Paris

Dad came to visit me here in Paris!

But this afternoon after Dad left to go back to the States, (he stopped by to visit me last night/this morning after finishing at his conference in Leon, Spain- it was a great visit and I couldn't have been happier to see anyone!) I made my way over to the gardens with my copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame for a relaxing and enjoyable afternoon.

While reading Hugo's prose, I came across this quote, the last sentence of the eleventh chapter, this afternoon and it is so completely expressive of the city that I had to share it:

"Listen, then, to this tutti of steeples: diffuse over the whole the murmur of half a million of people- the everlasting plaint of the river- the boundless breathings of the wind- the grave and far quartet of the four forests placed upon the hills in the distance like so many vast organs, immersing in them, as in a demi-tint all in the central concert that would otherwise be too rugged or too sharp; and then say whether you know of anything in the world more rich, more joyous, more golden, more dazzling than this tumult of bells and chimes- this furnace of music- these thousand voices of brass, all singing together in flutes of stone three hundred feet high- this city which is all one orchestra- this symphony as loud as a tempest."

Student Dinner

This Thursday night, we had our first class dinner. Not only was this the most talked about event ever in the history of our 3.5 week course (well maybe except for the final...), it has also been the most talked about event since. Needless to say, it was expected to be and then proved to be an epic night.

Here's how it goes:

You take a group of 30 people who have been going to school together nearly every day for nearly a month, but only see each other in a less than flattering uniform (with a hairnet...) that cannot be customized at all.

Now add good alcohol, good food, and fancy clothes and you have got a group of 30 people who are now BEST friends. Or maybe that's just me...and everyone else still just enjoys each other's company...

                                        (Group picture before dinner in front of the restaurant)

Anyways, a good time was had by all.

The school covers our dinner (it's in our tuition) at Atelier Maitre Albert, a Guy Savoy restaurant. Apparently, the restaurant is known for it's roast chicken (which we did not eat...), but instead had the following menu:

Apértif Champagne Guy Savoy (Before Dinner Drink- Guy Savoy's Champagne) 

Saumon façon gravelax <céleri-pomme verte> (Raw Salmon with a celery and green apple salad)

Velouté de cocos et son toast pruneau noisette (Creamy Coconut Soup (but I think it had white beans in it too) with a prune and hazlenut toast)

Magret de canard à la broche, gratin dauphinois (Duck breast from a foie gras duck on the spit and Au Gratin Potatoes)

Choco pralin feuilleté et son sorbet cacao (Chocolate Praline Puff and Cocoa Sorbet)

Vins: Sauvignon La Petite Perrière et Bordeaux Cuvee Guy Savoy

It was on the whole a delicious meal (which was definitely helped by the few glasses of champagne and sauvignon blanc that I enjoyed before arriving), but those potatoes. Oh Lord, were they good. They were the keep-em-around-and-marry-em-quick type of good.

One of our Chef's (the one who is in charge of Basic Cuisine) even came! Like the celebrity he is, he barely had time to eat with all of the pictures being taken of him. I of course jumped in a few and then got my own.

(I also am teaching my class how to skinny arm as well as sorority squat)

After dinner, a large group of us headed out to some fun euro-trash club where we danced until 4am. By then, my feet were so sore from standing and dancing in heels for nearly 12 hours that I hobbled home full from a delicious dinner and excited for how much closer and cohesive our class had become. 

Especially the next afternoon when we all saw each other again for class at 12:30pm...it was duck terrine tasting day...

 (Me and one of my really good friends at the club- Look how good she is at the skinny arm!)

#tbt Thai Curry Dish

Now, some of you may be wondering, "what is #tbt?"

Some of you may be thinking, "Oh, no. Elyssa's going to start posting old pictures of herself."

Never fear- I will explain and no, I will not be posting old pictures of myself (I have a whole facebook album dedicated to that).

#tbt stands for: "hash-tag throwback thursday"- a trend on twitter and instagram where you post older pictures of yourself or something you find or a picture you took a long time ago. Google it if you are further curious.

But last Friday morning as I was looking over my social media, I came across a few #tbt's (as I am at least 6 hours ahead of most of the people I follow- Thursday had just ended in America) and thought:

"Hey, I have a lot of old recipe's that I used to make that I could post and look back at as well as add pointers or twists that I have learned since being in culinary school!"

So, now, this Thursday, I am starting the very first segment of #tbt on Beaucoup Cook-oo blog.

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Today's recipe is a Thai Curry Dish that I adopted from a restaurant in Athens, Doc Chey's (it may have been a chain, I'm not sure) that used to serve fast-ish Asian fusion. When they first opened, it was great then after a few years it went down hill and now it is closed. But, one of the first times I went there, I had this Red Curry dish and I loved it and knew that I needed to try and make it at home.

This is what I came up with in my adaption (my new pointers are in red)  . This recipe was a great one in college because it is so easy and there are lots of veggie options depending on what's available or in season.

Thai Curry Dish

Ingredients

8 servings

2 Tbs. packed dark brown sugar

1 Tbs. rice vinegar or any vinegar on hand (cider wine works)

1 Tbs. tamari or soy sauce

1 tsp. salt

1 medium red bell pepper, cut into thin strips then halved

1 can coconut milk

2.5 Tbs. red Thai curry paste

1 large onion (or 2 small), chopped

1-2 medium eggplant, cut into 1-inch cubes

handful of rough chopped basil

OPTIONAL:

Green beans or oriental long beans (rough chop)

4 small red potatoes, skinned and chopped into 1-inch cubes

Any other vegetable you may want to throw in

12-oz. pkg. extra-firm tofu—if using look at bottom of recipe

Directions

1.  Cut all vegetables needed. If putting in tofu, prepare - Also make sure to wash all vegetables. You may also want to skin the red pepper (apparently it is hard to digest the skin?). You can easily do this by cutting the pepper in half and then  running your vegetable peeler over the outside skin.

2. shake and Pour 1/2 of 1 can of coconut milk into large saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat.

3. Whisk in curry paste until well blended. It's important to whisk (and use a whisk) and not stir. It will be a milky red color at this point- you may want to add more curry for a spicier dish, less for a more milder one

4. Add onion, eggplant and bell pepper, *some basil (you want the basil for some flavor, but it will wilt in the cooking and be ugly so do not put too much in- you can save the extra for garnish), potatoes, and any other vegetable

5. Fold (going along edge and folding in) in the vegetables well with rubber spatula (to prevent breaking tender eggplant during cooking) and scraping bottom of pan. It will be very full and look like it might not all get cooked…it will cook down. Don’t worry. Don't season yet- wait until it has cooked down some more and after step 6)

6. Fill the half can of coconut milk to top with water

7. Add remaining can of coconut milk, sugar, vinegar, tamari and salt, stirring with spatula to mix well.

8. Increase heat to high and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, 20-25 minutes. *If put in potatoes check to make sure that they are cooked before taking off of fire. You do this by sticking a knife into them- it the knife goes in easily and you can pull it out easily, then they are done. If you cook them too long, they will break apart and lose their texture.

9. IF PUTTING IN TOFU: Add to curry mixture, stirring with spatula to mix. Cook until heated through, about 5 minutes. So at minute 15 or 20 of your simmering time.

TOFU: Wrap tofu in several layers of paper towels. Place in colander in sink. Set plate on top of wrapped tofu, then weigh down with large, heavy can (such as a can of tomatoes). Let stand at least 20 minutes. Unwrap tofu and cut into bite-size cubes. 

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More tips:

1. I never did this before, but one thing that I would like to try now, would be to blanch any green vegetable that I would use so that I would keep it's color in the cooking. 

2. Another thing I never did, but might now try would be to strain the sauce after the vegetables have cooked (minute 20-ish). Bring it to boil in a separate pan, skim the fat and any impurity, and then serve separately.

3. For plating: You can do this family style with big bowls of the curry and some rice. If you do personal plates, I may dome rice (by wetting a small ladle), place the vegetables around or near the rice then spread some sauce around.

Let me know if you come up with any new or different tips to make this dish even better!!

Maid or Chef?

When I signed up for cooking school, I thought that I would learn how to cook better; how to be a chef. What I was not expecting is that learning how to be a chef means learning how to clean.

This morning at 8:15am, we piled into the kitchen ready to tackle grilled salmon with an emulsified butter-lemon sauce, Byron potatoes, and cooked spinach. Following us was a new chef that we had yet to meet in demonstration or in practical.

As mentioned in a previous post, Chefs, the personality that you get each day to lead you in practical makes a huge difference (and for good conversation after class when y'all go for coffee). A new chef is the scariest because you have no idea what to expect.

"I hear he's one of the hardest teachers," a friend whispers to me.

Great.

But, you can't let it get to you and you just have to start setting up your place, equipment, and ingredients and go.

Last Friday morning, the good looking chef (also mentioned in Chefs) had been a real stickler for keeping your area clean (including all work spaces, even and almost especially your stove top). This is not uncommon with the chefs, but this particular chef had a strategy that he repeated over and over and over:

"Do one task completely, then clean up completely, then start a new task."

Seems simple and obvious enough, but this involves wiping down your cutting board, the marble around your cutting board, and your stove top; cleaning any utensil you had previously used; removing any trash; removing and cleaning any pot or bowl or chinois (mentioned in post Chicken Supreme) or pan. Now do this at least 5 or 6 times per recipe. We do about 3 recipes per class (Yes, that is about 15-18 times per 3 hour class).

I feel more like a maid sometimes than a chef.

But, today, I followed that structure of cleaning; almost focusing more on my cleaning than on my cooking.

The chef never once told me, personally, today to clean my station.

And:
1. My fish was cooked "perfectly" (this is not easy praise)
2. My potatoes were also "perfect"
3. My sauce needed a little more butter, but was seasoned well/the right color/right thickness (color, consistency, and taste are the three components of judging a sauce)
4. My spinach was cooked well, but needed more salt

Two "perfects" in one day and one of them about my FISH?!?!?!?! It was my best day so far.

So, does the ordered cleaning system help order my cooking and therefore make it better? Does keeping a clean station keep the chef less annoyed at me and therefore more willing to praise? Does a clean station make the chef think that I am a better chef and then award appropriate praise? Does my heightened awareness about cleaning in turn heighten my awareness about my cooking?

Who knows. I sure as heck don't. Maybe somewhere out there reading this knows. If you do, enlighten me, please.
But, as of today I am a convert and a true believer.

Until then, I'll see you at the dishpit (where apparently great chefs are made).

Like a Movie

So, this post is not at all about food. But, it is just SO Paris and SO from a movie that I had to share.

This past Saturday night, one of my friends from school celebrated his birthday (which was a week or two ago) by going to see one of his favorite DJ's, Nicky Romero, who was performing at a club on the Champs Elysees here in Paris. Now, me being American, I figured we roll in around midnight, stay until 2-2:30 and then go to sleep.

Apparently in Europe, they do it a bit differently. We did not leave until 1am and we stayed until 5:45am. Yes, the sun was rising when we left the club.

Also, apparently in Paris, club dress code is a little different. While in DC, everyone wears flats and a little black dress/skirt to a club, this does not fly in Paris. Heels are required and the fancier, the better. Luckily, I had chosen to wear little heeled boots instead of my flats and somehow made it into the club. Most of our group was not so lucky. And one of my friends got kicked out while in line for the bathroom when the "flats police" (or so I call them) came through.

While we were outside still trying to get the second half of the group into the club (even though we all had tickets! Seriously, how can you not let someone in who already has bought a ticket! As an American, I can not understand this), this guy noticed that I was speaking English and for some reason decided to start talking to me.

He was tall (and remember that I am 5'9 and in a heel), over a head taller than me and cute and British. Anyways, he tried to help us get everyone in, but when we all failed, he ended up joining what was left of our group. He bought my next drink and we danced all night.

When we all left the club at daybreak, he decided to walk me home. But we didn't go home. We walked around Paris, running up steps and sightseeing when there were no lines and the buildings weren't open. We got French hot chocolate and sat at a cafe as it was opening. Turns out, he is from Jersey, which I found out is one of the Channel Islands and had just finished a charity bike ride from London to Paris for child stroke victims as he was one.

At 10am, he went back to his hotel to meet up with the bike group to go back to England.

Anyways, maybe I'll see him again sometime. Maybe I won't. But, people have always told me that going to culinary school in Paris is so much like the movie Sabrina or Julie and Julia. I have never felt very much like Audrey Hepburn or Meryl Streep.

But running around Paris at 6am on Sunday morning with someone I met 5 hours earlier, is actually from a movie.

Chefs

When we students get together for a drink or dinner or a sightseeing tour, the conversation inevitably turns to discussing which chefs we like, we don't like, we are scared of, and we hope will be teaching another one of our classes soon.

It is almost like high school again when everyone had the same one or two or three teachers for each subject and in the lunch room, you would compare each teacher's grading and teaching styles as well as take advice from all-knowing older students on whom to request for the next year or semester.

We do not get the option of choosing certain chefs, they are already assigned to us.

The chef today is considered one of the "better looking" chefs, but you better not get too interested in his looks because you will rapidly find yourself lost in his spit-fire quick, heavily accented directions.

One chef, a sort of substitute one day did not give anyone in class any tips or verbal grade for our finished products.

One chef is always looking to help and wants you to ask more questions than to just follow your directions.

Some chefs feel more like kind grandfathers passing on a trade, others' mere presence in the kitchen causes me stress and future years of massage therapy to remove the knots I have created in my tense shoulders.

One chef always teaches by adding wine pairing advice. "What wine would you serve with this dish? You must debate principal ingredients and quality!"

One chef that my practical class seems to keep getting is one of those stress-inducing chefs. I'm sure that if I ran into him on the street he would be more than kind, but in his kitchen- it's a different story. At first, I dreaded the days that I saw him walk into the kitchen because I knew that I would come out of the kitchen not only physically drained, but also emotionally drained.

But, this chef gives the most detailed feedback while he is tasting your food; he corrects EVERY mistake he sees you make and watches until you do it correctly; he also publicly humiliates calling everyone close to peer at someone's (hopefully not yours) HUGE mistake while he says things like

"I would NEVER serve this in my restaurant. What did he/she do wrong?"

But, I am starting to hope for this chef because I want to show him that I can produce a perfectly cooked, seasoned, and plated dish. That I can prepare it in perfect form with a clean workstation and in the correct production order. That I can and should be here.

Until then, we'll just be commenting on and judging which chefs we had that day for demo or prac.

Market Tour

This morning, my practical class met to go on our market tour with one of the school's chefs.

Unfortunately for me, I had suffered from some sort of food poisoning the night before and therefore was tired from getting very little sleep as well as feeling that all-over fatigue that accompanies the day after a bout of food poisoning. Laugh not, this is already the second time that I have had some sort of food poisoning since getting here.

But, I made it this morning to stand in the freezing cold (it's already in the low fifties) and look at pig ears next to some sort of pate made with pig head. Yum.

               (The charcuterie butcher, or a butcher who specializes and only sells pork products)

We went to the market that is part of the rotating market system in Paris. Each day, the market is located in a different district. There are also permanent markets- flea and food, located throughout the city. However, the grand Les Halles market that used to supply all of Paris is no longer- you have to visit Anthony Bourdain in New York for that experience. There are also special markets, like the Organic Market that is only open on Sundays in a few locations. The chef discussed the market culture in the country as predating grocery stores and unlike in America, markets still remain active and a lively source of produce and food for many Parisians.

                        (various charcuterie products including puff pastry, quiches, sausages, pates)

Now, I have been to many a farmer's market in the US and when I lived in Jerusalem, I visited the "shuk" multiple times a week. But this market is not centrally located and feels totally different. Instead, the vendors line up on the side walks wherever there is space and the market curves around the roads and side street of Paris. It does not feel like you are in a "market" but more so dodging side walk vendors.

(pig ears)

(tripe in an aspic-like gellatin mold)

Some of the vendors, like at a farmer's market are the producer. They are farmers who come into the city to sell their produce; they are the actual butcher who butchered the meat. Other vendors are merely middle men who are selling the produce or fish that someone else caught. This does not necessarily mean that the food is of lesser quality or freshness, it just means that you should be aware of what you are paying for and what you will be getting for your money.

(fish mongers)

For example, the produce from the farmer will be more flavorful, but will not be even or as aesthetically appealing. So, if you are just eating the veggies, then you would obviously go for the flavorful farmer's selection. If you are presenting the veggies in some fashion then you may want the prettier produce. 

(One of the butchers- there are going to be a lot of pictures of butchers (not charcuterie specialized, but an ordinary butcher or boucher). I apologize, but I have a thing for butchers. Deal with me.)

There are also ways to tell if your produce is fresh. For example, with fish, always check the gills. The redder the gills- the better and fresher your fish is. Also, the firmer the fish is indicates its freshness. I think of it sort of like you want to buy your fish while it is still in rigor-mortis.

(Chicken Cordon Bleu- not exactly the type of recipe that we are making at the Le Cordon Bleu culinary school)

At the cheese stand (or fromagerie), the fromager-woman (sorry I don't know fromager's feminine form!) was really cool. I liked her a lot and she was very friendly in explaining the cheeses and encouraging us to try more. We of course bought some favorites- Brillat-Savarin being one of them.

(the fromage-lady and the chef discussing cheese)

Now, I know what you are thinking. "Is that Brillat-Savarin who wrote the amazing book, The Physiology of Taste?" And YES! You are exactly right! (In case you are not as obsessed with the book as I am, google it now!) Turns out, that Mr. Brillat-Savarin was so influential that he got an influential French cheese named after him. It is very much like a light brie. If you ever come across it, I would recommend trying some. 

(This cheese (being pointed at), the cantal, is another French staple cheese. It tastes a lot like New England Cheddar, so I liked it. The darker cheese next to it is an Italian cheese very much like a Parmesean, but with clove inside (hence the taste) and it was DELICIOUS!)

(middle man vendor produce)

(farmer's produce)

We also on our tour found a little shop that predates the grocery store, but is very similar. It contained jarred, pickled, and dry goods. It was quite adorable and reminded me of some of the little shops that you will find on the Lower East Side of Manhattan that have been there for 50 years and have a devoted clientele, but are a dying breed. 

(the shop and it's owner!)

And being France and a market there was of course, the horse meat butcher. WARNING: some may want to stop reading this paragraph and skip the next two pictures. Horse meat is still sold in France, while not in the US (though there are some measures in place to change that). If you look at the picture of the horse meat, you will see that it is very red. That is because there is very little to no fat in the meat. So many people enjoy eating it because it is a red, but lean meat. They also say it is good for "growing boys" and to keep the elderly strong. Today, it is mostly the elderly that buy the horse meat. However, with all things old-fashioned, it is becoming trendy for younger people to buy and eat horse meat again because it has less steroids than beef and other forms of red meat. 

(Horse meat butcher)

One of the butchers that we came across has the MOF distinction. This distinction is only given in France to the butchers who can prove that they have impeccable butchering skills. Apparently, there are competitions and it is quite an arduous process as well as a huge honor to be an MOF butcher. 

(but, I think the M in MOF may just stand for Mustache because he has an awesome one!)

Tasting time back at school!!

Happy New Year

I have a confession to make:

This is the first time in my entire 22 years that I did not go to high holiday services. In fact, it was not until I opened my email/facebook yesterday that I realized it was September 17th at all. In my mind, I still had time to find a synagogue, contact the rabbi, let him conduct my background check, and be approved for worship.

Obviously, yesterday at 12:30pm, I did not.

However, I did buy an apple, some honey and said a blessing as well as the shehekianu.

I have a second confession to make:

These two and a half weeks in Paris have not been easy. In fact, they have been incredibly difficult. The reasons are not important, the difficulties are not worth discussing.

But, as in all times of trial, my difficulties have been equally matched with absolute delight and growth.

You see, for the past two weeks, I have debated writing a post about learning to look up when I walk to conduct an impossible errand and not stew in the task's futility; to at least enjoy my walk in this beautiful city. I have thought about writing about the times that I have forced myself out of the comfort of my apartment to go sightseeing by myself and embrace where I am and why I am here, instead of refreshing the stolen internet one more time (or 20) in hopes that I can reply to that one last email.

But, I decided, it would only be interesting to me and not worth any of y'all's time.

Then, yesterday, my Rabbi and friend sent me his High Holiday sermon to read before he had given it to review and enjoy and ponder while I watched Parisians from my window carry fresh baguettes under their arms, chewing on the ripped-off tip out of the bakery from across the street.

His topic: learning to look up. He begins by introducing a question printed in a Paris newspaper in 1922 (how appropriate!) asking how would human actions change if we knew that we would die relatively soon.

Marcel Proust, himself, responded to the newspaper with the following (it's so beautifully written, I had to include it)

"I think that life would suddenly seem wonderful to us if we were threatened to die as you say. Just think of how many projects, travels, love affairs, studies, it – our life – hides from us, made invisible by our laziness which, certain of a future, delays them incessantly.

But let all this threaten to become impossible for however, how beautiful it would become again! Ah! If only the cataclysm doesn’t happen this time, we won’t miss visiting the new galleries of the Louvre, throwing ourselves at the feet of Miss X, making a trip to India.

The cataclysm doesn’t happen, we don’t do any of it, because we find ourselves back in the heart of normal life, where negligence deadens desire. And yet we shouldn’t have needed the cataclysm to love life today. It would have been enough to think that we are human.”

He also includes the story of the slaying of Isaac and how the angel had to shout at Abraham twice to engage the devoted man and keep him from butchering (also how appropriate, while gruesome) his son. It was then, when Abraham looked up that he saw the ram, which he would ultimately slaughter instead. 

It has always worked out well for me and my organized/compartmentalized mind that the Jewish New Year begins at the same time that the academic year does. It makes it easy to look back and judge a period of time, as in my life,  each school year has existed as its own entity; much more so than a calender year.

2011-2012 was one of those years that I will look back on for the rest of my life as being one of the greatest. It was also one of the hardest. I am no longer friends with past best-friends, but out of that hell, I found myself closer to my dearest friends and closer to myself. I met new people who I love now just as dearly. Oh, and I graduated from college in a whirlwind of assignments and hours in the library. But through the academic and personal hard-times, I learned how to place one foot in front of the other to keep going and make my problems seem smaller and more manageable as I proceeded forward instead of stewing. 

In this New Year, I would like to take that mentality of continually moving forward and add to it; to actually enjoy those and these hardest times by looking up; stalking children and couples at the gardens for a perfect picture; reading the Hunchback of Notre Dame in a Parisian cafe. In a sense, to look up- at whatever I may find there. 

So, as I type this without using my index finger (I chopped off a small portion of it today, instead of the carrot...), I am hoping that I can live up to this long manifesto that I thank you for reading (if you have made it this far without giving up and returning to Facebook- I won't hold it against you).

I also want to thank you because today this little blog reached over 1,000 page views (granted half of those are probably me trying to see if a post actually posted or my loving Bubbie). I am so incredibly humbled by everyone's support and feedback and interest. 

Happy New Year and lots of Love,

Elyssa

(Taking my own advice, I spent Rosh Hashanah eve listening to this man outside of Shakespeare and Co Bookstore. With a mix of Caribbean/American Folk and Blues/French and a beautiful voice, this man was the perfect way to enter into a new year. Next time, I'll advise him to add a shofar to the mix.)

Crab Bisque

Today was crab bisque.

Of course, in the demonstration we also made a cauliflower veloute and a mushroom veloute (creamy soups), which I both enjoyed. Not so much the crab bisque.

Imagine the smell of nasty arm-pit. Now imagine that spewing in your face as you smash the crab in a bowl and then imagine it boiling and steaming in your face.

Yum.

Luckily, it tastes much better. But I just could not bring myself to eat all of my leftover soup with that smell still wafting in my head, so I gave it to a friend who has family visiting. Worst comes to worst, she can give it to her dog.

We also had to make more puff pastry today for our recipe tomorrow. My first batch of puff pastry (last Thursday and Friday) came out perfectly! I was very impressed with myself. But that only lasted so well as the rest of the day this past Friday turned into a complete disaster.

First, I over-salted my leeks. And I knew it very quickly, but despite how much extra water or cream that I added, I just could not fix it. I also over-reduced my chicken stock leaving me with about 2 tablespoons of liquid...not nearly enough for the Supreme sauce that I needed to make. Being flustered trying to re-liquify my sauce, I forgot to season. It was a complete mess. And chef told me so. I could only agree with him. So, a friend and classmate joined me at a lovely cafe to share a glass of vin blanc afterwards. Okay, maybe a bottle.

That helped. A lot.

But, gosh-darn-it, that puff pastry was perfect. And I'm hoping that tomorrow's is as well. It felt good today while I was making it. I'm starting to know what that feels like in my hands.

And yet, after all this, I bought Chinese food from the little restaurant next to the school for lunch/dinner. Judge me as you will, but I.Can't.Take.No.More.French.Food.

Well, at least for now.
Loves,

St. Sulpice

This weekend, I went to the St. Sulpice Church to see the Delacroix Murals. Being close to my house, it was an easy day trip. 

(Jacob wrestling with the Angel)

I love cathedrals. Outside of the church, in the square, there was a flea market open. I walked through it before walking into the church.

It was hot and loud and very bright. A little boy of no more than 10 stood outside his tent striking hard bargains in rapid-fire French while old ladies knocked each-other over to get to the 1euro bins.

But enter the cool, dark church and they all disappear. Instead, the organ booms overhead until your whole body shakes before it collapses into the sound of a single flute. And the Delacroix are beautiful.

But, so is the rest of the church and the people who built it and worshipped there for centuries. 

Pere Lachaise

A post with only pictures:

(Henry De Balzac)

(Marcel Proust)

(Oscar Wilde)

(Edith Piaf)

Goodnight. Good day. Enjoy.
Loves,

e

I like to Cook-it Cook-it

I can cook. But can I be a chef?

These are two very different personal descriptors. It has always been my opinion that anyone can cook, but not everyone can be a chef. And if I can reach that goal and feel strong enough to call myself a chef, will I want to have that responsibility? Will I want to be a chef?

These are questions I ask myself and have asked myself for years now. And this week has only added to my personal dilemma.

Because this week, we are doing simple doughs. It has been an incredibly tasty week (especially after the bland butter sauces of last week) filled with savory tart doughs, pasta doughs, puff pastry doughs, fruit tart doughs, and short crust doughs. But, the thing is that I am not a pastry person. I just don't get doughs. 

I explain it like this: when I am sweating an onion or sauté-ing vegetables cut paysanne or creating a stock, I know what to expect. I know what I should smell, see, hear, feel, and most importantly, taste. When I am rendering yeast to add to a dough or turning my puff pastry, I am praying to the baby Jesus. 

I am completely blind. I am following the directions, I am copying the chefs, but I have no connection or intuition supporting me. I simply cannot feel the dough like I can feel my vegetables or meat cuts. Maybe this is how people who say they can't cook feel like daily.

So far, I guess the Baby Jesus is looking out for me, though, because everything is turning out okay when the chef pulls mine from the pastry oven (except my onion tart dough which I rolled too thin before baking it, making it more like a cracker than a foccacia-style bread. But I liked the taste of mine better, so oh well). 

Today, we made Quiche Lorraine, which I have made many times before as well as other varieties of quiche. I was not worried at all about the preparation, except for the short-crust dough. I have made a quiche crust before, but I usually just buy the pre-made dough to make my enjoyable quiche-making experience dough-free and therefore, stress-free. Luckily, mine came out perfectly earning me a "C'est bonne." (aka Elyssa does a happy dance behind the chef- and yes, I do dance) from the chef.

Tomorrow, we will see how my tricky puff pastry (which we made today, but is sitting overnight) turned out. 

I also have a new nickname in class, "Miss America." See, my practical class (aka the 9 of us in the kitchen together) is amazing and we are getting a reputation for being that way. And by amazing, I mean we are funny, friendly, talk way too much, have a little too much fun, and are decent in the kitchen. So, naturally, we also adopt nicknames. 

And being the only American, somehow I became Miss America. 

Then, somehow I got introduced to chefs as Miss America...

then those same chefs caught me singing and dancing (in a demonstration form to my fellow classmates) to "I like to move it, move it" while we waited for our quiches to finish baking...

But the worst part was when one of those chefs who had just been yelling at his class for being too slow came running into our kitchen.

"Who likes to move it move it?" Everyone stares at me. 

"You? Miss America, you like to move it move it?"

I'm not sure what I looked like at that moment, but I am sure I was turning dark purple and my eyes were twice their size.

I only had two possible answers and "Oui, Chef!" made more sense than "Merci, Chef!"So I went for it. 

"I am a DJ, do you know this?" he asks me.

"Non, Chef! I did not."

"I am." and he leaves as quickly as he came, back into his kitchen.

When I got over my mortification a few hours and drinks at the bar later, I had a sort of epiphany. It goes like this: I can cook and I may one day be a chef, but no matter which one of the two descriptors I choose to call myself, at least I'll be having a good time doing it. And I don't mind being known as that person. 

And you know US Americans, we love April 25th, maps, and world peace. I'm still working on my wave. It'll probably come with my dough kneading.

Loves, 

e

Chicken Supreme

Yesterday, we made a Le Cordon Bleu basic cuisine classic: Chicken Supreme. (We even have it on good authority from higher-level students that this is ALWAYS on the Basic Cuisine Final Exam).

I think this might be because the recipe involves blanching a chicken and making a chicken stock. Then taking that stock to make rice and a classic French sauce- Sauce Béchamel/Blanche (made with a roux, stock, and cream). 

While it may sound delicious to you, it ends up looking less than. Think beige chicken with beige rice with a beige sauce over the top and you’ve got the picture.

(here is a picture of the chef's after demonstration and mine looked exactly the same- we can't take cameras into the kitchen.) 

Having grown up with my grandfather’s famous matzah-ball and chicken soup recipe, I am used to making chicken stock and as we call it “boiled chicken”. You chop up an onion (just into four pieces), cut up two carrots (so that you have 8 pieces), one stalk of celery (in half again), two peeled cloves of garlic (whole), some peppercorns, and one cleaned chicken. You then put this in a pot, fill it until it covers the chicken with COLD water, and put it on the stove. (cold water is necessary for incorporating flavor. Plus your chicken and veggies are cold.) Let it boil; bring it back down to a simmer for a while; then drain out the broth, which you can reduce to make your soup. (Sometimes we would put a beef bone in there too for more flavor.)

Le Cordon Bleu’s way is very similar with a few key differences, one of them being the trussing of the chicken.

To truss a chicken is to tie it up with string, so that it does not fall apart as you cook it. In demonstration, the chef showed us how to do this emphasizing that there is only one way to truss and that it is the way EVERYONE in France does it.

You start with the chicken on its back and stick your needle under the drumstick bone (so as not to puncture the meat that you will be serving). Then you pull the needle and string through the cavity in the middle to the other drumstick, coming out in the same place as you started (but on the other leg). Then you go up and do the same through the wings, catching the neck skin and sewing it onto the back (this closes off the cavity) and finally tying the string ends together into a sturdy knot. Then you turn the chicken over and close the butt-end cavity. This should make your chicken look like a Rugby ball.

Confused yet?

Pretty much. After watching this demonstrated by the chef twice, I thought I had it, though. Of course until I was in practical and had the dead, naked chicken in front of me. Luckily, for practical we had the only female chef on faculty and she was incredibly helpful. She also trusses a chicken completely different from the Demonstration chef…

Believe it or not, this happen all the time.

But with her help, I trussed my first chicken and got it blanching.

After it was blanched, I drained the water, re-filled the pot with more cold water, added those vegetables (plus a leek, three cloves, and a garnish bouquet, which is made with one bay leaf and thyme rolled and tied up into a leek leaf- the Le Cordon Bleu recipe as opposed to my grandfather’s) and let it boil/simmer.

While my chicken and stock cooked, I cisole-ed (or cut VERY finely- I’m sure I spelled this wrong) half of an onion, which I later sautéed with my rice; created a roux (an even mix of butter and flour which acts as a base and adds thickness to sauces); and kept my station clean.

Once the rice was ready, I added my strained stock to it.  After cooking the roux, I let it cool, then added hot stock to it (you add hot liquids to a cold roux or cold liquids to a hot roux ALWAYS) letting it come to a boil. Once at a boil I added the cold cream (remember the rule), seasoned it with nutmeg and salt, then strained the final product. The "chinois" or cone shaped strainer has become a dear friend as he is incredibly necessary for almost everything. 

We cut the chicken plating the breast, thigh and drumstick; making a dome of rice and then covering it with the sauce.

Mine ended up with this rating:

Chicken: slightly over-cooked

Sauce: under-seasoned (the French like a lot more salt than I do and I need to adjust)

Rice: over cooked (the chef explained to me that the French like their rice still crunchy which I dislike and had added extra stock to fix. Well, now I know to make my rice on the raw side)

But overall, a job well done. But for me, the best part was that I am finally getting into my rhythm in the kitchen. It almost feels like dancing when you are moving, tasting, and thinking in sync with yourself, your fellow chefs, and your food. To me, it is beautiful.