Level 2 Lesson 11 Aug. 16, 2010
Ana combined sugar and water in a pot on the stove.
We waited for the mixture to boil. Once it did, we would need to numb our fingers in ice water and dip them in the sugar water to check its consistency. If the sugar syrup formed into a soft ball between our fingers, we could add it to the egg yolks in the stand mixer to finish making buttercream frosting.
Ana stuck her fork in the sugar water. Chef X warned her with his eyes.
“You’re going to test it yourself. We not using forks,” he said.
Ana shook her head. She was confident in making everything else, except touching hot sugar and water.
I numbed my fingers in a container of ice water, touched the sugar syrup and rubbed it. It felt smooth instead of elastic. It wasn’t ready.
As the syrup began to get hotter, I said to Ana, “You need to try.”
“No,” she said.
“But Chef X said you have to,” I said.
She shook her head.
Chef came to our station.
“Did you try?” he asked us.
I nodded. Ana said no.
“Come on,” Chef said.
Ana reluctantly came to my side of the counter. Chef tipped the saucepan toward him with one hand and dipped his other hand in the ice water.
“Numb your finger,” he said.
“No,” Ana said.
I dunked my fingers in the ice water, while Ana eased her fingers in. Touching sugar syrup didn’t burn your fingers if you numbed them beforehand.
I dipped my fingers into the sugar syrup and put them back under ice. The sugar syrup instantly coagulated, and I knew it had reached the “soft-ball” stage.
“It’s done,” I said.
Chef looked at Ana and said, “You do it.”
Ana didn’t budge. Chef took her hand and pulled it toward the sugar syrup.
“AHH!” Ana squawked.
Chef gave her a look and then left us alone. I don't know if Ana actually touched the sugar syrup.
I poured it into the stand mixer as the whisk went round and round.
This version of buttercream was made of sugar syrup plus egg yolks with a pound and a half of cold butter mixed in. Ana flavored the buttercream with coffee extract.
We spread the frosting on each of our genoise, or whole egg foam cake. Then we put some of the frosting into pastry bags. I decorated the top of my cake with stars, and pressed sliced almonds around the cake sides.
Chef approved the cake when I showed it to him.
I went back to my work station that was right in front of Chef. His eyes focused on our bowl of buttercream, which was the color of deep brown. Other classmates’ cakes were the color of light brown.
“Is that coffee?” he said.
“Yes,” Ana and I said.
“How much coffee extract did you put in there?” he asked.
“About 20 grams,” Ana replied.
“You eat that, and you’re really going to be awake,” Chef said.
After I got home, I tasted my cake. The frosting had a strong coffee flavor, but I liked it anyway.
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For other culinary-related posts, click here.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Check out Brooklyn Grange, a rooftop farm
A week ago, I took a tour of Brooklyn Grange, a rooftop farm in Queens, with my school's Forager Club. It was amazing to see cantaloupe, eggplants and heirloom tomatoes with the backdrop of the city skyline.
You can head over to The French Culinary Institute's The Hot Plate blog to read my post.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Eggs! More eggs!
Level 2 Lesson 6 Aug. 4, 2010 continued...
Eggs Round 2
John and I heated water in a pot for the poached eggs. I added vinegar, which would help set the egg whites. John swirled the water and gently dropped eggs one by one into the pot.
At home, my poached eggs never had that beautiful white cover of egg white over the yolk. The mistake I made was trying to poach eggs in a large saute pan. If I had used a pot, my poached eggs would have been fine.
In 3-4 minutes, the eggs were done. We shocked them in ice water. I lifted an egg in my hand and cut away the jagged edges.
Meanwhile, our eggs in that were cooking in a ceramic dish (ceufs au plat) were done. The whites were set and the yolks still jiggled.
We presented the poached egg and the eggs on a plate to Chef C.
"Good," she said, looking at the eggs in the dish.
Then she cut open a poached egg. The yolk oozed out.
Chef C was pleased, but she said, "30 seconds longer and your yolk would have been overcooked."
Our eggs baked in cream had been in the oven for about 15 minutes. John took his out and so did I. We garnished our ramekins with a sprig of parsley.
I presented my baked egg.
Chef C dipped her spoon into the cream and lifted up the creamy egg.
"Oooh. Luscious," she said.
I went back to my station and tasted the creamy filling. It was slightly sweet and very, very rich. I closed my eyes and moved my shoulders up and down.
"You happy, Jenny?" John asked.
I nodded.
Eggs Round 3
For the last round, we made oeufs farci chimay.
"It's basically a glorified deviled egg," Chef C said.
John and I made a filling of sauteed mushrooms, shallots and egg yolks from hard-boiled eggs. We added some bechamel sauce into the filling. Then we piped the filling into the egg whites. After topping them with gruyere cheese, John put the eggs in the oven.
Later, we showed our dish to Chef C. The cheese had melted and had browned nicely on the eggs.
"Good," Chef C said.
Throughout the night, I had eaten a bite of a few egg dishes plus the international buffet that another class had made. I still shoved a stuffed egg into my mouth. It was too much. I regretted taking a bite of a second one.
I didn't feel sick like a few other classmates. But I grimaced when I smelled sulfur on my hands on the way home.
____________________________________________
Previously on Eggs Round 1...
For other related culinary school posts, click here.
Eggs Round 2
John and I heated water in a pot for the poached eggs. I added vinegar, which would help set the egg whites. John swirled the water and gently dropped eggs one by one into the pot.
At home, my poached eggs never had that beautiful white cover of egg white over the yolk. The mistake I made was trying to poach eggs in a large saute pan. If I had used a pot, my poached eggs would have been fine.
In 3-4 minutes, the eggs were done. We shocked them in ice water. I lifted an egg in my hand and cut away the jagged edges.
Meanwhile, our eggs in that were cooking in a ceramic dish (ceufs au plat) were done. The whites were set and the yolks still jiggled.
We presented the poached egg and the eggs on a plate to Chef C.
"Good," she said, looking at the eggs in the dish.
Then she cut open a poached egg. The yolk oozed out.
Chef C was pleased, but she said, "30 seconds longer and your yolk would have been overcooked."
Our eggs baked in cream had been in the oven for about 15 minutes. John took his out and so did I. We garnished our ramekins with a sprig of parsley.
I presented my baked egg.
Chef C dipped her spoon into the cream and lifted up the creamy egg.
"Oooh. Luscious," she said.
I went back to my station and tasted the creamy filling. It was slightly sweet and very, very rich. I closed my eyes and moved my shoulders up and down.
"You happy, Jenny?" John asked.
I nodded.
Eggs Round 3
For the last round, we made oeufs farci chimay.
"It's basically a glorified deviled egg," Chef C said.
John and I made a filling of sauteed mushrooms, shallots and egg yolks from hard-boiled eggs. We added some bechamel sauce into the filling. Then we piped the filling into the egg whites. After topping them with gruyere cheese, John put the eggs in the oven.
Later, we showed our dish to Chef C. The cheese had melted and had browned nicely on the eggs.
"Good," Chef C said.
Throughout the night, I had eaten a bite of a few egg dishes plus the international buffet that another class had made. I still shoved a stuffed egg into my mouth. It was too much. I regretted taking a bite of a second one.
I didn't feel sick like a few other classmates. But I grimaced when I smelled sulfur on my hands on the way home.
____________________________________________
Previously on Eggs Round 1...
For other related culinary school posts, click here.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Three rounds of eggs
Level 2 Lesson 6 Aug. 4, 2010
My hands smelled like eggs even though I had washed them many times during class. We had made rolled omelettes, Spanish flat omelettes, poached eggs, eggs cooked on a plate, baked eggs with cream and eggs stuffed with mushrooms and shallots.
"We're going to eat a lot of eggs today, and some of you are going to have a stomach ache," Chef C told us at the beginning of class.
Chef C was the second substitute instructor we've had since Chef X went on vacation.
"Ever have an egg white omelette?" Chef C asked.
Some of us shook our heads.
"It's boring," she said. "Fat's where it's at."
We laughed.
"Fat is flavor," Chef C said.
Eggs Round 1
All of us had to show Chef C a rolled omelette and a flat omelette. For my first try at a rolled omelette, I stirred the eggs vigorously with my spatula to make them curdle. I watched nervously for the eggs to set. Taking the pan off the heat, I nudged the top edge over.
I grabbed the handle of the pan with my hand facing up, tipped the pan and tapped the bottom edge. But gravity wasn't working and the omelette wasn't falling. It crinkled up and I could see dots of brown on the underside. Rolled omelettes must be runny on the inside and smooth on the outside with no browning. I threw the omelette in the compost bin.
I mangled my second attempt, and browned the bottom of the omelette. On the third try, I worked quicker. I flipped the top edge of the omelette over and saw pure yellow. I tapped the pan and the omelette slowly rolled over.
I laid the omelette gently onto a plate. The omelette hadn't browned, but there were streaks of egg white, indicating I hadn't whisked the eggs as much as I could. I topped the rolled omelette with a small mound of sauteed peppers, onions and tomatoes and garnished it with parsley. The omelette wasn't a perfect half moon, but I needed to move onto the next one.
I showed my plate to Chef C. She nodded in approval at the all-yellow surface. But she noticed the white streaks and the lopsided shape of the rolled omelette.
For the Spanish flat omelette, I mixed the eggs with the sauteed peppers, onions and tomatoes. In the nonstick pan, I stirred the eggs, only this time, I let the eggs stay flat like a pancake. I waited for the eggs to set. It was all right to brown the bottom.
Nervous, I flipped the omelette with no confidence. It fell and became a wrinkled mess. I threw it out.
Again I faced a flat omelette and again I became nervous about ruining it.
"Do you need help flipping?" John asked.
He flipped the omelette with ease.
I furrowed my brow.
"Oh, you wanted to try?" John said.
"Yeah," I said.
I took a breath and flipped the omelette. It became mangled. I panicked and jerked the omelette back in the air. It plopped in the pan.
"No. No. No," said Chef A, one of Chef C's assistants who was watching.
John took his spatula and carefully unwrinkled the omelette to make it flat.
"Breathe," Chef A told me. "Breathe."
One half of the omelette had brown dots, while the other didn't. I brushed the omelette with butter, garnished it and presented it to Chef C.
"Good," she said.
I breathed again.
Rounds 2 and 3 to be continued...
____________________________________
For other culinary-related posts, click here.
My hands smelled like eggs even though I had washed them many times during class. We had made rolled omelettes, Spanish flat omelettes, poached eggs, eggs cooked on a plate, baked eggs with cream and eggs stuffed with mushrooms and shallots.
"We're going to eat a lot of eggs today, and some of you are going to have a stomach ache," Chef C told us at the beginning of class.
Chef C was the second substitute instructor we've had since Chef X went on vacation.
"Ever have an egg white omelette?" Chef C asked.
Some of us shook our heads.
"It's boring," she said. "Fat's where it's at."
We laughed.
"Fat is flavor," Chef C said.
Eggs Round 1
All of us had to show Chef C a rolled omelette and a flat omelette. For my first try at a rolled omelette, I stirred the eggs vigorously with my spatula to make them curdle. I watched nervously for the eggs to set. Taking the pan off the heat, I nudged the top edge over.
I grabbed the handle of the pan with my hand facing up, tipped the pan and tapped the bottom edge. But gravity wasn't working and the omelette wasn't falling. It crinkled up and I could see dots of brown on the underside. Rolled omelettes must be runny on the inside and smooth on the outside with no browning. I threw the omelette in the compost bin.
I mangled my second attempt, and browned the bottom of the omelette. On the third try, I worked quicker. I flipped the top edge of the omelette over and saw pure yellow. I tapped the pan and the omelette slowly rolled over.
I laid the omelette gently onto a plate. The omelette hadn't browned, but there were streaks of egg white, indicating I hadn't whisked the eggs as much as I could. I topped the rolled omelette with a small mound of sauteed peppers, onions and tomatoes and garnished it with parsley. The omelette wasn't a perfect half moon, but I needed to move onto the next one.
I showed my plate to Chef C. She nodded in approval at the all-yellow surface. But she noticed the white streaks and the lopsided shape of the rolled omelette.
For the Spanish flat omelette, I mixed the eggs with the sauteed peppers, onions and tomatoes. In the nonstick pan, I stirred the eggs, only this time, I let the eggs stay flat like a pancake. I waited for the eggs to set. It was all right to brown the bottom.
Nervous, I flipped the omelette with no confidence. It fell and became a wrinkled mess. I threw it out.
Again I faced a flat omelette and again I became nervous about ruining it.
"Do you need help flipping?" John asked.
He flipped the omelette with ease.
I furrowed my brow.
"Oh, you wanted to try?" John said.
"Yeah," I said.
I took a breath and flipped the omelette. It became mangled. I panicked and jerked the omelette back in the air. It plopped in the pan.
"No. No. No," said Chef A, one of Chef C's assistants who was watching.
John took his spatula and carefully unwrinkled the omelette to make it flat.
"Breathe," Chef A told me. "Breathe."
One half of the omelette had brown dots, while the other didn't. I brushed the omelette with butter, garnished it and presented it to Chef C.
"Good," she said.
I breathed again.
Rounds 2 and 3 to be continued...
____________________________________
For other culinary-related posts, click here.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Timing, teamwork and all things stuffed
Level 2 Lesson 5 Stuffings Monday, Aug. 2, 2010
Stuffed escalope of chicken with mushroom and shallot filling, as well as vegetables with bacon, shallot and garlic stuffing
Our entire class was late with the stuffed chicken and vegetables. I had put in the zucchini, tomato and mushroom in the oven 15 minutes before we were supposed to present, and the stuffed vegetables took 20 minutes to cook.
John and I took the stuffed chicken breast out of the oven, removed it from the saucepan and turned up the heat to reduce the sauce as fast as we could.
Each of us placed slices of chicken breast on half the plate, putting the stuffed vegetables on the other half. I drizzled the sauce on the chicken, but the meat absorbed the thin liquid. Knowing we were past the deadline, I rushed to the front with my plate. John had already showed his plate.
"Where's your sauce?" Chef C asked.
Chef C looked straight at me and said, "Did you not put sauce on because you knew you were late?"
I hung my head and said, "I put sauce on, but I did not put enough."
I went back to my station and took a bite of my chicken. It tasted pretty good.
"Don't eat the vegetables," John said to me.
"We gonna give to them," he said as he tilted his head slightly toward the team next to us.
They had put their vegetables in the oven five minutes ago and the garniture was a long way from being done.
John whisked away both sets of vegetables to our neighbors, while Chef C was busy talking to other students.
When the team presented their plates to Chef C, she said, "Nice sauce."
My classmates came back to their station, and I snapped a shot of their chicken with our stuffed vegetables.
We were a tight-knit class, and we weren't going to let anyone fail.
___________________________________________
For other posts related to culinary school, click here.
Stuffed escalope of chicken with mushroom and shallot filling, as well as vegetables with bacon, shallot and garlic stuffing
Our entire class was late with the stuffed chicken and vegetables. I had put in the zucchini, tomato and mushroom in the oven 15 minutes before we were supposed to present, and the stuffed vegetables took 20 minutes to cook.
John and I took the stuffed chicken breast out of the oven, removed it from the saucepan and turned up the heat to reduce the sauce as fast as we could.
Each of us placed slices of chicken breast on half the plate, putting the stuffed vegetables on the other half. I drizzled the sauce on the chicken, but the meat absorbed the thin liquid. Knowing we were past the deadline, I rushed to the front with my plate. John had already showed his plate.
"Where's your sauce?" Chef C asked.
Chef C looked straight at me and said, "Did you not put sauce on because you knew you were late?"
I hung my head and said, "I put sauce on, but I did not put enough."
I went back to my station and took a bite of my chicken. It tasted pretty good.
"Don't eat the vegetables," John said to me.
"We gonna give to them," he said as he tilted his head slightly toward the team next to us.
They had put their vegetables in the oven five minutes ago and the garniture was a long way from being done.
John whisked away both sets of vegetables to our neighbors, while Chef C was busy talking to other students.
When the team presented their plates to Chef C, she said, "Nice sauce."
My classmates came back to their station, and I snapped a shot of their chicken with our stuffed vegetables.
We were a tight-knit class, and we weren't going to let anyone fail.
___________________________________________
For other posts related to culinary school, click here.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Testing recipes and my first cooking demo at the Inwood Greenmarket
Strawberry basil smoothie
Saturday, I did my first cooking demo at the Inwood Greenmarket in the Manhattan neighborhood where I live. I made a simple syrup of sugar and water and infused it with basil. I flavored strawberries with the basil syrup, and soaked nectarines and plums in mint simple syrup. I whipped heavy cream with the huge balloon whisk I have and piped dollops of the cream on nectarine samples.
Simple syrups are basically equal portions of sugar and water brought to a boil. You can add simple syrups to lemonade, iced tea, mixed drinks and other beverages and desserts. For the demo, I tested recipes for strawberry basil smoothies and fruit parfaits with mint simple syrup. Residents could take home copies of recipes if they wanted to.
Basil simple syrup
We didn't have a generator to use a blender to make smoothies. But it didn't matter because all my fruit samples were gone by the end of the demo. I'd never done a culinary demo before, and I had so much fun assembling samples for market goers. I loved the look of surprise on people's faces when they tried the fruit and tasted a hint of basil or mint.
GrowNYC organizes the farmers' markets in New York City. It's a nonprofit focused on improving the quality of life for residents through environmental initiatives. I signed up to volunteer to do cooking demonstrations.
Strawberries in basil syrup
I first heard about the combination of basil-infused simple syrups and fruit from Russ Parsons who wrote How to Pick a Peach. After basil is strained out of the simple syrup, it leaves a refreshing cinnamon taste in the syrup.
Strawberries in basil syrup
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup loosely packed basil, chopped
1 pint strawberries, hulled and quartered
Mix water and sugar in a small saucepan and heat on high. While you wait for the mixture to boil, chop your basil. When the sugar and water boil and the mixture is clear, shut off the heat. Let the bubbles die down. Add the chopped basil and cover the saucepan. Let steep for 10-15 minutes. Strain and discard the basil.
Pour simple syrup over strawberries.
Print recipe
Strawberry basil smoothie
Serves 2
2 cups plain yogurt
2 cups whole strawberries, frozen
2/3 cup simple syrup infused with basil, or add syrup to taste
To freeze strawberries or any other fruit:
Wash strawberries and hull them. Lay on a cookie sheet in a single layer and put the strawberries in the freezer. They will be solid in about 40-45 minutes.
Tip: Freezing fruit is a great way to preserve it and have some ready whenever you want to make a smoothie or make some other dessert.
For the simple syrup:
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
1/4 cup loosely packed basil, chopped
Mix water and sugar in a small saucepan and heat on high. While you wait for the mixture to boil, chop your basil. When the sugar and water boil and the mixture is clear, shut off the heat. Let the bubbles die down. Add the chopped basil and cover the saucepan. Let steep for 10-15 minutes. Strain and discard the basil.
Double the recipe for simple syrup if you know you’ll make more smoothies later. Store any leftover simple syrup in the refrigerator.
To make the smoothie:
Pour the yogurt into a blender. Drop in the strawberries. Add the basil syrup. Then blend until smooth. Serve in tall glasses.
Print recipe
Fruit parfait with mint simple syrup
Serves 4
4 peaches
1 cup strawberries, hulled and quartered
1/2 cup blueberries
(Use any fruit you want.)
1 lemon
For the simple syrup:
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1/4 cup loosely packed mint (You can also use basil or tarragon.)
For the whipped cream:
2 cups heavy cream
6-8 teaspoons sugar, or to taste
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
For the simple syrup:
Mix sugar and water in a small saucepan and heat on high. While you wait for the mixture to boil, chop the mint. After the simple syrup comes to a boil and the mixture is clear, shut off the heat. Let the bubbles die down. Then add the herb. Let steep for 10-15 minutes. Strain and discard the herb.
Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to boil. Blanch the peaches in the boiling water for 30-45 seconds and then shock in ice water. Peel the peaches and squeeze lemon juice over them so they don’t turn brown. Hull and quarter the strawberries. Keep each fruit in separate bowls.
Pour the simple syrup over each fruit. Allow them to marinate in the syrup, while you make the whipped cream.
To make the whipped cream:
Using a stand mixer with a wire whip attachment or a handheld mixer, mix heavy cream, sugar and vanilla extract until soft peaks form. (You can also use a balloon whisk.) Add more or less sugar if you like.
Layer a small glass with strawberries, whipped cream, peaches, whipped cream again and blueberries. Repeat until you have enough space to dollop the top with whipped cream. Save any leftover whipped cream for another dessert. Garnish each parfait with mint.
Print recipe
Inwood Greenmarket
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Organs: Butter them, fry them, maybe I'll eat them
Fried sweetbreads with a browned butter sauce, polenta and spinach
Level 2 Lesson 4
Friday, July 30, 2010
The sweetbreads looked spongy, like small brains, but they were actually thymus glands.
Chef M carefully sliced the sweetbreads on the bias.
Maria asked what animal the glands came from.
“Veal,” Chef M replied.
“Oh,” said Maria who looked like she had swallowed a wasp.
“Twenty-five years ago, if you gave me sweetbreads, I would have said, ‘Get the fuck out. I want steak,’” Chef M said.
He looked at us pointedly.
“Your taste—change. Your palate—change,” he said. “You just gotta be open-minded.”
My husband had ordered sweetbreads once at an expensive restaurant. I don’t remember taking a bite. But I was looking forward to trying the sweetbreads I’d be cooking.
John and I removed some of the membrane and gristle that was still attached to our sweetbreads. We brushed the sweetbreads with mustard and splashed them with white wine. Then we breaded and fried them.
On a warm plate, we placed three sweetbreads against a mound of goat cheese polenta and topped the polenta with sautéed spinach. Then we drizzled a browned butter sauce with capers, lemon slices and parsley over the thymus glands.
Chef J, Chef M’s number two, split a sweetbread with his fork and took a generous bite.
“Mmm. Good,” Chef J said.
Then he took a bite of our polenta.
He liked our presentation, but he noticed the lemon slices had burned a little. (That was my fault.)
I pierced a sweetbread with my fork and tasted it. It was pretty good—fried. As I chewed, I felt the texture of the organ, how pasty it felt. I swallowed.
Chef M demonstrated how to cut up a calf’s liver. It was huge, covering two cutting boards. As Chef M removed the thin membrane from the liver, the flesh glistened and moved like Jell-O.
Maria asked about the size of the liver.
Chef J said it was a normal size for a calf.
Maria looked like she was about to throw up.
She told me later she could handle chicken parts, but not when huge organs were laid out in front of her. The animal from which the organs came from seemed too real for her, too up close.
“I felt nauseous the whole time,” she said.
We sautéed liver slices Chef M had cut for us, and laid caramelized onions over them.
Our last dish of the night was lamb tongue. Chef assistants had already blanched the tongues for us. All we had to do was make the salad and plate the dish.
The lamb tongue looked like a small, gray phallus. John held the tongue as he sliced it as thin as he could. I made the vinaigrette to dress the fingerling potatoes.
We layered the tongue slices in a circle and placed the potatoes in the middle.
After presenting our plate, John and I ate the lamb tongue. It tasted like roast beef. The mustard in the vinaigrette masked the real flavor of the organ, and I took one bite after another.
I would never have tried lamb tongue outside of school. But Chef M’s comments on how my palate would change stuck with me.
It was Chef M’s last day at The French Culinary Institute. He had only taught us for a week and a half, but I would miss him. I could follow a recipe down to each word, but Chef M said I’d have to work it out myself.
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For other related posts, click here.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Good eats taste even better with friends
The trees in Maria’s backyard draped the Saturday night sky. We sat outside, enjoying the cool air, grilled meats and strong drinks.
A week and a half ago, we were hyperventilating over our practical exam. All of us passed, and now we were here, full of hamburgers and kebabs. We weren’t in our chef’s jackets. We weren’t frantically plating our dish to be judged on our technique, and we weren’t hot and sweaty.
We recalled how Alejandro passed out from the heat, and we began telling his girlfriend everything we remembered.
“I saved him,” Phil said. “I made sure his head didn’t touch the floor.”
It was the day we were making stocks.
A loud thud interrupted Chef X’s lecture.
“It’s Alejandro!” Phil yelled.
Phil had caught Alejandro after he fainted. But Alejandro hit something when he passed out, and we jerked our heads to that sound. Twenty or so faces looked down at Alejandro on the floor whose head had been propped up by a towel. He looked haggard. His face was very pale and slightly green.
Vicki told Chef D to find some orange juice. (At the time, some of us thought Alejandro was diabetic, although he wasn’t.) Chef D came back with a banana after not being able to find juice.
The men propped Alejandro on a stool and he drank water out of a paper cup. Suddenly, his face turned gray and his tongue went limp.
Chef X and others rushed to Alejandro to catch him. They carried him out of the warm kitchen. Paramedics lifted him on a gurney and took him to the emergency room where his girlfriend saw him there.
Chef continued with his lecture. Later, Phil told us Alejandro was fine and had gone through some tests, but no cause was given.
“That’s never happened to me before,” Alejandro said a couple days after the incident.
His face turned very pale one other time, but he never fainted again.
That lecture in mid-June seemed far away as we languished at Maria's house.
We drank Phil’s concoction of rum, raspberry apple juice, Prosecco, ginger ale, simple syrup and other ingredients. I kept grabbing chips to eat Nicole’s tomatillo salsa. All of Gillian’s cranberry walnut cookies and peanut butter cookies were gone.
John had made the hamburgers with different types of ground meat and spices, and aged them for four days in the refrigerator. Originally from Macedonia, John made ajvar, a roasted red pepper relish. He also brought pindzur, a hot pepper dip that was so spicy Ana thought she was dying when she tried it.
Kathryn made tzatziki to go with the bacon-wrapped chicken kebabs. The yogurt-cucumber dip pretty much went well with anything. We gobbled up Vicki’s bruschetta and vegetable quiche.
Henry had grilled all the meat and made the salad and vinaigrette. He still had the energy to nag me out of my chair to help him make sabayon, a sweet custard, to spoon over strawberries. He whipped the leftover egg whites into meringue.
These were the things we made on our day off---the food we shared with friends.
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For other related posts, click here.
A week and a half ago, we were hyperventilating over our practical exam. All of us passed, and now we were here, full of hamburgers and kebabs. We weren’t in our chef’s jackets. We weren’t frantically plating our dish to be judged on our technique, and we weren’t hot and sweaty.
We recalled how Alejandro passed out from the heat, and we began telling his girlfriend everything we remembered.
“I saved him,” Phil said. “I made sure his head didn’t touch the floor.”
It was the day we were making stocks.
A loud thud interrupted Chef X’s lecture.
“It’s Alejandro!” Phil yelled.
Phil had caught Alejandro after he fainted. But Alejandro hit something when he passed out, and we jerked our heads to that sound. Twenty or so faces looked down at Alejandro on the floor whose head had been propped up by a towel. He looked haggard. His face was very pale and slightly green.
Vicki told Chef D to find some orange juice. (At the time, some of us thought Alejandro was diabetic, although he wasn’t.) Chef D came back with a banana after not being able to find juice.
The men propped Alejandro on a stool and he drank water out of a paper cup. Suddenly, his face turned gray and his tongue went limp.
Chef X and others rushed to Alejandro to catch him. They carried him out of the warm kitchen. Paramedics lifted him on a gurney and took him to the emergency room where his girlfriend saw him there.
Chef continued with his lecture. Later, Phil told us Alejandro was fine and had gone through some tests, but no cause was given.
“That’s never happened to me before,” Alejandro said a couple days after the incident.
His face turned very pale one other time, but he never fainted again.
That lecture in mid-June seemed far away as we languished at Maria's house.
We drank Phil’s concoction of rum, raspberry apple juice, Prosecco, ginger ale, simple syrup and other ingredients. I kept grabbing chips to eat Nicole’s tomatillo salsa. All of Gillian’s cranberry walnut cookies and peanut butter cookies were gone.
John had made the hamburgers with different types of ground meat and spices, and aged them for four days in the refrigerator. Originally from Macedonia, John made ajvar, a roasted red pepper relish. He also brought pindzur, a hot pepper dip that was so spicy Ana thought she was dying when she tried it.
Kathryn made tzatziki to go with the bacon-wrapped chicken kebabs. The yogurt-cucumber dip pretty much went well with anything. We gobbled up Vicki’s bruschetta and vegetable quiche.
Henry had grilled all the meat and made the salad and vinaigrette. He still had the energy to nag me out of my chair to help him make sabayon, a sweet custard, to spoon over strawberries. He whipped the leftover egg whites into meringue.
These were the things we made on our day off---the food we shared with friends.
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