When I prep food in the restaurant, I find myself consumed with numbers. I count and catalouge the food at each step and keep a vague mental record for future reference. I tuck away numbers like a squirrel preparing for winter. For example, it's helpful, when ordering, to know that there are generally 8 dutch carrots per bunch, 3 plate-sized snapper per kilo, 15 heads of large fennel per box (or 25 if it is baby fennel), enough meat for 40 beef cheek pies in three kilos, and 30 avocados in a tray.
In a professional kitchen counting thus is a good habit to fall into. Obviously over- or under-ordering is not good for business, but the custom has other advantages. I generally know the exact number of portions I have of each dish, and have rarely been caught off-guard when, mid service, the head chef barks “HOW MANY DUCK LEFT?!”
On Repeat
On Stuffing (and Stuffing, Ad Nauseum)
It's Christmas time, and with the season comes the inevitable onslaught of food-blog-world posts about spice cakes and green bean casseroles and pumpkin pies and candied yams and unwanted distant relations. The web is awash with hand-made candy cane recipes, tips on super alcoholic eggnog, and instructions for the construction of quaint papier-mâché stocking stuffers. The entire internet universe, it seems, has descended into a holly and jingle-bell hell, which you, the consumer, are meant to download, gobble up, wrap up, and serve up on Christmas morning.
I, a blogger unwilling to buck the general trend, am gleefully throwing my hat into the ring for this week's post. Call it my Christmas gift to you all. Sit back ye merry-makers, rest thine steins of mulled wine on thine distended bellies whilst I regale thee with a yuletide tale. I want to talk about a specific type of good, old-fashioned, hot-blooded, American, holiday gluttony: the turducken.
Something's Burning...
There is an old joke in professional kitchens which states that chefs never burn anything – we only “over-caramelize” food. I think I've mentioned in a previous post that, as a rule, chef's burn, erm... over-caramelize a great deal of food. It's not something we are proud of, but it is defensible, as we cook in ovens at temperatures that professional welders shy away from; a second's distraction and you've created carbon. Besides, chef's are typically attempting what should be the work of three people, are doing so at lightning speed, and all on much less sleep that doctors recommend.
At any rate, a bit of burnt food is simply considered collateral damage. Hence the joke about over-caramelization (there are other standard burnt food jokes: “What's black and lives in your oven?” or, sung to the tune of Midnight Oil's 'Beds are Burning': “How can we sleep when the rice is burning?”)
Cuppa?
Confession: I know next to nothing about the subject of this week's post. This is something of a departure from my usual formula wherein I am the expert who benevolently passes on my hard-earned knowledge to all of you. Today, however, I'm pretty much clueless.
Well, nearly.
You see, I'm making coffee. I am, I should let you know at the outset, a world-class expert at drinking coffee; I consume several a day, like an athlete in training, dozens sometimes, and when pressed, can brew a decent espresso. I know also that coffee, an African native, grows on shrubby trees, is sun-dried at some point, after which it is roasted, ground, and brewed, and that is the extent of my knowledge about coffee.
On Dinning Customs
Lately, on a few occasions in the restaurant, my attention has been drawn to the subtle differences in international cultural dinning customs. Most of this attention is due in great part to a misunderstanding of expectations between our staff and our customers, and it is amazing to see how these simple differences can give rise to embarrassment and anger on the dinning room floor.
There are, obviously, large differences in dinning customs from place to place. For example, in many of the Subcontinental countries (India, Bangladesh, Nepal) finishing the food on one's plate indicates a desire for more, leaving a few mouthfuls means satiation. It is also handy to know that in most countries where chopsticks are common it is offensive to leave them standing upright in your food, as this seen as a symbol of death.
Undoubtedly this sort of information is useful, especially if traveling, but I am much more interested in the little differences that people don't expect. For instance, when working at a bakery in L.A., an Italian couple ordered their coffee and pastries at the counter, paid, and then stood at the register and consumed them, leaving their paper cups and crumbs behind. While this behavior may seem bizarre and slightly rude, it is how coffee bars work in Italy; the Italian couple probably marveled at the tiny counter space available for customers.
What has me thinking about all of this was yet another instance in the restaurant of cultural misunderstanding. In fact, it is the most common complaint I hear from American travelers eating in the various restaurants where I've worked in Sydney:
“I wanted my salad first.”
Americans have developed the custom of the salad as a starter, expecting this to arrive and be cleared before their main meal begins. In Australia, with some rare exceptions, salads arrive with the main meal, and are typically shared around the table. The result is that Americans order a salad and are disappointed when it doesn't show up until their steak does.
This tiny misunderstanding has led to arguments with waiters, mains being returned to the kitchen, and outright refusal to eat at all.
I'm not judging, which is something new for me, this is just an observation. Actually, rather than rant on and on as I am prone to do, I'm offering a compromise in the form of a salad that cannot possibly be mistaken as a side. This salad, with pickled cherries, roasted nuts, and cured duck, is a favorite of mine. I often serve it at dinner parties, but have yet to put it on the menu. Allow a fair bit of lead time, as the curing and pickling take a few weeks.
Salad of Duck Breast Prosciutto, Pickled Cherries, Pistachios, and Bitter Greens
I love how this salad works together; salty duck, sweet-spicy cherries, crunchy pistachios, and bitter leaves. A vinaigrette made from the pickling liquor ties everything together for a very beautiful and delicious salad.
There is something a bit insane about spending weeks preparing something that will be consumed in minutes. My kind of crazy.
10 slices duck breast prosciutto (below)
10 pickled cherries (below)
2 handfuls bitter greens (frisee, mizuna, whatever is available)
12 butter-roasted pistachios (below)
spiced cherry vinaigrette (below)
Assemble the salad: fan 5 slices of prosciutto on each of two plates, arrange half the pistachios and cherries around each, dress the greens with a few tablespoons of vinaigrette, and place a handful of greens on each plate. Drizzle a bit of dressing around and dig in.
Duck Breast Prosciutto
Sliced thin, one duck breast will easily feed four people. However, as this keeps for quite some time, and is addictive, I suggest doing a few breasts at a time. Also, leave the skin on, as the cured duck fat underneath is a special treat.
1 duck breast, trimmed, skin on
zest of ½ orange
1 tsp black peppercorns
1 bay leaf, shredded
1 sprig of thyme, leaves only
1 cup sea salt flakes
Mix the zest, peppercorns, bay, thyme, and salt. Pour half of the salt into a nonreactive container just large enough to hold the duck breast. Nestle the breast into the salt and cover with the remaining salt, making sure that the salt is packed all around. Cover and refrigerate 24 hours.
Next day, remove the duck from the salt, rinse clean, and pat dry. You will notice that the breast has deepened in color and become tougher. Wrap in muslin or cheese cloth and hang in a cool, dry place (your refrigerator if all else fails) for at least three weeks.
Unwrap and slice as thinly as possible.
Pickled Cherries
Cherries in Australia are prohibitively expensive. Therefore I only make these delightful pickles in small batches. However, they are a true treat, and I suggest making large amounts if you are able.
50 cherries, pitted, pits and any juice retained
150ml red wine vinegar
100ml water
50ml red wine
75g sugar
1 cinnamon stick
2 cardamom pods, cracked
Place 10 of the cherries and all of the pits into a small muslin bag. Bring the vinegar, water, wine, sugar, cinnamon, cardamom, and muslin bag to a boil in a small, non-reactive pot. Add the remaining cherries and return to a boil. Remove from heat as soon as the cherries boil. Pour into sterilized jars and store 2 weeks before using.
Butter-Roasted Pistachios
Everything is better when cooked in foaming butter, everything. If only I could find a way to deep-fry butter in butter I will reach nirvana, rich buttery nirvana. Also, make extra of these; it's impossible not to eat half of them as they cool.
25g shelled raw pistachios
50g (approx) butter, cut into small squares
Heat a small pan on medium heat. When it is hot, add the pistachios and one small square of butter. It is important to keep the pan moving at all times; if the nuts rest for any time at all they will scorch. The butter will melt and begin to foam.
Butter is the perfect cooking medium, it foams when it is at the right temperature: too hot or too cold and it stops foaming. When the butter in the pan with the nuts stops foaming, it's likely that it has become too hot. Cool the pan down by adding another cube or two of butter. It will in turn foam and subside, at which point more butter should be added. Continue until the nuts have darkened slightly and are smell roasted. They won't yet be crunchy but will become so as they cool.
Transfer immediately to a bowl lined with paper towels to absorb the butter. Season with slat and pepper. If in doubt about whether the nuts are done, err on the side of underdone; burnt nuts are unbearably bitter.
Spiced Cherry Vinaigrette
25 ml cherry pickling liquor
100ml safflower oil (or other lightly flavored oil)
Whisk together liquor and oil. Season.
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