to the steak. And then complain that your order is taking so long. This is not ok. Doing things like this will win you a seat at the nerdy table. Cooks hate it. Servers hate it (because they have to go tell the cooks). It slows down service. Any more than two special requests will get you a reputation. And that's not good. Refer to lesson one.
3- Don't be the angry customer. There is a correct way to complain in a restaurant.
a-ask for the manager. Your server will explain the situation to them before you speak to them.
b-don't be nasty. don't expect anything for free. don't say anything about anything for free, or about money. The manager wants your business, and will handle the situation as they see fit.
3- Make reservations, for the love of God. If you know a group will show up, call a head of time. Restaurants need reservations to survive. reservations dictate staffing. Good staffing means a great experience for you and your guests. Do not show up with any more than six people during busy hours (noon-two or five-eight) and expect stellar service. You can crash a kitchen if you do so. Especially if those in your party do not adhere to the standards listed above. But most importantly.....
4- Tip well. Look around you. Is your food late because it's noon on Friday, and everyone in a real office wants to eat out to celebrate the end of the week? Or is your food late because the kitchen got it wrong? PLEASE remember that your experience is closely tied to your attitude towards your server. They can make or brake it. If a manager speaks with you, the server made them aware of the situation.
5- control your kids. This, I know, will get a response. Fact of the matter is, a server, bartender, or cook, sees kids and fears the worst. Know what you want for them to eat when the server comes for the order. Don't ask the child what they want to eat when the server shows up. Don't let the kid play with food. Servers and managers see extranious food on the floor and judge the parents as people lacking control. And for the love of all that is good and holy....don't order drink after drink with your kids in tow. Restaurant employees will say things like this..."I can't wait till I have kids so I can take them out to a bar while I drink and then drive them home." It's common. Don't be surprised.
And it's after two and I haven't addressed the Samplers the way I wanted. That can happen later. I hope you learned something valuable, or were entertained.
Peace,
Kelly Sue
Thanks for reading the b#@%C-fest. I hope you take some of what I wrote into consideration.
c-
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Don't spill the mild sauce.
Welcome to "Adventures in a Professional Kitchen - Part Un." For those of you who are unaware, I'm on day two of my permanence in the Stool Pigeons kitchen. By choice. I love it. Even with today's events. Let's start with.....
1- The girl who was supposed to close this evening showed up "sick." We were in the middle of dinner rush when Dave (co-worker) said, "I guess Pooh Bear is no longer here. I've made her last eight tickets." In walks the manager for the evening, confirming that she is not feeling well. Aforementioned manager then turns to me and asks how long I'm planning on being there this evening. My reply, "I have to open. I cannot close." The night continues, steady but not slammed, and I'm starting to feel a little proud of myself. My ticket times are good. I haven't had anything returned by a customer. Life is good.
2- And then I dump the parmesan cheese into my cooler. I was trying to refill the chives from the line. Soooo, I pulled out the cambro (container) with chives, which apparently was resting on the parmesan cheese cambro. So, down into the bottom of my cooler it went. No big deal. Things could be worse. Note to self that pride is a sin. I am humbled by the fact that I now have to pull out everything from my cooler to clean up the cheese. This cooler contains extras of things I might need in the middle of service. Things like extra celery. Wings. Ranch. Twice baked potatoes. And.....
3-All my containers of wings sauces. I pull out all but three containers with success. How difficult can this be? I have opposable thumbs. Difficult when you take into consideration that this evening I was on the fry station. The greasy fry station. So my be-gloved hands are pretty slippery. Two hands into the cooler for the mild sauce. Two hands out with the....oh wait...that's one hand on the container and one hand on the lid of the mild sauce. Now the mild sauce is on the floor. All FOUR gallons. What's even better about this story is that the door to my cooler was open. Mild sauce on the floor. Mild sauce on the inside of the door. Mild sauce on the back wall. Mild sauce on the floor of the cooler. mild sauce on the two remaining containers of sauce in the cooler. Mild sauce on my pants. Mild sauce on my face. Mild sauce, mild sauce, mild sauce, mild sauce, MILD SAUCE!!!!! And then I had to make more mild sauce because it was no longer in the cambro. It was everywhere but....Of course, this is when orders came in for mild wings. 70 mild wings on the very next ticket.
4- Closer inspection of the situation revealed this was not TOTALLY my fault. The morning crew (thank you, Dee) made only half the sauce they were supposed to make. They also put the sauce in a broken cambro. You see, cambros are like commercial tupper-ware. They have a lid that fits around the lip of the container. If the lip is broken, the lid doesn't have anything to grab onto, and mild sauce ends up on everything.
Important life lessons were realized tonight. Use two hands. Look and think before you act. Close the door behind you. Things can always be worse. A job that makes you happy will ALWAYS involve dirty work. Ask for help, and keep moving forward.
Most importantly.....my mantra from this point forward in life.....
DON'T SPILL THE MILD SAUCE!
1- The girl who was supposed to close this evening showed up "sick." We were in the middle of dinner rush when Dave (co-worker) said, "I guess Pooh Bear is no longer here. I've made her last eight tickets." In walks the manager for the evening, confirming that she is not feeling well. Aforementioned manager then turns to me and asks how long I'm planning on being there this evening. My reply, "I have to open. I cannot close." The night continues, steady but not slammed, and I'm starting to feel a little proud of myself. My ticket times are good. I haven't had anything returned by a customer. Life is good.
2- And then I dump the parmesan cheese into my cooler. I was trying to refill the chives from the line. Soooo, I pulled out the cambro (container) with chives, which apparently was resting on the parmesan cheese cambro. So, down into the bottom of my cooler it went. No big deal. Things could be worse. Note to self that pride is a sin. I am humbled by the fact that I now have to pull out everything from my cooler to clean up the cheese. This cooler contains extras of things I might need in the middle of service. Things like extra celery. Wings. Ranch. Twice baked potatoes. And.....
3-All my containers of wings sauces. I pull out all but three containers with success. How difficult can this be? I have opposable thumbs. Difficult when you take into consideration that this evening I was on the fry station. The greasy fry station. So my be-gloved hands are pretty slippery. Two hands into the cooler for the mild sauce. Two hands out with the....oh wait...that's one hand on the container and one hand on the lid of the mild sauce. Now the mild sauce is on the floor. All FOUR gallons. What's even better about this story is that the door to my cooler was open. Mild sauce on the floor. Mild sauce on the inside of the door. Mild sauce on the back wall. Mild sauce on the floor of the cooler. mild sauce on the two remaining containers of sauce in the cooler. Mild sauce on my pants. Mild sauce on my face. Mild sauce, mild sauce, mild sauce, mild sauce, MILD SAUCE!!!!! And then I had to make more mild sauce because it was no longer in the cambro. It was everywhere but....Of course, this is when orders came in for mild wings. 70 mild wings on the very next ticket.
4- Closer inspection of the situation revealed this was not TOTALLY my fault. The morning crew (thank you, Dee) made only half the sauce they were supposed to make. They also put the sauce in a broken cambro. You see, cambros are like commercial tupper-ware. They have a lid that fits around the lip of the container. If the lip is broken, the lid doesn't have anything to grab onto, and mild sauce ends up on everything.
Important life lessons were realized tonight. Use two hands. Look and think before you act. Close the door behind you. Things can always be worse. A job that makes you happy will ALWAYS involve dirty work. Ask for help, and keep moving forward.
Most importantly.....my mantra from this point forward in life.....
DON'T SPILL THE MILD SAUCE!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Savignon Blanc
There's something about warm weather that turns me away from red wine. I didn't always feel this way. It just happened. Maybe my palette is becoming more refined. Maybe I'm more open to trying new things. Maybe it's just too hot to drink warm liquid. Whatever the case may be, I'm in love with this little grape. Sweet, not sugary. Crisp, not buttery. Apples and grass. at least that's what the critics say I should taste.
Here's the thing about wine for me. It's emotional. I remember taking sips of my grandfather's homemade wine as a child. I remember the big, glass bottles covered up with towels in his office. I remember the cool, green concrete floor of that office and the dicotamy of the wooden desk on one end of the room and the hammers, nails, and saws at the other. I remember the saw dust smell of that room. I believe he made fruity wine. Strawberry and peach wine. Homemade Boones Farm. I can't remember exactly, though. He's been gone for so long. I should ask my mother. But, I destinctly remember walking up to their dining room table and asking my mother what she was drinking. She would hand me her glass. It was a juice glass. No snotty wine glasses. Just a small juice glass of something I wasn't supposed to consume. She would push it towards me. I would take a tenative sip. Alcohol burns especially hard when you are not old enough to drink. And that would satisfy and repulse me.
Here's the thing about wine for me. It's emotional. I remember taking sips of my grandfather's homemade wine as a child. I remember the big, glass bottles covered up with towels in his office. I remember the cool, green concrete floor of that office and the dicotamy of the wooden desk on one end of the room and the hammers, nails, and saws at the other. I remember the saw dust smell of that room. I believe he made fruity wine. Strawberry and peach wine. Homemade Boones Farm. I can't remember exactly, though. He's been gone for so long. I should ask my mother. But, I destinctly remember walking up to their dining room table and asking my mother what she was drinking. She would hand me her glass. It was a juice glass. No snotty wine glasses. Just a small juice glass of something I wasn't supposed to consume. She would push it towards me. I would take a tenative sip. Alcohol burns especially hard when you are not old enough to drink. And that would satisfy and repulse me.
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