I'm Canning the Deadlines

While I certainly enjoyed Julie Powell's ambition and tenacity in real life and as demonstrated in the movie Julie & Julia, where she tackled all the recipes in Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year, the deadline kept her going and motivated but is proving to have the opposite effect on me. It is causing me to feel overwhelmed and less motivated and perhaps guilty of letting myself and others down for not making more significant progress within my weekly time frames.

I realize now that the curriculum will have to evolve as we go along and that the time line I originally established is way too ambitious. You'll have to forgive me though, I don't have access to

I had a whole bunch of carrots, so I...

Cut them!! Really, I should be delving into my least favorite part of any schooling, and that is the math part, like recipe conversions. But I decided that the huge bag of carrots in my fridge needed to be cut up before they found certain doom in my compost.

But first, I sharpened my knife. The nice man at Kitchen Kapers recommended a basic two stage Chef's Choice sharpener and I am pretty darn happy with it. (Those people are so nice in there! You really oughtta go talk to them and tell them I said hey. They are like my best buds now. )

So, I sharpened like a mad woman. And it probably was a very mad attempt because I never sharpened my knives before. (Gasp!!) <-- I know! Crazy, huh? What an amazing thing indeed to have a knife that is actually sharp. Even sharp enough to cut up the butternut squash that I realized was bad after I cut it. But hey, it was fun to cut it. Girl meets knife = fun! Then, I attempted to do a 1-inch carrot dice cut. It was much harder than I thought but I'm supposing it's okay for a first try. I imagine if a seasoned chef were standing in my kitchen, he/she would be frowning and chastising me, telling me exactly what I'm doing wrong and offer some tricks. But I may be able to find some tricks via youtube and see if I can recreate the stern teacher/guilty student experience. But I was up really late last night dicing carrots for fun and now I feel like either drinking a cappuccino or taking a nap. Nonetheless, I thought I'd share a picture of what I have done so far. These carrots are now in my freezer. So, how did I do bosses? (I definitely need to work on uniformity for sure). Also, got any ideas for cubed carrot recipes?

About Your Butt

If your hands have been anywhere near your butt...really, anywhere near your butt (including your ear) or near anyone else's butt or anywhere where butts have been or you have to prostitute yourself at night to get through this recession, please, dear god, WASH YOUR HANDS LIKE YOU WILL BE PERFORMING SURGERY. I'm serious, I'm going to get on my knees in front of you right now and beg and offer you whatever you want in exchange for your improved hygiene.

We are disgusting creatures. Poop is everywhere. Especially in bathrooms. Little tiny microscopic poops fly out of toilets and land on everything. And if your hands have even just unzipped your front fly and all you did was flush and open the door, you have everyone else's poop on your hands. I REPEAT: YOU HAVE OTHER PEOPLE'S POOP ON YOUR HANDS!!

My texts told me so. So I need you to believe me on this. Also, when I was a waitress, one of my many employers decided to call us all in and show us a video that demonstrated all the microscopic poo we deal with. The video was very graphic, so much so, that I just can't go into it. You have to go read The Pantsless Chef blog because that guy is going through actual culinary school and he shares one day where they use a UV light to show what is left on their hands after washing them. http://pantsless-chef.blogspot.com/2010/02/school-day-1-eww.html Besides that, it is just an awesome blog.

As for our butts, all I have to say is, Thank God our bodies are designed to deal with some level of microscopic poo. But really, truly, some of it is disease carrying toxic stuff. And I think we can both agree, that poo is not something we want to consume, even at microscopic levels.

So, if you are going to be preparing food for me, here is what you do, and I don't care if you went to the bathroom or you didn't, just do it:
1. Get the water as hot as you can stand it At least high fever temp, like 100 degrees.
2. Get a generous amount of soap to make a lather, act like you are going to shave or something
3. Wash your fingers and in between, and then wash like a doctor, up to your wrists and lower forearms. Use a nailbrush too. (I admit, I need to get a nailbrush as most of us don't use one, but really, we should).
4.  Wash long enough to sing Twinkle Little Star (not fast, just normal speed) - if you have some impatient ninny standing behind you, waiting to wash their hands, just tell them that you are going to be preparing their food - that oughtta stop their huffing and eye rolling.
5. DON'T TOUCH THE FAUCET AGAIN! That's just stupid. Think about it, you touched it with poop all over your hands (and so has everyone else), use a paper towel to turn off the water. If the owner of the bathroom has totally screwed you out of paper towels, then turn it off with your elbow or use your shirt - just not the fingers that will be preparing my food.
6. DON'T TOUCH THE DOOR HANDLE ON YOUR WAY OUT EITHER! Use a paper towel to open the door or stick your hand up in your sleeve and use your sleeved hand to open the door (your sleeve won't be chopping carrots so I'm not too worried about your sleeve having germs on it).

Okay, so have I made myself clear? You or someone else, is a loose hooker and just used the bathroom. It is full of disease. Yes, you should be scared. For you all scare me with your lackadaisical hand-rinsing ways and night-time activities. And if you come out of the bathroom w/out ever going near the sink, I'm sorry, we can't be friends and you will never hear from me again. People butts are gross.

What the CRAP?!?!

I am so damn tired of reading history lessons. When can I start chopping my fingers off?! Sigh...

I'm getting really good and ticked off about the impending snowpocalypse IV. Otherwise known as the snowicane, snownado or snowtasrophe. I say SNOW-CRAP! I'm done. And not doing anything with my chef knife is just annoying me that much more. Before you know it, cabin fever will morph into pure distilled madness and I'll be out there straddling a snow mound, beating and screaming "WHY?! Won't you JUST go AWAY?!" I may even roll onto my back and kick in the air while turning my head side to side in a whiny delirium. I'm due to tap into my inner toddler anyway. Life has been kickin my arse lately and it's easy to sit here on my couch and sulk, surrounded by textbooks and unfolded laundry. This is why I need to get to the doing and say to hizz-hell with the reading for now.

When I'm sitting on a beach, in the warming sun, smiling and enjoying every minute of frying my paranormal white skin to lobster shell color, THAT will be the time to read. 

"But Michelle!" you may exclaim, "I thought you were going to go by the book? And follow a very specific schedule?" To which I say to you, you were right, I was going to. But I'm making my own rules, dammit! And this snow is making me nuts! Plus, I think the last week has been pretty boring for you readers. If I was a reader, reading my blog for laughs, a serious history lesson on a medieval chef would serve as an excellent substitute for Ambien.

And why go through all the trouble of re-writing history? Jeeez, I'm not doing all that work again. I'd much rather you read Wikipedia and let's get on with it. This is my own damn kitchen and I'm okay with skipping the sitting-around-on-our-arses part, especially when we are already reaching our limits with cabin fever.

So stay tuned my friends, we're gonna get to the gettin. Because I can't take it anymore! Ahhhhhhh!!!

I PASS the Test !! Time to Eat a Few of my Favorite Things.

Man, I am sooooo good to myself that I'm about to pass myself! Okay, are you ready? Here it goes!

I PASS!!! Woohoo!! And so does my friend Toni! You GO Girl! I'm still waiting on the rest of you to take the test. That is, if you want to. :)


So, why am I passing myself on my own test? Because spending an entire weekend writing essays and creating tests pretty much shoved the information completely into each cell of my brain! I could probably be interviewed on The History Channel right now on Careme and Escoffier. Does this mean I'll forget? Hmmm, let me see. That's a big probably. Maybe not immediately, but next year, when I'm fiddling with 100 ways to skin an artichoke, I won't know Careme from a hole in a gourd. As with most educational courses, it will be interesting to see what bits my mind will hang onto. Nevertheless, I am the student AND the teacher and I pass myself! (I promise I will video my future failures to prove that I'm honest.)

So, after cramming in everything from Friday to Monday, I'm effing exhausted. I decided to relax and in thinking of my retail therapy mood, all that came to mind was hot Italian meat. I don't know if it was the rainy day and my body wanted some salt but I headed to mini-Italy (aka Italian Croce Market) on Rt 70 in Cherry Hill. Plus, I've been thinking about Tarallis too, ever since my Italian friend introduced me to them last year. They are hard bread sticks made out of a white wine batter with fennel seeds tossed in. The flavor is delicious and it is a fairly low cal snack. I'm sure they would be delicious with a hummus or some sort of peppery cream dip. But I like them plain for now.

Being from the Midwest, I'm often surprised at how cliche' New Jersey can be sometimes. This market was just like a set from a movie. I wondered around the little place, scratching my head and looking in awe at the cured meats in the case, the fresh cheeses, plastic bags of freshly made pasta with prices handwritten on the bag with a sharpie. It was so Italian Grandpa in there that I really felt like I stepped out of America and into Little Italy. The shop had clearly been around for a while. Italian flags were hanging on the walls, the Italian channel was on in the kitchen area and the owner/manager was speaking Italian over the phone. I have found a dedicated and true Italian market which is run by someone who really is Italian. I say this because you'd be surprised how many pizzerias here are run by Latinos (not that there's anything wrong with that) but it just doesn't seem to me that Italian food is their thing; I would think chayotes, chipotles and cactus would be their thing. So, it's nice to go into a place that is a little more authentic from ceiling to floor. An enchanted little market it is, with nestled corners to explore and discover fresh baked lace cookies, biscotti, nougats, ladyfingers, and cinnamon cannoli shells; and another corner with large brown bags full of  round and oval loaves of fresh baked bread. Tiny toasted sesame seeds, cornmeal and crumbs were scattered in around the area as a testament of patrons paying a visit and grabbing their daily share.

I eyeballed the ginormous tubes of cured meats in the case and put in my order for Pancetta and Sweet Soppressatta. While I was standing and waiting, I noticed a board ad for the Trump Taj Mahal featuring some Italian Opera Singers that will be performing soon. Another patron walked in and the owner clearly knew him. Their conversation began with a friendly and familiar tone. As the owner portioned out the first aluminum container of some sort of hot pasta meal, he said "What else ya having today boss? You alright with lunch? What about dinner?" The exchange was just like a scene from one of a multitude of movies shot in New York City. I sometimes don't feel like I've lived here for 15 years. I get the little country girl giggles and feel like I'm in the movies. I'm a little more used to some good ol' boys catching catfish with their bare hands, frying it and serving it up with baked beans on a paper plate and handing me a big plastic cup filled all the way up with freshly brewed and sweetened iced tea. And then exclaiming "Boy I tell you whut! That's some good eatin right there!" Which, of course, I totally agree. There is something extra familiar and comfortable about the foods, language and people of your childhood and as long as I live in New Jersey, it will always feel a little bit exotic and glamorous in some way. "Wow! Just like in the movies!" As my dorkish self will sometimes say.

I do try to embrace regional cuisine and realize that it's good where it is for a reason. I learned my lesson when I tried to make stuffed shells for my relatives in Oklahoma. I was so anxious to share with them a recipe I had perfected. But I didn't think about the fact that ricotta cheese factories are not around the corner out there and I was hard pressed to find a container of ricotta larger than 8 oz or for less than $6 for said small container. By the same token, I gave up on trying to find a decent blackberry cobbler in New Jersey. As a child, I used to fill 5 gallon buckets full of blackberries that grew wild in my grandmother's front yard. But if I go to a New Jersey store to get fresh blackberries, it's $6 for a handful. It just irks the hell out of me since I remember those 5 gallon buckets of free berries and my grandma churning out 10 cobblers for everyone to take home with a bounty leftover and waiting to made into jams. What's worse is that I remember how soft, ripe and sweet those blackberries were. It's pretty hard to reconcile spending $6 for handful of hard, sour, under-ripe blackberries here. Therefore, I have come to accept that it is tradition, culture and environment that makes the food from its place of origin more prolific and flavorful. This why my current favorites are of the the cured meats, eggplant, zucchini, soft cheese and crusty winter bread families. My body has been cold, the air has been damp from snow and rain. Crusty bread with oily, chewy, salty Italian meat just goes. When I go back home to visit my family for 4th of July, the wide grassy fields, lakes, hot sun, endless horizons and dry air will no doubt have me craving a juicy hot and authentically smoked bbq beef brisket with crust, slathered in my favorite succulent sweet Head Country barbecue sauce; cool crunchy coleslaw on the side and blackberry cobbler with home-made ice cream for dessert. I can't wait. 

Back to studying now. But just thought I'd share a few of my (regional) favorite things. :)

Week 1 Test on The History of the Restaurant and Fathers of Professional Cooking

Here is your first test! If you want to take this test, email your answers to me and I will let you know if you passed! Good Luck!

Week 1 Test: The History of the Restaurant and Fathers of Professional Cooking

1. Escoffier studied a new food preparation technique while he worked as an army chef. What was the technique?

Week 1 Lesson 3: The Emperor of Chefs: Escoffier

Georges-Auguste Escoffier makes me think of watching all those Titanic documentaries on the History Channel. He wasn't on the Titanic, but that was the time and kind of people he was working with. Visions are in my head of ladies wearing big hats and umbrellas just for the sun (okay, Kate Winslet in the movie Titanic) and men in suits wearing pocket watches, sporting fancy mustaches, smoking cigars and drinking the finest single malt scotch they could afford (the men Leonardo Di Caprio's folksy character despised).  God, the Celine Dion's song "My Heart Will Go On" is running through my head now. But you get where I'm going with this.

I kinda think those people hopped on the Titanic to go stay at the Ritz-Carlton in London to meet Escoffier, or just sample his dishes. Was the Titanic going to London? Crap, I can't remember. But we're talking about Escoffier, so we'll figure that out later.

The man knocked everyone's socks off with his cooking and style and mastering the art of french haute cuisine. But what he is noted for doing,