Feeding people: it's a thing

I made a sunflower design with the top crust of this peach pie. 

I know I'm not alone in this. When I make food for people, it makes me happy. If I can bring someone a sweet treat or cook a meal for friends or family, my heart feels happy.
This is part of why I went to culinary school and it's part of why I work in a professional kitchen.
There is something nurturing about cooking for others, but it's also a spiritual gift. Bear with me ... I know how that sounds.
I can go to the store or bakery and buy a pie. I can bring that pie to a friend that I am visiting. My friend would be appreciative and likely very happy.
Or, I can make a pie. I can work the butter into the flour with my fingers, drip a tablespoon of cold water at a time into the mixture to bring it together. I can chill the dough for the perfect amount of time.
And I can pick over the fruit, add lemon juice and sugar and spices. From my drawer, I can pick out my favorite mixing spoon and stir the fruit mixture. My paring knife will cut perfect pieces of butter to dot the top of the fruit. I can then make a lovely design with my fingers as I seal the crusts together.
When the pie comes out of the oven and cools, I can tuck it into my pie basket with a pretty towel.
And when I bring that pie to a friend, it's a gift that comes from me ... my kitchen, my hands, my heart.
The time I put into a food gift is part making the gift and part planning the process. I love all of the parts.
There are many ways to show people how you feel: a hug, a kiss, a card, a phone call, an email, a kind gesture. The best way I know to show people how I feel is to feed them.

Imagine ...

My Christmas gift from my sister: fleecy pajama bottoms
with inspirational messages in the waistband.

My sister gave me a pair of fleecy and warm pajama pants for Christmas. Today when I pulled them out of the dryer, I noticed the messages on the drawstring at the waist: "Let yourself daydream," "Color outside the lines," "Laugh at the rules," and my favorite, "Agree with your imagination."
I wonder what life would be like if we did that, if we agreed with our imaginations. A world full of dreamers?
Today, I received my grade on the written final I took on Saturday for culinary school. It was an 84. It's not an A. But it's very, very okay with me. Our final was 17 pages long. It included essay questions, true and false, short definitions, and fill in the blanks. We also had to write two recipes and include techniques, cooking temperatures and times. It was brutal. We had 3 hours; I took 2 hours to finish it.
I knew I passed, but I wasn't sure how much over a passing grade I received.
So next up: graduation. And when I think about that, I look back to when I dreamed about culinary school. For people who love food, who love to cook, culinary school is often a dreamy, lofty goal. Culinary school isn't like other schools. Yes, it's academic and it's structured and there are tests and projects and credits to be earned. But ... you get to be in a kitchen for a lot of that time, learning how to perfect your craft. There are lectures and seminars and moments that are really dull. But then you get to gut a fish or make brioche or make veal stock. For me, culinary school was a dream come true. It was 'agreeing with my imagination.'
For years, in my 20s, I worked in the food industry. I moved on to media, working in radio and as a writer and editor. When that part of my work life shifted, I went back to the food industry.
So, I make a living as a cook and I teach cooking classes. But I knew that culinary school would enrich that part of my life and even as important, that it would enrich my soul.
Being a student again was rough. It was much harder to study, to stay focused, to sort out the dynamics of the other students, to set priorities. It was tough to juggle work, school and commuting with my family life. It was hard to get enough sleep. It was hard to sleep.
But it was so wonderful too. It was interesting and intense. I met really good people. I pushed through some very exhausting times when I went 3 or 4 weeks without a day off. There were beautiful desserts I made. I would walk down to Davis Square in Somerville after class and eat dinner with classmates. I would get texts on the weekends from my school chums with photos of food they'd made. I learned about butchering, food management, pate brisee, pate a choux and food safety.
My imagination wasn't just about being at school, but doing well. I wasn't an A student, although I did ace a few things. I'm a B student. But I did very well most of the time. I was engaged and listening and interested in everything.
Because of my time spent in restaurants in my 20s and the last couple of years working as a cook, I was prepared for a lot of the lessons I'd learn in culinary school. But my whole attitude about food and cooking changed at school. I learned so much and I am a better person today because of it. And I'm a better cook.
At my age, the decision to go back to school was difficult. It meant a big shift in our home because I wouldn't be around very much. And I started school 2 days after we got married. It also meant spending the money for tuition and such but also earning less, because I couldn't always put in a 40 hour week. And it cost money to commute and to park on the days I drove in.In addition to all of that, physically, the schedule was brutal some days. The commitment of school is a challenge at any age. Some days, though, I felt pretty old. And when I looked in the mirror, I looked it.
So, finals are done, portfolio is submitted, event credits accomplished and in two weeks, I graduate.
To get to this point, I had to have a lot of faith and work really hard. But it all started with imagining a different life for myself, a more enriched career, more opportunities and a feeling of accomplishment.
I highly recommend it.

A shift in perspective

It's the Sunday after Christmas. I have been fortunate enough to have some time off to spend with my husband, my family and my dogs. Today, I ran a few errands while Barry watched football.
When I returned home, I went to grab something to eat. Next thing I know, I'm getting a cramp in my arm from whisking mayonnaise.
We have mayo in the fridge. But homemade mayo is really delicious. And I bought some tiny little Persian cucumbers at the store. It made perfect sense to make the mayo to go with the cucumbers.
Santa brought me the pasta attachments to go with my Kitchenaid mixer. That means homemade pasta is in our future. And if you've ever had homemade pasta, you know that it's far better than boxed pasta. I could go on and tell you about the ice cream maker that Santa also brought me for Christmas or the smoked salt my sister gave me or the lovely cookbooks I unwrapped.
Suffice it to say, I am fully immersed in this culinary adventure I've been on.
Over the next 10 days, I'll be studying for my written finals but also spending a lot of time in the kitchen, practicing techniques I've learned. I'll be making sauces (the mother sauces, specifically), roasting meats, boning chickens, baking cakes. In addition to the written tests, we are given a practicum. We have to choose a card, write a recipe, including the techniques used, make the recipe and have it tested by three chefs. The cards can contain anything we've covered in the last 4 months (although it's not likely we'll be making anything that takes several hours to prepare.) We can prepare for that by studying, but the best preparation is in the kitchen.
Culinary school has changed my perspective on food in so many ways, which is a blog post for another day. But it sort of starts with making things like mayonnaise or a nice dessert to bring to a party. The good news is that I kill two birds with one stone when I'm doing that. I practice a technique and I have something good to eat or to share with someone.
I don't know yet if this will become a shift that will last a lifetime. I do know that this experience has changed me as a person, as a cook and as a consumer ... in good ways.

Almost famous? Nah ...

The not-so-winning dish.

The email came about a month ago. It was an invitation from the administrators at the school for students to participate in a cooking contest. One student would be chosen to represent the school in a regional competition and then, potentially, a national competition. Anyone from the school could enter and we got to choose from a list of ingredients to prepare.
I was interested at the time, but I knew that it was just one more thing on my plate, so to speak, that was already heaped full. I'm in school 20 hours a week, I'm working 32-40 hours a week and spending another 12-15 commuting everywhere. That kind of schedule doesn't leave much time for
extracurricular activities.
Then another email arrived. It was another invitation to participate in the contest. There was still time, still room, for anyone still interested.
I considered that a nudge. I threw my hat in the ring. Could I produce a dish in, say, 2 days? Sure. Could I come in and cook in time to present my dish at 9:15 am? Sure. Did I have a 12 hour day at school in between? Yep.
But ... can I cook lamb? Yes! Am I good under pressure? Pretty much. Can I be creative? Well ....
Sometimes.
Last Tuesday night, while I was at work, I said yes, I'd enter the contest. I told my chef at work what I wanted to prepare. He told me what he thought of my ideas and gave me good insight.
On Wednesday night, after I got home from school, I prepared a few things and wrote a list of stuff to pack. I left my house at 5:45 and arrived at the school at 7 am.
My dish: Roasted rack of lamb rubbed with mustard and rosemary, dusted with panko and served with a parsley and mint gremolata; a fingerling potato and brussel sprout hash topped with roasted yellow and orange peppers and a salad of arugula microgreens, olive oil, sea salt, pickled yellow beets and pickled shallots. It was fresh, interesting, flavorful and balanced.
The judges ate everything. They complimented my lamb, said it was cooked perfectly and nicely seasoned. They enjoyed the gremolata and the pickled vegetables. They said the potatoes were kind of dry and would have benefited from some kind of sauce. They asked me to tell them the story of my dish. I ... ah ... didn't have a story. I said that I love lamb and that my mom always cooked lamb. I thought the plate was rustic and interesting and that I had some nice, fresh elements on the plate. I was flying by the seat of my pants at that moment. I had no story about my plate. There wasn't a ... theme. There wasn't a common element to tie my ingredients together. I mean, I know what they were looking for ... sort of ... but I was completely unprepared for the question.
Listen, I was going on about 8 hours of sleep in a two-day stretch. I was bleary eyed. So I just spoke from my heart. I didn't try to sugarcoat things. I just told them what I cooked and why.
They said they'd let me know the next day.

As it turned out, they had a tough time choosing a winner. They didn't let us all know the results until the end of the day Tuesday. The winners (two will represent the school and the contest organizers will decide which one will compete) were more edgy with their plates, and stepped out of the box way more than I did. And that's what the judges were looking for -- well executed plates with some kind of originality .. something that sings.
But here's what happened in the meantime: I went to the website to check out the contest ... and look at past competitions, winning dishes, the chefs who competed. I was blown away. And I'll tell you what, I'm a very good cook, but I am not at all sure I've got the culinary chops for this kind of competition. I'm not saying that as a self deprecating sort of comment, truly. I know what I know and what I don't know in the kitchen.
I can't feel badly at all about not being chosen to compete. I stepped out (way out) of my comfort zone. I worked hard. I made very good food that was aesthetically appealing. The judges were very kind when they emailed me today and invited me to participate in an other sort of competition at school in a few weeks.
Culinary school has been such a gift, a blessing, a challenge, an education. I have absolutely nothing to feel badly about. In fact, I feel very happy ... and grateful.

And now I own a meat grinder.

Culinary school is just like any other school; it's expensive. And in addition to tuition, we have to buy a knife kit, text books and uniforms.We don't have campus housing, so we all commute from somewhere. And if we have full time jobs, they have to be a little less full time so that we can go to school, so we are making less money.
But going in, we knew the deal. School was going to be a ton of work and it was going to cost a lot of money and it would often be a burden on our families, spouses and friendships.
Here's what they don't tell you. You will need an extra bucket of money for all the stuff you will want (you know, need) to buy because you used it in class. I'm referring to all of those gadgets that you have seen or read about but never knew how to use properly. Or the spoons/knives/zesters/spatulas/pans or ingredients you've never had but now cannot live without.
I'm telling you, there should be a separate section in our student handbook about this titled, "Stuff you'll want after taking these courses."
For example: We made gnocchi in class one day, a simple pasta made with leftover cooked potatoes. To get the potatoes nice and smooth, we used a potato ricer.
I now own a potato ricer.
During a class on pork, I made sausage. The next day, I bought the meat grinding attachment for my Kitchenaid mixer and ordered the sausage stuffer online.
After one of our chefs spoke lovingly about how wonderful freshly nutmeg is as opposed to the bottled kind, a few of us went on a culinary road trip to a spice store to buy our own.
There are other things, but I'm resisting (ice cream maker, gnocchi board, brioche pan).
I'm not alone. We are all doing a lot of kitchen store shopping. And we encourage each other "Go ahead, buy it! You'll use it all the time!"
And we have a list of culinary destinations: Armenian bakeries, restaurant supply stores, a huge produce market in Watertown.
I could go on. I could feel guilty. Or I could just look at it as part of the package. You know, the part they don't tell you about.
Did I mention the school sweatshirts?

I brought my mom to class today

I had such a good day today. I woke up at 5 a.m., drove to school and arrived in time to walk down to the coffee shop with a classmate and grab a coffee. Cafe Zing in Porter Square in Cambridge sells great coffee, coffee drinks and tea. I'm very fond of cold-brewed iced coffee and they make it there ... and it's lovely.
On the way back to school, we found a dozen red roses in a box on the street, clearly abandoned, and grabbed one to bring to our chef instructor.
Once in class, we made bread: cheddar cheese bread, challah, bagels, cinnamon swirl bread, white pullman, baguettes, herbed-olive rolls and a beer bread. We also made a butternut squash soup and zucchini-spinach salad, so that we had something to eat today besides bread. 
After class, a few of us went to visit Penzey's Spice Shop in Arlington, recommended by one of our chef instructors. We bought nutmeg, Vietnamese cinnamon, cardamom pods, vanilla beans and flavored salts.
On the way back to Cambridge we decided to stop for milkshakes and do some studying together. My new friends are bright and talented. We are from all walks of life. On paper, we don't have much in common. In the kitchen, we have everyone in common. We cheer each other on, we help each other out and we laugh a lot.
Today, I felt so much joy being in the kitchen. It wasn't all about my classmates or the sunshine outside. It wasn't just about the cute little baby who went by in a stroller and waved to me. And it wasn't just about the lovely loaves of bread we produced.
Today, I felt my mom's presence so strongly. My mother taught me to make bread. Her recipe made nine loaves, and that's what we made. It was a basic white bread recipe. We would take some bread to the neighbors, make one pan of dinner rolls, freeze some and eat the rest. I remember the big yellow bowl we used to let the bread rise. It had pink and blue rings around the outside. I remember the various pans we used to bake the bread. She would teach me how to shape the loaves, how to tuck them into the pans. I remember the smell of the kitchen, the warmth, the quiet.
But what came to me so magically today was the simple, sweet meditation of kneading the dough. I could hear her talking to me, showing me how to push the dough away with the heels of my hands, how to fold it over, how to sprinkle a little more flour on it, turn it and push it away again.
Many of the students today knew how to knead bread dough. It's not hard to learn, but it takes practice. It's not just about learning how to knead, but also about how to read the dough.
There were about 10 minutes today when I was kneading my dough and I just felt everything else fall away. It felt as if I was back in that little kitchen on Martin Street with my mom making bread, with the big yellow bowl and the sweet smell of the yeast filling the air.
When my mother taught me how to make bread she couldn't possibly have known what a loving, wonderful, magical gift it was. I know I didn't.

Soup class was hard

We likely all had the same thought heading into our class on soups and stocks last week, "How hard can this be?" After all, who can't make soup?
But there is making soup and making really good soup. And because I'm in culinary school, it's not just really good soup, it's nicely presented really good soup, layered with flavor, perfectly seasoned and plated with panache.
At 9:30 that night, I got a text from a classmate "Why am I so tired? Soup class was hard."
It all started out innocently enough. We were all present and accounted for when our chef instructor Erin came in and said the folks in the kitchen downstairs needed help with prepping stock. Since our class dovetailed nicely with that mission, we got down to business.
We rolled up our sleeves and cleaned chicken backs for about an hour. We chopped the vegetables to go in the stock (mirepoix - a combination of carrots, onions and celery) and threw in herbs. A few folks in class also roasted bones for veal stock and chopped up mirepoix for that.

My cream of mushroom soup, garnished with croutons,
crispy shallots and chopped sun dried tomatoes.

Then, class began.
Lecture was about the various kinds of soups, how they are made, what differentiates one from another. We then went over the recipes we'd be making and got to work.
The process isn't just getting together the ingredients and starting to cook. We all must mis-en-place before we do anything; we "put things in place." We grab a sheet pan. We get small bowls. We grab our knives and any other utensils we need. When the food is brought up from the downstairs kitchen, we measure and chop and pour and weigh our ingredients. It all has to be in place and checked by our chef or chef assistant before we proceed. And it isn't as simple as putting a potato on the tray. If the potato needs to be chopped, we have to chop it. If a carrot needs to be julienned, it must be presented that way ... down to a pinch of salt in a bowl.
So, you can imagine how long that part of the process takes when it comes to soup.
But also, we are learning the correct way to make soup, how to add layers of flavor and to season it correctly. We all had to bring our soup to our chef unseasoned with a bowl of lemon juice, one of butter, and some salt and pepper. We then tasted the soup and decided together how best to season it to bring out the flavor.
It's not exactly the way I cook at home. It actually doesn't resemble how I cook at home at all. Then again, my cream of mushroom soup was excellent. I used three kinds of mushrooms, shallots, sun dried tomatoes, cognac, fresh herbs, chicken stock and a little potato.
Other classmates made shrimp bisque, chicken chowder, borscht and an Italian soup, pomadoro, made with bread.
We all sat down and ate soup. Then we finished the dishes, cleaned the counters, swept and mopped the floors. We trudged out together and headed for home.
Soup class was hard.