Boiled the hell out of a chicken stock. So it goes.
The only time I have ever made a stock in my waking life was when my girlfriend and I took a crack at what would be some very solidly mediocre chicken noodle soup. As I've mentioned, Chef doesn't relish going over instruction repeatedly, so you can find yourself out in the weeds quickly if not paying strict attention.
Friday was our first around the hotline, two twenty foot rows of burners, making stock. Chicken stock, fish stock. My partner for the stock exercise was one of the students that after the first week tends to end up in the weeds before anything has really happened in the kitchen. A fine kid, yes, but struggling with the technique and lexicon more than the rest of us. The end result was me soloing the stocks and talking him through the steps. 3 lbs of chicken bones, stripped of fat and skin, leave the meat; 1 lb or so of mirepoix, medium dice; a satchet bag of parsley, thyme, peppercorns and bay leaf; bring those bones to a boil and skim off the nastiness that floats up; drop it to a simmer and feed it your mirepoix and the satchet. Let the whole mess go for as long as you like. Fish stock is a little different in prep and process, but I'll spare you the pungent details of that exercise.
Satisfied, I walked away to begin my knife cuts. By the time I had julienned and brunoised some carrot, my stock had started to boil. "If you boil it, people, the stock will be cloudy. We don't want cloudy stock. We want clean stock." I pitched the pot into the compostables bin and started again. So it goes. The next draft was looking good, nice and clear.
This is an aggressive education. Though I'm not working during the day right now, I still end up sleeping until 9 or 10 each morning. What is going to happen when I get a job, something I will need in fairly short order as the wallet thins out? Stay tuned, kids.
Finally, in observance of the Academy Awards, I'd like to drop my own acceptance speech: "I'd like to thank Mom's spaghetti sauce for giving me a goal, Dad's scrambled eggs for showing me that cooking with an equal part butter will better any dish, Meredith for repeatedly asking me what I wanted to do, and Dale for paying bills during what had better be a brief interim."
Well, that was supposed to be funny, but there's a lot of truth in it. My friends and family have been extraordinarily supportive, which has bolstered me enough to take any and every chance. It's a good feeling.
The only time I have ever made a stock in my waking life was when my girlfriend and I took a crack at what would be some very solidly mediocre chicken noodle soup. As I've mentioned, Chef doesn't relish going over instruction repeatedly, so you can find yourself out in the weeds quickly if not paying strict attention.
Friday was our first around the hotline, two twenty foot rows of burners, making stock. Chicken stock, fish stock. My partner for the stock exercise was one of the students that after the first week tends to end up in the weeds before anything has really happened in the kitchen. A fine kid, yes, but struggling with the technique and lexicon more than the rest of us. The end result was me soloing the stocks and talking him through the steps. 3 lbs of chicken bones, stripped of fat and skin, leave the meat; 1 lb or so of mirepoix, medium dice; a satchet bag of parsley, thyme, peppercorns and bay leaf; bring those bones to a boil and skim off the nastiness that floats up; drop it to a simmer and feed it your mirepoix and the satchet. Let the whole mess go for as long as you like. Fish stock is a little different in prep and process, but I'll spare you the pungent details of that exercise.
Satisfied, I walked away to begin my knife cuts. By the time I had julienned and brunoised some carrot, my stock had started to boil. "If you boil it, people, the stock will be cloudy. We don't want cloudy stock. We want clean stock." I pitched the pot into the compostables bin and started again. So it goes. The next draft was looking good, nice and clear.
This is an aggressive education. Though I'm not working during the day right now, I still end up sleeping until 9 or 10 each morning. What is going to happen when I get a job, something I will need in fairly short order as the wallet thins out? Stay tuned, kids.
Finally, in observance of the Academy Awards, I'd like to drop my own acceptance speech: "I'd like to thank Mom's spaghetti sauce for giving me a goal, Dad's scrambled eggs for showing me that cooking with an equal part butter will better any dish, Meredith for repeatedly asking me what I wanted to do, and Dale for paying bills during what had better be a brief interim."
Well, that was supposed to be funny, but there's a lot of truth in it. My friends and family have been extraordinarily supportive, which has bolstered me enough to take any and every chance. It's a good feeling.
