It's Butchery, For Sure.

We all looked around suspiciously at the 15 or so "aliens" who joined us in the butchery class this morning. Turned out that they were re-directed to Beginning Garde Manger at the South Campus. We breathed a collective sigh of relief. Apparently we like our group as it is, and we're not interested in getting to know "strangers". When I saw Tashana from down the hall this morning, she said, "Oh, there you are!" and the "you" was "somebody I know." I felt the same way.

We've all returned. Even Jim, who was on time, and in uniform. Nadeen showed up about ten, complaining about traffic (!!!) and then she grumbled when Chef excused us 20 minutes early. "I drove all that way for an hour?" She has issues.

So. The classroom, as rumored, is COLD. I'd say it's 55° or so. Tomorrow, I'll ask. You can wear layers, but nothing that will show outside your uniform. I had a long sleeved thermal t-shirt on, but it wasn't much help during lecture. Once the knives started to fly, things warmed up. We also got nice plastic disposable aprons to wear over our coats — I came home practically clean. The North Campus doesn't offer free coffee, though. I may have to step up my morning routine and bring my own Peet's. (I have a nice thermal mug decorated with the Frame Relay Forum logo — it's probably a collectible!)

The butchery kitchen is filled with six foot butcher block tables with stainless legs and shelves. Around the edges are stainless tables topped with meat grinders and sausage presses, and a nifty MultiVac vacuum packing machine which Chef adores. He spent quite a while describing its use and clean-up, and vacuum-packed a folded towel to show us how effective it is. He said it'll keep refrigerated meat fresh for three to six weeks, and prevents freezer burn if you're storing longer.

Chef Allen himself has elaborate well-trimmed facial hair and a little pot belly (which one of them doesn't?) He clearly loves butchery, and he's enthusiastic and engaging. His number one goal, he told us, is "to get you a job, and keep you a job. You will not get a job by knowing when the chicken was first domesticated. Although I will teach you that, too." In the next three weeks (minus a day for yesterday's in-service, minus a day for the MLK holiday next Monday), we will learn how to butcher beef, lamb, veal, pork ("hooves"); fish and shellfish; and poultry, at least chicken, turkey, and duck. And we'll make sausage. Our butcher shop, such that it is, produces all the meats for the North Campus — the other classes, the student cafeteria, and the public dining room. So every day, we have a "production assignment" in addition to our demonstrations and lecture. Today we cut up 3 cases (birds = 75) of chicken.

Before getting on with the dismemberment, we got to know Chef Allen a little bit. He's a Napa Valley boy, born and raised (he said his dad went to school with Robert when he still pronounced his last name "Mondaaavi" instead of "Mondahvi".) He's gonna teach us "the Gary Danko way, and the $9.99 all-you-can-eat buffet way." He told us that we were "lucky suckers": once we have him as a teacher, he will be with us through the whole experience and into the "real world". Also: "I think I'm the best damn Chef here." He pointed to the embroidered Cordon Bleu medallion on his coat front, and said, "We'll learn 'Le French way,' eh? And then we'll do it how they do it in Chinatown." He brandished his heavy cleaver.

And if you lose a finger, you get an F.

We received three deliveries during class, and Chef took the opportunity to remind us that purveyors are always out to make a buck. Knowing the jargon and all the dirty tricks will make us better consumers. But: be nice to your delivery guys. One hand can wash the other. Offer him a day-old danish and a cup of coffee, but don't keep him waiting. He's got 16 other stops to make.

We also learned some rules particular to the butchery classroom. Chef Allen says they're holdovers, "homages" to past butchers "who may have been a tad OCD". First, we fold and store the clean blue kitchen towels that get delivered in a trash-sized plastic bag, and they get stacked neatly on shelves. (In the skills kitchen, we just grabbed the towels from out of the bag.) And at the end of the day, the mops and brooms must be hung with the tops of their sticks in an even horizontal line. (The handles are clearly visible from the front of the classroom where the Chef stands when he lectures. Uneven handles could easily distract an OCD type.)

Chef told us that the correct first answer to any question asked in the butchery kitchen is "money." We learn to cut apart large pieces of meat into individual portions because they're so much less expensive. For example: a package of boneless skinless chicken breasts costs the same as a whole chicken. So with the chicken, you're getting the legs, the thighs and the wings for free, plus you can use the carcass for stock. I'll never buy chicken parts again.

I can say that, because I have the correct tools (a boning knife) and the Method, which I practiced on six chickens today:

First, remove the wishbone, using your knife and your fingers to wiggle it out. If you leave it in, you can't get the entire half breast out in one piece.

Then, with the legs facing you, use a "cut cut" motion to slash the skin between the thighs and the breasts. Flip the chicken over and twist the legs to dislocate the thigh bones. Turn the chicken over again, and push on the legs to expose the thigh joint.

(Chef Allen: "Use LONG SHALLOW STROKES." It's like a mantra.)

Point the tail towards you and cut one leg away from the body, until you get to the cartilage where the thigh bone previously resided. Cut down to sever the ligament that holds the thigh to the body, and pull the leg away from the carcass. If you do this correctly, you will remove the "oyster" along with the thigh. Cut through the rest of the skin that attaches the leg to the carcass. I found it harder to do the right leg than the left, but eventually I achieved the Holy Grail of chicken butchery: a carcass with two completely bare curved bones where the oysters once lodged.

You turn the chicken with the wings towards you, and use LONG SHALLOW STROKES to cut down one side of the keel bone, turning your knife as you reach the ribs. Sever the joint where the wing meets the carcass. Remove the tender.

You can then remove the wing (slice it off), and slip off the skin and you're left with a boneless, skinless breast. Or, remove all but the "flat," the wing section closest to the breast. You can "french" the end of the flat, pushing the meat down towards the breast and cleaning the bone: this is an "airline cut". Who knew.

(The other two parts of the wing are called the drummie and the tip. Tips go with the rest of the carcass into stock. You can do fancy things with the drummie and the flat, most of which are good with beer.)

We cut and cut and cut. We used LONG SHALLOW STROKES. We ended up with pans full of parts, neatly wrapped, and a box full of carcasses, gold for the stock Chef. Clean-up was different: NO DISHES!!!! but tables to sanitize and scrape, product to wrap and deliver to the various kitchens, towels to fold.

Our grade will be 1/3 participation, attendance, teamwork; 1/3 "competency" (we are evaluated as we go, on 8 specific cuts), and 1/3 written final. In addition to the required "cuts," which are mandated by the CCA, Chef will be teaching us some more advanced cuts, such as "tunnel-boning" (turducken!!).

And in preparation for tomorrow, we were fed one more interesting tidbit. "Pork butt" is actually a cut from the shoulder; it was originally called a pork "buttress" (as in architectural support), but it's now commonly called "butt" though it has nothing to do with the rear end of the pig. "Why do they do that? SO THEY CAN CONFUSE YOU!!" We have animal diagrams with parts to identify (and it'll be on the final). It's like maps in geography, only different.

It doesn't look like I'll have the chance to cut any heads off any chickens, but we may be butchering a whole pig.