tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57895402011-06-05T17:20:20.606-07:00Meat LabThe grind and gristle in the gastronomic worldAimee M.noreply@blogger.comBlogger351100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1086568315664670502004-06-06T17:25:00.000-07:002004-12-13T16:23:51.563-08:00Raising a glass
You can tell what someone does for a living by the condition of his or her hands. I know it’s been at least three weeks since I’ve left the food service industry, as the cuts on my hands have completely healed, leaving faint scars, smudges that remind me of bread cut too fast, shards of broken china, steam burns.
Now, I’ve got splinters. I break open pine crates filled with Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1082651393017997462004-04-22T09:29:00.000-07:002004-04-22T09:32:52.090-07:00Institutionalized
I ended my Friday (Tuesday, for me) by spilling a large tin filled with 30 sodas and 10 pounds of ice all over the floor of a classroom. My customers scrambled, got down on hands and knees, scooping up bits of slippery ice with cupped palms. I scooted around with a piece of linen, mopping up as much water as I could. The janitor never showed up, so I spent an extra 15 minutes, Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1082390561477096542004-04-19T08:59:00.000-07:002004-04-19T09:05:37.793-07:00Drawing lines
J grabbed me off the floor at a catering event and took me aside to where we could talk. Our conversation dynamic is awkward; towering a good foot above me, June is animated, all eyes when she’s speaking seriously, and me, craning my scrawny neck upwards, must look like a baby ostrich begging for food.
Company management had been negotiating a new contract with the members of Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1080009070837792322004-03-22T18:31:00.000-08:002004-03-22T18:51:52.263-08:00Nothing but noodles
It was a stay-in-pajamas day, the kind of day where the dreary sky betrays the passage of time. So my brother calls to make a lunch date, and all I can think of is noodles. Hot soup noodles that require slurping, which means splattering warm salty broth on shirt and lunch date. And if you can’t splatter soup on family, on whom can you?
We ambled to Mifune, a noodle shop in Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1078381230999969622004-03-03T22:20:00.000-08:002004-03-03T22:56:02.733-08:00At the Golden Dragon
LOS ANGELES--I spent Monday morning looking for a new colony of artists’ galleries amid trinket shops and travel agencies on wide streets that border what Angelenos call their Chinatown. The main thoroughfares cater to pedestrian tourists who while ambling gawk at garish yellow and orange lanterns, ceramic dragons, Oriental kitsch. Disneyland knows no borders.
It was 10 Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1077649745334898572004-02-24T11:09:00.000-08:002004-02-24T11:11:06.653-08:00A fois gras fantasy
I was placing a bag of iceberg lettuce into my shopping cart when the raid took place. The officers hungrily stormed the store, heading straight for the butcher counter. Bullets flew, ricocheting off walls and shattering the just-arrived cases of mock Beaujolais -- a pity, as I had yet to pick up a few bottles. Shoppers huddled under carts, clutching children and carob bars, Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1077047797214934712004-02-17T11:56:00.000-08:002004-02-17T11:58:31.716-08:00Raw ingredients
Fernando hobbles up the kitchen steps, slick with dishwater and discarded foodstuffs, carrying a box of Twix candy bars in one hand. His other hand hangs limp and swollen at his side. It’s a Sunday, and as usual, we’re at work--the practice of weekends off a concept unknown to the hospitality industry. Students have to eat, even on weekends. So here we are at the university, at Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1075307312066814532004-01-28T08:28:00.000-08:002004-01-28T08:30:05.890-08:00What you eat
Perhaps fortunetellers should toss the crystal ball and tarot cards and read a person’s future from what they decide to have for breakfast. For many, this is the meal we forgo in our mad dash to work or gobble in one hand, wrapper greasy, while driving the kids to school. For some, it is the first Zen step of many in measured bites and silent thoughts.
Over the next two days the Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1074924929399935932004-01-23T22:15:00.000-08:002004-01-23T22:16:58.983-08:00Open for business
A late-night craving for Vietnamese spring rolls after a long workday brought me to a pho joint on Clement Street, one of the many sleepless noodle houses in the Richmond.
Most pho shops wear the same clothes. Watercolor pictures of Hanoi or Hue, surrounded by gilded frames, hang on off-white walls. There is always a wall of mirrors, giving the illusion of an endless sea of Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1074801501747348262004-01-22T11:58:00.000-08:002004-01-22T11:59:49.293-08:00A new harvest
I am up to my elbows in dirt. Not the dirt that lodges under fingernails and turns worn knees on jeans a muddy hue, but the language of dirt, of farming. I’m surrounded by books with titles such as, “On Good Land” and “The Chef’s Garden” and “From the Earth to the Table,” each a personal account of a gourmand or earth goddess able to extract gold from the earth, in the form of Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1074235110559228912004-01-15T22:38:00.000-08:002004-01-15T22:39:51.936-08:00Cooking comprehension
It took me four hours to make a lousy beet and goat cheese tart yesterday. Beets take their own sweet time to roast. Dough needs to rest. Onions need to caramelize. Dough needs to roll and rest again. Custard needs to set. Chef needs to eat a peanut butter sandwich in the middle of it all because she’s hungry, dammit, and the tart can wait.
So goes my first day as a Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1073939755963890372004-01-12T12:35:00.000-08:002004-01-12T12:37:13.983-08:00The better burger
America may be the birthplace of the hamburger, the traditional (perhaps patriotic?) ground meat patty, seasoned well or simply, tucked tightly with lettuce, tomatoes and dill pickles between a sliced, seeded, doughy bun, slathered with ketchup and mayonnaise. But this version doesn’t hold a candle to the Turkish kofte.
Pronounce a guttural “goood” and you’ve said “kofte” Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1073622495372738592004-01-08T20:28:00.000-08:002004-01-08T20:29:29.890-08:00At the table
I do not want to be a food writer, but a writer who can write about food and the world in which it is served. For what is really more interesting: a spoonful of tomato bisque, or the person whose lips the soup is about to pass through? I am finding greater inspiration through writers who are able to capture not only the flavors at a table, but also the spirit of each singular, Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1073500512750061872004-01-07T10:35:00.000-08:002004-01-07T10:37:24.326-08:00Better than a fruit roll-up
The foodies at the San Francisco Chronicle decided to bite on dried fruit in today’s Food section, and what a timely bite it is. There are still a few fresh fruits out there to tantalize, such as the baggy-skinned but sweet winter oranges now piled head-high at most farmer’s markets and local establishments. Some crisp yet close to overripe Gravensteins inspired me Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1073440798806300102004-01-06T17:59:00.000-08:002004-01-06T18:01:11.590-08:00Cool beans
I’ve been daydreaming of coffee from a café in Budapest while standing on the street corner, blowing on frozen hands, waiting for the bus that never comes. Served in a simple demitasse, this special drink was strong European coffee scented with cinnamon and chocolate, with a thin layer of the richest whipped cream. The cup was small enough to fit snugly in my petite hands, as I sippedAimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1073354892069884232004-01-05T18:08:00.000-08:002004-01-05T18:09:23.750-08:00Living large
A recent special on food in The Economist, that fabulous cheeky English rag, sounds a culinary alarm. As consumers, we are ballooning, just like the blueberry-plumped Veruca Salt in Willy Wonka, a madcap tale of candy and overindulgence. Obesity has become epidemic, and everyone’s to blame. One of many incredible statistics the study (“Filling the World’s Belly,” Dec. 13 print issueAimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1073092707084325082004-01-02T17:18:00.000-08:002004-01-02T17:24:14.310-08:00Blank plate
And this is how it starts, staring at a blank screen, three days after a New Year’s Eve resolution to write every day. Luck often comes in threes, so this start may be more auspicious than if I had dragged myself from my lover’s bed early on the 1st, still pajama-clad, to write about our wonderful crab and oyster feast, now a tradition, on the eve of 2004.
I will write about the Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1072642588723482012003-12-28T12:16:00.000-08:002003-12-28T12:17:32.216-08:00Eat your meat
It's amusing that when, finally, mad cow disease arrived in America, we discovered it wasn't our fault. Blame the Canadians! They sent the faulty cow to us. Not that it matters one bit where the poor bovine came from--the meat's still bad, and the panic has already set deep in our own muscle tissues.
Considering that the British already took it on the chin for the rest of the Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1072545846986970932003-12-27T09:24:00.000-08:002003-12-27T09:25:09.280-08:00Off the clock
This is an unusual state for a culinary professional--I have almost a week and a half of vacation, during the holidays. Ordinarily, I should be working 12-hour days, serving yule log, popping champagne for merry revelers. But working for a university food establishment has its benefits. The kids go home, the professors skip town, and we shut down. I’m now on temporary leave, more Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1069898433597040372003-11-26T18:00:00.000-08:002003-11-26T18:01:05.873-08:00Turkey jerky
In the spirit of Thanksgiving, here’s a tale.
I cooked my first Thanksgiving turkey in the Czech Republic for a party of 15. Having for years watched my mother fret over our family bird, I’m not sure what inspired me to think I could attempt such a large feast unaided--my roommate being a vegetarian, and simply in charge of salad. I suppose it was, for us, a great opportunity to Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1067977061816131482003-11-04T12:17:00.000-08:002003-11-04T12:28:43.823-08:00Eating cake
In my first food writing class we wrote about cake, generously prepared by our instructor, Jeannette Ferrary. We lined up with paper plates in the chilly classroom to nibble on our first assignment.
It was to be our first restaurant review, our instructor explained, and we had to pretend that we had finished an entree or two and were now contemplating dessert--the final bite that Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1067326979229442602003-10-27T23:42:00.000-08:002003-10-27T23:42:58.230-08:00In the center ring
Twelve hours on my feet, shod in cheap Payless Shoe Source non-slip shoes, and I’m ready to collapse. This evening was my first china service dinner where I was the lead--the point of all contact, the one to shoulder the praise as well as the blame--and surprisingly, the event went well. No fires, no dropped food.
After about a week as a full-time catering supe, I think I’veAimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1066887115312110432003-10-22T22:31:00.000-07:002003-10-22T22:33:55.850-07:00Culinary school drop-out
It's important to pay attention to details; at least, that's what I've been taught in the months I've spent training to be a professional chef. Just good enough isn't--pushing for perfection is a daily, hourly, minute-to-minute task.
For a restaurant, paying attention to details can make or break a business. As a fellow foodie friend told me while cooking creme Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1066242380692101222003-10-15T11:26:00.000-07:002003-10-15T11:26:45.343-07:00Make it my way
My first event as a catering supervisor in training was a small sit-down dinner for faculty authors celebrating the overall sucess of the group in publishing. A simple affair, it was to be a pre-set salad, buffet entree, and served dessert.
First rule: If you assume something will be simple it won't. Second rule: Nothing is ever simple.
And the rule to trump all rules: When Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1066089149784428152003-10-13T16:52:00.000-07:002003-10-13T16:52:29.180-07:00One foot on the floor, one out the door
I'm trying to figure out how I can be a full-time student, a full-time employee, and a full-time freelance writer of food in a 24-hour day. This week I'll discover whether something has to give.
I've just been hired by Bon Appetit, a national food service and catering company, as a catering supervisor. This company also happens to be the on-site food Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1065507232294227062003-10-06T23:13:00.000-07:002003-10-06T23:16:14.910-07:00Chicken finger-painting
We eat, truly, with all our senses. I salivate when I smell bacon frying--a true Pavlovian response. The sound of popping corn kernels instantly reminds of salt, and butter, and furtive cuddles across a movie theater armrest. Eye-catching cake decorations, with soft creams and ripe fruit, proffer a tasty advertisement of more sweetness to come. Gooey taffy begs to be Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1065395229514398242003-10-05T16:07:00.000-07:002003-10-05T16:07:09.556-07:00I’ll be your servant this evening
We stumbled through the servants’ entrance, past the towering garbage container and piles of broken, discarded furniture, tucking in shirt tails, straightening bow ties. A parade of hung-over penguins, just waking up for the night’s work.
My tuxedo fits me poorly, but at least it’s clean. Across from me in the room where we’re all assembled, waiting for Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1065048764869973602003-10-01T15:52:00.000-07:002003-10-01T15:52:44.276-07:00Numbers: One veal breast, seven rib bones torn out by hand, the veal pounded and stuffed with frozen meat farce and tied. Twenty pounds of flank steak cleaned and cut into 5 oz. portions. One beef tenderloin, chain removed and cleaned. Handfuls of roast duck, dipped in hoisin sauce, consumed with gusto. One DECAF coffee (I'm detoxing) and one Pepsi.
Just ducky
At lunch today, we were presentedAimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1064970154661903912003-09-30T18:02:00.000-07:002003-09-30T18:09:07.096-07:00Pasta pandemonium
Meat lab is coming to an end--already half the quarter has flown by and we’re now starting on student lunch projects. Of course, our group was chosen to go first.
We had to prepare for our class of 25 a three-course lunch menu--appetizer, entrée and dessert. For our presentation, we agreed upon jalapeño poppers stuffed with crab meat; beef tenderloin and white shrimp kabobs Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1064895542338875402003-09-29T21:19:00.000-07:002003-09-29T21:19:28.980-07:00Numbers: One hour late to class. One rack of pork chops, feather bones removed, cut into individual chops. Twelve whole chickens, trussed for baking. Five peppers, cut into julienne strips. One hour spent wandering from the hot kitchen to the library and back again, looking for things to do. One pound of butter blended with chipotle peppers and mole sauce, for compound butter. Two dozen boned Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1064383492581243452003-09-23T23:04:00.000-07:002003-09-23T23:06:01.063-07:00Numbers: Ten pounds of pork shoulder de-boned and cut into two-inch hunks for grinding. Ten lymph nodes found and marveled at; three arteries cut out, large enough in diameter to stick my pinky finger in and through, much to the disgust of my classmates. Two pork chop racks cleaned and cut into approximately 14 chops. Eight pounds of squid cleaned, de-beaked and sliced in to bite-size pieces for Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1063837745384506822003-09-17T15:29:00.000-07:002003-09-17T15:34:00.870-07:00Numbers: Three 2 lb. flank steaks, cleaned of fat and sinew, cut into strips for stir-fry. Two chickens, cut into boneless, skinless breasts and boneless legs. Three salmon filets, cleaned of blood line and de-boned, cut into 6 oz. portions. Waste: 10 oz. of scrap, or, more than $10 in sellable product. Six tomato wedges, carved and skinned as to resemble flower petals. Or standing, armless Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1063747332229263852003-09-16T14:22:00.000-07:002003-09-17T15:41:12.833-07:00Numbers: A dozen “irregular” chicken breasts cut in half, and portioned out to 5 oz. for scaloppini. One frozen turkey carcass cut for boneless breasts. Three dozen corn fritters, fried in vegetable oil. One oil burn, middle finger. Five seafood kabobs assembled. Four Vietnamese fresh spring rolls, with shrimp and steak, rolled loosely and somewhat haphazardly, for my own consumption. One cup of Aimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1063320360767396392003-09-11T15:46:00.000-07:002003-09-11T15:48:24.750-07:00Numbers: Four salmon fillets, cleaned but with skin on, cut into 45 - 6 oz. portions. Two bass fillets, pin bones removed, butchered into almost unusable 4.5 oz. portions when 6 oz was required. Ten potatoes, peeled, as penance. Bunch parsley chopped (more penance). Five sheet pans washed. Ten feet of Italian sausage, freshly cased, twisted into little sausage links. Three chickens cut to produceAimee M.noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5789540.post-1063143704773980132003-09-09T14:41:00.000-07:002003-09-09T14:41:44.833-07:00The first step before cutting a piece of meat is similar to the first step before sitting down to write: you need to make sure your tools are sharp. A dull knife is more dangerous than a sharp one; a dull, sleepy mind, likewise, is useless. Unfortunately, today I possess both.
In this blog, I will attempt to chronicle the following: one, my participation in the production kitchen at the local Aimee M.noreply@blogger.com