I Finally Post Something About Skills One

In The Making of a Chef, Michael Rulhman often writes about a girl in his class who’s an absolute disaster. Her whites are always messy, she burns her consommé, she never scores well on practicals, and she can never seem to catch up with the rest of the class.

I’m that girl.

I know every class has to have one. But, when you have Skills I with Chef Skibitsky and you’re that girl, you almost feel like you should just abandon kitchen life all together. Skibitsky’s one of those old-school, hard knocks, pay your dues type chefs. He persistently glares about the kitchen finding faults with your knife cuts, your stocks, your mise en place, your speed, your proficiency. He runs his class like a boot camp- a grueling indoctrination into the world of the culinary arts.

This is not to say he isn’t an amazing chef. He just also happens to be a kick-your-ass chef. I worked on his team during the Worlds of Flavor conference and quickly discovered that he was the most knowledgeable person I’d yet met at the CIA. He’s also the most industrious. During Worlds of Flavor, Team India always arrived an hour earlier and left and hour later than every other team.

Of course that work ethic carried over to Skills One. By the end of the first week, almost everyone in the class realized that an hour of prep before class started was necessary just to get by. Likewise, we were always held at least one hour later than class was supposed to have ended.

Skibitsky originally taught at the Hyde-Park campus. He only just recently moved out to California to work at Greystone. Even more recently, he and his family decided California was not for them and that they were going to move back to New York. We were to be his last class at Greystone before he transferred back to the Hyde Park campus to teach the American Bounty Restaurant part of their curriculum. The tension between the relatively lax methods at Greystone and Skibitsky’s rigorous Hyde Park standards was permanently palpable. If prompted to talk about the differences between the New York and California campuses, Skibitsky would punctuate the descriptions of one coast’s school with quite a few eye rolls.

Despite the coastal culture clash, I did appreciate learning the foundations (stocks, mother sauces, knife cuts) from such a seasoned professional. Too bad I was too nervous around him most of the time to execute anything properly.

Every day immediately went down hill for me with the knife tray. The tray usually consisted of about seven to eight different cuts (dice, batonnet, bruinoise, etc) of various vegetables which we were supposed to complete in a daily decreasing time limit. On my first tray, the one with the greatest time limit, time passed and I’d only completed six out of the eight cuts.

On days that I did finish, I would watch Chef Skibitsky pick out the most heinously bad examples of my handiwork with a long metal needle. He’d line up my fine dice (supposedly quarter inch by quarter inch) against a ruler and shake his head at me when four lined up to an inch and a quarter. Tray after tray and I improved in negligible amounts. Everyone else seemed to score in the nineties. But not me. Not once. I started to get depressed thinking that I’d never be a good cook.

Still, it wasn’t all knife cuts, and sometimes Chef would allow me small victories- like the time he thought my soup was good enough to show to another teacher. In general, my food recieved adequate reviews: my consommés were usually flavorful but a little cloudy; my pommes puree had good consistency but was a tad too salty; my chicken velouté had good color but still tasted a bit like roux.

After I finally accepted that I had absolutely no natural talent in the kitchen, I think I calmed down a touch. The daily knife tray still gave me the jitters, but my “individual production” (the day’s recipes to be prepared and graded) usually scored eights or nines out of ten. I found the less nervous I was, the better my food eventually tasted.

The last day of class, we had our first practical. Typically Skills One doesn’t even have a practical but, of course, Chef Skibitsky thought we could handle one. In two hours we were supposed to cook pasta (made the day before) with pesto, broccoli with hollandaise, glazed carrots, and a chicken consommé. Everyone’s start time was staggered so that there was only a five minute window in which to plate and serve the four dishes.

I was first to start. I put my consommé on and worried over it as the raft seemed to only half-float. The color and clarity seemed alright, though, so I moved on to my pesto. Next, I whisked up some hollandaise and, straining it into a bain marie, crossed my fingers that the emulsion would hold for the next hour and a half. Then, I blanched my broccoli while preparing the glazed carrots. Ninety minutes into the practical, I was finished. I had everything ready, waiting to be warmed and plated, twenty five minutes before I needed it to be.

Once plating and grading finally arrived, I grew more and more terrified as Skibitsky tasted my dishes. The broccoli hollandaise was good though not great, the consommé (as always) not too clear, the carrots not so glazed, and the pasta a “little boring.” Chef asked me what grade I thought I earned and I braced myself for a C. He looked at the paper, tallying up the scores, then looked back at me- “Lindsay, you got a ninety.”

Visit to the Organic Gardens at Frog's Leap Vineyards

The following is a photo essay on a trip to Frog's Leap vineyards where the mission is to "Produce wines that deeply reflect the thoughtfully chosen soils and climates from which they emanate".

Excuse the funky formatting... blogger doesn't seem to like this many photos.

The grouds surrounding the property have been recently renovated. All of Frog's Leaps gardens, along with their vines, are grown organically.

As more and more wineries seem to be doing recently, Frog's Leap aims for as green and as natural a growth and harvest of their vines as possible. Their vines are grown by "dry farming" (no irrigation), a method that harkens back to the old Italian manner of wine production in California.

In order to successfully dry farm, Frog's Leap chose the Saint George (Vitis rupestris) root stock which grows under a custom cover blend of peas, oats, and vetch. Apparently, through dry farming, the grapes at Frog's Leap achieve maximum flavor at only around 23 brix as opposed to the more common 28 brix harvest mark for irrigated vines. This lower sugar content allows lower alcohol wines and greater sense of terroir with each crush.

A field of photovoltaic solar panels, accompanied by geothermal power, produces all of the energy that the winery needs.

The vegetable and flower gardens are a bonus attraction for those visitng the vineyards. Visitors can take home much of the day's vegetable harvest for free.

In addition to visual interest, the gardens promote biodiveristy and attract beneficial insect species such as this monarch butterfly caterpiller.

Frog's Leap maintains an apiary in order to increase pollination in the garden and vineyards. Every year, the bees produce about three gallons of honey. In the foreground of the picture, one of Frog's Leap's bountiful olive trees can be seen. Last year one ton of olives and thirty five gallons of olive oil were produced from these trees.

Two chicken coops are kept, one for eggs (and tourist amusement) and another under the solar panel field where the chickens can keep weeds at bay. There's more agri-tainment to come to Frog's Leap with the future addition of some dairy cows.

Fruits of the garden...

Worlds of Flavor 2007

The problem with having so much stuff to write about is that, while all that material-worthy action is going on, there’s not enough time to write anything down. Such has been the case since last week’s World’s of Flavors Conference on “The Rise of Asia.” Admittedly, the details of last week aren’t as fresh in my mind as they could be. Still, I witnessed so much mind-bogglingly impressive culinary expression in those three days that even my stale recollections are worth putting on paper.

Like a lot of my classmates who volunteered to work the conference, I was assigned to team India. A day before the conference officially started, our team began organizing the mise en place for all of our presenters' recipes. To take a break from the flurry of prepping, I offered to run our orders up from the purchasing department. Just getting to see some of the more unusual ingredients coming through purchasing would have made volunteering a worthwhile effort. Of course the Indian team ordered novel spices like asafoetida, aamchur (mango powder), several kinds of tamarind, and a dozen different masalas. On other teams' speed racks I glimpsed fresh wasabi, galangal, kaffir lime leaves, and mangosteens among boxes and bags of ingredients that I couldn’t even guess as to what they were.

During one trip downstairs to collect some of our proteins, Maridith and I stepped out of the walk-in and stood face to face with Masaharu Morimoto. The Iron Chef, clad in a day-glo orange puffy jacket, shorts, and some flip flops, had arrived a day early to inspect his fish order. I pretended to be unmoved by this sudden run-in with a celebrity, but Maridith’s eye’s and smile could not have been bigger.

The next day (the first official day of the conference), I became the de facto personal assistant to the presenter Ammini Ramachandran. Mrs. Ramachandran, or Ammini as she preferred to be called, is the author of Grains, Greens, and Grated Coconuts a book about recipes and food related memories from her life growing up in the Indian state of Kerala. I was thrilled to be paired up with Ammini. Not only was she a food writer (as I hope to be), but she hailed from a state that I had spent some time in while traveling through India.

Though Ammini would never have admitted it herself, she grew up with an aristocratic background -her grandfather was the maharaja of Kochi. Rather than projecting a patrician or entitled air, however, she could not have been more modest or humble about both her heritage and her culinary talents. In truth, I sensed that the hectic kitchen environment may have actually intimidated her somewhat. Since she is food writer, rather than a classically trained chef, I think Ammini did not expect to be surrounded by the insane amount of activity that greeted her in the Greystone kitchens. Despite her initial trepidation, however, she jumped into the fray with grace and skill. I flitted about the kitchen gathering equipment and ingredients as she prepared over thirteen individual recipes. Out of the thirteen, my two favorite preparations were her “Brown Stew” of potatoes in spicy coconut milk and a yam and coconut curry. Both were one pot dishes that evoked the essence of Kerelan home cooking that Ammini’s book focused on. Fairly simple to prepare, each of the curries displayed a complex balance of sweet and spicy flavors that I found very appealing.

Just before the first day of the conference ended, I took a moment to walk through the evening’s “Marketplace.” Greystone’s usually stark barrel room was converted into an overwhelmingly fantastic Asian bazaar. Swaths of colorful fabric hung from every possible corner, music and dancers performed, and conference attendees lined up to receive Thai massages. Food and drink was foisted on me from every table. Morimoto stood at one table signing books and the occasional volunteer’s toque. True to his title, he prepared the standout dish of the night- a dessert of candied salmon and yuzu ice cream.

By Friday, we had prepped and prepared almost all of Ammini’s recipes. Earlier in the day, I helped bring her mise en place over to the Ventura Center where she demoed her Black Pepper Soup for most of the conference participants. Back in the kitchen, I was able to watch the live feed of Ammini presenting. I could tell that her demure yet engaging banter with the emcee was quite a hit with the audience. After Ammini’s taping, I went back to work heating up some tuvar dal fritters and making five hundred quenelles of semolina pudding for Ammini’s table at that night’s marketplace.

As the conference drew to a close on Saturday night, I was entirely exhausted from over fifty hours of work in four days. Still, I couldn’t believe how exciting the experience had been. I was dizzy with the scope of the food I’d eaten and seen prepared in the last few days and was incredibly grateful to have met so many inspiring chefs, diligent cooks, and fascinating writers. Though I was completely worn-out from the conference, I found myself anxious to do the whole thing again next year.

Ammini Ramachandran's site with articles about Kerala and information about her book:

http://peppertrail.com/

Food I Can Live Without

I have to admit that, since I’m from the New York metropolitan area, I can be a bit of a snob about certain foods. Pizza, for instance, is manna sent from the gods when bought in the tri-state region. Anywhere else, it’s just tomato sauce and cheesy bread. Bagels, likewise, should not be consumed outside of a 100 mile radius of Manhattan. The term “bagel” should be appellation controlled for this vicinity. Outside of this locale, bagels never seem to have the glossy hard shell or the meaty, tightly formed matrix of bread inside that I would expect from a real bagel. They don’t even seem to taste like a bagel should. Bagels sold in bags at the supermarket are even worse, they are merely bagels in shape only. A true bagel connoisseur would avoid them like a sommelier shuns boxed wine.

At least in the area of bagels, I’d hoped that some of my foodie elitism had worn off on my boyfriend. Last night, though, I found something despicable sitting next to our milk and eggs. I don’t know what prompted Ryan to buy it, but “Thomas’s Squares Bagelbread” is definitely one of the more ludicrous foods I’ve seen in a long time.

The Thomas’s website has this to say about their product:
“THE GREATEST THING SINCE SLICED BREAD IS A REPLACEMENT FOR SLICED BREAD”
“Make the most of any sandwich, burger or snack with Thomas’ Squares Bagelbread. With the versatility of a sandwich bread, you can now add the traditional taste of Thomas’ bagels to any meal you desire.”
“Part Bagel. Part Bread. Totally Delicious.”

First of all, aren’t bagels already completely bread?
Secondly, what self-respecting executive gave the go-ahead for this product?

I imagine the product pitch for bagelbread squares went something like this:
Exec 1: Ok, so you know how bagels are totally boring and you can never seem to put anything on them?
Exec 2: Oh my god, I know! Seriously, why aren’t they more like regular bread? I mean, a circle of bread? How on earth do you hold it?!?!
Exec 1: Exactly! Well I think you’ll be excited by this new product. It takes all the excitement of a square piece of bread and then puts a hole in the middle of it!
Exec 2: You’re not talking about its some sort square-shaped bagelbread are you?
Exec 1: I am.
Exec 2: I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this before. I’m fast-tracking this product and giving you a bonus, you brilliant bagel revolutionary you!

Obviously, the idea is just plain stupid. The product, though, isn’t even executed well either. In no way does it approximate the texture or flavor I’d expect from a bagel. I toasted a piece last night and found it to be a slice of thick, gummy (square) bread with a small hole in the center. Even as bagged bread it would be barely palatable since it manages to be both very dry and chewy.

So lets review:
Bagels should be from New York, round, and tasty.
Thomas’s Squares Bagelbread is from a bag, square, and godawful.

What is it?

One night at Safeway, I found this peculiar looking fruit sitting with some mangoes. It looked like the unholy product of a one-night stand between a lonely prickly pear and a drunk kohlrabi. Since there was only one, and no one at the store could figure out what it was, the checkout guy let me take it home for free.

Back at home, I cut into the red skin and was surprised to find a white flesh speckled with hundreds of black seeds. Because of all the seeds, it ate with a texture just like that of a kiwi. It tasted like a very green melon- almost more like a vegetable than a fruit (a little onion-y?). I figured it must not have been completely ripe.

Still not knowing what I had bought, I typed “red skinned white flesh black seeds fruit” into yahoo and got back a bunch of sites for the “pitaya” or “dragon fruit.” Apparently, I wasn’t too far off with the prickly pear since practicallyedible.com told me that dragon fruit comes from a cactus vine. I’d heard of dragon fruit before –I think in some Vitamin Water or Sobe energy drink- but I had absolutely no idea it looked or tasted like the strange thing sitting half eaten in my kitchen.

Wikipedia told me that the pitaya/dragon fruit/strawberry pear/pitahaya/huǒ lóng guǒ/nanettikafruit/thanh long was a native to Central and South America that has become fairly popular in southern China and many Southeast Asian countries (apparently, this fruit-of-many-names is now one of Vietnam’s biggest agricultural exports). The mildly sweet flesh is most often appreciated eaten out of hand though it may be turned into wine or juice (e.g. Sobe and Vitamin Water). Evidently, I should have chilled the fruit before eating in order to bring out its flavor.

Hopefully another pitaya will pop up at Safeway again. Or better yet, more mystery fruit that I get to bring home for free.

Meat Fab

The class stuff, I can handle. I’ve been handling it for sixteen years. Lectures, reading, study, and tests are all second nature to me. I’ve always been that nerdy girl who determines her self worth by how good her grades are. Now, after six weeks of sitting in a classroom, we’re finally moving into the kitchen, and it’s very likely that I’m going suck- A LOT.

On my first day of Meat Identification and Fabrication, I’m standing in front of a ridiculously yellow chicken, swimming in whites that are a size too big, holding a dull knife, and having a mini freak-out. I’m not butchering this chicken, I’m destroying it. Chef Briwa broke his down in about two minutes and didn’t even appear to be rushing. It’s taking me at least ten and somehow half the chicken’s skin disappeared once I’d finally cut it up. It’s not been a promising first day.

The next day, I’m in better spirits. Though I’m still butchering chickens only in the Slasher-pic sense of the word, I can’t help but have fun. Chef Briwa seems to project a rather stress-free air about the whole thing. I can't help but laugh as he repeatedly peppers his conversation with out- of-place mid-nineties hip hop slang: “Now what do you with all this trim, girl- friend? Wasting all of that wouldn’t be good bidness. We couldn't get down with that.”

Towards the end of the week, and about twenty broken-down chickens later, I’m feeling a lot more comfortable about the class and the kitchen in general. Chef Wong is teaching the last three days of Meat Fab. An ex-military man, he emphasizes that our uniforms be perfect (hair off the collar, just one roll of your sleeves, please), but also acknowledges that we’re here to learn and make a lot of mistakes. Aaron and I ask him for a knife sharpening demonstration and (lucky me!) he shows the class how to properly use our stones with my knife.

After five days of meat fabrication, I’m not even feeling too nervous about our practical. In addition to our written test, we’re supposed to truss and break down three chickens – something we’ve now done dozens of times. This isn’t to say I anticipate getting an A; I just don’t expect to bomb it.

The day after our final, we get to fool around with sausage. There’s something about taking apart dead animals for six hours a day that brings out the inner sixth grader in every one. Almost every sentence warrants a “That’s what she said.” Now we’re expected to make sausage by stuffing ground meat into pigs’ intestinal casings using a machine that has the word “DICK” emblazoned across the front of it. A lot of goofiness ensues.

Once Meat Identification and Fabrication is over, we’ll spend another seven days on Seafood Identification and Fabrication. Knives now sharpened and somewhat used to cutting animals up, I’m not nervous about class anymore. I can handle the kitchen stuff, after all.

Ubuntu

As a one-time vegan (I tried for a summer), I know how difficult it can be to find any good vegetarian food outside of the local Indian restaurant. Fine-dining and vegetarianism rarely meet so when I heard about the new vegetarian restaurant/yoga studio, Ubuntu, I couldn’t wait to try it out.

Ubuntu’s airy, minimalist interior echoes the simplicity that a yoga practitioner strives for but the photo-collages on the walls of Tibetan monks with pseudo inspirational phrases like “Be Extraordinary” or “Open Your Eyes to the Ideal” are a bit much. So is the chanting music. Still, Ubuntu more than makes up for these mistakes with fun touches like bread served to the table in cute burlap bags and an impressive wine bar.

On the Ubuntu website, the restaurant claims its food is “less about a philosophy of no meat and instead a celebration of our own biodynamic gardens.” Unfortunately, I found myself wishing it was the other way around. I might be uninitiated to haute-vegetarian cuisine but I felt that some of our dishes could have been a little more accessible.

My first course was an intensely algae-colored mushroom and nettle soup which was poured over a locally (and ethically!) produced slow-poached egg. I found myself wishing that there was more of the egg and that the too-subtle flavor of the soup would match its radioactive color. Even so, it was pleasant, and it would certainly make a good winter comfort food. My aunt Jennifer ordered a zucchini “carpaccio” which, though artfully presented, was doused in a strangely sour and bitter soy “marinade.” She did not finish it.

I did finish, and enjoy, my main course of pumpkin flavored risotto-- though I couldn’t really distinguish much pumpkin flavor. It was dressed, however, with fried sage leaves (oh so trendy right now) which I’m a pig for. Jen ordered a cauliflower “crock pot” composed simply of roasted, pureed, and raw cauliflower mixed with Vaduvan curry. I liked the idea of the raw pieces as the “meat” of the dish but I’m not really sure if cauliflower alone can carry an entrée.

We continued to be more perplexed than pleased by our food as we ate dessert. My aunt had the medjool date cake with coconut ice cream and teeccino caramel. The date cake itself was warm, sweet, gooey goodness but it was covered with acrid lime foam which ruined the entire plate. Not to mention, since when does coffee-flavored teecino pair with lime? Yck. My “Green Apple and Goat’s Milk Parfait” was an equally confusing mélange of apple slices and sorbet, goat’s milk whipped cream, quince consommé, and cider gellies.

Maybe I’m too prescriptive of a culinarian to appreciate Ubuntu’s unique “philosophy” but, overall, I found the meal to be more unusual than remarkable. Jen and I spent more time trying to understand our food than we did enjoying it and I think we both left unsatisfied. Nevertheless, Ubuntu provided an out of the ordinary and, at an average ten dollars a plate, relatively cheap diversion from the Napa Valley norm.

A Tomato Tale (for Product Knowledge)

These days, it is hard to imagine a tomato causing much of a stir. Despite its current ubiquitousness, however, the tomato inspired controversy for centuries. The fruit (or vegetable…) that we might now think of as mundane, in previous centuries, stimulated fear, myth, religious zealotry, and even legal dispute.

The tomato can most likely be traced back to a wild, berry-sized ancestor that grew in the Andean area that is now present day Peru. The plant migrated up to Central America and the pre-Colombian peoples of Mexico adopted it sometime afterwards. Soon after their arrival in the new world, the Spanish brought tomato seeds back to Europe. By the early 17th century the tomato had infiltrated Spanish and Italian cuisine. The French and Northern Europeans were, however, much more reticent in adopting the fruit for anything outside of ornamental use.

Even though their neighbors to the south adopted the tomato, Northern Europeans believed the plant to be poisonous and potentially deadly if ingested. The botanical cousins of the tomato plant might explain this erroneous assumption. The tomato is a member of the Solanacae family along with many plants that actually are poisonous such as nightshade and belladonna. Also, though the fruit is edible, the leaves, stems, and roots may contain toxic glycoloids and solanine – perhaps dangerous to those Europeans who first encountered the plant.

In many languages, the word for “tomato” still reflects the once perceived perils of the plant. Though the English word is simply a derivation of the Nahuatl (Aztec language) word “tomatl,” other languages adopted more ominous sounding names. The scientific name for tomatoes, “Lycoperisicum,” translates to “Wolf Peach” – a moniker based on the assumption that tomatoes could serve as a poisonous bait for wolves. The Hungarians baptized the fruit the “paradice appfel,” believing the Garden of Eden to have been located somewhere in the New World and the tomato (rather than actual apples) to be the dreaded fruit that caused Eve to sin. The Italian and French translations may have also followed this line of the thought. The Italian “pomodoro” can be interpreted as “golden apple” (a possible reference to the apples in the garden of Hersperides) or “love apple.” Using these interpretations, linguists and food historians assume that the first tomatoes were actually golden in color or that the Italians, like the Hungarians, also associated the fruit with original sin. The French “pomme d’amour” or “Apple of Love” would also support this hypothesis. This word, though, could also have been a bastardization of the French word for eggplant (a close relative of the tomato): “pomme des mours.”

Centuries after most people forgot the etymological origins of their words for tomatoes, beliefs in the supernatural and dangerous powers of the tomato persisted. To this day, in many rural areas of North America, there are still people who remember being told not to eat them. The citizens of the United States, in fact, were some of the last in the world to incorporate tomatoes into their cuisines. Though the French-influenced people of Louisiana used tomatoes as early as 1812 and Thomas Jefferson had cultivated the plants at Monticello, the inhabitants of the northeastern United States did not start cooking the fruit/vegetable until the middle of the 19th century. Even then, widespread popularity and acceptance of tomatoes only occurred well into the 1900s.

In keeping with the tomatoes’ ability to stimulate and excite the imagination, a popular tall-tale is often told about the Colonel Robert Gibbon Johnson, the man supposedly credited with finally introducing tomatoes into American cuisine. According to the folk legend, one day in the fall of 1820, Johnson gathered hundreds of spectators to watch him eat a basketful of the deadly fruit on the steps of the Salem, NJ courthouse. In the story, people came from miles to hoping to see Johnson keel over. In many versions, his doctor stood nearby warning the crowd that Johnson would foam at the mouth and develop a deadly brain fever. Of course Johnson survived, and, as many tell it, he later makes a fortune running a tomato cannery.

Even after Americans were satisfied that the fruit was safe to eat, the tomato could not avoid controversy. In 1887, the debate over whether the tomato was a fruit or a vegetable traveled all the way to the Supreme Court. In Nix v. Hedden, the tomato importer John Nix, argued that, since tomatoes were botanically considered fruits, he should not have to pay a vegetable tax when importing them. The court acknowledged that, botanically speaking, tomatoes were fruits but decided that in common parlance and everyday culinary use they were considered to be vegetables. Nix did indeed have to pay and the tomato continued to straddle the vegetable/fruit divide.

Though now so often taken for granted as just another part of a salad or merely the main ingredient of ketchup, the tomato may be one of the most interesting vegetables (or fruits!) on modern tables. Few foods have sparked so much fear, debate, and deliberation. From forbidden fruit to versatile vegetable, the tomato stirred imaginations for centuries.

I Throw Up on An Indian Lady (Intro to Gastronomy Journal 3)

Cilantro smells like a rotting corpse- a rotting corpse covered in battery acid and soap that’s gone bad. I don’t know if soap can go bad, but if it could, that’s exactly what cilantro smells and tastes like to me.

When I was studying in India, I must have lost ten pounds because our cook, Lakshman, put cilantro into everything. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G: chutneys, naan, rotis, pakora, Goan stews, and I’m sure I found it in a dessert or two. Even his adorably misguided attempts at American fare (one evening we were served a somewhat recognizable “Waldrot Salad” that none of us had the heart to correct him on) were not exempt from the cilantro treatment.

I remember walking by the fish market everyday and being un-phased by vendors’ eels sitting on dirty newspaper glistening in the 100 degree sun. I remember getting used to the smell of the empty market square at late afternoon when the stalls were cleared of people but not of the grime and garbage left to bake there in the humid afternoon air. I also remember, one particular morning, walking by some stalls filled with an almost fantastical array of fruits and vegetables, being confronted by a tiny and ancient saleswoman. Her crackled face smiled as she shoved a bouquet of green at me. “Smell!” she yelled. As soon as I got a whiff of that putrid plant, I threw up right in front of that poor woman and the entire market. Of all the cultural faux pas I committed in that country, I’m sure this one was the worst.

I ran home, wondering why I was different from everyone eating Lakshman’s food and from everyone in the market. There was no way they experienced the plant the same way I did. If they smelled and tasted cilantro like I did and still ate it, they were some pretty twisted individuals indeed. I guessed that there had to be discrepancy in our tastes.

Later that day, I sat at an internet café researching my plight. God bless the internet, there, all outcastes- even culinary ones- can find kindred spirits. Typing “hate cilantro” into Google, I came up with about 300,000 hits. There was even a website, Ihatecilantro.com, which had a very active forum, a research section, and a store where I could buy an “I hate Cilantro” t-shirt or track suit. Another website told me not to fear, my future as a chef wasn’t in jeopardy: Julia Child hated the horrible herb.

short update

Sorry there's been no post for a while. My apartment internet was down for almost a week. Expect more posts soon. Also, thank you to anyone who is actually reading this- I know there's not that much yet to read. And, feel free to comment- or email me at lcbater@gmail.com with anything blog related.

Student Profile - Alfonso "Poncho" Vazquez

Age: 20
Hometown: Apple Valley, CA
Years Industry Experience: 4
Class: AOS Culinary Arts, Section 3

Start at the beginning, tell me how you got into cooking-
I guess I started by accident. I was in a band at the time and our guitar player was in a cooking class. I was in choir and didn’t want to be and he said, “Hey, this class if really fun.” So I switched classes and ended up really clicking with cooking. Through that, I got involved in a cooking competition. That threw me into a whole realm of things that I didn’t know. I spent basically my entire senior year devoted to restaurant class- everything from catering and banquets to pastry and advanced cooking. I actually lead a team of four people from my school to win the first place- I guess you could say medal- for the team cooking competition “Pro Start” that was put on by the NRA. Since we won, we got to go to Florida, for the national competition and we placed seventh overall. And then I graduated, and started working at a Spring Valley Lake Country Club. I did everything from prep to line cooking to buffet. I even did some breads and desserts.

Wow, sounds like, in a fairly short time, you’ve done a lot. After all that, what brought you to the CIA?
A few things. Everyone that I’ve always talked to… well, a friend of mine was going and I just got some info from different people. It’s actually not my first choice… I wanted to stay local and go to Scottsdale Culinary in Arizona. That’s where I was going to go but then that fell through and I heard about this place through that same cooking competition. I was actually the mentor for the class after I graduated- and that year the competition was out here at Greystone. So that was really cool, I got to see all of that and I met Thomas Keller. That’s how I found about this place.

After we graduate, what are your plans for the future?
Well, it’s kind of a long story. But, basically, my parents have run their own business since before I was born. That whole entrepreneur thing has been bred into me. I want to one day have my own place. I have some Spanish heritage so I want to go to Spain to check it out. Even if I don’t get to work there, I want to learn about the food. But basically, after school, I want to build up my resume and eventually have my own place. I’ve always like Spanish and Asian cuisines. Maybe I’ll fuse that together… but maybe that won’t happen. But exactly… I’m not sure. I know I don’t like working for someone else. But so far as making a name for myself, I just want to have a restaurant and it doesn’t matter if I become famous or not. I just want to have my own thing.

It seems like you’ve been really influenced by your heritage-
Well, it’s kind of sad because I don’t know much about that side. I know the Mexican side because that’s what I grew up with- all my aunts and uncles and relatives. I know Mexican food like the back of my hand, but I don’t really know much about Spanish stuff. I have one great aunt from Spain. I’ve never really had the chance to talk to her about food. There’s a little bit of a language barrier there…and with something as personal as food it’s hard to not be able to ask the right questions. But she’s from there she makes extremely good food.

Before we finish, tell me a little bit about cooking. What’s the best thing about food?
The best part about making food is that you can make it your own. It can be something that no one has ever tasted before.

Do you have a favorite food or preferred ingredient?
I like a lot of citrus. I’m a citrus guy. I like combining it and adding it to food. And I like lot of sweets.

How about an ingredient or dish you hate?
I don’t know… I don’t hate anything yet.

Weekend activity- Organic Garden

It wasn’t without a great sense of irony that I went to gardening club. Though I grew up in a family of farmers and my childhood back yard was filled by a vegetable garden, I know nothing about gardening. When I was in growing up, daily weeding, watering, and wading in dirt seemed like a lot of work just for the reward of having to eat zucchini everyday for two months. Of course, now that I am into sustainable, seasonal, and organic foods, I deeply regret not spending more time following my dad around with a wheelbarrow.

Three thousand miles away from the garden that I religiously avoided, I willing showed up to weed and plant the plot behind the Vineyard Lodge. I felt a little awkward as I needed to be told which plants were weeds and how to transplant the mizuna and pak choi. Thankfully, those there that were more knowledgeable were patient and willing to show me what to do.

After mucking around in the dirt, we sampled some of the garden’s many heirloom tomato varieties. We found grass, carrot, citrus, and even sausage notes in some of the tomatoes. While taste sampling, we also tested for sugar content. Dr. Chris Loss, the consummate food scientist, brought out his refractometer and we used it to measure brix.

It was only a couple hours, but, in that time, we managed to span the spectrum of hands-on to fairly scientific applications. I think I’m going to learn a lot in the garden – most importantly, that working with plants isn’t always a chore and that gardening can indeed be fun.

Art and Adria (Intro Gastronomy Journal 2)

When does food become “art” rather than “craft”? Is gastronomy an art form? I think it was Aristotle who claimed that food, unlike painting, poetry, music, and dance, could never be a true “art,” as it was born out of the base human need to sustain oneself. Even at the highest level, cuisine is still fulfilling a human bodily function. Has mere cooking been able to both satisfy hunger and exist on the intellectual and spiritual plane that other art forms manage to attain? Will it ever be able to?

My somewhat lacking knowledge of gastronomical history would lead me to believe that food has not been widely considered an art form. True, there have been geniuses in the world of cuisine. From Carême to Keller, however, these individuals are most often viewed as master craftsmen- much in the same way that Stickley or Stradivari were. It’s has been hard for me to believe that food can present a unique view of the world or that it could inspire the same emotional range as painting or poetry. Hard, however, not impossible to believe.

The more I read about aesthetics and the more I learn about food, the more I believe gastronomy could be art. In earlier ages, fine cuisine was no doubt appreciated by those at its table, and it has also employed certain artistic tenants- we meet food with our eyes before our mouths. I think, however, that chefs today are at a time of immense intellectual, gustatory, and artistic ferment. The culinary world today is awash with new ideas and philosophies. Chefs are currently capable of expressing a greater range of emotions and ideas through food, than they have ever been before. A dish can now elucidate the mechanics of food science or it could become an opus on sustainability. It can demonstrate the importance of tradition or the meeting of to two cultures.

I have to admit that it took me quite a while to warm up to “molecular gastronomy.” I dismissed it as “the faddiest of fads.” I couldn’t believe that dishes such as deconstructed onion soup or quince foam could be anything more than passing fancies. Since learning more about Ferran Adrià (and cuisine in general), I have changed my mind. My watered-down knowledge of molecular gastronomy came from food magazines and Top Chef . This is much the same as seeing a cartoon of a Monet and thinking that you’ve experienced the real deal.

In the case of Adrià’s creations, I’ve not been so lucky as to try them. I have, however, begun to learn more about the man and his ideas. In my mind, a meaningful and moving philosophy is the backbone of some of the greatest art. Those who review Adrià comment on how his dishes can balance a play of humor, irony, surprise, and pleasure. He has been quoted as saying that his ideal customer is one who “doesn't come to El Bulli to eat but to have an experience." Art is nothing if not experience.

After We Read McGee (Intro to Gastronomy: Journal 1)

Reading McGee’s On Food and Cooking got me thinking about how most Americans know and freely use terms such as “antioxidant,” “carbohydrate,” and “saturated and trans fats.” If you were to ask them what those terms really meant, though, all they could probably tell you is that certain words mean “bad for you” and others mean “buy more Vitamin Water.”

My family lives just outside of New York City where trans fats have recently been banned entirely. Civil liberties issues not withstanding, the whole city seems to support the move regardless of a general ignorance of the mechanics that apparently make the fats so egregious.

I support healthier eating but I also think that it must include more intelligent eating. As Americans become more aware of different ingredients and cuisines, they should start to look more deeply at what they are consuming rather than taking the claims on their cereal boxes at face value.

I am currently also reading Barry Glassner’s The Gospel of Food: Everything You Think You Know About Food Is Wrong. In his book, Glassner points out that a lot of the food studies that Americans take as established fact (oat bran decreases cholesterol, soy helps your heart, etc) are based on incredibly small study samples which, by nature of design, (it is very hard to have people control what they eat and to report accurately on it) are likely to have much greater statistical error than the FDA would like to admit. Most Americans are also unaware that much of the “good for you” information that product labels purport is the result of large agricultural corporations lobbying the FDA. For these concerns, profit, rather than public health, is a primary motive.

An excellent example of this is the recent appearance of soy-based foods marketed towards women as containing “isoflavones” which the products, rather ambiguously, say are “Great for Women’s Health!” Most Americans believe soy to be a miracle food. They probably do not realize however, that a great deal of their product information comes from directly from the elephantine soy industry whose lobbyists only have to present a certain number of case studies to the FDA in order to garner a particular product label. According to Glassner, there is virtually no way to police which studies they choose to present and which studies they choose to ignore. It seems fairly unlikely that detracting evidence would be included in any lobbying material. Most Americans assume soy to be a wonder food. They are unaware, however, that several studies have demonstrated that in high doses (which Americans are starting to consume) soy can negatively affect brain aging and have hormonal effects which demonstrate a certain level of carcinogenicity.

Perhaps, if more people took to reading books like McGee’s and Glassner’s they would take a greater interest in what the labels on their foods were really telling them. Maybe, they’ll learn what an antioxidant actually does. Hopefully, as more and more Americans become more interested in cuisine and the culinary arts, those days are not too far off.

Application Essay

In the short time that I’ve been cooking in professional kitchens, I’ve gathered quite a repertoire of culinary role models. Among the ranks that I revere are the prodigious chefs I’ve worked under, certain shrewd food writers and, of course, a few celebrity chefs. The pantheon of individuals who have influenced my culinary philosophy grows by the day. Most of the new arrivals can fit into at least one of the above mentioned categories. The man who I credit with greatest affect on my fledgling culinary philosophy, however, fits into none of them.

Richard Raney*, my culinary hero, works the pantry station at the Black Cat Bistro. Those who have not had the time to get to know Richard are likely to overlook or even avoid him. He started at the Black Cat after finishing a year in prison for some un-named felony. Though he will often cite his experiences “at the pen,” I have never found out what exactly it was that put him there. He carries his cell phone on him at all times and, in any given day, will have sent (during service) at least two dozen text messages to an equal number of women. Taking this uncharacteristic behavior for a role model into account, why on earth would I consider Richard a culinary influence? One reason- his pursuit constant perfection.

One night I walked over to his (always) impeccably clean station and watched him put together the most amazing charcuterie platter. It was just slices of sausage, pate, and some bread, but it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen in a kitchen. Every meat slice was folded perfectly, every piece symmetrical. Your eye couldn’t help dancing around the platter. Richard stepped back from the plate, made an imaginary smacking motion, looked at me and said, “That shit, that’s crunk.”

And he was right, it was perfect. From that moment on, no matter what I was making in the kitchen, Richard would always be in the back of my mind telling me to make everything, no mater how mundane, as perfect (or as crunk) as possible.

I do not know where I where I will end up after I graduate from the CIA. In my dreams, I would be working in fine dining, learning and working my way up until I have the knowledge and experience to start my own successful restaurant. I know that lofty goal will be hard to attain, it may be decades after my graduation before it is realized. I also know, though, that wherever I am, whenever I’m cooking, I will always remember Richard. It doesn’t matter what it is I’m preparing or who it’s going out to. The relentless pursuit of excellence, that elusive goal, will keep me going during the longest and hottest kitchen hours.

*name changed for privacy

Here

Yesterday, while my mind was drifting during culinary math, Taylor turned to me and asked, “Do you ever stop to think how bizarre and amazing all this is? We’re in Napa Valley at the best cooking school there is.”

Though, moments before, I was concerned with calculating yield percentages, this statement snapped me back to an overwhelming yet remarkable reality: I am in Napa. I’m 3000 miles away from home, and I am ridiculously lucky.

There are nineteen of us in the second section of the AOS degree in the Culinary Arts at the Culinary Institute of America’s Greystone campus in St. Helena. We are only the second class to go through the CIA’s famed and highly respected associate degree program at the Greystone campus. I think every single one of us feels the same way – thrilled and terribly grateful to be here.

Before very recently, all CIA students went through the program at Hyde Park, NY. While I think we all would have been delighted to attend the New York program, we are twice fortunate to go to the CIA and to be in one of the world’s most exciting (and beautiful) culinary regions. Here, I’m surrounded by wineries, farmers markets, and many unparalleled restaurants – much of this within walking distance of my house. Palm trees stand in front of my cottage, figs grow in my backyard, and I can grow vegetables in my garden all year long. Coming from the comparatively grey New York area, I am very much aware of and enchanted by all that California has to offer.

Then there is, of course, the school itself. Located in the imposing fortress of the old Christian Brother’s winery, the Greystone campus would make the most extreme gastrophobe want to learn to cook. Industry experts walk the halls daily, attending conferences and workshops. The kitchens, the gorgeous kitchens, have the most beautiful equipment and appliances most in the trade will ever see. And, obviously, there are the teachers- most of whom not only have years of experience but also many advanced degrees.

Though I could wax poetic for hours about the school, its facilities, and its instructors, lest I appear to be brown nosing (even more than I already am), I’ll describe what I’ve learned about most since arriving here- my fellow students. There are nineteen of us. Oregon, Arkansas, California, Vermont, Alaska, and Hawaii are just some of the states we call home. Some of us have had years of culinary experience, others are trading careers in business for a new life. We range in age from eighteen to thirty. Though these facts might serve to divide us, I think that, overall, the nineteen are much more alike than dissimilar.

Certainly, we all share a passion for and obsession with food, but there’s more than that. For one thing, our class is much more highly educated and worldlier than I would have ever expected. Many of us have undergraduate degrees or have completed a good deal of tertiary education. All are thoroughly eloquent and competent students -our class discussion on organic agriculture spanned varied topics such as the chemical composition of fertilizer, economic externalities, and the logistics of food distribution. It seems that everyone has a million interesting things to say and countless talents to contribute.

It hasn’t even been three weeks since I’ve arrived at Greystone, but I already know that this is one of the best decisions I have made during my 22 years on this planet. As surprising, and perhaps blasphemous, as it may sound to some, I am more proud of my future degree here at Greystone than I am of my recently achieved bachelors from William and Mary. Here, I feel so close to the myriad opportunities that the culinary world has to offer. Here, I’m surrounded by what I love.