Friday Follies

It's been a long day! I joined the morning driving commute this morning as a passenger, so that I could come home with David this evening. In between, we made our annual visit to the SF Auto Show at Moscone Center.

Before that, though, I did my regular Friday stint at CUESA. I did some more roots research, which will be an ongoing project for the next couple of weeks, I think, until the Festival itself on December 15th. I'm also helping to make sure the CUESA website is up-to-date, recipe-wise, and that all the recipes from the Market Chef demonstrations are available online.

I picked up a delicious lunch today at Delica rf-1, a unique Japanese deli across from Peet's in the Ferry Building: "roast beef sushi" and an unusual potato salad. I'll definitely be trying to replicate this at home. It was sliced potatoes dressed in wasabi mayonnaise, with crisp pieces of romaine lettuce and edamame.

Mid-afternoon, my first piece of writing for CUESA was distributed in this week's newsletter. Nothing like seeing one's name in print!

Getting to the Root of It All

I breathed a sigh of relief today -- Maggie liked my newsletter article. It's sort of funny how stressed I was feeling about it -- it's not like I'm getting graded... or paid!

I started the morning with a medium Peet's and a cheese danish, then spent several hours researching and writing about root vegetables. It's good work. The project got expanded beyond a handout to market visitors: I'm also assigned to write another newsletter article that will coincide with the Root Festival. Maggie threw in some suggestions about describing the botanical differences between the different kinds of roots -- that'll definitely require more research on my part! (To paraphrase Prissy, "I don't know nothin' 'bout growin' vegetables!")

I've also got another couple of projects, both recipe-related: comparing CUESA's archived recipes with the ones available on the website, to see that they all get posted, and developing recipes to include in the weekly newsletter, to be based on items available in the market. Shopping and cooking: right up my alley.

"Back To Your Roots"

"I know, it sounds corny," Julie said. She's trying to come up with a slogan for the Roots Festival, to be held on December 15th at the Farmer's Market. Julie, Sarah and I met today to talk about the logistics. The featured event will be a roasted root tasting, so one of my tasks in the next couple of weeks will be some kitchen experimentation to determine appropriate roasting times for a large variety of root vegetables. Today, in the small Tuesday market, I found several kinds each of beets, carrots, radishes, and turnips, as well as daikon, parsnips, rutabagas and sunchokes. I'll shop for my samples on Saturday, when we have many more vendors and perhaps a greater selection.

I finished my first article for the e-newsletter and passed it along to Maggie for editing. I have no idea if my work fits her needs, so I'm looking forward to her comments tomorrow. I'm also working on the handout material that will be available to Root Festival attendees: some explanatory information about the varieties we'll be sampling, and some instructions for cooking, and some recipes.

We held our meeting in the sun near the Prather Meat stand, barbecue smoke wafting over us. I skipped lunch, but now I really really really want a burger.

Although I walked the market several times (man, there are a lot of persimmons...), I came away with only some pecan-laden trail mix ("lightly salted") for David. It'll go well with scotch.

Potato Bread

On Saturday afternoon, I peeled a half dozen Red Gold potatoes from David Little's stand and baked up a batch of potato bread. I've gotten hooked into the Daring Baker's on-line group ("We knead to bake"), where once a month we all prepare the same recipe and post about it (virtually comparing notes, as it were).

The first step in the recipe is boiling and mashing the potatoes, and I used my trusty wire masher. In retrospect, I would have put the potatoes through a food mill, because my final product was a bit lumpy -- though the lumps are delicious bits of potato. I made one loaf and didn't follow my "baking and pastry" training when preparing the pan -- I should have papered the pan, in addition to buttering it, and I wouldn't have struggled to get the loaf out. The foccacia turned out well. I have another recipe which calls for making "amoeba-shaped" loaves so I'm always inclined to produce random forms.
The foccacia has turned out to be the ideal medium for turkey sandwiches.

If you're interested, here's the recipe, and you can see a list of participants here.

'shrooms and dates

Today we celebrated mushrooms at the Farmer's Market -- culinary mushrooms, to be exact. All sorts of mushroom-related tastings and events were taking place, including a "kid's table" adjacent to our kitchen where kids (of all ages) could inoculate a roll of wet newspaper with shiitake spores, then take it home and grow mushrooms in the closet. Amanda, our chef today, made a mixed-mushroom galette (a freeform tart), and a shaved porcini "carpaccio," drizzling the porcini slices with lemon oil, flaked salt, and parsley.

There is now a Christmas tree vendor at the market. I made a point of getting my wreath (eucalyptus with rose hips) early. After some set up, I made "family meal" for our volunteers: eggs scrambled with caramelized onions, sweet peppers, arugula, and potatoes. And I peeled a bowl full of mandarins. Then Sarah sent me away: "Walking the farmer's market is part of your job." I bought some delicious late-season plums, which I think I'll slice and cook into a simple sauce to use on waffles tomorrow. And in the spirit of expanding my knowledge, I stood and talked to the guys at the Flying Disc Ranch booth. They sell dates. We had a little tasting and I came home with a half pound each of derries and bahris. The barhis are especially amazing, soft and creamy, as if you were eating date pudding, with a pit inside. So the weekend challenge: what to do with them!

Feels Like a Holiday

A quick trip to the Ferry Building and a couple of hours were all that I needed to finish up the second (and FINAL) envelope-stuffing project, and I began work on a short article intended for CUESA's weekly e-newsletter. Things are crazy out in the big world, though. The line for the 11am ferry stretched nearly to the cul-de-sac at the end of Clay street, everyone seemingly part of a multi-generational family group out for an adventure. The Ferry Building, hung with garland, was filled with people and baby strollers, everyone out to enjoy the beautiful weather and get a start on the holiday shopping. It felt good to get something accomplished, then join the rest of the crowd, heading towards home and leftovers.

Field Trip

Turns out that there are another 100+ letters to send out, this time to the vendors and farmers who regularly participate in the Saturday market, asking them if they'd be interesting in making presentations prior to the chef demos. Armed with a large coffee from Peet's, I type, sort, print. Stuffing will begin on Friday. Envelope stuffing, that is. Turkey stuffing will begin this evening, with the cubing of the stale bread.

About noon, Sarah and I left the Ferry Building and headed outbound on the Muni J line. I've never actually taken a ride on Muni before, so Sarah showed me the ropes. We got off at Civic Center where the Wednesday farmer's market was in full swing. We took a stroll from one end to the other, then began shopping. I just needed some assorted mushrooms for the cranberry-mushroom saute that we'll have tomorrow. A lot of the vendors who participate in the Ferry Building markets also have stands in Civic Center -- just imagine what an effort it takes to get to the market every week. And run a farm, too.

We headed up Turk Street for lunch, Vietnamese food at Mangosteen. I had spring rolls with an abundance of noodles and spicy herbs, cilantro and mint among them. Sarah and I talked about how we went to culinary school for similar reasons: to be able to have work center around the things we love, so much so that it's less "work" and more "life". We split up at the Muni stop, as she headed outbound and I returned to the Ferry Building to catch the boat home.

Time to start the holiday prep... this afternoon: turkey stock. turkey rub. butterscotch pudding. stuffing. And the annual viewing of "Pieces of April."

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. Enjoy your time in the kitchen, and at the table.

Thanksgiving prep

The market today was filled with people shopping for Thanksgiving foods. Sarah considers a thorough walk through the market part of "work," which is a great perk. I picked up two beautiful white rose potatoes, each weighing about a pound each -- I'll only need to peel one of those bad boys for our turkey day à deux. I got a dozen large Hog Island oysters for my stuffing -- a new version this year, from John Besh out of this month's Food and Wine magazine. Actually, the vendor gave me 13, "since you're in the business," because I chatted him up about the oil spill and mentioned that my brother captains a crab boat. I got a pint of frozen apple cider which served as the ice pack to keep my oysters cold; it'll become a hot beverage over the holiday weekend, with cinnamon and a dollop of that special Irish whiskey that Sandra brought us, the last time she was here.

I worked in the office for a couple of hours, finishing the mailing and beginning the "confirmation package" that we'll send out to chefs, once their responses come pouring in. And they will, Sarah assures me: she did this job last year and found that there's lots of interest in the Market to Table program. 

My mom and her friends Joan and Rich took the Vallejo ferry today, and I skipped out a little bit early to join them. We walked the market again, and just as on Saturday, the eucalyptus wreaths from Devoto were sold out. I'll have to get a jump on it on Saturday, assuming they'll be available again. My mother balked at using organic apples for the pies she'll be making for Thanksgiving. "Baking them will kill anything bad," she reasoned. I bought them for her despite her objections. It's all a learning experience: "organic" means so much more than "pesticide-free." At lunch, she ordered a big salad, then mentioned how difficult it is to purchase salad greens for one. There's another reason to shop the farmer's market: big bins filled with cleaned greens, and you only buy what you need. Arugula came home with me.

We ate at MarketBar, at the south end of the Ferry Building. Joan started lunch out on the right foot by perusing the menu and saying, "Pinot Grigio. That's a wine I've always wanted to try." Her husband said, "We drank that wine in Italy." "Well, then," she replied, "It's time to try it again." She and I both had the meatballs: two juicy meatballs atop creamy, cheesy polenta, topped with a generous spoonful of oniony tomato sauce. Perfect size. Perfect flavors.

While waiting for our respective ferries, we strolled the inside market. Outside of the Cowgirl Creamery store, Mom said, "I wonder if they have that "m" cheese that I really like." Manchego, and yes. I picked up some creme fraiche (to go in mashed sweet potatoes with chipotles), and a hunk of Stilton, because it's David's favorite.

And of course we had to stop at the Ciao Bella gelato stand. Pistachio, and fig with crystallized ginger. Life is good.

How did this bag get so heavy?

I met Sarah at the CUESA kitchen just after seven this morning. Today's market was very busy, not surprisingly, since it's the weekend before Thanksgiving. Butternut squash seemed to be a popular item, along with pomegranates and cut flowers. The day started off cool and foggy, but the sun was out by the time our guest chef, Joe Boness from Alembic, began his cooking demonstration.

Our efforts were very low key: with only one chef demo today, there was a minimum of set up. One of the early-arriving volunteers made crepe batter, and I got the receipt book and shopped the market for today's produce: squash, of course, and leeks, garlic, goat cheese, sage and thyme. Not surprisingly, we heard that there was no sage to be found anywhere by mid-morning. Back in the kitchen, I peeled, sliced and roasted the squash, and cleaned and sliced the leeks.

Today, our "Meet the Producer" guest was Nigel Walker of Eatwell Farm in Dixon. He grew the squash, thyme, and leeks that Joe used in his cooking demonstration, and he also grows lavender and other fragrant herbs for organic cosmetic companies. His farm was recently affected by a Medfly quarantine (probably resulting from a bug brought back into the US by a traveller bringing in [illegal] mangoes from Hawaii). As a result of the quarantine, he could not ship any produce that could be a "host" off of his property, including tree fruit, tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants. One of the ways they dealt with this crisis was to have a "neighborhood sauce-making party," inviting customers and friends to the farm to cook up quarts and quarts of tomato sauce, which could then be transported -- and sold -- off-site. During his short interview, Nigel told numerous stories which demonstrate his love of the land and commitment to his crops and customers, while also illustrating how harsh and unpredictable farm life can really be.

(In a similar vein, I paid one of the vendors with a ten dollar bill for my four dollar purchase, necessitating the making of change. It's a courtesy to shop with exact change, or small bills, and for that reason, I said, "Sorry," as I handed over my money. "Oh," she replied, smiling, "Never apologize for giving a money to a farmer.")

After Nigel's presentation, Joe made a couple of dishes: leek fondue, an appetizer made with leeks simmered in cream and wine, finished off with garlic and gruyere, and crepes with "leftovers." He suggested crepes filled with leftover (Thanksgiving) vegetables as an elegant way to serve brunch to holiday guests. He doctored up the crepe batter with minced herbs, spread a thin layer of soft goat cheese on the cooked crepe, then added a filling of roasted squash and sautéed wild mushrooms. You could use any of your leftover side dishes as a quick crepe filling: broccoli, brussels sprouts, spinach -- I'd eat stuffing in a crepe, and I bet you would, too.

Anyway, before Nigel's presentation, I took a quick fifteen minute stroll through the market with my shopping bag, and I don't know how it happened, but I came home with: fresh walnuts. a bag of miscellaneous "ugly" peppers. small blood-red "early girl" tomatoes. pancetta. a king trumpet mushroom. black calypso beans. sage (hah!). a bag of mixed new potatoes. thyme. and four limes. and a pomegranate.

Three Minutes per Envelope

OK, let's do the math. It's taking about three minutes for each envelope to print; there are approximately 260 names in our chef database; that means a total of 780 minutes, or 13 hours, to complete this task. I took a lunch break today, just so the number of envelopes to stuff could pile up a bit; six were waiting for me when I returned. [Lunch: a chicken quesadilla from Tracy des Jardin's "Mijita Cocina Mexicana" downstairs. With guacamole. Would have benefited from some spicy salsa on the side.]

I really really really really thought about saying, "Hey, email me the file, and I'll do these on my laser printer at home," but then, I'm a volunteer, and I have to save my toner for other important tasks, like printing out resumes as I search for a "real" (i.e. paid) job.

So, while I was waiting for the printer, I read the summer issue of Edible San Francisco. This is a cool magazine, community-based with dozens of location-specific incarnations, and a couple of my food-writing friends have written stories for our East Bay version, Edible East Bay. For example, Simona wrote a series of articles about her neighborhood vegetable garden, which, sadly, may be a thing of the past now that the local deer have discovered it. At any rate, there's always something interesting to read about food.

Hey, even stuffing envelopes is sort of thrilling: the City's top restaurants flash before my eyes, and famous and almost-famous names, and titles I can only aspire to: Executive Chef. Chef de Cuisine. Pastry Chef. Restaurateur. Author.

The Rest of the Alphabet

Today, I came upon two fascinating on-line pieces, directly related to my recent experience in cuinary school. The first is a video clip which accompanied an article in the SF Chronicle Magazine earlier this year. It's a round-table discussion with six female Bay Area chefs, who are sharing ideas about how women chefs differ (or if they do) from male chefs. There's a good segment about "the problem with culinary students these days." Then, when I was updating the CUESA guest chef database, I ran across a blog written by Shuna Fish Lydon, a local pastry chef who writes a blog called Eggbeater. She's got quite a lot to say about how culinary students often fall short, out in the real world. I wonder how my classmates are doing this week as they begin their internships.

I myself, on the fringes of the culinary world, spent another day with Excel and Google, finishing up the database. I went down to Book Passage and reviewed their cookbook section, adding a dozen names of people who'd be interesting guest chefs. I also talked briefly with Maggie, CUESA's Special Programs Manager. She gave me a writing assignment (500 words to go into the weekly CUESA e-newsletter, due in two weeks). I'm glad to have a challenge.

I skipped lunch today, but I stopped in Boulette's Larder for a couple of tiny cookies for the ferry ride home: a peanut butter "with sea salt," and a coconut macaroon, dipped in dark chocolate. I highly recommend the peanut butter.

Restaurants, A-P

I've really felt twinges of almost-guilt these last couple of days, thinking I ought to be in class.

I took the ferry from Oakland to SF this morning (and back, this afternoon), an experience that was also oddly discomforting, in that it was so pleasant, and not like commuting at all. My hours will be 9 to 2, three days a week, and 6:30 to 2 on Saturdays when there's a chef demonstration (now through mid-December). The CUESA office, a small room filled with about six desks and an adjacent conference room, on the second floor of the Ferry Building, was quiet this morning. After we got coffee from the Blue Bottle coffee booth at the Farmer's Market, Sarah oriented me to my first project: updating the mailing list of local chefs, who we'll be inviting to participate in 2008 demonstrations. I'm game to sit in front of a computer monitor for long stretches of time, doing Internet research, so I was content, and it's fun to chase down a chef who's left one restaurant to find where s/he's landed. Stuff like that.

We took a break at 11 to stroll the market (about 15 booths on Tuesdays, between 10 and 2), and I brought home fresh cranberry beans, English peas, raspberries, assorted potatoes, almond paste, bittersweet chocolate almond bark, and a bunch of kale that Sarah gave me, because one of her farmer friends gave her two. I've never cooked with kale before (in my own kitchen, anyway), so the cookbook Tim recently sent me (Vegetable Love by Barbara Kafka) will be the first place I look for some ideas.

We had lunch from the Prather Ranch Meat booth, juicy cheeseburgers that we ate sitting at tables outside. Sarah knows many of the farmers (she's been working at CUESA for a year, starting out as a CCA intern, just like me), and they offer her greetings and samples and extra treats (see "kale," above). "Tough job, huh?" she asked. It feels wonderful to be this much closer to my goal of working in the culinary industry. All I really need is a paycheck.

Tomorrow, I'll finish up the mailing list (Q to Z), and do some additional research on new restaurants and recently published cookbooks, in order to add those chefs. I think there will be Mail Merge in my future.

We Had a Little Party

[And thanks to Madeline for the dessert: persimmon and pomegranate cake with cream cheese icing. You'd think she'd gone to culinary school, or something!! XOXO.]

Goodbyes All Around

Last night, I met Silvia, Andrea and Andy at Boulevard, where we shared an elaborate and delicious meal appropriate for the culmination of our last twelve months together. Andy picked out the wines (champagne to start, an Albarino with our appetizers, Pinot Noir with dinner, and porto with dessert). I'd advised the receptionist that we were celebrating, so our desserts arrived with little "congratulations" plaques leaned up against them, made of dark chocolate with white writing.

This morning, Chef Al treated us to quesadillas, and we were off and running on buffet boards. He helped Andrea and I put together an elaborate cheese board that included parmigiano reggiano, brie, white cheddar, cambazola, stilton, manchego, dry jack, gouda, and fontina, garnished with dried cherries, cranberries, and pistachios. He advised us to pay close attention while he showed us how to handle the various cheeses: "You'll never get to work with this much cheese in the real world. Too expensive."

Then we built our big charcuterie board, our final project. Andrea worked on the centerpiece and I started by slicing and placing head cheese, and we went from there. We ended up with 54 points, not far off from our goal of 55 (out of 60); Andy and Alex scored high points for the day with 58 points on their meat board.

I asked Chef if I could bring home a piece of mortadella. (I'd like to share it with my dad, and be able to tell him that I made it myself.) Chef said "I have no idea what you're talking about." Now there's a foot-long length of it in my refrigerator.

Alex didn't hold up his end of the sparkling wine deal, so Chef allowed us to requisition a bottle from the Careme Room bar to add to the one I brought, and we all toasted one another just before noon. Chef Al announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the world of culinary love." There were goodbyes all around, and I must admit to a spell of emotional incontinence before I made it out of the building. Andrea and I walked to the parking garage, as usual, and we shared a big hug. "I wouldn't have made it through without you," she said.

Then I drove over to the South Campus for lunch. Serendipitously, I entered an on-line contest at KFOG, my radio station of choice, for a luncheon celebrating the release of their annual fund-raising CD, "Live From the Archives 14," which benefits local food banks. Lunch was at -- wait for it -- Bistro 350 at the South Campus, being served by CCA students who are currently in the Banquets and Catering class. They're six weeks away from where I am now. I enjoyed a four course lunch (skipped out before dessert), talked to some Fogheads and Renee, one of the morning personalities, and had the chance to say hello -- and goodbye -- to Peter and Chef Afreen, who were working the event. The mushrooms stuffed with cream cheese and bacon were fantastic, but the chicken was a little overcooked.

It's been an amazing year. Although I still have three months to go before I'm officially finished, it's hard to believe that my internship will be anywhere near as intense or transformational as the last twelve months. And I won't have the daily interaction with my classmates and friends: Silvia is on her way to San Diego as I write this, Andy heads to Minneapolis tomorrow, and over the weekend, Andrea will be moving back to Reno.

And driving back over the bridge, I caught Alanis Morrisette on KFOG, and her song just seems to sum it all up:

You live you learn
You love you learn
You cry you learn
You lose you learn
You bleed you learn
You scream you learn

You grieve you learn
You choke you learn
You laugh you learn
You choose you learn
You pray you learn
You ask you learn
You live you learn

Now we're buying souvenirs...

It sounds like two mutually exclusive concepts, doesn't it? "It was a great day in Garde Manger" and "We made head cheese." But both are true.

But first: breakfast (warm house-made pastrami, french bread, and cheese), then our final solo tray project. For my emulsified dressing, I made a vinaigrette using fresh pureed avocado and cumin. And my tray included the highlights of charcuterie: chicken sausage, head cheese, mortadella, and braunschweiger.When Chef Al graded it, he pointed to the head cheese (five small slices) and said, "I wouldn't include that. It looks like filler. You need a whole line of it." "But that's how much head cheese my customers will eat," I replied. "Gotta know your audience." He laughed and gave me 10 points anyway.

And we spent the rest of the morning making head cheese. Derrick started it on Monday, brining three big lexans filled with pig trotters, hocks, shanks, and, of course, the head itself (cut in half with a hacksaw). After two days in the marinade, the pork products simmered slowly overnight, and this morning, we skimmed out the tender results, the meat literally falling off the bone. We lined terrines with plastic wrap, diced some red onion and herbs, and prepared some aspic making reduced pork stock. Chef Al showed us how to pick through the cooling meat, tossing the skin, fat, and tendons and saving the meat. We separated the shank meat from the other parts, and made two types of terrines.

The shank meat was combined in a mixer with melted duck fat, herbs, and aspic, blended only enough to break the meat apart. "We're not making Spam here," Chef cautioned. The actual head cheese involved the careful layering of the head parts: cheeks, jowls, tongue, snout, and ears, and Chef carried on a running commentary about the parts as he coated them with aspic, for the benefit of the more squeamish among us. He held the ears up alongside his own, shook them, and asked, "Can you hear me now?" The terrines will set overnight, to be sliced and included on tomorrow's buffet boards.

While class progressed, Andy pulled out a piece of binder paper and asked, "Will you sign my yearbook?" He was actually collecting contact information, which Sam typed up later in the library and asked Chef to print out for us. Andrea talked about setting up a Yahoo group so that we can share our upcoming adventures. Alex and I agreed to bring sparkling wine tomorrow and Silvia volunteered to bring a bottle, too. "Should we ask Chef?" she wondered. "I think we show up with it and then ask," I said. Alex agreed.

On the way to the parking garage, I stopped in the school gift shop to get myself a jacket (a light green hoodie with the school logo on the right side), and a little something for my mom. I wanted to get a shirt that says "My daughter is Cooklady" but I settled for a CCA mug to add to her collection.

Mortadella: completed

First, we went to the library and took our written final for Chef Al's class (no chairs in the Garde Manger kitchen), then we returned downstairs where Chef fed us warm corned beef on french rolls, cheese optional. I spent the rest of the morning processing "my" mortadella.

First, I diced a pork jowl (smoked, frozen) and blanched it; along with pistachio nuts, the jowl fat is the garnish for the mortadella. (By the way, in case I haven't mentioned this previously, the term "garnish" has a broader definition than is generally used: in addition to the decoration of a plate or platter, garnishes can be added internally, "to enhance in appearance by adding decorative touches".) Then I gathered my mise en place together and moved to the buffalo chopper. I first used the powerful machine to grind three pounds of ice, then I added the ground pork that I'd marinated yesterday, along with Chef Al's special spice blend. I processed the mixture, scraping the bowl with my big spatula, until the mixture reached 40°F -- almost 20 minutes, because the steel bowl on the chopper really retains the chill.

[Nico was mixing up the mortadella two weeks ago when the class was startled by a sudden huge rattling and grinding sound. "Your spatula, right?" Chef called from the other side of the kitchen. "It's not the first time." And of course, he had to dump it all out and begin again.]

Then I added the ground jowl fat (prepared yesterday), and waited for the mixture to reach 45°. Then I added powdered nonfat milk (which is the emulsifier), and pulverized again until the temperature finally reached 58°. Then it was time to taste. I formed a tablespoon-sized quenelle of ground meat product and poached it until the internal temperature reached 145°. Chef Al and I shared it, and we both pronounced it delicious. I scooped the mixture into a bowl and folded in the diced jowl fat and the pistachios. By this time, I must admit, I was wearing a lot of mortadella on my coat and apron. The buffalo grinder oozes and spits as it churns around and around. Derrick looked worse yesterday, though, when he processed the liver sausage.

It was stuffing time! I used a large sausage stuffer, sort of like this one, scooping the mortadella into the feed tube, and sliding the rinsed "beef middles" (cow intestines) onto the sausage tube. I ended up with seven sausages, each about 3" in diameter and 15" long. I poached them s-l-o-w-l-y, beginning in cold water, until the water temp reached 160° and the internal temp reached 145*. Then I chilled them in an ice bath, and refrigerated them until tomorrow. Then we'll face the true test: can I slice it? Is it beautiful and delicious? Right now, they're resting.

"Politicians Don't Eat"

Before we got started this morning, we had a cheese tasting (with toasted English muffins): Chef Al opened up cardboard boxed holding five pound rounds of Saint Andre and Humboldt Fog. "That's the best cheese ever," I said as Chef cut a big wedge out of the Saint Andre. "Shussh!" he said to me. "You'll spoil the surprise. Do you know why it's the best cheese ever?" "Triple cream, I answered. "EXACTLY!" It's like buttah, only better, if such a thing is possible. And the Humboldt Fog is also delicious, a rich ripened goat's milk cheese with a distinctive layer of ash running through the middle.

Today I began the mortadella process: I weighed out five pounds of pork butt (remember, that's from the shoulder) which Derrick cubed yesterday. I marinated it with salt, dextrose, TCM ("tinted curing mix," or sodium nitrite) and white wine, and set it aside to chill. I went to butchery and absconded with six pork jowls, which are a lot like pork belly (thick layer of fat, thin layer of meat), but they have an additional layer of "spit glands" (according to Chef Al) which need to be removed. I sliced those up and diced the jowls. Then I ground the jowls and pork separately, each three times, using progressively smaller holes. The resulting products have been refrigerated and I'll work on getting the mixture emulsified, garnished, and into tubes tomorrow.

But today, we had bigger fish to fry, as it were: "The Barbara Boxer Party," as we've called it for the last two weeks, began at 11:30 this morning. It was actually a luncheon for Democratic union leaders, apparently a thank-you for getting out the (meager, according to early projections) vote today, Election Day. There were 175 invited guests, and we spent the morning in Garde Manger preparing large elaborate platters of sliced meats, cheeses, fish, condiments, and fruit. The hot side was busy also: we had a cold buffet running down one side of the room, and a hot buffet down the other, with two cash bars at the far end and a flaming dessert station in the corner. I never saw Barbara, but I recognized Willy Brown, Aaron Peskin, and Tom Ammiano. I manned the Caesar salad station for a while, at the far end of the cold buffet line, and Chef Al was right: I never saw any of the politicians eating.

Charcuterie. For Dad.

We've moved into the last week of Advanced Garde Manger, and the last week of school. Our team is working on charcuterie (the branch of cooking devoted to prepared meat products, including cured meats and sausages), much of which will not be finished this week. For example, the ham I began today (by trimming and partially boning a whole pork leg) will soak for several days in brine, after which it will be smoked, then left to hang for up to six weeks. Chef Al told me I could have visitation rights.

When my father made a career change in his 40s, it's not surprising that the small business he chose to buy was a delicatessen. He's always had a love of sausages: the Polish kielbasa that he was raised on, Genoa salami from Molinari's in San Francisco, and his favorite, mortadella. None of us could ever understand how he could eat that stuff, filled with polka-dots of fat and whole pistachio nuts (or liverwurst, either, for that matter) and enjoy it so very much.

Dad has always been game to try anything at least once, (as long as it doesn't involve sports or card-playing), and he's experimented frequently with sausage-making. He has loved being in the kitchen, and any long elaborate process that involves knives or mechanical equipment. His curiousity and desire for new experiences filled our house with a variety of projects over the years: a small fully equiped darkroom in the garage. Fiberglass kayaks, a pair, made in that same garage. He sawed a lot of wood in that garage, too, and if the board was especially long, the kid holding the other end would have to open two doors and stand in the kitchen... Lots of stories. Lots of projects.

The only regret I have about this year of culinary school is that Dad hasn't been able to participate in it with me. At another point in his life, he would have been eager to discuss my day's activities. He would have said, "I'll go with you, and I'll carry your knife bag." He would have been an avid reader of this blog. He would have bragged about me to relative strangers. (He loved to brag about all his children.) When he came to the Careme Room for the Buffet, he would have introduced himself to all the chefs, and told them that I was his daughter.

This week, I'm going to make the mortadella.

"Not Feeling It"

Actually, Andrea called it early on: Chef Al was in some sort of a snit this morning, and nothing that anybody did really met with his approval. It was about 180° from yesterday's congeniality. But we marched on, boards were built, and I was actually shocked when I drove east over the Bay Bridge this afternoon and realized that indeed, Friday was over and next week is our last week of class.

"Andy, I'm gonna miss you," Andrea called from across the classroom; he said he'd cut bacon but was of course caught up in some new project. I had a wonderful dream last night that included CCA people and places, and this morning, I realized that I'm getting my money's worth: the school and its characters have become part of my unconscious life.

Andrea and I built individual boards and then one as a team, which Chef Al evaluated. We ended up with 25 points out of a possible 30, the highest score in the class. I seem to have a knack for "movement," aligning the pieces evenly but changing the center of rotation. Andrea didn't feel it. "You're really good at this," she said. And I took Chef's comments to heart, the ones he made directly to me, but when he dissed the whole class, I really didn't feel like he was including us.
During our board evaluations, as we stood around in the dining room and listened to Chef's evaluations, he said, "You're not feeling it. Can you tell? Last week you had more enthusiasm. You need to stop thinking so much and just trust in your love of food." Nobody was willing to say, "But Chef, your grumpiness is contagious" but that was really the case. Everybody's got a short-timer attitude, and baggage they carry publicly or privately. Andy said, as an aside, that his girlfriend back in Minneapolis "just isn't feeling it," and he's not sure what he'll find when he gets home in 10 days.

Positive Outlook for Friday

Well, I used more tools than a scissor today, that's for sure. In fact, Andrea and I did the work of five people today, more or less: Derrick and Silvia weren't in class, and our fifth team member (the one who's retaking the class, and seems destined to take it again) spent most of the morning making a half gallon of Caeser dressing. In the end, Andrea had to take over from her and finish it. She was seriously flailing.

But we got lots accomplished, all in preparation for tomorrow's activities: we'll be making meat boards for the Buffet, and we have to produce one board in teams of two for evaluation by Chef Al, worth 30 points. Today, we had the Thursday solo "practice": a small platter plus a pint of emulsified vinaigrette, all in an hour. Andrea and I both earned perfect 10s for today's work, so she said that bodes well for our chances tomorrow, when we'll be working together.

Our products this week are more challenging than last week's seafood. They're more monocolored, for one thing, and they're all flat slices. And a lot of them want to fall apart.

Besides constructing our trays and dressings, Andrea and I poached some duck confit in duck fat, then made a terrine, suspending the duck chunks in aspic. We made a terrine of rabbit en croute, lining a mold with dough and filling it with rabbit forcemeat and grilled rabbit tenderloins. We made croutons, using an interesting method: thickly coat a sheet pan with butter and sprinkle it with minced garlic. Put in the cubed bread, in a single layer, and bake it at 250°, stirring a couple of times. We smoked a capon that had been brined overnight. We trimmed three cases of red and white endive and frisee, and put it to soak overnight in ice water, to be used as garnishing tomorrow. We prepped eggs and bacon for breakfast tomorrow morning (actually, Andy sliced the bacon), and before we walked to the parking garage, we stopped in the basement and got flu shots. All in all, a very productive day.